by Sherri Bryan
“Of course,” said Fiona. “One more question, if you don’t mind.” She flicked back in her notebook. “Why didn’t Mr. Haley go back to his own room if he was feeling so bad? Why did he get into your bed?”
“Because we were in a relationship,” said Monique. “I can assure you, I’m not in the habit of allowing just anyone into my room, let alone my bed.” She stared at her hands, clasped in her lap. “Roman didn’t like anyone to know about it, though. He didn’t like his staff mixing business with pleasure, so he didn’t want them to know that’s exactly what we were doing.”
“Okay, thank you.” Fiona tapped the end of her pencil against her chin. “Look, as you were probably closer to Mr. Haley than anyone, can you give us any idea of who might want to do him harm?”
Monique gave her an incredulous look. “Almost everyone he met, I should think. He had a knack of instantly rubbing people up the wrong way. The only person I ever heard him being nice to was his Mum, but that’s only because she was even worse than he was. Honestly, she was an absolute dragon of a woman. I’m surprised she didn’t breathe fire.”
She wiped her eyes again. “And there’s Olivia Floyd-Martin, of course. There was definitely no love lost between those two. Word has it she was absolutely furious that Roman had opened a school here. She didn’t even want to take part in the tasting session yesterday. Mind you, I don’t blame her. She must have hated being a guest in the school she thought should be hers. Not that Roman cared what she thought—he only invited her because he knew it would get under her skin.”
“What do you mean, she didn’t want to take part?” asked Nathan.
“Well, Roman invited her to the tasting, but she left without eating anything. He was getting stuck in, but Olivia just stormed out.”
Nathan and Fiona exchanged a glance.
“I thought it was odd,” said Monique. “You’d have thought that, as she’d taken the trouble to go over to the school, the least she could have done was participate. Of course, Roman was delighted that she was upset. He must have listened to it on tape ten times when we left the school. He used to love reliving his ‘triumphs’, as he called them.”
Nathan frowned. “Have I missed something? What was it that Roman listened to on tape?”
“Sorry, I should have explained,” said Monique. “I used to tape everything for him so he always had proof of his conversations. People were forever accusing him of saying things he swore he didn’t, so it was the only way he could be sure. After Olivia stormed out on Monday, Roman replayed the whole thing when we left.” She put a hand into the inside pocket of her jacket. “See? I taped everything on one of these.” She held up the old-fashioned dictating machine.
“I used it during the day, and Roman sometimes took it at night to record his thoughts on. Anyway, the conversation with Olivia shouldn’t be too far back, let me see if I can find it.” She rewound the tape and a whirring noise filled the silence. “Here we are, this should be about the right place.” She pressed a button and Roman’s and Olivia’s short conversation drifted through the speaker, accompanied by a background of crackle.
“So what happened after Olivia said, ‘This was a mistake. I should never have come’?” asked Fiona, shooting Nathan a perplexed glance.
“She just stormed out,” said Monique. “She obviously never wanted to be at the school in the first place and she couldn’t get out fast enough.”
“Would you mind if we took that recorder with us for a while? There might be something on there that’ll help us to figure out what happened to Mr. Haley.”
Monique nodded and peered at Nathan through swollen eyelids. “I doubt that very much, but you can keep it forever for all I care. If I never see the damn thing again, it’ll be too soon. I mean, who uses stuff like this these days? It went out with the ark.” She dropped the dictating machine into the evidence bag Nathan had fished out of his pocket. “Roman was a complete technophobe - he couldn’t work anything that was made after the eighties – trying to teach him how to use a mobile phone was a nightmare. Anyway, I’ve got loads of his tapes if you want them, too?”
“They might be helpful. Do you have them here?”
“They’re in the bedside cabinet in the room. Second drawer down, I think. Keep them, if you want. I doubt I’ll be needing them any more.”
“One more thing,” said Fiona. “Did Mr. Haley have any family? Apart from his mum.”
Monique shook her head. “Actually, his mum died a couple of years ago, so there’s no one now.” She put a hand to her mouth which didn’t quite cover her cavernous yawn. “I need to find Mr. Clancy and see if he can put me in another room. I really need to sleep.”
“Well, thanks for talking to us,” said Fiona. “You’ve been very helpful. As I said, I’m sure Mr. Clancy will be happy to move you to another room and, hopefully, your personal belongings should be ready for you to collect soon. Someone will be in touch to let you know when, and you can sign for them to get them back.”
Monique nodded. “I’d better go and find somewhere else to get my head down.” She rubbed a bloodshot eye and went in search of Simon Clancy.
“We need to speak to everyone who was at the cookery lesson on Monday,” said Nathan. “And that includes Olivia Floyd-Martin.”
Chapter 8
“Welcome to the lunchtime news, I’m Ayesha Dooley. We are continuing with coverage of our main story today, which is the death of TV personality and food critic, Roman Haley. Throughout the day, tributes have been pouring in as the plot continues to thicken regarding the circumstances surrounding his death. With more on this ever-developing story, we cross now to our reporter, Andrew Somerfield, who is outside St. Eves’ General Hospital. What can you tell us, Andrew?
“Well, Ayesha, a source at the hospital told me earlier that it’s believed Mr. Haley may have been deliberately poisoned, but that has yet to be confirmed. The same source told me that hospital staff tried for hours to save the life of the TV star but were unable to do so because his body wasn’t responding to any treatment. According to the source, the symptoms Mr. Haley was suffering from were similar to those seen in rare cases of poisoning, but the substance that would cause those symptoms has yet to be established. I repeat, these statements have not been confirmed, but that appears to be the opinion of a number of hospital employees I’ve spoken to, all of whom wish to remain anonymous.
“To be sure that all possible sources of the suspected poisoning are established, the kitchens at The President Hotel were closed early this morning, as well as Mr. Haley’s culinary school. Both premises are being inspected by the Environmental Health Agency, as they are the only two places in which Mr. Haley ate on the day he became ill. A thorough inspection will be carried out, and the kitchens will remain closed until the investigations have been concluded.
“As things stand, it’s looking very much like Mr. Haley’s death will be attributed to foul play but, as I said, this has yet to be confirmed. What I can tell you for sure is that Mr. Haley’s sudden death is a terrible shock which will reverberate throughout the community, and our thoughts are with his friends and fans at this sad time. Of course, as soon as I have more news, you’ll be the first to know. For now, though, this is Andrew Somerfield, reporting from St. Eves’ General Hospital. Back to you in the studio.”
Fiona turned down the volume on the TV in the incident room. “What exactly did the doctor who spoke to you say, Chief? Didn’t she give any idea at all as to the cause of death?”
Nathan shook his head. “Not exactly, but she did say that none of the obvious reasons for his symptoms checked out. She said she’s only ever seen all those symptoms presenting at the same time once before, years ago, in a case of poisoning from which the patient didn’t recover. Obviously, she won’t commit to diagnosing anything, but she’s concerned enough to think the death is suspicious, as opposed to accidental food poisoning, or something less sinister. Did you have any luck with tracking down the guests Monique spoke to in
the bar?”
Fiona nodded. “Just like she said, a very lovey-dovey, newly-married couple, and an auditor who’s here for a couple of days on business. The couple made their reservation months ago, and the guy was transferred here on Monday from a bed and breakfast that had double-booked and didn’t have a room for him. They appear to be genuine hotel guests, with no previous connection to Monique, or what happened to Roman.”
Ben drummed a pen against the desk. “I know there’s a lot of talk about this running feud between Roman and Olivia, but I can’t believe she’d resort to murder over it, can you?”
Fiona shrugged. “Well, we know she’s been volatile enough to cause people harm in a fit of temper in the past, but poisoning isn’t something someone would do on impulse, is it? It’s premeditated. She may react violently to a situation in the heat of the moment, but to take the time to plan a murder? I’m not so sure.”
“Is there a rush job on the post-mortem, chief?” said Ben.
“Isn’t there always? Although the toxicology reports might hold things up, so keep your fingers crossed for a quick result.” Nathan scratched his chin, his nails rasping against the stubble. “Right, what’s next?”
____________
Having stopped at her café for a mid-morning mug of tea and a jam tart, Charlotte was walking the dogs back home down the marina.
She was in no rush, and took her time, stopping to say hello and chat with customers and friends along the way.
“I’d better get off,” she said, after a long catch-up with Will Goss, the owner of The Bottle of Beer pub. “These two need feeding.”
“Be sure to tell Nathan to drop by one of these days, won’t you?” said Will, with a cheery grin as he clasped his hands on top of his shaved head and flexed his back.
“I will. Although I’ve no idea when that’ll be, what with everything that’s going on. Anyway, good to see you.”
As she went on her way, a figure coming towards her began to look more and more familiar. It wasn’t often she saw Olivia Floyd-Martin in civvies instead of her gleaming chef’s whites, but as she drew closer, she realised it was her.
At six foot, three inches tall, Olivia’s shoulders had sagged so much, she looked a foot shorter. Her spiky bleached hair was flat to her head and her expression was one of anguish rather than irritation, as it so often was.
“Hi, Olivia. You don’t look too happy? What’s up?”
Olivia ran her hands down her face. “I had a call from Simon Clancy first thing this morning, suggesting it might be a good idea if I took some time off,” she croaked, her voice hoarse and strained. “He said, ‘Under the circumstances, we think it would be better for everyone concerned if you took a break from The President—just until things calm down a bit.’” She smacked her palms against the side of her head in frustration.
“And then I had to go to the police station to give a statement of my version of events, seeing as I was one of the people who saw Roman the day before he died. I’ve been walking around for hours since then, not knowing what to do with myself. You know how much that job means to me, Charlotte. I don’t need the money, but if I can’t cook for people, I’m lost.”
“Why do you have to take some time off?”
Olivia scowled. “Let me give you a clue. Two words, four syllables. First word begins with R, second word begins with H.”
“Ah, I see,” said Charlotte.
“Honestly, I’m so mad, I feel like punching something.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s going to help matters, do you?” Charlotte handed Olivia Pippin’s lead. “Come on, we’re going to walk the dogs back to my place and when we get there, you can tell me all about it.”
Olivia gave her a wary look. “Back to your place? Are you sure that’ll be alright? What with Nathan being the DCI, and all?”
“Of course it’ll be alright,” said Charlotte. “Why wouldn’t it be? You haven’t done anything wrong, have you?”
“No, but I reckon there are a lot of people who think I have. Just standing here, talking to you, I can feel the dirty looks.”
Charlotte scanned the crowds of people sitting in cafés and bars all along the marina, many of whom looked away when she caught their eye, but many of whom continued to stare at Olivia and talk in hushed voices. She shrugged. “Let them think what they want, and let them look. If you say you haven’t done anything, then that’s good enough for me. And if you come back to my place, there’ll be tea and cake.” She gave Olivia a sidewards glance. “But only if you’re interested, of course.”
Olivia’s stomach rumbled and she tried to silence it with a hand. “Actually, I’m really hungry. I haven’t eaten yet.”
“Well, come on then. Be careful you don’t get caught up in Pippin’s lead, though,” said Charlotte, as the old terrier gambolled around Olivia’s feet like an excitable pup. “The last thing he needs is you tripping up and squashing him flat. Now come on, turn that frown upside down and let’s go. Tea and cake await!”
____________
After Olivia had made light work of Charlotte’s Raspberry Drizzle Cake, she started on a large slice of fruit cake.
“It’s a good thing I did a batch of baking the other day,” said Charlotte, tipping up the almost-empty cake tin and peering inside. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were hungry.”
“Sorry,” mumbled Olivia. “I always eat a lot when I’m anxious.”
Charlotte put down two mugs of tea, and leaned across the table. “Right then, what’s going on?”
Olivia chewed and talked at the same time. “Well first of all, I swear I didn’t have anything to do with Roman’s death, but I told the police they have to find out who did, and quick, because I’m not sure I’ll be allowed to go back to work until the murderer’s been caught.” She took another giant bite of cake and swallowed it in seconds.
“After all I’ve done for that hotel, this is how they repay me. What happened to innocent before being proven guilty? Simon told me he didn’t think it was a good idea for me to be working in the restaurant until the cause of Roman’s death has been established and the killer has been caught. He said people talk, and it won’t be long before word gets around the entire town that I had a grudge against him. He said if people think I had anything to do with him being poisoned, they’ll be reluctant to eat at the hotel.”
Charlotte nodded. “Well, that’s a perfectly understandable reaction, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I know that, but I didn’t do anything!” protested Olivia, throwing up her hands. “I don’t know how anyone who knows me could think I would.”
Charlotte raised both eyebrows and chose her words carefully. “If you don’t mind me saying, you’re never going to win most affable employee of the month award, are you?”
Olivia responded with a glare. “Look, I know how bad it looks for me that Roman’s dead. Everyone at the hotel was talking about it yesterday after that news report. Not to my face, of course, but I’ve got ears.” She slammed a fist on the table. “Just look at the evidence; we hated each other’s guts; he opened a school in my hometown which I was livid about; I walked out of his stupid school without eating a thing after he’d invited me publicly to his stupid tasting session; he ate food that had come out of my kitchens twice on the day before he died; he had severe stomach pains and was violently ill, and then he took a one way trip to the big old cookery school in the sky.”
She pushed herself up from the chair and began to lumber back and forth across the tiled floor. “Whatever everyone thinks, I’ll bet my last penny that the people scouring those kitchens, and all the stock in them, won’t find one bit of evidence that will implicate me.” She flopped down in the chair again with a thud and twiddled her multiple ear piercings. “Just because we’d had a stupid grudge match going on for years, doesn’t mean I killed him, but I know everything points to me being the guilty party. I’m not an idiot.”
“And are you a guilty party?” asked Charlotte, w
atching her closely, and remembering all the things Harry had said about her spiky relationship with Roman.
“Of course I’m not, but I feel guilty just because I know everyone thinks I had something to do with it.” She sighed and cradled her heavy head in her hands.
“Out of interest, why did you walk out of the tasting session without actually tasting anything?” asked Charlotte.
Olivia’s fleeting look of embarrassment was replaced with one of determination. “I didn’t want to eat anything, because I couldn’t stomach it. I wish I’d never said I’d go to the bloody thing, but I did it to save face. That school should have been mine. It’s what I’ve wanted for years and Roman knew it—he only invited me to make me feel bad.
“You know, when I walked through the door, I felt physically sick, but I didn’t want him to know that. I thought it would be easy to just do the tasting, play nice for half an hour, and then leave, but I just couldn’t, so I walked out.” She gritted her teeth and her knuckles turned white. “There’s no one else who could get to me like he could—look at me, I’m shaking just thinking about him, and he’s not even here any more.” She puffed out a long breath.
“Was that the first time you’d had any contact with him since he’d been in St. Eves?” asked Charlotte.
Olivia nodded. “To speak to, yes. Before then, I’d seen him around in the restaurant and the hotel, but we hadn’t spoken. He didn’t make any attempt to approach me, and I was glad. Probably just as well that he didn’t, because I would have wanted to plant my fist in his smarmy face. Not that I would have, of course.”
“Did you see him after the tasting? Later that evening at the hotel?”
“No. And I was so relieved when he didn’t come in for dinner. He’d been in every night and I’ve never felt so stressed sending food out of the kitchen. I’ve cooked for royalty and rock stars, but that was a breeze compared to cooking for Roman.” Olivia wiped her clammy palms on her trousers. “Anyway, that’s everything off my chest.” The hostile expression on her face faded. “Thanks. You’re a good listener.”
