The Room on the Second Floor

by T A Williams

  ‘Amen.’ Henri agreed, while Stan stared at Paddy in wonder. He would never understand the convoluted workings of the old Irishman’s brain. He took a deep breath.

  ‘Professor Dalby, please believe us when we say that we were not involved in any attempt to harm you. We did, I am afraid, move the furniture to the pillbox as a last resort, but that is as much as we did. We would very much hope to continue to serve you, as we did your uncle in the old days. The idea of us being in any way involved with attempts upon your life is totally wrong.’ He sounded and looked completely genuine.

  ‘Never in a month of Sundays.’

  ‘So totally erroneous as to be well beyond the pale of credence by mortal man, however hard he might squeeze his cerebral cortex.’

  Roger believed them and he told them so. But it didn’t help him find the person or persons who were trying to kill him. As for the relocation of some of his uncle’s possessions, he set their minds at rest.

  ‘Listen, you three. I know my uncle thought highly of you. I’ve never told you this before, but he wrote me a letter before the onset of his illness. I found it locked inside his desk. In it, he told me to look after you all, as he considered you as faithful staff and good friends. That’s the word he used, friends.’ All three looked greatly cheered. ‘From what I have heard, it is clear that his illness seriously affected the balance of his mind. I see nothing wrong in what you did.’ They looked relieved. ‘In fact, in the same circumstances, I would most probably have done the same thing myself. So, let’s consider the matter closed.’

  There was a general nodding of heads and the appearance of a few smiles.

  ‘On the other hand, that still leaves us with a major problem. I will need all the help you can provide to get to the bottom of who is trying to kill me.’

  Chapter 49

  Linda and Duggie left Chief Inspector Cocker on the telephone. Mo was offering comfort and support to Natascha and Rocky. The little Russian was perking up, but the big man was still looking pale. Even so, he was bravely guarding the end of the corridor, in case Ms Turner tried to come back in off the roof. Linda led Duggie down the stairs, like a naughty schoolboy, to Roger’s office. She pushed the door gently open, and looked inside. Then, to Duggie’s surprise, she stood aside and beckoned him forward.

  ‘You know what you’ve got to do, don’t you?’

  ‘Aren’t you coming in?’

  ‘Duggie, you have known him for a long, long time. This is between the two of you. Just make sure you tell him everything.’ She gave him a meaningful look, and he slunk into the study. The door closed quietly behind him. He braced himself for his long-overdue confession. Oh God, what a total balls-up.

  ‘Hi, Duggie. You’ll never guess what has just happened.’ Duggie, as if in a dream, found himself listening to Roger explaining the story of the pillbox contents. He stood in front of his old friend, absently scratching Jasper’s ears. He listened to Roger’s account of the recent scene involving Henri, Paddy and Stan. Despite his shell-shocked state, he managed to register what was being related to him. He even produced a few grunts in reply. At the end of his exposition, Roger suddenly realised that Duggie was not looking his normal smiley self.

  ‘What’s up, Duggie? You look decidedly…strange. Not feeling well? Here, come and sit down.’ Duggie gratefully collapsed into the armchair and struggled for words.

  ‘Rog, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time now, but I’ve never found the right moment.’ He paused before admitting. ‘To be honest, I’ve always been too frightened to talk to you about it.’

  ‘Frightened? Of me? Come on, Duggie, you know me well enough after all these years. Spit it out.’ He picked up the wail of a police siren in the distance, coming closer and closer. His eyes narrowed. He inclined his head towards the window.

  ‘Coming here?’

  Duggie nodded miserably.

  ‘Somebody trying to kill me again, or is somebody else this time?’ He was trying to keep the conversation light.

  ‘No, not you this time, Rog. Something has happened up on the second floor.’ He paused. Roger looked up in concern.

  ‘It’s not Linda, is it? Nothing’s happened to her, has it?’

  ‘No, she’s fine.’

  ‘The second floor, you say?’ Suddenly things were beginning to make sense.

  Duggie nodded bleakly. He cleared his throat. ‘You see, it’s like this.’

  His confession of everything that had happened, from the discovery of the parchment, up to and including that evening’s events involving Rachel Turner, took the best part of half an hour. Nobody disturbed them, and the dog slept through it. Roger, on the other hand, was wide awake throughout.

  Chapter 50

  After she closed the door to Roger’s study behind a very nervous Douglas Scott, Linda stood in the corridor for a minute, unsure what to do next. After a while, natural curiosity took over. She retraced her footsteps up to the Salon. A uniformed police officer was now standing by the security door. A pair of paramedics, still wearing their luminous jackets, were tending to Rocky’s cut arm. He managed a brave smile towards Linda as she came past. She laid a comforting hand on his muscular shoulder.

  ‘How are you doing, Rocky?’ She, like everybody else in the manor, was fond of the hard man with the very soft centre.

  ‘Marion here tells me I’ll live.’ The paramedic looked up with a smile. ‘The only thing is that it’s cut my mother in two.’ It took a few moments’ reflection, and then a glance at the long cut on his arm, to realise that he was talking about his tattoo. It would never be the same again. As she got up and headed for the security door, she heard him pleading with them to be careful. ‘I don’t want to be left with just a “Moth” now, do I?’

  The police constable told her that Chief Inspector Cocker and another officer were searching all the rooms down the corridor. They were waiting for Rachel Turner to reappear from the roof. According to the description received from Natascha, the manager was wearing very scanty clothes. The night-time temperature was hovering around zero, so it should just be a matter of time. At that moment Mo appeared through the door. She gave Linda a weary smile and explained the background to the situation in more detail.

  ‘I’ve had my suspicions about Rachel Turner for some time now. Stuff has gone missing and she’s the only one with access to all areas. It had to be her.’

  ‘What sort of stuff, Mo?’

  Mo hesitated, then answered truthfully. ‘To be honest, Linda, I’m afraid it’s all been very intimate stuff; you know, underwear and sex toys.’

  Linda had seen enough of both lying around the rooms she had visited that evening to appreciate just how intimate these things were. But why go potty now?

  ‘Why, Mo? Whatever is wrong with her? What made her freak out like that?’

  ‘I suppose she must have found out that her new boyfriend is one of our clients. I’ve been trying to keep her as far away from the punters as possible, but she must have seen him. I suppose that would come as a shock to any woman.’

  Linda had no doubt at all what her reaction would be to making such a discovery about Roger. ‘And the fact that she dressed up in that outfit?’

  ‘I suppose she thought she could take Natascha’s place with the dentist.’ She looked up at Linda and shook her head sadly. ‘There’s a bottle of pills in her desk drawer. I know what they are. I…I was in love once.’ Her voice caught. ‘He had the most terrible mental problems. He was on those same pills.’

  Linda reached out and laid a comforting hand on her arm. ‘What happened?’

  ‘He jumped out of a fourth-floor window.’ Her voice was barely audible, heavy with emotion. She wiped the back of her hand over her eyes and looked up, clearing her throat. ‘I think Rachel Turner’s got big, big problems.’

  ‘So what happens to her now?’ Linda glanced out of the window into the darkness.

  ‘She’s out there, on the roof. She must be freezing. It’s
a flat roof in places, but it slopes in others. There are a lot of skylights and glass domes up there, so the police say it’s too dangerous to go up there without specialist equipment. They have radioed for the fire brigade to send some men with ropes and floodlights.’

  Good Lord, Linda thought to herself. All we need now is the coastguard and Bomb Disposal, and we will have a full house of emergency services. Her heart sank. A fugitive on the roof and pretty clearly crazy. And this wasn’t even linked with the attempts upon the life of her beloved Roger. Rachel Turner was a recent arrival. Far too recent to be in any way linked to the attacks on Roger. These had, after all, started before they went to Japan three months earlier. So, Linda realised wearily, even once this case of attempted grievous bodily harm was resolved, they would be no closer to finding a solution to Roger’s worries. She raised her eyes, as she heard Mo yawn.

  ‘You look worn out, Mo. Why don’t you go down to Henri and get him to make you a nice cup of cocoa, and give you something to eat? The police have got matters in hand now.’

  Mo smiled at her gratefully, and agreed to do just that. The paramedics were packing up. They had decided to take Rocky out to the ambulance for the short drive back to the hospital, and stitches. He was well enough to walk. They were no doubt very relieved that they would not have to carry him out on a stretcher. Linda gave him a kiss on the cheek. Mo then accompanied him downstairs.

  Linda found herself left in the company of the police officer. He was busy listening to messages coming in over his radio, so she walked out onto the landing. She cast her mind down to what might be happening in Roger’s study. She could only begin to imagine the shock he would get from hearing the sorry tale. How could Duggie have been so crazy? She set off back down the stairs towards the study.

  She never got there.

  As she reached the first floor and turned the corner into the corridor leading to Roger’s rooms, she found her way blocked by a tall figure, dressed from head to toe in black. A balaclava covered his face. She stopped dead and opened her mouth to scream.

  ‘Shush, Linda. We don’t want to disturb the others now, do we?’

  He stepped towards her, fast. The familiar voice choked off her scream. His gloved hand then completed the job. Before she could even put up a struggle, he caught her round the waist and pulled her out onto the landing, his hand still covering her mouth and nose. She felt herself choking. She kicked ineffectually as he dragged her up the stairs. Arriving at the top, he did not turn towards the Salon. Instead, he took her in the other direction.

  On this side of the stairs was the unrestored part of the house. She was vaguely aware of being dragged down towards what they called the orangery. The hand over her face all but stopped her breathing. The overwhelming sense of terror that descended upon her did the rest. She passed out.

  He grunted as he felt her collapse. He paused, long enough to check that she was still alive, then lifted her over his shoulder and kicked the door open. It was a large room, with a series of glass roof lights set into the gently sloping roof. Previous owners would no doubt have grown exotic plants in there. As the door opened, the musty smell of old compost and long-dead plants assailed him. He slid her body to the floor.

  He pulled a vicious kitchen knife out of his coat pocket. Along with it was a coil of rope. He knew what he had to do now.

  Chapter 51

  Downstairs in Roger’s office, Duggie was winding up his story. Roger’s expression had gone from shock, to anger, to disgust, and back to shock again, as the tale unfolded. When Duggie sat back at the end, his head in his hands, Roger tried to make sense of all he had heard.

  His home was now, thanks to his oldest friend, a brothel. That in itself was pretty outrageous. But he was still trying to digest the news that many of the most influential people in the area were regular clients. Was the world going crazy? Why on earth did these respectable men, many of them a good deal older than Roger himself, feel the need to patronise such an establishment? For his part, he knew full well that Linda, particularly now she had suddenly acquired a selection of wonderfully exciting underclothes, was all the woman he would ever need. Duggie had admitted as much, when talking about his relationship with Tina. Were they all mad? And now the news that one of the staff would appeared to have gone mental. Attacking a pretty little girl like Natascha, for crying out loud? Perish the thought.

  He looked across at the miserable remains of Duggie. His voice had become progressively more and more hoarse and ashamed as the tale unfolded. He was now slumped forward dejectedly, a shadow of his former boisterous self. Of course Roger knew him of old. Duggie had always had this rebellious, some might call it self-destructive, streak in him. It had ruined a number of his previous attempts to carve out a career. It had probably ruined his two marriages. It was stronger than he was, this impulse to break the rules, to do what he knew he shouldn’t. Roger knew full well it was all part of his multi-faceted, larger-than-life character.

  In the past, Roger had been an onlooker, observing Duggie’s numerous falls from grace. He had been on hand as a friend to offer support and advice. Now it was up to him to deal out justice. He cleared his throat and saw Duggie’s head rise, ready for the inevitable blow. Roger had a sudden image of Charles I on a cold January day in 1649, wearing two shirts lest he shiver with cold and it be construed as fear. He imagined the king laying his head on the block in Whitehall. The axe glinted in the weak sunlight above. Roger sighed inwardly.

  ‘Duggie, you and I go back a long way.’ He made a start.

  Duggie nodded gloomily. Roger took a deep breath but, as he opened his mouth, his words were obscured by a crash of breaking glass. A brick smashed through the window, showering them both with splinters of glass. The dog was sent yelping under the desk. Duggie jumped backwards in surprise. Roger would have done the same, but for the fact that he was leaning back with his plaster cast on the stool. As it was, Duggie rushed to the broken window. With his back to the wall, he risked a fast glance out. His military training told him it was unwise to present himself at the window in case the perpetrator had a gun.

  All he saw was the rope to which the brick was attached. It was hanging out over the window sill. He risked another look, down into the darkness below, but nothing and nobody moved. He pulled on the rope. The end came into view. It was only then that he realised its significance. The brick had been swung against the side of the house like a pendulum. So the person who had done it was above, not below them. He turned back and untied the brick from the rope. He brought it over to Roger. Attached to the brick with a length of twine was a piece of paper. Roger tore it open, to be confronted with a classic ransom note, painstakingly made up of letters cut from a newspaper, and glued to the page.

  I HAVE GOT LINDA. STAY BY TELEPHONE.

  A sensation akin to a cold knife plunged deep into Roger’s stomach. Turning to Duggie, he showed him the note.

  ‘Please, Duggie, go and look for her. Please.’

  Duggie read it in a flash and took to his heels. Roger was still scrabbling for his crutches, seriously hindered by the overexcited dog. Less than half a minute later, before Roger made it to the door, Duggie was back again. Now he was accompanied by Chief Inspector Cocker.

  The inspector was doing his best to concentrate. He was still trying to take in what he had seen in the bedrooms on the second floor. The sight of the manager of the local football team, dressed in suspenders and high heels, chasing Josephine from the Ivory Coast around a huge bed, would stay with him for years to come. Not least the referee’s whistle, clenched between his teeth. And, of course, there was the judge with the steel helmet…

  ‘Give us the note, Rog.’ Duggie took the paper from Roger’s hand and passed it on to Cocker.

  The inspector scanned it. ‘How long ago did this arrive?’

  ‘Seconds. Whoever did it is probably still out there.’ Duggie explained his theory as to how the brick had been swung from above. The inspector decided the time had come
for back-up. He picked up Roger’s phone and dialled. After a short exchange of conversation, he replaced the receiver.

  ‘Professor Dalby, I have called for some extra help. Uniformed officers will be along shortly.’

  Duggie could hardly believe what had happened. ‘It was only a few minutes ago that she left me in the corridor.’

  ‘Maybe a bit longer than that.’ Duggie’s confession to Roger had taken longer than he thought. He had made it as complete as possible, trying hard to leave nothing out. ‘It is probably a good half hour now.’

  Roger’s worst fears just got worse. In half an hour, God only knew what could have happened to her.

  ‘There’s no way she would have gone outside at this time of night. Whoever is responsible for this must have been waiting inside the building.’

  They looked at each other. Duggie was appalled. It might be ages before the police arrived. In that time, who could tell what might happen to Linda? More convinced than ever that it was his fault all this had happened, he decided it was up to him to do something about it. His years in the Special Forces probably made him better prepared than anybody else in the building. He excused himself and left the two of them alone.

  ‘What about the crazy lady from the Salon?’ Roger was thinking back to Duggie’s tale. The inspector shook his head in a vain attempt to clear the confusion.

  ‘I suppose it is just feasible that she might have got hold of Linda, immobilised her, then prepared the note and thrown it. However, it seems very unlikely, not least as Ms Turner is almost certainly still hiding on the roof. What on earth would Linda have been doing on the roof? No, I think the manager’s up there on her own. One of my men is in position by the security door into the Salon. There’s no other way down. She has got to be up there still.’

  He held out the ransom note. ‘Anyway, I don’t see it. The ransom note, look at it. Just cutting out the letters and gluing them on would have taken time.’ He took a more professional look at the note. ‘Different fonts and sizes. Different newspapers. It would have taken far too long. No,’ he made up his mind, ‘I am in no doubt at all that this note had to be prepared in advance. Somebody has planned this whole scenario. Now, whether it could still be the woman from upstairs or somebody else, I really don’t know.’ As he finished, the sound of sirens grew louder. A gaggle of police cars came up the drive and stopped outside. The inspector knew he had to go down and brief the men.