by Adam Croft
Nope, he didn’t. He’d heard Becky talking about Yvonne as he’d heard her talking about all sorts of things from the salon, but he’d never actually listened. Most of it went in one ear and out the other. Stories of how Mrs McArthur’s dog got run over by a truck, how the new brand of hair dye they’d bought in had turned out to be rubbish. The usual stuff which Becky was quite convinced should be the new national scandal that Kit could break through the Tollinghill Echo.
‘I was thinking perhaps we could do something together tonight,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you say your parents were out? Perhaps we could watch a film or something. Or even go online and have a look at houses. What do you think?’
Kit sighed as he felt the familiar and comforting outline of the Audi’s key fob in his jacket pocket.
‘Yeah. Sure. Why not?’
11
On the train back to South Heath, Hardwick had phoned DI Warner (from Ellis’s phone, of course) to ask the name of the person who’d found Elliot Carr’s body. In an attempt to shut Hardwick up and stop him from finding out using his own methods, DI Warner told him it was Derren Robson, and it was him that Hardwick and Flint were on their way to see as Hardwick marched down the main road towards the Manor Hotel with Flint following not so closely behind him.
On arriving, the pair were greeted once again by Mandy, who seemed to be constantly working, overseeing her kingdom at the front desk.
‘Hello again, gentlemen. Can I help?’
‘We’d like to speak to Derren Robson, if we may, please.’
‘Okay, can I ask what it’s about?’ Mandy asked, cocking her head to the side and not letting her plastic smile drop for one moment.
‘Yes, it’s about the death of a guest last Thursday. We believe it was he who found the body.’
‘Oh. Oh, yes, that’s right,’ she replied, the first sign of her smile dropping and her real face showing through. ‘Sorry, I had no idea earlier that you were police officers.’
Hardwick looked at Flint and didn’t say a word, but his face said it all. Flint opted not to speak.
Mandy led them through into the lounge room and went off to find Derren Robson. When they returned, Derren sat down on the plush sofa opposite Hardwick and Flint.
‘Mr Robson, my name’s Kempston Hardwick and this is my associate, Ellis Flint.’ Derren’s eyes seemed to flicker with a hint of recognition at their names, but Hardwick gave the man’s brain no time to click into gear. ‘I understand it was you who found the body of Elliot Carr last Thursday, is that correct?’
‘Uh yes, it is. I went into room thirteen to grab some towels late that night. We put fresh linen in the public toilets regularly. Much nicer than paper towels or electric hand driers.’ Hardwick didn’t disagree. ‘When I walked in, it was the first thing I saw. He was just dangling there, staring right at me, in the middle of the room.’ Derren’s face turned white and his jaw started to tremble as he spoke.
‘And had you seen Mr Carr before this?’ Ellis asked.
‘Only around the hotel and at the bar that evening. I think he’d only arrived that afternoon.’
‘What’s your job title, Mr Robson?’ Hardwick asked, changing tack quickly and effectively — a strategy he often employed to keep control of an interview.
‘Job title? Well, I don’t know. I was employed as a housekeeper, but I’m technically a concierge, I suppose. On paper I think it’s “Hospitality Assurance Executive” or something like that. I don’t know why they have to give stupid corporate titles to everything.’
Hardwick sensed a kindred spirit. ‘What were your duties, though?’
‘Oh, all sorts. We all kind of chip in and do everything, really. Some of us have things we prefer doing more than others, which works quite nicely. Some people like being on the bar and talking to customers. There are even people who like cleaning, believe it or not. I just get my head down and do what needs doing. It’s a job at the end of the day.’
‘An admirable stance,’ Hardwick said. ‘And is there a rota for changing the linen in the lavatories or do you wait until you’re asked?’
‘Bit of both, really. We try to do it three or four times a day. I think on Thursday night Barbara reminded me. To be honest, it was a good job she did. They didn’t look like they’d been done since lunchtime.’
‘I see. And did you notice anything odd at all that evening? Either about Mr Carr, his wife, or anyone else in the bar?’
‘No, not really. Not at all actually. I didn’t really spend much time around the bar area. To be honest, you’d probably be better off speaking to Owen Bartlett. He was on the bar that night.’
‘Did he not disappear shortly after?’ Ellis asked.
‘He left, yeah.’
‘Left?’ Hardwick enquired.
‘Yeah. I was in the reception area when he went. To be honest, he’d seemed a bit unhappy with the job for a while. He said this wasn’t the sort of place he wanted to work and he was off.’
‘Does that happen often?’ Hardwick asked. ‘People just walking out of their job?’
‘Oh yes. More often than you’d think,’ Derren replied.
‘I see. Well, thank you for your time,’ Hardwick said. ‘Just one more thing, though. Could you please call us a taxi to take us to Tollinghill? It’s getting late and it’s a bit of a long walk.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Derren replied, slipping back into work mode. ‘But I thought they were closing the police station up there? Thought they’d moved all your lot over to Shafford.’
Hardwick smiled and said nothing.
Friday 20th March
12
Ellis Flint called round to the Old Rectory at nine o’clock on Friday morning. He yawned as he knocked and waited for Hardwick to answer. It had now been just over a week since Elliot Carr had died and barely forty-eight hours after Ellis had first told him about it, and sleep was the last thing on Hardwick’s mind, having been up all night mulling over the known facts in his head.
‘Come in, come in,’ Hardwick said, gesturing for Ellis to head on through to the kitchen. A pot of steaming coffee was sat under the percolator, the deep brown liquid drip-dripping into the pot. ‘I’ve been awake most of the night, actually, Ellis,’ Hardwick said, spotting Ellis salivating over the pot of coffee. ‘Have a mug if you like. It’s good stuff.’
Ellis poured himself a mug of coffee and sat at the wooden kitchen table. It was then that he noticed possibly the most baffling and extraordinary sight he’d witnessed in the past few years. Kempston Hardwick had a laptop.
‘Oh, don’t look so surprised, Ellis. Needs must. Now, I’ve been doing a little bit of research. Have you ever heard of this thing called Facebook?’
Ellis looked aghast at Hardwick. ‘Well yes. Of course I have.’
‘Dreadful, isn’t it? Quite handy, though. Yes, last night I spent some time setting up a Facebook profile.’
Ellis’s eyes widened and he tried desperately to stifle a chuckle. He had visions of Hardwick’s Facebook profile. Relationship status: Single, very single. Hobbies and interests: Everything and nothing. Religious views: Don’t ask. ‘Not a profile for myself, Ellis,’ he said, almost reading his mind. ‘For Sadie Brooks.’
‘Who?’ Ellis asked.
‘Exactly. No-one. I made her up. Last night, after creating Sadie Brooks, I added Scarlett Carr as a friend. Predictably, she replied with a message asking who I was. I replied, as Sadie, that I was a work friend of Elliot’s and that we’d met at a party a few months before. I guessed that Scarlett wouldn’t be able to resist finding out more about Elliot’s attractive work friend, so I sent her a link to a Facebook photo of Scarlett, Elliot and Sadie together at said party. Of course, the party and the photo never existed, nor did the link. The link went to a clone of Facebook which I’d created earlier, which asked her to log in to her account to view the photo. So Scarlett typed in her Facebook username and password, which was promptly emailed straight to me.’
‘You... You hacked her Facebook account?�
� Ellis asked.
‘No. She willingly gave up her login details, Ellis. She should have been more careful.’
‘And when did you learn to do all this stuff? You didn’t even have a computer yesterday morning!’
‘It’s really not difficult, Ellis. Why must you confuse things? As I was saying, her login details were emailed to me. I then logged out as Sadie and logged in using Scarlett’s details. I knew something wasn’t quite right about her, so I went straight to her messages. Turns out she hadn’t been quite the faithful and dutiful wife she made out. Look at this,’ Hardwick said, turning the laptop to face Ellis, who read the messages on the screen.
Scarlett: cant wait xx
Kevin: Me neither. you sure E hasn’t cottoned on tho? X
Scarlett: he doesnt have the intelligence - brain like a puppet. were safe xx
‘Who’s Kevin?’ Ellis asked.
‘Kevin McGready,’ Hardwick replied. ‘Scarlett Carr’s secret boyfriend. The messages go on for pages and pages and, quite frankly, they’re nauseating. The upshot of it is that Scarlett had planned to leave Elliot and set up with this Kevin chap.’
‘You’re joking!’ Ellis replied, lost for further words.
‘I’m afraid not. Elliot Carr’s death is starting to look rather more complicated than just a simple suicide, Ellis.’
13
When Hardwick and Flint arrived back at Scarlett Carr’s house in Bellingham later that Friday morning, they were again greeted by her father at the door.
‘I’m afraid she’s not in,’ the man said. ‘She’s in town at the moment, meeting a friend for coffee.’
Hardwick stood dumbstruck for a moment. He had never been one for sentimentality or emotion, but even he knew that the grieving process should probably last a little longer.
‘I see,’ he finally replied. ‘And I just wondered if you could tell me, has a date been set for the funeral?’
‘Yes, it’ll be on Thursday 26th. Why?’
‘Just procedure. And whereabouts is she meeting this friend? We need to have a quick word with her, if we may.’
‘Well yes, of course,’ he replied. ‘She said she was going to Gianni’s. It’s on the Old Parade, just off the high street.’
Hardwick and Flint walked the three quarters of a mile back past the railway station, onto the high street and up Old Parade, a quaint pedestrianised area of the town filled with boutique clothes shops and cafés — here called ‘tea rooms’ or ‘gourmet coffee houses’, as was their pretentious bent.
They spotted Scarlett almost immediately on entering the café, and Scarlett’s face showed signs that she recognised them but out of context. Hardwick was quick to put her mind at ease.
‘Hello, Mrs Carr. We were just wondering if we might have a quick word regarding your husband again. We popped round to your house and your father said we might find you here.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, before turning to her friend. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Liz? We’ve got no secrets from each other, you see,’ she said to Hardwick and Flint.
Hardwick somehow doubted this was entirely true. ‘Ah, that’s good. Because we wanted to ask you specifically about Kevin McGready.’
Scarlett’s face changed in an instant. ‘On second thoughts, Liz, could I catch up with you a bit later? It’s a bit tight for space in here and I think this might take a while.’
The friend gone, Hardwick and Flint sat down on the small wooden chairs at the small wooden table in the small wooden café (no doubt the owners and clientele would christen it ‘cosy’ or ‘chic’).
A young man in a striped shirt and apron glided over to their table and took their order before gliding back off to prepare it for them.
Scarlett leaned forward and whispered in anxious tones. ‘Who have you been speaking to?’
Before Ellis could even think of saying the word ‘Facebook’, Hardwick had begun. ‘If you’ll forgive us, Mrs Carr, it’s our job to speak to people. Could you tell us a little about your connection with Mr McGready?’
‘He’s a friend.’
‘A close friend?’ Ellis asked.
‘Yes, in many ways. Why? What’s this got to do with Elliot’s death?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to ascertain, Mrs Carr,’ Hardwick replied. ‘Let me get straight to the point. Were you having an affair with Kevin McGready?’ Hardwick watched Scarlett’s eyes carefully for any flicker or sign which might tell him more.
‘Why would you ask a thing like that?’ Scarlett asked calmly, not giving anything away.
Whilst Hardwick was still analysing this, Ellis seized the moment. ‘Or perhaps you could tell us what “you sure E hasn’t cottoned on” and “he doesn’t have the intelligence — we’re safe” means?’
Hardwick opened and closed his mouth like a freshly-caught fish gasping at the air as Scarlett responded.
‘Where did you get that from?’
Don’t say Facebook, Hardwick willed silently. Don’t say Facebook.
‘Could you tell us what it means?’ Ellis insisted calmly. Hardwick was quietly impressed.
Scarlett stayed silent for a moment, her eyes blinking wildly as she considered what she should say.
‘Well, what’s the point? You know anyway, don’t you?’ she replied, turning it back on them again.
‘Why don’t you tell us what we know?’ Ellis said. ‘We can only suspect things until we know the truth. So why don’t you tell us? Just so we know for sure.’
‘Okay, why don’t you tell me what you suspect?’ she replied.
‘We suspect that you and Kevin McGready were having an affair behind your husband’s back, Mrs Carr,’ Hardwick said. ‘And that his finding out about it might have contributed to his mental state and reasons for committing suicide. In other words, your actions might have culminated, ultimately, in your husband’s death.’
‘What are you trying to say?’ Scarlett asked, having cottoned on to the subtext immediately. ‘That I made him do it?’
‘That’s a rather peculiar conclusion to jump to, isn’t it?’ Hardwick replied.
‘Is it? What do you mean? Are you trying to say you think it might not have been suicide? That I might have killed my husband?’
‘Somebody might have done, yes,’ Ellis said, sensing that Hardwick’s response might be less than diplomatic. ‘We have to pursue all lines of enquiry, madam.’ Ellis noted Hardwick glaring at him with a look of thunder.
‘But the other officers we spoke to said there was no question of foul play. The coroner seems to have agreed so far.’
‘As he said, we need to investigate all possibilities,’ Hardwick said. ‘Now, I think you need to tell us the whole truth about your relationship with Mr McGready, don’t you?’
Over the course of the next hour, Scarlett spoke remarkably openly and honestly about her relationships with both her husband and her lover. Hardwick knew she was being remarkably open and honest because his own research had already told him most of the details, but he had wanted to see how much Scarlett would attempt to hide.
She told them that she and Elliot had married five years ago, quite soon after meeting. She said she knew straight away that he was the one for her, although Hardwick suspected that his large salary might have contributed to her sudden falling in love. She went on to explain that as the years had gone on, she realised she had made the decision too quickly and that she should have taken the time to get to know Elliot better.
Not that he was a bad man, she explained; they were just ‘somewhat incompatible’ as she put it. Hardwick assumed this meant that he was a level-headed man who’d worked hard to get a good job and earn a good salary and his wife had failed to do either, but instead rather enjoyed being on the receiving and spending end of said salary.
She explained that she had met Kevin McGready in a wine bar one night when out with friends. She’d thrown her friends off the scent by saying he was an old school friend and they quickly forgot all about it. Over the next
few days and weeks they’d chatted on Facebook and by text and had begun to meet up regularly whilst Elliot was at work, the relationship quickly becoming serious.
‘And do you think Elliot had found out about your relationship with Kevin?’ Ellis asked as he took a sip of his third mug of coffee.
‘No, I don’t. He would’ve said something,’ Scarlett replied.
‘But you’ve already said that he was quite a private person and that he kept his feelings bottled up. Is there any chance he could’ve kept this bottled up?’
‘Well, there’s always a chance,’ she said. ‘But even though he kept his feelings to himself, he had principles. As far as he was concerned, cheating was wrong. Completely wrong. And it is as far as I’m concerned too, but this was different.’ Scarlett noticed Hardwick’s raised eyebrow and tried to elaborate. ‘It’s very difficult to explain until you’re in that situation. Have you never loved two people at the same time?’
Hardwick explained that he hadn’t.
‘Well with me and Kevin it was different. I can’t explain it, but it was. As for Elliot finding out, though, I know for a fact that he would’ve said something had he found out.’
‘Would he say something straight away, though?’ Ellis asked. ‘Or would he have perhaps waited to find the right moment? Is it possible that bottling it all up, even for a little while, could’ve put him in the position where he was forced over the edge? Perhaps the argument that night and the alcohol might have contributed.’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘It’s possible. I just don’t know what to think any more.’
14
The short train journey back to South Heath was beset by the usual delays: late trains, signal failures, technical issues on the line. The excuses came thick and fast, but regular users of the line were more than used to it and stopped taking any notice after a while.
