Murder in Room 346

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Was it mutual?’

  ‘They rarely spoke, and once Helen had made it clear she did not want his son, their relationship became worse.’

  ‘I have to ask. Would John have been capable of murder?’

  ‘He would have hated his father being in that room with Helen, but I still don’t think he could have killed them.’

  ‘Sisterly love protecting you from the truth?’

  ‘It could be.’

  ‘We have reason to believe that Helen Langdon was a fraud. The more we discover, the deeper we go, we find more negative aspects of the woman. In your time with her, did you ever sense anything unusual?’

  ‘She was besotted by my father, that was clear, but if, as you say, she was a fraud, how much was genuine?’

  ‘Why the hotel room?’ Isaac said.

  ‘Our father strayed occasionally, but why with Helen? And what about Gerald Adamant?’

  ‘There’s a new investigation into his death.’

  ‘Is the verdict against Helen likely to be changed?’

  ‘That’s not our primary concern. We’re focussed on who killed your father and Helen,’ Isaac said. ‘Regardless of what or who she may have been, the two were shot in that room. We’ve focussed on Helen because she has a past, but it’s always possible that the murderer was targeting your father, and if he was, then why, and why in a hotel room? It would have been easier to kill him elsewhere.’

  ‘Maybe Helen being with him was the reason. Maybe they wanted to destroy his reputation by exposing him as a debaucher, not a paragon of virtue.’

  ‘Outside of that room, his murder would have strengthened his moral campaign, but in that room, regardless of his dying, he becomes painted as the sinner.’

  ‘And with Helen Langdon, the wife of Gerald Adamant, the man she killed.’

  ‘Whoever killed him knew what they were doing,’ Isaac said.

  ***

  Isaac’s conversation with Linda Holden had offered him a fresh approach to the first murder investigation. He was in his office at Challis Street. The team were there.

  ‘James Holden’s son has committed suicide. His father’s morality campaign office has closed.’ Isaac said.

  ‘It’s not surprising after he’s caught in a hotel with a former stripper,’ Wendy said.

  ‘That’s the issue, isn’t it? The man’s reputation destroyed in an instant.’

  ‘Did the killer get a tip-off, two birds with one stone?’

  ‘Daisy knew them both. Maybe she recognised them going into the hotel, told someone. And whoever killed the two lovers killed her to tie up loose ends.’

  ‘Was your concierge on duty the time they were killed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We need him in here now.’

  Larry left Challis Street and drove the short distance to the hotel. Inside, at reception was another person. The hotel still had the look of neglect, and a woman could be seen sneaking in with her man for the hour. ‘Is the other concierge here?’

  ‘The hotel fired him,’ the new concierge said. Larry looked at the man: Slavic, poor English, unpleasant look.

  ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘He found a job around the corner. And what’s it to you?’

  ‘Challis Street Police Station. Detective Inspector Larry Hill, or didn’t you see my ID card when I showed it to you?’

  ‘I saw it. Serge, he’s a friend of mine, that’s all.’

  ‘Why was he fired?’

  ‘He was letting people into the hotel without paying.’

  ‘You’re doing the same from what I can see.’

  ‘Serge, he asks too many questions.’

  ‘What sort of questions?’

  ‘The sort I don’t ask.’

  ‘Are you going to continue talking nonsense, or am I going to haul you down the police station?’

  ‘People come in here, people go out. They pay their money, sign in the book. Apart from that, I don’t care what they do, with whom, and how. That way, I keep my job and make a little extra on the side. But my friend, he’s inquisitive, wants to see what they’re up to, who’s with who. The management finds out that he’s been spying on people. They’re not happy, he’s sacked.’

  ‘Are you still letting the prostitutes in?’

  ‘As long as they pay.’

  ‘The management, they get a percentage of what you take?’

  ‘That’s the agreement.’

  ‘Did you know Daisy?’

  ‘She used to come in here occasionally.’

  ‘She was killed because she knew the two in room 346.’

  ‘I wasn’t here that night.’

  ‘What about the room?’

  ‘It’s still closed. It’s being repainted.’

  ‘Take me up there,’ Larry said.

  ‘I can’t. I’ve got to man the desk. I can give you a key.’

  Larry took the key and walked up the stairs to the third floor. Outside the murder room, he paused. Down the hallway, the sound of a woman with her customer: she making the mandatory noises; he attempting to pretend it was love. It was clear the man was drunk. Larry opened the door to the murder room. In the middle of the barren room was the bed where the two had been shot. A trauma scene clean-up team had been through the room. There was no sign of what had happened, only a faint whiff of cleaning fluids. The carpet that had been on the floor had been removed, as had the mattress and the sheets. In the wardrobe, there was nothing, not even a wire coat hanger. Larry looked in the bathroom, yet again spotlessly clean. He imagined there’d be couples in the future, lying on the bed, making love, not knowing that once two others had died violently on it. Larry closed the door on his way out.

  Downstairs, he gave the key to the concierge and left. No words were exchanged. It was not far to walk to where Serge, the previous concierge, was.

  ‘I can’t tell you any more,’ he said. Larry could see the hotel was better than the previous one, and Serge had cleaned himself up.

  ‘No ladies of the night?’ Larry said.

  ‘They’re strict here.’

  ‘No more peeping, no more taking money to turn a blind eye.’

  The concierge did not respond to the bait. ‘I’ve told you all I know. The last time I pointed out someone to the police, she ended up dead.’

  ‘What is it you’ve not been telling us?’

  ‘What do you want me to tell you? The room was on the third floor, I’m on the ground floor. Two people come in, they pay for a room. She’s attractive, he’s older.’

  ‘You didn’t think it suspicious?’

  ‘We’re a hotel. If they pay their money, don’t steal the contents from the minibar, what is there to be suspicious about?’

  ‘You were watching couples in their rooms.’

  ‘Who said I did?’

  ‘Don’t deny it.’

  ‘Sometimes, when it’s quiet, I like to look around.’

  ‘Small hole in the wall?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You couldn’t resist Helen Langdon. The woman was beautiful, not like the women who normally came in, not like Daisy.’

  ‘The hotel was quiet. I sneak away for a few minutes. I had the key to the next room. There’s a small hole in the wall behind a picture.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘The two of them in bed.’

  ‘Sleeping?’

  ‘Screwing.’

  ‘You’re excited, enjoying the spectacle. Then what happens.’

  ‘The bell on reception goes. I’ve got a remote that beeps. I leave them to it.’

  ‘How much longer before they’re dead?’

  ‘According to your people, fifteen minutes, maybe thirty.’

  ‘At the reception, what do you find?’

  ‘Another woman with her customer.’

  You give them a key?’

  ‘She’s a regular. I know she’ll fix up the money later, and besides, the man looks as if he’s in need of her.’

&nbs
p; ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s pawing her, trying to kiss her.’

  ‘Her reaction?’

  ‘She’s playing along. The man looks as if he’s got money.’

  ‘Who was the woman?’

  ‘Daisy’s flatmate.’

  ‘Gwendoline?’

  ‘That’s her. She’s been in the hotel more often than Daisy.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’

  ‘Tell you what? You were looking for a man, not a prostitute.’

  ‘And you didn’t want us to find out about your snooping.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Nothing. We’ve got to find this woman. Does she stand on a street corner near here?’

  ‘The same places as Daisy.’

  Larry left the man and phoned Wendy. ‘Meet me in Bayswater. We need to find Daisy’s flatmate, Gwendoline. You know her better than me.’

  ***

  Larry and Wendy drove around the area looking for the usual spots where the women congregated. Gwendoline was nowhere to be seen. Eventually, the two of them visited the brothels in the area. Around the back of Paddington Station, they found the prostitute. She was sitting on a leather sofa on the first floor of a brothel. On either side of her were two other women; one was South American, the other looked Asian.

  ‘They’re probably in this country illegally,’ Wendy said.

  ‘We’re here for Gwendoline, not them.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Daisy’s flatmate said.

  ‘We’ve some questions for you.’

  ‘I’m busy, come back later.’

  ‘Later doesn’t work for us,’ Larry said. He could see the woman was agitated. She was wearing a dress so short that her underwear was visible. She was not wearing a bra.

  ‘Five minutes, that’s all I can give you.’

  ‘We need you down at the police station. You can go like that or do you want to change?’

  ‘I don’t want any trouble in here,’ the madam of the brothel said. Wendy saw a woman in her fifties, almost certainly an ex-prostitute. In the corner of her mouth a cigarette, its ash ready to fall on the floor.

  ‘It’s not as good as the hotel you used to use,’ Wendy said to Gwendoline.

  ‘It’s safer here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Daisy, she was murdered, and then those two in that room at the hotel.’

  ‘Did you use that room?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Gwendoline, I don’t want the police in here,’ the madam said. ‘Go with them, come back later.’

  The prostitute picked up her coat and left with Larry and Wendy. She complained, although no one was listening. At Challis Street, she was placed in one of the interview rooms and given a cup of tea, as well as some biscuits. ‘I’m hungry,’ she said.

  ‘Pizza?’

  ‘Hawaiian.’

  Twenty-five minutes later, with the woman fed, Larry and Wendy commenced the interview.

  ‘You were in the hotel on the night of the murders in room 346.’

  ‘A waste of time for me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m doing a favour for Daisy. She says the man pays well, and he’ll see me right.’

  ‘Why didn’t she take him?’

  ‘She wasn’t feeling well, and the man phoned at the last minute.’

  ‘You agreed?’

  ‘Why not? I met him at the hotel, and we went up to the room.’

  ‘Which room?’

  ‘The one opposite the murders.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He gave me a drink. I wake up three hours later.’

  ‘Was the drink drugged?’

  ‘I suppose so. Anyway, I’ve got a throbbing headache. I put on my clothes and leave the hotel, that bastard on the door wanting his money, as well.’

  ‘Your customer, did he pay you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There’s a murder in the room opposite. You’re unconscious, the man you’re with has disappeared. Doesn’t that sound coincidental to you?’

  ‘I don’t get involved, the first rule for people like me. We don’t ask for their life story, or whether life has treated them bad or good. We’re not a confessional, either. It’s sex and out of the door.’

  ‘Did this man murder Helen Langdon and James Holden?’ Larry asked.

  ‘He could have killed me,’ Gwendoline said.

  ‘You were his way into the hotel. Did the concierge see you downstairs?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘Describe this man?’

  ‘What’s to describe. I don’t check them out, prefer to look away.’

  ‘Regardless of whether you look or not, what can you tell us about him?’

  ‘Average height, white. He spoke well.’

  ‘Did he give a name?’

  ‘Dennis, but that’s probably not his name.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Most of them make up a fancy name. Somehow it helps them to deal with the guilt.’

  ‘Is that why you’re Gwendoline instead of Kate Bellamy?’

  ‘The men want the strange names, I only want their money. There’s no guilt from me. I’m a spaced-out junkie, nothing more, nothing less.’

  ‘Let’s come back to this man. Did you have sex with him?’

  ‘No. He gave me the drink and then nothing.’

  ‘Did you believe him to be the murderer?’

  ‘I didn’t think about it. He probably was, but I don’t know. I was frightened.’

  ‘Daisy, what did she say?’

  ‘She said she was surprised. He had always been fine with her. A few days later, she’s murdered in our flat.’

  ‘It’s probably the same man. Why did he leave you alone? You could identify him, the same as Daisy.’

  ‘I couldn’t. I told you, I don’t study the men. With them, I’m an empty vessel. Mentally, I’m detached. If you ask me about the men from last night, I couldn’t give you detailed descriptions.’

  ‘Do you dislike your life?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘It’s not my choice. I’m addicted, that’s all. The men feed the habit, I forget.’

  Chapter 20

  Isaac sat with Violet Holden; she was subdued. Linda Holden sat close by.

  ‘Mrs Holden, I’m sorry about your recent losses, but there are questions I must ask,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Please ask.’

  ‘Mother’s on sedatives,’ Linda said.

  ‘I’ll take it easy. Please say if you have anything to add.’

  ‘I will. The last few weeks have been difficult.’

  ‘Mrs Holden, Linda, I want to update you on our enquiry. There are some concerns that you may be able to clarify.’

  ‘We’ll do what we can,’ Linda said.

  ‘We know of Helen’s background, although it’s still difficult to understand what was in her mind. All indications are that she and James Holden were killed because of her. She had probably known of the death of Ben Aberman, a former lover, and where he was buried. For whatever reason, she kept it secret. There’s also her marriage to Gerald Adamant. Every person we’ve spoken to saw it as a love match.’

  ‘You’re not sure now,’ Violet Holden said.

  ‘It was everyone’s faith in Helen that ultimately led to her reduced sentence after she killed Adamant with a hammer.’

  ‘If people had not believed in her?’

  ‘Without the character witnesses, she may have been found guilty of first-degree murder. That’s conjecture on my part. Is it possible that Mr Holden was the intended target? He must have upset a few people over the years.’

  ‘He was introducing a bill into parliament that would have given sweeping powers to block websites that showed dubious content.’

  ‘Those safeguards are in place now,’ Isaac said.

  ‘They’re subject to intervention, debate. He wanted to set up a team of people whose decisions would be final. They could
switch off a site on picking up an offensive word, a suggestive image.’

  ‘Can’t they do that now?’

  ‘They can, but the technology’s improving. He knew he would have the civil libertarians against him, as well as those who uphold the freedom to see and do what we want.’

  ‘Once you start, where do you end?’

  ‘My father saw that throttling all of it was a better alternative than what we have now,’ Linda said.

  ‘Have there been any threats?’

  ‘There are always threats, but my father ignored them.’

  ‘If he had died as a martyr, then his reforms would have been implemented.’

  ‘As a sinner, they will not.’

  ‘Was Helen complicit?’

  ‘How? She was killed in the bed next to my father.’

  ‘Helen loved James,’ Violet said.

  ‘How do you know?’ Isaac said.

  ‘I was married to James for a long time. He was infatuated with her, no doubt thought it was love. With her, it was. Whatever she may have done or been, with James, she was honest.’

  ***

  Barry Knox knew he was implicated, if not by actual deed, then by association. He had known of the death of Ben Aberman on the night he was led away by Ugly Pete and his associates, ultimately forcing Gus, his former doorman, to become an accessory to murder. Knox knew that Gus was not a murderer, never had been. He had been guilty of unjustifiable violence, but that was how the man operated. And strip clubs needed someone strong enough to deal with a group of men out on the town, determined to get drunk, and then believing that the girls on the stage were offering more than was available.

  Knox knew the police were not fools, and, if it were not for the murders, the club’s activities would be investigated further. Then they would find the videos of the customers with the girls, the profits from selling them on the internet, the fact that most of the girls were selling themselves, and he was their pimp. He made a phone call to someone who understood.

  ‘I can’t protect you for much longer,’ Knox said. ‘If Helen hadn’t been killed, no one would have ever known about Aberman, and nobody would have visited this club.’

  ‘Why are you calling me now? That was never agreed to.’

  ‘Am I the only one living who knows the truth?’

  ‘You’ll not speak.’

  ‘Why?’