by Adam Croft
Warner blew air through his nostrils and beckoned Kit Daniels towards the lift. ‘We’ll talk in my office.’
When they’d reached the third floor and Warner had closed his office door behind him, he sat down behind his desk, crossed his arms and looked pointedly at Kit Daniels.
‘Go on then. Tell me what you think you know.’
‘I know that Rosie Blackburn died in room thirteen at the Manor Hotel and that she died in the same way as Elliot Carr and Kimberly Gray. And I know that you’re treating this differently now because you attended the scene yourself. Would it be fair to say that you think the deaths might be linked somehow?’ Kit said with a smirk on his face.
‘Who told you all this?’ was all that Warner could bring himself to say.
‘All journalists have sources, DI Warner. If I revealed mine, they wouldn’t bother giving me any more information, would they?’
Warner gritted his teeth and tried to steady his breathing. ‘If you’ve got someone feeding you police information or information on a crime which isn’t public knowledge, you’re committing a crime.’
Kit Daniels smirked confidently. ‘Oh, come on. You know damn well that we haven’t published anything that you hadn’t intended to release as information. We just happen to get there a bit quicker than you do. Perhaps you should see that more as an indicator of problems that need fixing at your end rather than ours.’
‘I haven’t even seen you at the scene of the incidents yet. What’s different this time, Kit?’ Warner asked, folding his arms. ‘As I see it, you’re either sneaking in afterwards and speaking to witnesses on the sly or even worse, you’ve got a source on my side of the fence. And before you say it, that’s not a possibility I’m willing to entertain.’
‘You weren’t willing to entertain the possibility of anything linking the deaths of Elliot Carr and Kimberly Gray, were you? And you’ve already backtracked pretty quickly on that.’
‘Are you making accusations against my officers?’ Warner asked, trying to look as stern as he possibly could. He knew even this wouldn’t warn Kit Daniels off, but it was worth the try.
‘I never said anything of the sort. As for your “witnesses”,’ Kit said, using his hands to indicate inverted commas, ‘Is there anything to say that I can’t ask my own questions of innocent members of the public as well?’
‘There is if you’re trying to ask them leading questions to get one of your sensationalist headlines again. And you’re assuming that they are all innocent members of the public.’
‘Ah-ha. And there we have it,’ Kit said, cocking his head and pointing at DI Warner. ‘Would it be fair to say, then, that you consider one or more of your witnesses to actually be suspects?’
Warner sat silently for a couple of moments before speaking slowly and quietly.
‘I think it’s time you left, Kit.’
52
Barely thirty seconds after Kit Daniels left Warner’s office, the phone rang. The display showed him it was an internal call from forensics.
‘Yes?’ he said as he picked up the phone, with a voice that sounded tired and resigned.
‘Sounds like you’re having a good day, then, Rob,’ the voice of Mark Ayres said.
‘No worse than usual,’ Warner replied. ‘What have you got for me?’
‘It’s just a little something I thought you might be interested in. It wasn’t even noticed at first, but we’ve got a new starter with us at the moment who’s a little... Shall we say keen? Anyway, she spotted something in the photos. She’s one of those studiers, who’s always so happy to relay whatever she’s read in the latest forensics book. Pain in the backside most of the time, but in this case it’s been pretty handy—‘
‘Look, can you just get to the point please?’ Warner asked, not much fancying another half an hour on the phone while Mark Ayres dithered and dallied before finally saying what he had to say.
‘Sure. Long story short, the knots used for the nooses were what interested her. Elliot Carr and Rosie Blackburn’s were both tied by someone right-handed. We called the families of Elliot Carr, Kimberly Gray and Rosie Blackburn. Elliot and Rosie were both right-handed, but Kimberly was left-handed. The knot which was used on her noose was tied by someone left-handed.’
‘What, so they tied their own knots?’
‘So it seems. Either that or by some sheer coincidence they were killed by different people — people who had the same dominant hand as they did. I’m no mathematician, but that seems unlikely to me. From what I’ve read, around 13% of men and 11% of women are left-handed. Doesn’t seem all that likely that they had different killers not only using the same method but having the same dominant hand as them. No, I’d say they almost certainly tied their own nooses.’
‘What about DNA and fibres? Anything else on the nooses?’
‘Plenty. But you’d expect that, considering how many guests and people stay at the hotel and come into contact with these things. You’d have an ice cube’s chance in hell of finding anything conclusive on that basis.’
Warner felt both vindicated and utterly confused. If they all killed themselves, why? They were all unconnected to each other and seemingly not in a frame of mind to want to end their own lives, yet the evidence showed that they almost certainly did.
Friday 27th March
53
It seemed to Hardwick that every stone he uncovered just led him down another alleyway with no conclusion. The whole case had seemed far simpler at the start with just one body and a simple case of a couple of suspects and the additional possibility of it being a suicide. It was usually the case with these sorts of things that more deaths made it easier to catch the killer, as patterns could be spotted and potential suspects eliminated through alibis and the like. In this case, though, it just made things more confusing.
Every death had brought with it new possibilities, sometimes new suspects and undoubtedly far more confusion for both Hardwick and Flint. At times like this, Hardwick knew it was prudent to return to the start and centre himself in the moment. With that in mind, they’d returned to the Manor Hotel to enjoy one of their famous afternoon teas.
Hardwick closed his eyes as he sat back in the large armchair and chomped on a scone, the dough sticking to the roof of his mouth as the clotted cream teased his tastebuds.
Ellis, on the other hand, sipped at his cup of tea then added an extra spoonful of sugar. He was trying to keep himself calm and his stress levels — positive or negative — down. Since his meeting with Dr Harding, he’d been worrying more and more about what he’d read online was known as the “silent killer” of stress. Of course, worrying about stress was rather a self-fulfilling prophecy, so he’d moved on to reading up about meditation and relaxation. Ellis had never been the most stressed out person in the world, particularly not compared with Hardwick. Still, there would be no harm in him trying to relax a little more.
‘Hello, my loves,’ came the familiar voice from behind Hardwick as Barbara sidled up alongside their table. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Ellis said. ‘Lovely tea. How are things here?’
‘Oh, fine, fine. Are you here on business or pleasure?’
‘Bit of both,’ Ellis replied, sensing that Hardwick was focused more on piecing something together in his head than he was on engaging in conversation.
‘Well, if there’s anything I can help you with, just give me a shout. I’ve got to pop out for half an hour, though. Mandy will be looking after the bar if you want anything,’ Barbara said.
Ellis smiled and nodded before taking another sip of his tea. He swirled the hot liquid around his mouth as his eyebrows narrowed.
‘Kempston, I’m just thinking...’
Hardwick didn’t even open his eyes to speak. ’Ellis, if this is another one of your—‘
‘No, no. Listen to me. That Mandy’s always on the front desk, isn’t she? She’s like a permanent fissure or whatever it’s called. She’d see everyone who came
in and out of the hotel.’
‘Yes and she’s already said no-one of any note came in or out around the time the three people died, apart from Owen Bartlett.’
‘Still something not right about him,’ Ellis said. ‘Fancy sitting at the bar?’
‘I’m quite comfortable here, thank you, Ellis,’ Hardwick replied, his eyes still closed and his head back.
‘Oh, all right then. I’m going to go up and speak to this Mandy. See what she remembers.’
‘On second thoughts, Ellis,’ Hardwick said, shooting up from his seat, ‘I might just come with you. Just to... Well, just to make sure.’
’To make sure I don’t say anything stupid?’ Ellis asked. Hardwick said nothing.
Mandy smiled as the two sat down at the bar, Ellis with his pot of tea and Hardwick with one final untouched buttered scone on his side plate.
‘Hello, back again?’ she said cheerily.
‘Yep, can’t get enough of this tea,’ Ellis said. ‘Who’s looking after reception if you’re in here? I was under the impression that was your area.’
‘Oh, it is. But it’s not exactly busy around here at the moment, as you know. The reception isn’t exactly the neediest part of the hotel right now. Anyway, there’s a bell that rings through to here if anyone should turn up. Which I doubt.’
‘All this stuff been bad for business?’ Ellis asked, knowing perfectly well that it’d been disastrous.
‘Yeah, other than a few weird ghost hunter types or the sickos who like to turn up to places where people have died. Not the sort of people the Belvedere group want in here, to be honest, so they’d rather we turn them away than take their money.’
‘Ah. And how are the staff taking it?’
‘The only way we can take it, really. Hope that things pick up soon. I think a couple of people are looking at other jobs, just in case. Barbara mentioned retirement. To be honest, she should probably have retired years ago. She did, I think, but started working here as she couldn’t bear sitting at home on her own.’
‘She must enjoy her work, then,’ Ellis said.
‘Well, yes. I think she enjoys her position more, between you and me. I think having had a fairly important job in the past when she was a lawyer, she likes to put herself in a position of importance here. That’s one of the reasons I try to stay on reception. To be honest, she scares me.’
‘Scares you?’ Ellis said, noticing that Hardwick’s eyebrows had risen.
‘Yeah. Don’t tell her I said that, though. I wouldn’t dare say it while she was in the building, either, as she’s got supersonic hearing. The whole place is run by corporate area managers who we never see, but as far as us bottom-rung staff are concerned, she’s pretty much put herself in charge. She knows everything that goes on, has her own little ways and rituals. The other day she told me off for “taking the Lord’s name in vain”. I only said “Jesus Christ” because she mentioned that every booking that night had cancelled.’
‘That’s a bit odd,’ Ellis said, looking at Hardwick.
‘Yes, it is,’ Hardwick replied. ‘She didn’t strike me as being particularly religious.’
‘She made some comment about Mandy using bad language when we were here the other day after Rosie Blackburn was found,’ Ellis added. ‘She’d only said “Jesus Christ” then, too.’
‘Has she done anything like that before?’ Hardwick asked Mandy.
‘A couple of times, yeah. And I didn’t think she was but a couple of months ago she started wearing a necklace with a crucifix on it and became a bit more... Well, uppity is the word, I suppose. I didn’t think much of it. Just the way some people get when they get old, I suppose.’
‘Barbara Hills lives in, doesn’t she?’ Hardwick asked.
‘Yeah, she does. She never got married or had kids, so she rents her house out and lives in here at the hotel. She’s basically always working, which probably explains why she gets a bit uptight sometimes.’
Hardwick thought for a moment or two, working out his angle of attack.
‘Maybe she experienced something odd, too,’ Hardwick suggested. ‘Perhaps she’s seen the ghost that haunts the place.’
Ellis looked at Hardwick with confusion. Had he finally come around to the idea of some sort of paranormal involvement?
‘I dunno, possibly,’ Mandy said. ‘Her room’s nowhere near where the other stuff is supposed to have happened, though.’
‘Oh? That’s odd, then. Where’s her room?’ Hardwick asked.
‘At the back of the hotel, far end of the corridor if you turn right at the top of the stairs on the first floor. Nowhere near room thirteen.’
‘Ah, yes, you’re right. Seems unlikely, then,’ Hardwick said, glancing at his watch. ‘Blimey, is that the time? We’re meant to be in Tollinghill in ten minutes. We’d better get going. Come along, Ellis,’ he said, ushering Ellis off his chair and out of the bar before he could protest. ‘Thank you for your time, Mandy.’
‘No problem. Let me know if I can help any more,’ said the quietening voice as Hardwick and Flint scurried out towards reception.
‘What’s going on, Kempston? We don’t have to be—‘
Hardwick raised his hand to indicate that Ellis should stop speaking. ‘Ellis, I want you to do me a favour. I want you to stand outside the front door. If Barbara Hills returns, keep her busy. Whatever you do, don’t let her go upstairs.’
‘Why?’ Ellis asked, now utterly confused. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to do something I should have done a long time ago, Ellis,’ Hardwick replied, before turning and walking up the stairs.
54
Fortunately for Hardwick, the fact that the Manor Hotel tried to remain as traditional as possible meant that there were no fancy electronic card-swipe entry systems to the rooms, but a nice standard pin tumbler lock. Hardwick fumbled around in his inside jacket pocket and removed a bump key. Having already seen the type of locks on the staff doors from his last visit here with DI Warner, he’d made sure he’d come prepared this time.
He slotted the bump key fully into the lock and then pulled it out gently until he heard one single click. He turned the key anti-clockwise and at the same time struck the end of the key with his heavy metal fountain pen, wincing visibly as he did so. The key turned and the door clicked open.
Hardwick ensured that the door could be opened from the inside without a key, then he removed the bump key and closed the door quietly behind him.
Barbara’s room was made to look more like a home bedroom than a hotel room. It was decorated with a number of personal nicknacks, but it was the large crucifix on the wall above the headboard that grasped his attention. He walked over to the window and looked out through the net curtain, getting his bearings and realising that he didn’t have a view of the road or the driveway and wouldn’t know when Barbara was coming back. Although he had instructed Ellis to keep a look out and stop her from coming up, Ellis was hardly the most reliable of watchmen. Hardwick knew he’d have to act quickly.
He began to open cupboards and drawers, quickly rifling through for anything of note which might help him out. At the back of the wardrobe, under a pile of warm winter jumpers, Hardwick noticed what felt like a photograph album.
He pulled it out, set it on the bed and opened the album. It didn’t contain photos, but instead a number of press cuttings going back some forty years. They all appeared to be in chronological order, relating to criminal trials. He scan-read a couple and realised they were all cases in which Barbara had acted as either the defending or prosecuting solicitor. There didn’t seem to be any theme, and Hardwick supposed that this must be a complete record of all of the trials in which she was involved, catalogued in some sort of memory book. Not quite the murderer’s narcissistic catalogue of destruction that you’d find in a cheap detective novel, he thought. On the contrary, this album detailed quite a few of her unsuccessful times in court.
It was then that Hardwick heard the key being put into
the lock and the door handle being turned.
55
Ellis was sick of this. He was always relegated to keeping an eye out or running daft errands for Hardwick and never got to get involved with any of the juicy parts of detection. Even when he did, Hardwick wasn’t happy. This was despite the fact that more often than not it was Ellis, not Hardwick, who managed to solve the crimes or at least provide the clue which led to them being solved, albeit usually completely inadvertently.
He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as he paced backwards and forwards on the gravel outside the front door, grumbling to himself as he did so. He couldn’t even hear a car or person, never mind see one, and with the long sweeping gravel driveway laid out in front of him he knew he’d certainly hear something coming before he saw it.
The fact of the matter was that the place was deserted. There would be no cars trundling up the driveway, happy holidaymakers dragging their suitcases from the boot, beaming as they admired the beautiful architecture of the Manor Hotel, delighted that the reality matched or exceeded their expectations or the pictures they’d seen on the internet. Not today. Not now, after all that had gone on recently. All he could hear was the distant barking of a dog and his own heavy sighs as he got progressively more annoyed at Kempston the more he dwelled on it.
Finally, he stopped pacing and leaned back against one of the stone pillars outside the entranceway to the hotel. He knew he’d just have to suck it up and accept it for now, but he’d certainly be having words with Kempston later. Either this was an equal partnership or it wasn’t. He grumbled again, then pulled his mobile phone out of his trouser pocket. He swiped across the screen, entered his pin number and tapped to open the Alien Annihilation 2 game. It would be one way of releasing his frustrations.
