The Thirteenth Room (Kempston Hardwick Mysteries Book 4)

by Adam Croft

  ‘So what did you make of that, then, Kempston?’ Ellis asked, already knowing the answer but asking the question anyway. ‘Bit suspicious that she jumped to the conclusion that not only had Elliot been murdered, but that she was our main suspect too. Not sure that’s the natural response.’

  ‘If you mean do I think she killed her husband, Ellis, I don’t know. I doubt it. Her only motive seems to be that she’d have him out of the way to shack up with her new lover. I don’t see her resorting to murder, though. No, she’d do much better out of a divorce. Financially, anyway. And money seems to be at the forefront of her mind most of the time.’

  ‘True. Plus if her husband committed suicide she’d not get a penny anyway. Most life insurance companies don’t pay out in the event of suicide,’ Ellis offered.

  ‘Indeed. Which leaves two possibilities in my mind. Firstly, that Elliot Carr committed suicide knowing that Scarlett was going to leave him. He couldn’t bear to live without her knowing she was with another man, knew divorce would leave her living off his earnings at the same time and also knew that by committing suicide he wouldn’t have to live in that situation and that she wouldn’t get a penny of his. Quite a nice little plan, if you think about it. Secondly, did you notice how Scarlett was the one who brought up the possibility of her husband being murdered? That could mean that she is well aware she’d not get a penny if his death was considered to be suicide so is trying to ensure a different outcome in order to profit financially. Or, even more sinister, that she was responsible for his death for the same reasons.’

  ‘But why would she make it look like suicide? If it looked like an accident, or even a murder but leaving no possibility of it being her, she’d be home and dry without the added complication of a suicide outcome. Even a hired hitman would’ve been a better idea.’

  ‘Very true, Ellis. Very true. But that all depends on how much thought was put into it, doesn’t it? And you’re also assuming that Scarlett Carr had the nouse to actually put a plan together and go through with it. Perhaps she did. Perhaps that plan went wrong. Perhaps this isn’t what was meant to happen. Either way, it’s all rather odd, isn’t it?’

  Ellis shuffled his feet, which he had a habit of doing when he was thinking. ‘Depends if she had some help, really. Say this Kevin McGready bloke is a bit of a wrong’un, knows a few dodgy people. Do you reckon he could’ve had something to do with it?’

  ‘Until we speak to him, Ellis, I don’t know. What I do know, though, is that he’s certainly on the list of suspects.’

  15

  Scarlett’s hands shook with adrenaline as she dialled the number on her phone and waited for Kevin to answer. It only took three rings, but to Scarlett it felt like an age.

  Before he could even answer, Scarlett jumped straight in. ‘Kevin, I’ve just had those detectives on my back again. They found me in town somehow. Listen, they know about us. About me and you.’

  ‘What? How? What did you tell them?’ came the reply.

  ‘I didn’t tell them anything. Well, not anything serious. They knew about us seeing each other. They found Facebook messages. I had to admit to that much because they had the messages.’

  ‘Did you tell them any more?’

  ‘No! I’m not stupid, Kevin. I just told them the bare basics.’

  ‘Good. Because the last thing we need is to give them a bit of string to run with. If they find out about... Well, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Like I said, I’m not stupid. Listen, I think they’ve got everything they wanted from me.’

  Scarlett could hear Kevin sighing at the other end of the phone. ‘They’ll find out eventually, you know, Scarlett.’

  ‘No they won’t. No-one ever has to know.’

  16

  Kimberly Gray pulled up the handbrake on her Vauxhall Astra as the car came to a stop on the gravel outside the Manor Hotel.

  ‘I did give you your room key back, didn’t I?’ her friend Rhiannon asked from the front passenger seat.

  ‘Yeah, it’s in my handbag,’ Kimberly replied, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car. She glanced through the rear passenger window into the back seat. ‘Looks like we might need to wake Charlotte up.’ She banged her fist on the window of the car, chuckling as her friend was startled back to consciousness. ‘Come on, I need a bloody drink. It’s all right for you sleeping it off already, but the designated driver’s thirsty.’

  ‘She should probably go straight to bed,’ Rhiannon said as she opened the door to let Charlotte out of the car.

  ‘Nope, not doing that,’ Charlotte said, slurring slightly. ‘Just tired, that’s all. Let’s go to the bar for a bit.’

  Kimberly and Rhiannon exchanged glances, then Kimberly locked the car and followed the other two into the hotel.

  Once they were at the bar, Kimberly took great joy in catching up with her friends’ levels of alcohol consumption, having not been able to drink at the gig thanks to having been the driver. The girls had mulled over whether or not to order a taxi, but the cost would have been extortionate. Besides which, everyone at the gig would be ordering taxis as there was nothing within walking distance of Everidge Farm. As Kimberly’s car was the one they’d travelled to South Heath in, and as she was the only one of the three with a driving licence, she’d drawn the short straw. She was doing her best to catch up now, though.

  Having seen how long it took the woman behind the bar to get the ice machine working for Rhiannon’s gin and tonic, Kimberly decided to stick to white wine. Her parents tended to drink red at home, but she wasn’t keen. A nice sweet white was more her thing.

  Charlotte had gone from a state of semi-consciousness to pure hyperactivity as she recalled the events of the gig that evening. Kimberly could feel herself loosening up as the alcohol mixed with the adrenaline in her bloodstream while they discussed the gig.

  ‘Good night, was it?’ the woman behind the bar asked. She seemed older than most hotel bar people. More like a chambermaid than a barmaid. Judging by her ability to operate the ice machine and her constant hunting around for glasses, Kimberly supposed that she wasn’t the usual bar person.

  ‘Yeah, we went to see Alex Alvarez at Everidge Farm,’ Rhiannon said.

  ‘Bloody brilliant, it was. We were about thirty feet away from him at one point,’ Kimberly added. ‘And I swear he looked at me at one point.’

  ‘He looks at everyone. That’s his thing. He makes his fans feel special,’ Rhiannon said.

  ‘Is he the Mexican chap?’ the woman behind the bar asked. ‘The one who’s always on TV with all the girls screaming after him?’

  ‘That’s him,’ Kimberly said. ‘He’s a God. A sex god!’ The other girls laughed. The woman behind the bar smiled uneasily and raised her eyebrows.

  Old people never quite got it. Sad thing is, she’d probably been the same when she was her age, Kimberly thought. No doubt she’d thought the same about Rolf Harris or Gary Glitter or whichever sad old man had been big at the time. She knew that Alex Alvarez wouldn’t go the same way, though. Alex Alvarez, she knew, was flawless.

  For the next couple of hours, whenever the old woman was at the bar, Kimberly would make a point of talking about the gig and how much of an icon Alex Alvarez was. She could see her getting more and more annoyed as the evening went on but she didn’t once say a word. In a way, Kimberly admired her. She knew she wouldn’t have that level of patience if people were trying to wind her up.

  Charlotte, in the end, had only lasted another forty minutes or so after they arrived back before having to head up to bed, finally admitting that she should have gone straight up after they’d got back from the gig. She hadn’t seemed completely drunk to Kimberly, but then again Charlotte didn’t have a particularly high tolerance for alcohol.

  ‘Christ, it’s two o’clock,’ Kimberly said as she finished off yet another glass of white wine. She wasn’t sure if she was more worried about the fact that she’d have to drive in a few hours or that she could’ve saved a
fair bit of money by getting whole bottles instead of buying it by the glass.

  ‘And?’ Rhiannon replied, clearly more than happy to stay here much longer and sleep it off in the car on the way home tomorrow.

  ‘And I’ve got to drive home in the morning. I’ll probably still be over the limit.’

  ‘Nah, you’ll be fine. You’re sleeping in between anyway,’ Rhiannon said, waving her hand dismissively.

  ‘It doesn’t work like that. I’ve only just got my licence and I don’t want to lose it,’ Kimberly replied.

  ‘You’re always so bloody boring,’ Rhiannon said, putting her finger in the air to try and attract the attention of the woman behind the bar in order to ask for another drink.

  ‘Look, I’m going to bed anyway,’ Kimberly said. ‘I’m not bothered whether you stay or not but I’ve had enough now.’

  ‘Fine. Do as you want,’ Rhiannon replied, counting out the change for her order.

  Saturday 21st March

  17

  Hardwick had sent Ellis off to speak to Kevin McGready. In the meantime, he’d set his mind to locating Owen Bartlett, the member of staff who’d been working behind the bar at the Manor Hotel on the night Elliot Carr died, and who had spent most of the evening chatting with him. The same Owen Bartlett who’d then handed in his resignation and disappeared later that evening.

  Ellis puffed out his chest as he pressed the buzzer next to the label reading Flat 5. Until now, Hardwick had rarely let him conduct his own interviews or speak to suspects on his own during an investigation. It was difficult enough, granted, to do so without arousing the suspicion of the local constabulary but Ellis was of the opinion that they could work far more efficiently by splitting up. Fortunately for him, Hardwick had agreed on this occasion.

  ‘Yep?’ came the voice through the speaker. Sharp and to the point, much like Ellis had expected Kevin McGready to be.

  ‘Mr McGready? Hello, my name’s Ellis Flint. I’d just like to have a quick word with you about a police investigation.’

  No response. Ellis had panicked himself slightly, but he ran back over his words in his mind. Nope, he hadn’t actually said he was a police officer. The intercom made a clicking sound and the door buzzed to let him know it was unlocked. He unlocked the door, closed it behind him and made his way up the stairwell to Flat 5.

  When he got there, the door to the flat was already open and a tall, muscular man in a tight white t-shirt was waiting for him.

  ‘Kevin McGready?’ Ellis said, offering his hand. The man hesitated for a moment before shaking it.

  ‘Must admit we don’t get many cops coming round here. They don’t tend to get a great reception from the locals.’

  ‘Well, I’m not here on any sort of official business,’ Ellis said, truthfully. ‘I just wondered if I might ask you a couple of questions, just to clarify a few things.’

  ‘About what?’ Kevin McGready said, furrowing his brow. ‘I’ve kept my nose clean.’

  ‘Oh yes, we know,’ Ellis replied as the man ushered him through into the small living room. ‘It’s just that it concerns somebody you know and we need to find out as much about their relationships and connections as we can.’

  ‘I ain’t no grass if that’s what you’re saying. If you’re hoping I’ll drop someone in it, you should think again.’

  ‘No, no, that’s not what I meant at all,’ Ellis said, by now getting flustered. ‘What I meant was... Well, it’s about Scarlett Carr.’

  McGready’s jaw tightened and he lifted his chin slightly before he spoke. ‘What about her?’

  ‘Would I be right in thinking that you were having a... romantic... relationship with her?’

  ‘What’s it got to do with you?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. Well, potentially something. I don’t know. It’s about the death of her husband, you see.’

  ‘I heard. Topped himself.’

  ‘Yes. That’s right. Well, possibly not. We don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to work out,’ Ellis said, trying desperately to dry his palms, which were by now sweating profusely, on his trouser legs. ‘What I mean to say is, was Scarlett Carr planning to leave her husband for you?’

  ‘Let me ask you something,’ McGready said, taking a step towards Ellis. ‘Did you ever meet Elliot Carr?’

  ‘Well, no, I didn’t,’ Ellis replied.

  ‘Right. In that case you won’t know that he was a weasel, will you? A weak, pathetic little man who could barely make himself happy, let alone anyone else. Women like Scarlett, they don’t want men like him. They want men who are stronger, command more authority. More power. Do you see what I mean, officer?’ Kevin McGready was now mere inches from Ellis’s face.

  ‘Yes, yes, I think I do,’ was all Ellis could say.

  ‘So if she was planning to leave him for me, and I’m not saying she was, then I wouldn’t be particularly surprised. She deserved better. Needed better. And yeah, if he’d found out then it doesn’t surprise me at all that he’s the sort of bloke who’d top himself.’

  Ellis tried desperately to regain some ground and some control. ‘Where were you on the night Elliot Carr died, Mr McGready?’ he asked.

  Kevin McGready stayed silent for a few moments before responding. ‘As far as I’m aware, I don’t need to answer questions like that unless I’m under arrest. Am I under arrest, officer?’

  ‘Well, no...’

  ‘No, I didn’t think so. If you want to ask me any more personal questions, you can arrest me first. Is that clear, officer?’

  ‘Yep. Yep. Perfectly clear,’ Ellis said in a high-pitched voice, backing away from Kevin McGready and heading for the door. ‘Very sorry to trouble you. Thank you for your time.’

  18

  Hardwick’s feet clip-clopped across the parquet flooring as he went to answer the front door at the Old Rectory.

  ‘Ah, Ellis. How did it go earlier?’ he said, as he opened the door.

  ‘Yep, fine.’

  ‘Fine?’ Hardwick asked.

  ‘Yep. No problems.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Oh, well, not a lot,’ Ellis replied. ‘To be honest, he wasn’t very talkative. Well, he was, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t very helpful. That’s what I mean.’

  Hardwick sighed and walked into his kitchen before sitting at the wooden table.

  ‘What did you do, Ellis?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied, looking like a child who’d been dragged into the headmaster’s office. ‘I just asked him about his relationship with Scarlett and where he’d been on the night Elliot died.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He said we’d have to arrest him to find out.’

  ‘Brilliant. Just brilliant. So now our only way to find out any more from the mouth of Kevin McGready is if we can somehow convince DI Warner that Elliot Carr’s death was suspicious and that McGready had something to do with it. Which will be very difficult to prove seeing as he probably won’t speak to us again.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Ellis said.

  ‘Let’s just hope he didn’t have anything to do with it, then, and we won’t need to worry. Correction: you won’t need to worry. Fortunately for you, we have other avenues we can pursue. While you’ve been out, I’ve been doing a bit of digging of my own. Not quite the same sort of digging as you, though. I’ve managed to find out where Owen Bartlett lives. Or, rather, where his mother lives. He’d been lodging with a family in South Heath while he was working at the Manor Hotel, but he came back from work on the night Elliot Carr died and said his mother was ill and that he had to go back home to Brighton to care for her. He caught an overnight train and was gone.’

  ‘Brighton? Blimey. And do you know if it was true, about his mother?’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ Hardwick said. ‘Not unless she’s made a miraculous recovery. I checked her Facebook profile and she’s been surfing in Newquay, trekking over the South Downs and clubbing in Brighton. All within the past week.’

  ‘You an
d Facebook. You’ll get addicted,’ Ellis said, only half joking.

  ‘Unlikely, Ellis.’

  ‘How old is his mother then? She sounds quite young and active.’

  ‘Sixty-five. This is Brighton, after all, Ellis.’

  Before Ellis could respond, Hardwick’s phone rang. He walked into his living room and picked up the receiver. After a short, murmured conversation that Ellis couldn’t hear, Hardwick came back into the kitchen.

  ‘That was Doug from the Freemason’s Arms, Ellis. He thought we might be interested to know that there’s been another suicide at the Manor Hotel.’

  19

  Doug Lilley was not a man who let things get to him, which was just as well living in a place like Tollinghill. He chuckled slightly as he patted himself down with paper towels after the third barrel of beer had erupted over him in the cellar that day. It was a fairly regular occurrence and all part of being a pub landlord, but three in one day was pretty rare. Extreme changes in the weather were often to blame. Perhaps there was a storm on the way, he thought, or some sort of atmospheric change.

  Back at the top of the stairs and behind the bar, he called out to the large man sat perched on his usual stool.

  ‘The Spunky Monkey’s back on, Sid. All ten pints of it, anyway. The rest of it’s soaked into my shirt if you want it.’

  ‘I’ll pass thanks mate,’ Sid replied. ‘So what did your detective mate have to say for himself?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ Doug said. ‘As per usual. He’s not one to talk unless he’s got something to say, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Same for most of us, though, ain’t it?’ Sid replied.

  ‘Speak for yourself. What I mean is that he’s a thinker, isn’t he? Likes to mull over things, work out what’s gone on. He won’t go spouting any theories until he’s pretty sure.’