by Carol Wyer
Mitz scribbled in his pad.
‘Scott Dawson has been impossible to pin down. I can’t work out if he’s incredibly busy or is trying to hide from everyone. Maybe the responsibility of being manager for the moment is proving too great for him. He also has family pressures. Jeanette found out via the grapevine that he and his wife are going through a rocky patch at the moment. He’s been at Bromley Hall since the place opened, and was promoted to gym manager in 2010, so he will have been here when Harriet drowned.’
‘I’ll talk to him first. Is he here at the moment?’
‘He disappeared earlier. Donna on reception said he nipped home for a while. He’s due back to take an early evening class, so you’ll be able to talk to him after that. He should be around at about five.’
‘And Jakub?’
‘He was on an early shift so I think he’ll be off duty soon. You might have to wait until tomorrow to speak to him.’
Robyn shifted in her seat. ‘Regarding the other matter, who do you think I should speak to?’
‘Start with Bruno Miguel. He’s a commis chef and he’s involved in a long-term affair with one of the guests, Fiona Maggiore. They’ve been keeping it very hush-hush, for obvious reasons. The lady in question became loose-tongued after several glasses of champagne with Jeanette. It transpires she’s been seeing Bruno since she started coming here. Initially it was a one-night stand, then, each trip she made, their relationship became more serious. She’s considering leaving her husband for Bruno but they’re not making it common knowledge yet.’
‘Bruno? That’s a Spanish or Italian name, isn’t it?’
‘Actually, it’s a German name. However, this Bruno is Portuguese, although he’s lived in the UK from a very early age so he speaks English fluently. He told Fiona he was thinking of quitting his job here. He thought the new management company would make the place even bigger and better, but instead they’ve lost their way and introduced stringent cost-cutting measures and staff reductions. The kitchen is under enormous strain. He wanted to talk to Miles Ashbrook about it, but on reaching his office he heard raised voices. He left, imagining he would talk to Miles in the morning. Of course by then it was too late. Now this is all hearsay from the lady he’s been seeing, so you’ll need to confirm that.’
‘That’s very helpful, Ross.’
‘Not a problem. As I told you on the phone, I think it’s feasible that somebody with a key could have interfered with the heat regulator attached to the sauna. A person may think they are sitting in seventy or eighty degrees when in fact it could be much hotter than they think. If the temperature rises to 110 degrees, it is quite possible for skin to burn. I checked the CCTV camera and observed its movements, and it doesn’t appear to cover that part of the spa. You’d be incredibly fortunate to get a shot of anyone by the box. I’ve written down the length of time the camera spends surveying each area and in which direction it travels. You should be able to check the timings on the CCTV footage for accuracy and spot if anyone has interfered with it.’
Mitz lifted his pen like a schoolboy trying to grab attention in class. ‘Do you suspect someone turned up the heat in the sauna, guv? Surely DI Shearer would have found that out.’
‘This is between us, okay? I’m going out on a limb here, which is why I asked Ross to look at the possibility. There’s probably nothing in it, although I wanted to check it out all the same. Leave no stone unturned, so to speak.’
‘For what it’s worth, I think it’s most unlikely anyone fiddled with the box. There was no reason for them to. Ashbrook had a dodgy ticker. He had a heart attack. He went into a hot sauna.’ Ross made a starfish shape with his fingers – poof, a magician’s gesture.
‘I still can’t get it out of my head. He knew he had a heart condition. It doesn’t make sense.’
Ross let it lie. Robyn could be very dogmatic and wouldn’t listen to reason at times. That was one of her failings, and her strengths. He tried to catch her eye but she avoided his gaze. She was haggard, high cheekbones pronounced, eyes red-rimmed with tiredness, and more emaciated than ever. She was in danger of working herself into an early grave. Maybe that was her plan. She was still struggling with losing Davies, even after this length of time. Maybe she was going to push herself to the limit until something gave.
She dropped the subject of Ashbrook’s death and instead continued questioning Ross about various members of staff and the layout of the Hall. Before long they were joined by Jeanette, dressed in twinset and pearls with matching tweed skirt. She greeted them all before tugging at Ross’s arm. ‘It’s after three, Ross, and time to leave these officers to their investigations. Robyn, thank you. It was a lovely break and I think Ross benefited from the rest.’
‘Pleasure. Did you take a photo of him in his Speedos?’
Jeanette laughed. ‘I most certainly did not. I took one instead of him in his fluffy gown, fast asleep on a lounger, which I’ll keep to remind him he needs to look after himself.’
Ross gave her a sheepish look, shaggy eyebrows lifted. ‘You didn’t?’
‘You bet I did,’ she replied, and putting her arm through his, they left.
Robyn stirred into action. ‘I’m going to talk to Jakub Woźniak, if he hasn’t left, and then have a word with Bruno Miguel about what he overheard the night Miles Ashbrook died. Use your charm on the receptionist and find out how many of the current staff were employed at the Hall in 2012 when Harriet died. Interview any of them that are on the premises. As soon as Scott Dawson turns up for class, we’ll talk to him. Meet me at the gym at half four. I don’t want to wait until after his class, in case he goes off again.’
Mitz spoke quietly. ‘You’re intent on following up on Ashbrook’s death, aren’t you?’
‘Have you got a problem with that?’
Mitz chewed on his lip before answering. ‘I’ll be honest, I’m not comfortable with it, but I shan’t say anything. I just hope this doesn’t get back to the station.’
Thirty-Five
His mind was fevered. The thrill of the kill was a high he had never experienced before. Apart from the odd rabbit he had shot with an air rifle and a few neighbourhood cats that he had practised his neck-snapping technique on, he had not killed before this big mission. It had been so easy and electrifying. He replayed the sound of Jakub’s body hitting his car bonnet over and over again in his head, and when he closed his eyes he could see the man’s look of utter surprise as he flew into the dark sky.
It had been perfectly set up: a drawing pin in Jakub’s bike tyre that caused air to escape little by little. The tyre wouldn’t fully deflate until extra weight was placed on the bike. His calculations were perfect, and Jakub fell by the side of the winding lane, just as he had hoped. It couldn’t have gone better. He mustn’t get too agitated or excited about it. He had to maintain his act. There would be time to celebrate later.
He opened his wallet and gazed at the photograph of Harriet he kept there, then blew it a kiss. He whispered her name over and over again as he let his memory travel back in time.
He played it cool over the next few days. He didn’t want to frighten Harriet off. Every time she ran around Stowe Pool he’d be on the playing fields with Alfie, throwing a Frisbee or Alfie’s squeaky ball and pretending to be enjoying every minute of it. Whenever she exercised on the outside equipment he would be showering Alfie with affection and throwing dog treats for him. He would only raise a hand in greeting and smile in her direction or say hello. This was the way to win her over. She wouldn’t want to know that while she was showering after her run he was walking past her road, and that he now knew a lot about her.
His sister Stacey, on the other hand, was growing increasingly suspicious of his actions. She couldn’t understand why he’d go out of his way to take Alfie out every day. He had fobbed her off on several occasions.
‘He’s good for my health. The doctor told me I needed fresh air, and taking Alfie for a walk encourages me to go out.’ That might have washed
with her if she hadn’t caught him kicking the dog in the backyard. He didn’t know she had come home early while he was enjoying a sneaky ciggy out there – Stacey created blue murder when he smoked in the house. Alfie had come outside with his squeaky ball and insisted on squeaking it incessantly. The noise got to him and he’d lashed out with his foot, giving Alfie a good kick in the nuts. The animal had howled in agony, and Stacey had seen the whole thing from the kitchen window.
She folded her huge arms over her chest and regarded him with cold, unblinking eyes. ‘You’ll have to find somewhere else to live. You can’t stay here any more. It was only ever supposed to be temporary. You’ve been here five months. You’ll have to go. I need my space.’
He pleaded with her, knowing he usually wormed his way back into her affections. ‘Sis, it was an accident.’ Stacey gave him that same wary look she had given him when they were younger. She knew what he really was. And she knew he couldn’t be trusted. She blocked the kitchen door like a sumo wrestler and shook her head. He’d run out of luck.
This changed his plans, and instead of engaging Harriet in banter or impressing her with passages from his novel – which he had actually copied from the Internet – he had to conjure up an alternative plan. He put it into action immediately and headed towards Stowe Pool at his usual time. He couldn’t help himself. The urge to see her was too great.
It felt strange not having the dog with him. Listening to the ten o’clock chiming of St Chad’s church bells, he rubbed his eyes hard until they hurt, and, arching backwards, he filled them with eye drops stolen from his sister’s cabinet. He wandered onto the path around the reservoir, head bowed. By the time he’d reached the playing fields he heard her calling him. He ignored her voice. Curiosity would lead her to him. Sure enough, he soon heard her breathless voice as she ran up to him, ‘Hey. What’s happened? Where’s Alfie?’
He swiped the pad of his thumb under his eye before blowing his nose on a tissue. His bloodshot eyes and heaving dry sobs told her everything she needed to know.
‘Hey,’ Harriet repeated and put an arm around his shoulder, pulling him towards her. He hoped she couldn’t hear his hammering heart. He sniffed and gulped back imaginary tears. The eye drops streamed down his face.
‘Alfie got hit by a lorry.’
‘Oh no!’ Her hands flew to her mouth. ‘Is he—?’
‘He died in my arms. It was the postman’s fault. He hadn’t fastened the gate properly, and when Alfie bounded out to do his business he spotted something on the far side of the road and raced after it. I heard the squeal of tyres and I knew. My poor little dog.’ He sniffed again and wiped his eyes.
‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.’
His body shook, mostly due to her proximity, although she misinterpreted it as shock.
‘When did this happen?’
‘First thing this morning. I couldn’t bear to stay in the house. I had to get out. I haven’t buried him yet. I’ve left him in his bed with a blanket over him. It’s like he’s dozing, and any minute he’ll leap up to come for a walk. Does that sound stupid?’
‘Not at all. You need a while to adjust. Hey, why don’t you and I go for a cup of tea, and after that you might feel more able to bury him when you get home?’
He gave her what he hoped was a look of gratitude mixed with sadness. He took her hand. ‘You’re very kind. I can’t trouble you. I’m just some bloke who’s lost his dog for good. You’ve got your training, and I’ve taken up enough of your time the last few days.’
‘I insist. You can tell me about your book. Take your mind off the terrible shock.’
He nodded miserably. ‘You’re probably right. Thank you. Let me pay for it.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll pay. After all, Alfie bought me such beautiful flowers.’
He blew his nose again and wiped his eyes. ‘Only if you’re sure. That’d be really kind.’
She chose a quaint café, down from the church, which was empty bar the two of them, and insisted on getting him a slice of cake as well as a pot of tea. The café walls were painted in white and decorated with large black and white photographs of street scenes from the 1950s. The tablecloths were red checked, and on each table sat a small vase of flowers.
He kept up his act: a man distraught and confused. ‘I can’t thank you enough for your kindness.’
‘It’s nothing. Tell me, have you written any more of your novel?’
He pulled at the serviette, plucking the edges. ‘Actually, I have.’
She watched him as he picked up his cup, hand trembling. ‘Next time, you’ll have to read some of it to me.’
She chatted for a while about books she had read, and they got onto films. Fortunately, he could talk about those she professed to enjoy as he had been subjected to them while living at Stacey’s house. She was a chick-flick addict. He had spent many a dull evening watching that nonsense, and dreaming up ways to kill his sibling while she chewed her way through her own body weight in chocolates and laughed and cried at the antics on the screen. He had a sudden vision of strangling his sister and smiled. Harriet thought he was smiling about the film she was describing, and touched his hand in her enthusiasm. The jolt that ran up his arm was intense. He suddenly felt his stomach tighten. He wouldn’t be able to keep up this act for too much longer. He wanted Harriet with every fibre in his body.
He drained his cup and thanked her. ‘I feel better now. I’d better go and face up to the dreadful task while I feel stronger. Thank you, Harriet. I really would have crumbled if I hadn’t bumped into you. I know he may only have been a dog, but he was the world to me.’
She stood with him and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.
‘Good luck.’
She was almost his. It took all his willpower not to leave the café and cheer. Instead, he plodded out, head down, every inch the broken man.
Thirty-Six
The kitchen at Bromley Hall was surprisingly well organised and calm, and not full of chefs barking instructions or clattering pans, as Robyn had expected. A couple of younger chefs were preparing vegetables and sauces for dinner and she detected a delicious aroma of basil coming from something cooking in the oven. She found Bruno Miguel, immaculately attired in his uniform, sitting on a stool and sipping herbal tea. His chef’s hat stood to attention and his shoes shone. He was dressed for a chef’s parade rather than for a day of cooking.
‘Been sorting out a huge meat delivery and need a rest,’ he explained. ‘The suppliers delivered everything late, so it’s been manic. This is the calm before the evening storm, although I don’t think we have many diners in today. There are only a few guests. Head chef has taken the day off to go Christmas shopping, so I’m working with the sous-chef. He’s outside having a fag break. If he doesn’t get his regular dose of nicotine, he’s a nervous wreck by end of service.’
‘I had a look at the menu, and it all looks very appetising.’
‘And disgustingly healthy,’ he added.
‘I’m keen on healthy living and eating.’
‘Then you should try a dish or two. You don’t have to be a guest to eat here at the Hall, and we make the best carrot cake, with carrot sorbet and pumpkin seeds, you’ve ever tasted.’
‘Sounds delicious.’
‘It is. It’s one of our “eat without guilt” dishes we pride ourselves on.’
‘Have you got a minute to talk?’
‘Sure. What’s it about?’
‘I understand you overheard someone threatening to kill Miles Ashbrook.’
Bruno’s face changed. His relaxed pose disappeared. He leant towards her and hissed, ‘You heard wrong.’
Robyn persisted, unperturbed by his change in attitude. ‘I have reason to believe you overheard a conversation between Jakub Woźniak and Miles Ashbrook, during which Mr Woźniak threatened to kill Mr Ashbrook.’
‘You’re mistaken. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready to cook.’
‘Thank
you for your time, Mr Miguel. It’s a pity you didn’t hear anything. I shall now have to interview Mrs Maggiore about it.’
He slammed down his mug of tea. ‘Leave her out of this.’
She lifted an eyebrow. ‘I wish I could. I have to follow this up.’
‘Okay, but don’t bring Fiona into this. We’re trying not to draw attention to ourselves. Yes, I overheard a conversation between the pair of them. Jakub was really cheesed off about his wife being made redundant. She was earning more than Jakub and they needed the income. It wasn’t just the fact she was laid off, it was the way Ashbrook did it. He called the women into the office, one by one, and fired them there and then. Jakub was furious about it. You didn’t need to ask him to know he was angry. He cursed and carried on all day after it happened. I was brassed off too. Ashbrook had been having a right old sacking session. I’ve been here since 2010 and I’ve never seen such low morale. It’s hard enough with all the personality clashes here, and harder still when you can’t keep hold of any member of the team for longer than six months. Part of my duties is to keep the kitchen team motivated and organised. It’s been hell the last few months. We’ve been losing kitchen porters and chefs like there’s no tomorrow, and the workload keeps falling on the shoulders of us poor buggers left behind.’
‘So what did you hear exactly?’ Robyn asked, trying to get him back on track.
‘Jakub was shouting. He has a distinctive way of speaking so I knew it was him. He told Ashbrook that he’d handled the sacking badly and he was going to challenge it. Ashbrook said it was out of his hands. He was only following instructions, and he personally hadn’t wanted to fire the women that way. Jakub called Ashbrook a coward and said that a proper man would stand up to the management’s decision. Ashbrook told him to get out of the office or he’d “find himself joining the dole queue”. Jakub growled something I couldn’t hear and I think he threw something, or thumped the table. There was a clattering and Ashbrook yelled, “Get out before I make life so difficult for you, you’ll have to go back to Poland.” To which Jakub responded, “You’d better watch your back. Where I come from we have ways of dealing with people like you.” Ashbrook shouted, “Are you threatening me?” Jakub replied, “Yes.” That’s it. I left before Jakub came out of the office.’
