‘Inspector Barry Hopkirk. Pleased to meet you.’ Isaac instinctively did not like the man on introduction. He appeared to be in his fifties. He wore an ill-fitting suit, crumpled as if he had slept in it, a tie skewed to one side.
Isaac saw no reason for subtlety. ‘Is moving the other guests’ luggage standard procedure?’
Hopkirk, a man with a short fuse immediately went on the offensive. ‘Is that criticism?’
‘This man’s death is regarded as suspicious.’
‘That may be, but when we arrived, there was only a dead body.’
‘You’re moving guests and their luggage off the floor. Have they been interviewed, checked for a possible weapon?’
‘We’ve got their names; they’re not exiting the building, only changing rooms. Besides, there’s no sign of a weapon being used.’ Isaac found out later that DI Hopkirk was from the local station, used to dealing with break and enters, shoplifting, the occasional disturbance.
‘That may be, but have you considered that they may be involved?’ There were clearly set down procedures in the case of a suspicious death and Hopkirk was not following them.
‘There was nothing suspicious when we arrived.’
‘The Savoy Hotel, a former television celebrity. You don’t think that’s suspicious?’
‘I’m not aware of his importance.’
‘Charles Sutherland. Famous actor. Are you telling me that you had never heard of him?’
‘I never made the association. All I saw was a dead body.’
‘What do you have here?’
‘Forensics will bring you up to speed. They’re inside with the body. And make sure you put on footwear protectors,’ Hopkirk said.
Isaac and Farhan moved to the room where the body had been found. The luxury of the place was outstanding ‒ it oozed expensive. ‘Who is the Crime Scene Examiner in charge here?’ Isaac asked.
‘Who’s asking?’ The reply came from a small man, bent over examining the body. He wore a white coverall, his hands gloved.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook.’
‘Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be with you.’
Isaac and Farhan could clearly see that the dead man’s body was naked and sprawled on the floor. It was not a pleasant site, as the victim was clearly overweight, verging on obese. It was clear from the faeces visible that his bowels had relaxed.
‘Nasty business,’ the small man said as he came over and shook the hands of Isaac and Farhan. He had removed his gloves first, thrown them into a plastic bag. He was short, ridiculously short and Isaac had to crank his neck down to look into his face, although mainly the top of his head. ‘Gordon Windsor,’ he said.
‘I don’t see any sign of violence,’ Farhan said.
‘And you won’t.’ The Crime Scene Examiner spoke with a Welsh accent. He spoke slowly. Isaac thought it might be a way of controlling a stutter.
‘Why not?’ Farhan asked.
‘Poison.’
‘How do you know it was murder?’
‘I didn’t. Hopkirk did.’
‘I just blasted him out,’ Isaac said.
‘That may be, but he came here due to a death at the hotel. Apparently, standard procedure at the Savoy, to call the local police when there’s a death. It’s something to do with maintaining their reputation, or, in the case of a celebrity, overdosing or hanging himself from the wardrobe door. Supposedly, it’s happened a few times.’
Isaac realised that he may have been a little harsh on Hopkirk. If that proved to be the case, he would apologise later.
‘How did Hopkirk figure it was murder?’ Isaac asked.
‘The body lying on the floor, the drooling, the defecation. He can tell you better than me, but my understanding is that he came here due to a dead body, and then he found out about the wild parties and wondered if it was drug-related, overdose or something similar.’
‘What did he find?’
‘Cocaine, but not much else ‒ certainly not enough to cause death. That’s when he looked around, found clear evidence of poison.’
‘Careless to leave the evidence here,’ Farhan said.
‘Careless or disturbed? I’ve no idea. That’s for you to find out,’ Gordon Windsor said as he removed his coveralls and picked up his bag. ‘For me, it’s to get the body back to the morgue, deal with Forensics and then write a report. It’s going to be a long night. Wedding anniversary, I was going to take my wife out for a meal at an excellent restaurant. Curiously, the restaurant downstairs just off the foyer. Hopefully, she’ll understand.’
‘Will she?’ Farhan asked.
‘She’s used to it. She’ll pretend to be upset, but she’ll be fine.’ Farhan could only reflect as to why his wife was not as sympathetic, but he assumed that Gordon Windsor did not have a mother-in-law constantly in his wife’s ear.
Chapter 14
With the Crime Scene Examiner’s departure and Inspector Barry Hopkirk a little friendlier after Isaac had apologised to him, both Isaac and Farhan returned to their office. Farhan could clearly see the extended hours on the case. He knew it would not help with his marriage. He had a job to do, a family to provide for, and whether his wife liked it or not, being miserable and moping around was going to solve little. He decided to snap out of it and to get on with the job.
‘This changes the situation,’ Isaac said. He had just made a couple of coffees, one for him, one for Farhan on their return to the office.
‘The question is whether it is related to Marjorie Frobisher?’ Farhan replied as he sipped his coffee. It was a little too hot for him.
‘What do we know about Charles Sutherland? Could this be unrelated?’
‘Possibly. We know he was not a particularly likeable person, but murder?’
‘It’s not proven yet.’
‘Officially, maybe not,’ Isaac said.
‘You’re right. Too convenient to be discarded as death by misadventure, or death by natural means.’
‘Correct, too convenient.’
‘We assume it’s murder and progress.’
‘Agreed.’
‘And once it’s confirmed?’ Farhan asked.
‘Then we’ll need to bring in the team.’
‘If it is linked, then you know what this means?’
‘What did he know?’
‘Or, who was he?’ Farhan put forward another possibility.
‘What do you mean?’
‘How did he get to know of anything worth selling? It’s not as if Marjorie Frobisher went round the production lot sounding off to anyone in earshot. There’s also the clear animosity between them.’
As expected, their boss was soon in their office on their return. ‘Is it clearly murder?’ he asked.
‘There’s a strong possibility,’ Isaac replied.
‘Not confirmed?’
‘The Crime Scene Examiner will let us know when the autopsy has been conducted, as well as keep up updated on the toxicology analysis on the contents of the bottle.’
‘The poison was in a bottle?’
‘That’s what we are led to believe.’
‘If it’s a confirmed murder, then we’ll need to set up a Murder Investigation Team.’
‘We’ve just been discussing this,’ Farhan said. ‘We could do with the help, Sir.’
‘Isaac, you’ll be the Senior Investigating Officer. Is that okay with you?’ the detective superintendent said.
‘Fine, Sir.’
‘Now, what do I tell my contact? He’s bugging me for information.’
‘Downing Street?’
‘Isaac, it’s best if you don’t pry too much into my contacts. This investigation has all the markings of getting nastier.’
‘What do you know?’ Isaac asked.
‘Not a great deal, other than Marjorie Frobisher would have been better off dead, but the murder of Sutherland? That’s another situation altogether.’
‘We’re not sure he was killed because of her,’ Fa
rhan entered the conversation.
‘There has been no connection made,’ Isaac said.
‘Well, then make the connection,’ the detective superintendent replied.
‘And you, Sir?’ Farhan asked.
‘I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘You’ll talk to your contact?’ Isaac asked.
‘This afternoon. He wants an update. Give me what you can before then.’
Sophie messaged soon after Goddard had left the office. Isaac replied that it was not possible. She messaged back, ‘understood’ which with her, it was.
Farhan had received news that his children were at school and fine.
Isaac decided to travel out to the production lot. It was a murder unless confirmed otherwise, which seemed unlikely. For whatever reason, the people he had worked with needed to be re-interviewed, including Jess O’Neill.
Farhan headed back to the hotel.
***
If they were aware out at the production lot that one of their previous stars had met an untimely death, it was not apparent. The place was a hive of activity. Every time that Isaac had been out there in the past, it had been towards the end of the day or early morning.
The end of the day, they were invariably looking through the day’s filming or else finalising the script for the next day’s shooting. Early morning, most people were still in the offices, the cast in make-up. This time, it was just after two in the afternoon; Isaac had been on the go since three in the morning. He was starting to feel a little weary. He knew it would pass once he started interviewing the people again.
He saw Jess O’Neill from a distance. He could see her arguing with someone, but then that was her job and apparently she was good at putting people in their place, getting what she wanted.
Richard Williams was out at the production lot. It seemed unusual to Isaac. He decided to talk to him first. He waylaid him as he walked swiftly towards the main offices. Isaac was well aware that Williams had seen him and was trying to get out of his way. To Isaac, it was a red rag to a bull. Isaac quickened his pace and caught up with him just as he opened the door to the first office.
‘Mr. Williams.’
‘Now is not an ideal time.’ Richard Williams, catching his breath said. He was not as young as Isaac, not as fit, although that didn’t stop him when it came to chasing the women. Sally Jenkins was nowhere to be seen, but Isaac assumed she was still back in the office in the city. No reason to bring the end of the day bit of fluff out to the production lot, Isaac thought. Richard Williams was always on the prowl, and the production lot would have been a good place to look for a new conquest. There were invariably some extras with one line or just a walk-on. The pretty, young and female would have been easy prey to someone as suave as Williams. Isaac had noticed the Ferrari when he parked his car.
‘It’s important.’ Isaac replied.
‘You’re here about Charles Sutherland, I assume?’
‘You’ve heard?’
‘Of course, I’ve heard. It’s all over the media. They say he has been murdered.’
‘There has been no official confirmation.’
‘I’ll take your word on that. The media will beat anything up.’
‘Officially, the death is regarded as suspicious.’
‘Suspicious! That’s as good as saying he’s been murdered.’
‘Not at all,’ Isaac replied. ‘A well-known person is found dead in a hotel room. There has to be an autopsy and an official investigation. That does not mean murder, or, at least, not to the police.’
‘It certainly does to the media; you must know that by now.’
‘In the short time that I have been involved in the Marjorie Frobisher case I have started to learn how the media works: hyperbole, innuendo, assumption and clever wording.’
‘Yes, you’ve picked it up. Marjorie Frobisher, is that murder as well? I didn’t know you had found her body.’
‘I will need to be careful in what I say. Marjorie Frobisher is still declared as missing and there is not a corpse. Is that clear enough?’
‘Clear enough. Unless you have anything more to talk about, I’m busy.’
‘Why are you here?’ Isaac asked.
‘I had to get out of the office; too busy down there with the media. The phone’s ringing off the hook. I needed some space and time to work out an appropriate response to his death. Some carefully crafted words on how sorry we are to lose such a great actor in the prime of his life. Those sorts of words.’
‘A truthful reflection on the passing of such a great man,’ Isaac said sarcastically.
‘A pain in the arse, a lousy actor and no great loss. Is that what you expect me to say?’
‘Of course not. You and I need to talk.’
‘Give me thirty minutes while I draft a statement. I’ll give it to the scriptwriters to tidy up the grammar.’
‘Thirty minutes. Fine,’ Isaac replied. He headed to the coffee machine. Seated next to a window, the sun shining in, his tiredness finally caught up with him.
‘Isaac, Isaac.’ He woke with a start.
‘Jess,’ he said, bleary-eyed.
There was no one around; she attempted to kiss him. He pulled away.
‘Sorry, Jess. I don’t want to be rude, but the situation’s changed.’
‘Charles Sutherland?’
‘You’ve heard?’
‘Who hasn’t,’ she said. To Isaac, she was a vision of loveliness. The sun was shining in through the window, the blouse she was wearing, delicate and almost transparent. He felt as though he wanted to grab her there and then and seduce her, but he knew he could not.
‘I’m here in an official capacity now.’
‘He was murdered?’
‘It’s still listed as suspicious, but it looks that way.’
‘I’m sorry that he’s dead.’ She seemed sincere.
‘I thought you argued with him?’
‘That’s what happens when the pressure’s on.’
‘Richard Williams wasn’t much concerned. Does that surprise you?’
‘Not really. He’s a bastard, anyway. He only cares about number one.’
‘Capable of murder?’
‘Richard, no way. As long as he gets plenty of frivolous women to lay, then he’s harmless. Tough businessman, good at his job, but murder? I don’t think so.’
‘You seem to care about Sutherland’s death.’
‘He was actually a very good actor.’
‘That’s not the impression I get around here.’
‘Professional prejudice, that’s all that is.’
‘So why do you say he was a good actor?’
‘Simply, because he was. His problem was his attitude. Sure, he wasn’t major movie star great, but in theatre.’
‘I thought he failed in theatre, and this was his last stop before the rubbish heap.’
‘It was. He did have some failings, though. I’m afraid Charles Sutherland had an attitude problem. His decline was inevitable, but…’
‘His death,’ Isaac completed the sentence.
‘Why would anyone want to murder him?’ she asked. Isaac had completely forgotten about his arranged meeting with Richard Williams.
‘I don’t know. Do you have any ideas?’
‘Not really. He could be a nosey bugger, always sticking his nose in, listening at keyholes, but apart from that.’
‘Is he likely to have heard anything?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘That’s for me to find out.’
‘Anyone else I should talk to?’
‘Not really. He certainly had nothing on me.’ It seemed more of a hint to Isaac than a statement of fact.
‘Is there anything I should know?’ Isaac realised he had weakened. His reply was perilously close to a personal concern.
‘Nothing that you need to worry about.’ Sensing the moment, she moved closer to him. He failed to move away. She kissed him on the cheek.
Isaac had once ag
ain failed in his attempt to maintain a purely professional relationship with Jess O’Neill. He left soon after.
What is it about her? he thought as he drove away from the production lot and back to the office. Why do I keep doing this?
***
‘I’ve been sacked.’ The first words to emanate from Christy Nichols on Farhan’s return to the hotel. Farhan and Isaac had not spoken to her on their first visit - they had left that to Inspector Hopkirk.
‘You better explain,’ Farhan said as he sat down on the chair in her room. Not as good as Charles Sutherland’s, by far, he noted.
‘It’s for the hired help when the rich and famous come to stay.’ She had observed his looking around the room.’
‘And you were the hired help?’
‘He thought I was more than that.’
‘What do you mean?’ He could see she had been crying.
I found him out on the street. Have they told you that?’
‘No one’s told me anything.’ Farhan had a basic understanding of the situation in that the tab for the room was being picked up by a magazine, one of the magazines that his wife liked to read.
‘I intended to write an article for the magazine, in fact, any magazine that would buy it from me.’ Farhan noted that she was an attractive woman.
‘What sort of article?’
‘Lightweight, the type that most people want to read. Anything to do with fallen celebrities is good copy; makes us all feel a little more human, I suppose. If it can happen to them, then maybe the reader’s imperfect life is not so bad after all.’
‘You mean those that are no longer in the limelight?’
‘That’s it. Charles Sutherland was a big star, at least in England and then all of a sudden he disappears from sight. After they had kicked him off the programme, he was visible on a few television chat shows, but that didn’t last long.’
‘So what happened to him?’
‘It’s not what happened to him, more likely what he did to himself.’
‘I’m not sure I follow.’ Farhan was enjoying his time with Christy Nichols. The setting and the woman were too conducive. He stood up, moved to the window and looked out over the panorama of London.
Murder is a Tricky Business (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 1) Page 11
