by L M Krier
The man looked taken aback but led the way along a carpeted corridor to a solid door, which he opened and stood aside to allow Ted and Rob to go in first. It was a large, bright room with French windows all along one side, opening out on to a small but pleasant garden to the rear of the building.
The floor was waxed light oak, in herringbone blocks, buffed to a shine by hundreds of feet waltzing over its surface through the years. A grand piano stood at the side of the dance floor. Ted could easily see how impressive even this modest room might be to a young boy who had never known anything like it. He thought it very likely they had found Aiden's ballroom.
'So, Mr Rossi, can you tell me if this function room was booked on the twenty-eighth of last month and by whom?'
The man looked uncomfortable. 'Is not my hotel,' he said, spreading his hands apologetically. 'I have to ask my boss, the owner, before I do something like that. He is away, in Sicilia, at the moment.'
'I presume he has a mobile phone, Mr Rossi. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to telephone and ask him,' Ted said. 'That would be so much quicker than me having to apply for a warrant to search your records, which I will happily do if you prefer. In the meantime, I take it you have a restaurant? Serving authentic Italian food? My partner loves Italian food, I'll book us in and come back tonight, if that would be convenient?'
CHAPTER Sixteen
When Ted phoned Trev to say he was taking him out for a meal that evening, Trev's reaction was to laugh and ask, 'What have you done?'
Ted feigned offence. 'I do take you out sometimes,' he protested. 'But you're right, there's no such thing as a free lunch or a free dinner, when you live with a copper. I just want you to speak Italian to someone, tell me if they're as phony as they sound.'
'Shouldn't be too difficult,' Trev said. Italian was one of many languages he spoke fluently and he was always pleased to have an opportunity to practise any of them. 'I'll see you later. Are you driving, so I can have a drink?'
'It's near enough to walk,' Ted said and heard Trev's laughing remark of 'Cheapskate!' as he rang off.
They both enjoyed walking. It was a time to relax and talk, sometimes the only time Trev could get Ted to unload whatever was troubling him. Ted seldom talked about his work at home, but as they walked he mentioned that the hotel had a possible link to the murder of the young boy.
'There's something about the manager, this Rossi bloke, which makes me suspicious. Maybe he just puts the whole Italian thing on a bit strongly as he thinks it goes with the image. It all sounds a bit B-movie to me so I need you to check him out,' he told Trev. 'Once I know someone is not being straight about one thing, it makes me suspicious about anything else they tell me.'
Trev laughed and threw an arm round Ted's shoulders to hug him. 'Sometimes you are such a policeman.'
A group of youths was walking towards them. Seeing the gesture, one of them called out, 'Get a room, you fucking pair of bum bandits!'
Trevor stopped in his tracks and drew himself upright. He was six feet tall, all of it well-defined muscle. Grinning to himself, knowing what was in store, Ted stepped aside to leave him room to move.
Trev was making a strange incantation to himself in what may have been proper Japanese, another of his languages, but was probably just mumbo-jumbo. He began posturing and high kicking in an elaborate show of Shotokan karate. The youths looked shocked and backed up as Trevor advanced.
'He's a fucking nutjob,' the one who had shouted earlier said.
'He may well be,' Ted said evenly, 'but he has black belts in judo and karate and he doesn't take kindly to being called names.' Then to Trev he said, 'Come on you, behave yourself or I'll have to arrest you.'
The youths were feeling cocky again, now they'd moved away and felt safer. Ted was almost eight inches shorter than his partner, slightly built, though well muscled. Another of the boys jeered, 'You can't arrest him, you're no copper, they don't let short-arses in.'
Ted sighed and pulled out his warrant card. 'Not only am I a copper but I have more black belts than he does,' he said. 'So why not just jog on quietly, lads. I'm off duty.'
Still muttering and jeering, the boys crossed the street and disappeared hastily up a side road. Ted and Trev carried on towards the hotel, still laughing.
'They were right about one thing,' Ted smiled affectionately. 'You are a nutjob.'
There was no sign of the manager when they reached the hotel, and there was a different young woman on the reception desk. Her badge gave her name as Chiara. Her hair was black as jet, eyes rich chocolate brown. She trotted out the same stock greeting as the other had earlier on.
Trev launched into his flawless Italian, which seemed to delight her as she beamed and replied with the rapidity of machine-gun fire. The two were soon chatting away nineteen to the dozen. Ted stood by, admiring the effortless way Trev had of talking to almost anyone in one of many languages.
They seemed to reach a lull in their conversation and with a 'grazie mille', Trev led the way along a carpeted corridor, in the opposite direction to the function room, following a sign that pointed them to the dining room.
'I asked to see the hotel records earlier on,' Ted said as they walked. 'Rossi was very evasive, said he'd have to ask the owner, he's just the manager. He said the owner is away in Sicily.'
'Whoa!' Trev exclaimed. 'Is he warning you off, hinting that you're messing with the Cosa Nostra? Anyway, I can tell you that the lovely Chiara is the real deal, impeccable Italian, born and bred there.'
The dining room was a modest size, intimate and attractively laid out. They were shown to a table by someone who was presumably the restaurant manager and left to browse the menu, which Trev announced looked promising. Their waiter, when he came, was a small, dark man who looked permanently anxious. Ted let himself be guided in his choice of dishes by his partner who was much more knowledgeable about Italian food than he was.
The waiter was back in good time, carrying two steaming bowls of spinach and ricotta tortellini. Ted noticed that the man had a disabled right hand. His fingers didn't seem fully functional, three of them folded over into a partial fist. As he went to set down the bowl in front of Trev, he lost his grip with that hand and the dish fell, overturning onto the table. Most of it spilled across the tablecloth, but some of the hot food fell into Trev's lap and he leapt to his feet with a yelp.
The restaurant manager appeared like a shot, apologising profusely to Trev, interspersed with berating the hapless waiter. He was dabbing ineffectually at Trev's trousers, looking miserable enough to burst into tears. In no time, the manager had arranged for the entire table to be cleared and reset, summoning other waiters as reinforcements.
The original waiter was despatched to fetch a fresh starter for each of them. This time he was only allowed to carry one at a time, so he successfully managed to serve both men. As he put Trev's plate in front of him, Trev said, 'Mulþumesc.' The man positively beamed at him as he scuttled off back to the kitchens.
'What language was that?' Ted asked.
'Romanian,' Trev told him. 'That's his nationality and he doesn't seem to speak much Italian, other than enough to take our order. I just thanked him as I felt sorry for him.'
'I didn't know you spoke Romanian,' Ted said, surprised.
Trev laughed. 'I don't, I just recognise what it sounds like. And one rainy day when you were at work and I was at a loose end I decided to try to learn “thank you” in as many languages as I could.'
Ted smiled. It was so typical of his partner.
The starter was delicious. Once their plates were cleared away and they were waiting for their main course, Ted caught the eye of the restaurant manager and beckoned him over.
'Two things,' he said pleasantly. 'The first is we both accept that what happened with the waiter was an unfortunate accident. We'd hate to see him get into any sort of trouble. Secondly, would you please let Mr Rossi know I'm here and anxious to see him. Detective Inspector Darling, he should be expecting me. I need
to arrange a time with him to come in and have a look at his records tomorrow. All of the records, including the employment ones,' he added, watching the sudden anxious look which crossed the other man's face.
When the manager had gone, Trev grinned across the table at Ted. 'Naughty,' he said. 'But I like that you stood up for the man.'
Rossi, the hotel manager, came bustling into the dining room soon afterwards and headed for their table.
'Scusi, inspettore,' he blustered. 'I was busy elsewhere, I only just got the message that you were here. I hope the meal is good?'
'Very good, thank you. I hope you have contacted the owner and made the arrangements I requested?'
'Ah, inspettore,' he spread his hands wide in an extravagant gesture. 'The owner is very busy man, I have not yet been able to contact him. But I will arrange it all for you.'
'I will be here tomorrow afternoon, Mr Rossi, to see all of your records, with or without the consent of the owner,' Ted told him icily. 'By the way, this is my partner, Trevor, who is very fond of Italian food and wanted to pass his compliments to the chef through your good self.'
Trev launched into very rapid Italian. Ted watched the body language of the manager as he responded. He had no knowledge of the language himself, but even he could see that Rossi looked a little uncomfortable at times, as if fishing for a word.
Once the manager had gone and their still apologetic waiter had returned with their main course, fish for Trev, thin slices of chicken in a lemon and cream sauce for Ted, Trev said, 'Well your Mr Rossi is not a native Italian speaker, that's for sure. Possibly second or third generation. His accent is more Stockport than Sorrento or anywhere else, and he's not fluent. He called you inspettore instead of ispettore, and hoped I would enjoy my peach instead of my fish. I don't know if that helps?'
'Nor do I really,' Ted confessed, 'but at least it shows my hunch about him was right. Now I just need to find out what else about him is not on the level.'
When Ted asked for the bill, the restaurant manager came over in person. 'Compliments of the management, signori,' he said, 'there will be no charge for your meal this evening, because of the unfortunate incident earlier.'
'I am a police officer,' Ted told him. 'I will pay for my meal, anything else would not be appropriate. But I will send the hotel the dry cleaning bill for my partner's clothes. And please remind Mr Rossi that I will be here tomorrow afternoon to inspect all the records.'
CHAPTER Seventeen
Ted took Rob with him again for his return to the hotel Sorrento. The DC was still unusually quiet but kept insisting he was fine.
The hotel manager, Rossi, was in the reception area, the red-haired young woman called Maggie on duty behind the desk. He had clearly been waiting in anticipation of their visit.
'Inspettore,' he greeted Ted, as if he were a valued client. Now Trev had pointed it out to him, Ted heard that he again made the same error with his Italian.
'Mr Rossi, I hope you have all your bookings records available for our inspection, as I requested?' Ted began.
'Please, inspettore, call me Tonino,' Rossi invited.
'Mr Rossi,' Ted said formally, 'may I begin by asking you for some form of identification? Do you have a driving licence, a passport, something with your name on?'
The man looked taken aback. With seeming reluctance, he pulled out a British driving licence and handed it to Ted, who scrutinised it.
'Mr Anthony Ross, town of birth, Stockport,' Ted read aloud, then looked at the man. 'Can we please drop the pretence now, Mr Ross? My partner spotted last night that your Italian was far from fluent.'
The manager looked apologetic. When he spoke again, it was with a broad Stockport accent with no trace of an Italian inflection. 'Sorry, inspector,' he said, 'it's just that the punters like to think this is an authentic place. My dad's Italian, I learned the language from him but not brilliantly. It's just for show, for the job.'
At that moment, the waiter from the previous night came through the reception area, his coat on, clearly heading home at the end of his lunchtime shift. When he saw Ted standing talking to the manager, he looked stricken, his expression something between embarrassment and fear.
Ted excused himself and took a few steps towards the man.
'S-a întâmplat ceva?' he asked. Ted was no linguist but Trev had spent some time when they got home patiently researching how to ask 'are you OK' in Romanian then coaching Ted in how to pronounce it and what likely answers it might elicit.
The man looked astonished and replied, 'Sunt bine, mulþumesc.'
Ted knew he was saying he was OK and thanking him. He didn't believe a word of it. The man had looked really afraid when he had dropped the food last night. Ted took out one of his cards and handed it to the man, making the universal telephone gesture with his hand and saying in English, 'If you need help, call me.'
The man took the card, thanked him effusively then said something else that Ted's crash-course had not equipped him, to understand before bolting out of the door.
Ted turned back to the manager and said, 'As I said last night, Mr Ross, I wouldn't like to think of that man getting into any kind of trouble because of the unfortunate incident last night. Now, what about those records?'
The manager spread his hands expansively. He had kept the Italian gestures while reverting to his native accent. 'You're really not going to believe this, Inspector, but we've had a major computer crash and lost a lot of stuff.'
'That's very unfortunate,' Ted replied. 'However, luckily, I have a young officer back at the station who is an absolute genius with a computer. He can retrieve things which appear to have been lost forever. I'll arrange for him to come and look through your system for you. He can probably also help you to restore everything and get it working again. It won't cost you anything and it'll save you having to get an expensive IT expert in.'
Rob chipped in at this point and asked, 'Do you perhaps keep a written back up of your main bookings, Mr Ross? Something for just jotting down bookings which might come in over the phone when you're not in front of the computer? Or perhaps someone might remember? The twenty-eighth is not all that long ago.'
'That's a very good point,' Ted said. 'Surely, Mr Ross, if you had a function on that night, your chef will remember? Perhaps we could all go and talk to him?'
Ross looked as if he knew he was backed into a corner and was trying to find a way out of his dilemma. It was clear the two officers were not going to leave without some answers.
'It was a block booking,' he said finally. 'I remember now. The bedrooms, the restaurant, the function room, all booked for a private party.'
'And who made the booking, Mr Ross?' Ted asked, trying to keep his rising irritation out of his voice.
'A firm called Parish's Pies,' Ross told them, clearly reluctantly. 'I can't give you their contact details off the top of my head, but once the system is up and running again I will have them. It's a small, family firm. It was their works do, like a dinner-dance, and most of them stayed over.'
'Are they a local firm?' Ted asked.
'Not very local,' Ross said evasively, 'I think there were some people there from their head office, in London.'
'And there was no one else here apart from this firm? No other bookings?' Ted asked, making mental note of his reference to a London head office for a supposedly small, family firm.
'No, just them. They had the meal, the function room, the bedrooms, and they all left after breakfast, those who stayed over. Some of them left after the dance in the evening.'
Ted reached in his inside pocket for the picture of Aiden they were using to try to find any sightings of him in the area. It was a school photo and he was scowling at the camera, looking every bit the rebellious young boy. Ted kept the photo in his hand, turned away from the manager, while he continued to question him.
'Were there any children at the function?'
'It's a family firm, some of them brought their children with them, yes,' Ross replied.
'There were a few at the dinner, and some stayed up for the dancing, although I think some of the younger ones went to bed when it got late.'
Ted turned the photograph round and held it up for the man to see. 'And did you see this boy there that night, or have you seen him at any other time in or near this hotel?'
Ted's keen sense of observation meant the he could see the slight muscle twitch around Ross's eyes. He was sure that Ross had seen the boy at some time.
'No, I don't think so, inspector,' Ross said glibly. 'I didn't really pay much attention to the children, I was busy making sure that everything ran smoothly for the adults and that they had everything they needed.'
Ted looked at him levelly for a long moment. He could see that it made the man uncomfortable. Finally, he said, 'That will be all for today, Mr Ross. I will be back tomorrow with someone who can hopefully help to find the missing information on your computer.'
Rob and Ted headed back to the car. 'Thoughts?' Ted asked.
'Lying bastard, boss,' Rob said promptly. 'He definitely reacted when you showed him the photo. Aiden's been in that hotel at some time, I'd put money on it. What's the next move?'
'We need to check out this pie company, find out if they are genuine. I highly doubt it. Why would a small, family firm need a London head office? That's one for Steve to investigate online,' Ted replied. 'I also want to get him in there to have a look at that computer. This loss of data for the night in question is all a bit convenient. I'd like to find out if it's genuine or not.
'If we get anything a bit more positive to go on, I'll talk to the super about perhaps getting a warrant to go in and search, see if there is any trace of Aiden's DNA anywhere. At the moment, I don't see us having enough to do that, we need a bit more of a lead to go on.
'Fancy a quick coffee on the way back to the station? Be good to kick around some ideas, away from the nick.'
Rob's hesitant acceptance sounded almost suspicious. He was usually much more at ease in the DI's company than he appeared to be today. Ted was keen to try and find out why, in an informal setting. He took the welfare of his officers seriously. It concerned him that Rob was not his usual self and seemed reluctant to talk about the reasons.
