Roscoe urgently called to his assistant, Stanley Samson, who on hearing the crash had hurriedly come out of the front of the hotel.
‘We need the main gates closing now,’ shouted Roscoe, referring to the soaring ‘Tribeca Luxury Hotels’-inscribed gates, kept open at most times to allow guests unencumbered access in and out of the property. ‘And get all of these press guys back out front, and keep them there,’ he added, rapidly making his way across the ploughed lawn to the stranded car, where steam was pouring from its front grille.
Quickly following his boss’s instructions, Roscoe heard Stanley shout at the front gate security team to stop all access, followed by a heavy groan from the press pack as they were swiftly moved back behind the closing gates.
As he approached the wrecked vehicle, he was amazed to see its driver’s side door swing open and the ample figure of its driver roll himself out of the tight cockpit. Pushing away the deployed airbag, Harvey Rylands extricated himself from the car, before staggering onto the lawn and swaying from side to side in a non-existent breeze.
What a toad! thought Roscoe, as a ruddy-faced Rylands, clearly the worse for a considerable amount of drink, gingerly took uncertain steps towards him. ‘Good evening, Mr Rylands, welcome back,’ he called as Rylands approached. ‘Can I get you any medical attention?’
‘I’m fine, just fine,’ growled Rylands, waving his arms as he stumbled across the grass. ‘If it wasn’t for those bastards, I’d have had a clear run. The flashing cameras disorientated me – their fault entirely.’
‘Of course it was, sir,’ said Roscoe, offering Rylands a steadying arm, his only aim being to get the billionaire businessman back inside the hotel with the smallest possible amount of fuss.
‘Will you . . . ?’ Rylands stopped, searching for words in his alcohol-fuelled state. ‘The car. Will you deal with the car? Get it repaired. If you could have it back out front by morning, it would be greatly appreciated,’ he said.
Unlikely, thought Roscoe, but he would worry about that later.
Only as Rylands turned to face him was Roscoe hit by the full force of the alcohol on his breath. As he took an unintended step backwards, Rylands hollered at him.
‘As I said, their fault entirely. They’re scum, out to destroy me.’
Roscoe thought Rylands was doing a pretty good job of that himself, but simply nodded his head as the billionaire turned towards the closed gate, bellowing at the top of his Old Etonian voice as he did.
‘Why don’t you fuck off, you miserable fuckers, you bloodthirsty gannets! When all this is over, I’m going to sue every single fucking one of you.’
CHAPTER 4
LYING IN HER bed in her small South London apartment, Jessie Luck reflected on the testimony she had heard during the previous week. Never had she dreamed she would be invited to take a seat on a jury passing judgment on a defendant with as high a profile as Harvey Rylands.
London’s Old Bailey courthouse could be an intimidating place, even for the most seasoned legal professional. At the age of seventy-three, when she had walked into a courtroom for the very first time, Jessie had felt both a little anxious and slightly overwhelmed by the whole experience. Telling herself each day that she was undertaking her civic duty, she made every effort to consider each piece of evidence as it was presented to the jury.
On the opening day of the trial she had stared up in awe at the beautiful hand-painted ceilings as she entered through the court’s domed Grand Hall. Inside the chamber she had looked at the imposing wood-panelled walls and imagined all of the criminals who, over the past century, had stood in the dock ready to face British justice.
‘Not guilty’ was the plea she had heard Rylands enter, as he stood in the dock for the first time. While the allegations against him were read to the court, she had watched as he had stood impassively, showing no emotion even when the charge of ‘Attempted murder’ was levelled at him.
In November of the previous year, Rylands was accused of entering the home of Elegant Daniels in the dead of night, to carry out the most brutal attack imaginable as she slept alone in her bed.
From the evidence Jessie had heard, she knew that Rylands and Elegant Daniels were lovers. To Jessie, it seemed as though all sides accepted this as fact, but the prosecution team still spent what she felt were unnecessary hours trawling through the most intimate details of their relationship. Personal and invasive evidence had shown conclusively that the couple had been together in Elegant’s bed earlier in the evening on the night of the attack.
Jessie believed what happened next was critical to the case.
Footage from security cameras in the parking lot close to Elegant Daniels’ home, and regularly used by Rylands, showed his car leaving soon after 1 a.m.
Footage from a little after 3 a.m. appeared to show his car returning.
Mrs Jefferies, the prosecuting barrister, presented this as defining evidence. But as far as Jessie could see, with the parking-lot lights extinguished, it was impossible to identify the car, let alone whether Harvey Rylands was driving it. Jessie liked Mrs Jefferies and trusted her clear approach and honest face, and wondered if perhaps she should give her the benefit of the doubt. If Harvey Rylands had returned to the parking garage close to Elegant Daniels’ home in the middle of the night, it was hard for Jessie to believe he wasn’t guilty of the attack.
And then came the evidence of how Elegant Daniels had been savagely attacked in her own bed. This would keep Jessie awake for weeks, maybe even months to come. As she reached across to turn out the lamp that had stood on her bedside table for the past twenty years, she decided she would keep her light on a little longer, or at least until she heard her adopted son, Jon, return home for the night.
To be attacked at her most vulnerable.
Attacked in a place where everyone needed to feel safe.
A pillow thrust over her face; held down, to stop her breathing.
Jessie hated even to imagine the fear.
The plan had been to suffocate the woman. Instead, Elegant Daniels had been rendered unconscious – but alive.
Unable to defend herself, she had been at the mercy of her attacker.
In the pitch black, he had launched his sadistic assault.
Closing her eyes, Jessie could still see the horrific evidential photographs, at times almost too graphic to bear, which she had forced herself to review.
Drawing a knife, her attacker had cut away each eyeball, very precisely uprooting them from their sockets.
And in their place he had left two shining, blood-red rubies.
CHAPTER 5
FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER her husband’s dramatic return to London’s Tribeca Luxury Hotel, Amelia Rylands pulled her own sports car into the employee parking lot at the rear of the building. With no desire to fight her way through the world’s press, she’d arranged private access with the hotel’s security team through a staff entrance for the entirety of her stay.
Exhausted, both physically and mentally, after another day devoted to her unswerving support of her husband at the Old Bailey, she had spent most of the evening in conference with his legal team, reviewing the day’s evidence while assisting in the planning of the defence team’s strategy for the following day. At times she felt certain that, hidden amongst all the reams of paper and box files, there was one tiny piece of evidence waiting to exonerate Harvey and set him free.
Throughout the meeting she had watched her husband steadily drink himself into oblivion, but had felt too drained to contemplate a confrontation.
She had seen it so many times before.
Whenever Harvey failed to get his own way, couldn’t enforce his will or his money simply wouldn’t buy him the result he wanted, he turned to drink. Seeking confrontation, he would become more and more aggressive.
Tonight, too tired to fight, Amelia had ignored him, only for a blazing row to explode between him and his lead counsel, culminating in Harvey storming from the meeting to drive himself back to the
Tribeca Hotel.
Walking through the rear entrance, she was pleased to be greeted by the foyer manager, Anna Conquest. Amelia had met Anna at the start of the previous week and had instantly engaged with her. Anna had offered help with every possible detail and had done everything within her power to make Amelia’s stay at Tribeca as painless as possible; she had, in short, been the consummate professional. Anna smiled when she saw Amelia approaching, and Amelia couldn’t help but respond.
‘Mrs Rylands, welcome back. I won’t ask if you’ve had a good day, but I do hope it has been tolerable.’
‘Thank you, Anna,’ she replied, taking hold of Anna’s proffered hand and sitting with her for a moment on one of the sumptuous sofas that line all Tribeca hallways.
‘Is there anything I can get for you?’ asked Anna, showing genuine concern.
‘No, I’m fine. A tough day in court, but at least I get to come back here in the evening. Has my husband made an appearance?’
Anna gently raised her eyebrows.
‘Tell me what that means,’ said Amelia, trying to raise a smile.
‘His car overran the driveway when he returned to the hotel; might have picked up a few scratches, but nothing that can’t be fixed.’
Tribeca members of staff are taught to be nothing if not discreet.
‘But he’s okay?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely fine. He went straight up to your suite.’
‘I’m sure everyone at the hotel will be glad when this is all over and my husband and I are long departed,’ said Amelia. ‘And if you’re not glad to see the back of us, I’m sure you’ll be ready to say farewell to the press camped outside the front gates. I know I will be!’
‘You shouldn’t let them get to you. I don’t think we even notice them,’ said Anna.
‘You’re too good!’ said Amelia, clapping her hands. ‘I’m sure you do notice them, and after today’s evidence they’ll be having a field day. The prosecution spent endless hours working through every sordid fact they could rake up. The samples of Harvey’s hair they’d taken from Ms Daniels’ bed, the traces of his saliva they’d found along with his semen on the bed sheets. They couldn’t have made it more humiliating if they tried.’
They sat in silence until Amelia continued, ‘Harvey lost his rag, exploded at his counsel this evening. Of course he’d been drinking too much – that’s his way – but he couldn’t understand why the case wasn’t moving forward. We all know Harvey was having an affair with Ms Daniels – he’s a womaniser; he can’t help himself. I’ve known that for years, but surely that isn’t evidence of a crime?’
‘No,’ said Anna, shaking her head.
It occurred to Amelia how little Anna’s job had to do with hotel services, but in reality veered from counselling to surrogate friendship, or simply providing a shoulder to cry on.
Amelia felt she needed all three.
‘I can’t bear to think what the papers will say tomorrow and, no doubt, the news channels tonight. We certainly make great copy. We’ve been married for over twenty years and my guess is he’s cheated on me in nineteen of those.’
Amelia could see the look in Anna’s eyes, but she didn’t want her pity.
‘Hey, I married him; should have known what I was letting myself in for. And the good thing about an old dog like Harvey is that he always comes home in the end.’
Giving Anna a wink, Amelia squeezed her hand, before getting to her feet.
‘I must keep positive. As they say: tomorrow always is another day,’ she smiled. ‘Thanks for listening.’
Standing next to her guest, Anna asked once again if there was anything she could get Mrs Rylands.
‘A new husband perhaps?’ Amelia laughed forlornly. ‘Do you think I’m stupid, Anna, standing by him?’
‘That’s not for me to say, Mrs Rylands. Nobody knows what goes on inside a marriage.’
Amelia looked at Anna.
‘I love him, and I don’t believe he tried to kill her,’ she said. ‘And even if he did, however hard I tried, I don’t think I’d stop loving him. Guess that makes me like those crazy women on the daytime talk-shows – in love with a killer.’
‘I don’t think so, Mrs Rylands.’
‘He’s got a horrendous temper – everyone could see that tonight – but I can’t abandon him now. He needs me, even if I do sometimes wonder what would happen if he really lost control again.’
Amelia stepped away, before turning back and looking at Anna.
‘Perhaps I’ll be next.’
CHAPTER 6
ROSCOE RIPPED OFF his sodden clothes as he entered the security control room, two floors beneath the hotel’s main lobby, then kicked off the shoes Harvey Rylands had vomited all over as he escorted him back to his suite. Anger still boiled within him at Rylands’ behaviour.
While he accepted that Rylands was a high-profile guest of Tribeca Hotels, he felt his actions were threatening to tarnish the chain’s global reputation. Rylands’ conduct in and around the hotel grew worse each day. Roscoe didn’t care if he was guilty or not, he just wanted him gone.
Every day the media feasted on the Rylands trial, and every day it became harder and harder for the hotel to ensure that its incomparable levels of service were enjoyed by each and every one of its guests at the London location. Roscoe feared the hotel’s reputation would be dragged down alongside Rylands.
Reaching for the dry T-shirt he had left hanging on the back of one of the office chairs, Roscoe turned as the security-room door opened and Anna walked in. He had known Anna for the past two years, having worked with her first briefly at Tribeca’s luxury hotel in Edinburgh, before she joined the team to prepare for the grand opening of the new Mayfair hotel. He quickly pulled the T-shirt over his head as she came in, carrying two cups of coffee.
‘I thought you might need this to warm you through,’ she said, handing him a cup.
‘You’re a life-saver. How old do you have to be before you’re too old for fighting in fountains?’
Anna laughed as Roscoe rested on the corner of his desk, watching her seat her delicate figure opposite him. He couldn’t help but notice that she’d pulled her long, dark hair back away from her face and for a moment had to stop himself staring. As she talked, he realised she reminded him in many ways of his estranged wife.
He turned away.
‘I bumped into Amelia Rylands,’ she continued.
‘I don’t want to hear any more about that family,’ said Roscoe, getting up from his desk to pace the room.
‘They’re our guests.’
‘He threw up all over my favourite shoes.’
‘Poor Jon,’ she teased. ‘Amelia’s having a tough time of it.’
‘She’s meant to be. Her husband’s on trial for attempted murder.’
‘I think she might be scared of him.’
‘Nobody’s making her stand by him or go to court every day, or face the press and suffer through the evidence. It is her choice. She could’ve walked away, but I guess a billion-dollar fortune is a tough tie to break.’
‘Twenty years is a long time. You can’t choose who you fall in love with.’
Sitting back down on the edge of his desk, Roscoe folded his arms. His wife Marika was the only woman he had ever really loved, yet she was currently living more than four hundred miles away with their twin daughters, and he hated it.
‘You really think she’s scared of him?’ he said.
‘She’s married to a bully who’s used to buying his way out of whatever scrapes he gets himself into.’
‘This is a bit more than a scrape.’
‘True. Perhaps that means he can’t buy his way out of this one, which is why he ends up taking it out on her. She says she loves him, but I’m not sure I’d still love a man if I thought he’d done what Harvey Rylands is accused of.’
‘And yet each night she goes back to the suite with him.’
‘Then I just hope she’s safe.’
‘So do I,’ said
Roscoe, looking under his desk for an old pair of trainers, ‘but she’s made her own choices. Guilty or not, she’d be better off without him. He’s one big fraud. The whole thing with the Prime Minister – Rylands couldn’t trade more heavily on it if he tried. And it’s not even as if he really is the PM’s brother-in-law.’
‘He’s not?’
‘It was Rylands’ first wife, Barbara Turner, who was the PM’s half-sister. When she died, Harvey inherited her family fortune. He’s been free to embarrass the Prime Minister ever since – arrested in Kuwait, falling flat on the cobbled stones outside Number Ten Downing Street, a great ambassador for Britain!’
‘And now he’s thrown up over your favourite shoes!’ Anna smiled at him. ‘Come on, let’s get you a stronger drink and get you out of this mood.’
Roscoe sighed. ‘I’d love one, but I’ve got to collect Martin from the station.’
‘Rain check,’ said Anna, getting to her feet. ‘The coffee will have to keep you warm for now.’
‘Anna,’ said Roscoe as she headed for the door. ‘What made you think Mrs Rylands is scared?’
Anna paused and looked across at Roscoe.
‘Hearing her say that, however hard she tried, she couldn’t stop loving him.’
CHAPTER 7
THE SKY CRACKED and a summer storm hit as Roscoe parked his car outside London’s King’s Cross Station. It was close to midnight, yet crowds were still milling around the surrounding streets and he watched as late-night revellers huddled together under whatever cover they could find to shelter from the torrential downpour.
Roscoe stopped in the same place he always did when meeting his adopted son, Martin. Martin running track for his school team meant that Roscoe was used to late-night pick-ups during the summer months, with the team often catching the last train back from national events. Even though Martin had just celebrated his fifteenth birthday, Roscoe always tried to meet him in person, not wanting him travelling the Underground network late at night.
The Verdict: BookShots (A Jon Roscoe Thriller) Page 2
