A Dog's Life (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 4) (28 page)

Romney reacted as though he had forgotten he had company. ‘It is quite possible that we have just been in the company of one of the nastiest women it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. I would say we’ve been supping with the devil except she didn’t offer us anything to drink. And I’m glad of it. I’d be worried that she’d have poisoned me. Do you think she suspects we’re on to her?’

‘She didn’t give me that impression, sir.’

Romney grinned. ‘Me neither. I think she was a bit preoccupied with taking me for a prat. Least I hope so. Fancy a coffee?’

They came quickly to Bromley and found a coffee house that promised an acceptable standard of beverage, a clean toilet and some outside seating.

When they were settled and Romney was smoking, Marsh said, ‘If she killed one of them she killed both, right?’ Her face betrayed her feelings of doubt for her senior’s direction of thought.

Romney nodded and let a stream of smoke escape his nostrils. ‘I think so. Why? Why did she kill Rachael Sparrow? She had to silence Stephanie Lather and make it look like suicide so that the finger would point there for Rachael Sparrow’s death – we were too quick to accept that version of events. And she had to shut Stephanie up regarding anything to do with the fate that befell her sister, including her innocence of involvement. Let’s get hold of Stephanie’s phone records for the day – her phone would be better. See what text messages she sent and received, who she called. And while you’re about it get Rachael Sparrow’s too. We might get lucky with something damaging.

‘I also don’t doubt that Stephanie scuttled back home as Mrs Allen said, full of self-pity and started drinking. These creative types are a bit predictable. When Mrs Allen rang me late on the Saturday night to tell me she’d heard from Stephanie and that she was worried about her, I assumed she was calling from her Dover hotel room. She could have been calling from anywhere.’

‘Like Stephanie’s home with her already lying dead in the bath?’ Marsh was still sounding dubious but Romney took her continued engagement as encouragement for his idea.

‘Precisely. By the time I could organise anyone to get around to Stephanie’s, get her picked up and brought in for questioning, Mrs Allen would be on her merry, smug way back to Dover. Which reminds me: let’s find out how she arrived at the Dover Marina Hotel. Whether she drove down or took the train. If she drove she’ll have left less of a trail for us to follow. If she let the train take the strain presumably she’ll have had to use it to get up to Stephanie’s home and back. We’ll find someone who remembers her, maybe even get lucky with some CCTV. And someone from the hotel must have seen her either leave or return.’  He drummed his fingers on the table in thought.

‘She learns from Stephanie that she’s returned home and she’s drinking herself into a stupor. She makes a decision. She arranges to get herself there. Worms her way in as a concerned “friend”. Panders to the writer’s ego and melancholy. Shares the drink with her and somehow gets some of her Temazepam into her. With a cocktail of booze and drugs sloshing around in Stephanie’s system she’s soon out for the count. Mrs Allen drags her to the bathroom gets her in the tub and drowns her. Cleans up after herself. Leaves the incriminating evidence. Lets herself out into the night and makes her way back to Dover. My insistence that she stayed on at the hotel for the night gives her a good alibi for her whereabouts. But why did she murder Rachael Sparrow? What happened between them for her to resort to such extremes?’

‘Rachael arrived late at the hotel,’ said Marsh beginning to warm to the theory and Romney’s enthusiasm for it. ‘Stephanie had already left. Rachael was probably stressed and agitated, possibly angry and frustrated at missing the big event, especially with all its implications for the sisters’ reunion. Maybe Mrs Allen heard or saw her banging on Stephanie’s hotel door. She wouldn’t have been in the best of moods either. In fact, after seeing her on the stage and the way she projected her displeasure at the audience on Saturday morning, I could believe she’s got quite a temper on her.’

Romney interrupted her, ‘But what specifically would have prompted her to smash her brains in?’

‘I haven’t finished,’ said Marsh. ‘You remember the exchange of emails between the sisters where they joke about Mrs Allen’s clumsy attempts to seduce Stephanie? What if Rachael brought that up? What if Mrs Allen took exception to it?’

‘What? I know you tried to get into my sister’s knickers, you scheming old dyke. Leave her alone.’

‘Maybe. Maybe Mrs Allen was aware of the sister’s history. Maybe Mrs Allen was aware of the planned reunion. Maybe Mrs Allen said something about Rachael’s affections for Stephanie’s ex-husband that she took exception to. With the general and probable levels of frustration they were possibly both on the edge of reason.’

‘It’s a lot of maybes, possiblies and what-ifs,’ said Romney, stubbing out his cigarette. And then he smiled, ‘But that’s a detective’s lot most of the time. Trouble with this job is people are generally such lying, dishonest, conniving gits. Probably something to do with wanting to avoid prosecution and jail time.  Can’t blame them, I suppose.

‘Still, like I’ve said before, ours is not to reason why. Ours is but to catch the buggers. We just have to prove it. When the game’s up more often than not they’ll move from vehement denial of any wrong-doing to providing chapter and verse of their criminal actions as they throw themselves on the mercy of the plea-bargainers. And I have high hopes that Mrs Allen is not as clever as she thinks she is. It’s not easy to think of everything when you go on a killing spree on impulse. There’s always going to be something that leads back to your door.

‘First thing we’re going to do when we get back is get SOCO into Mrs Allen’s room at the hotel. I believe her that the dog never left it. So Rachael must have been in there to get covered in all that dog hair. Maybe that’s where the dirty deed was done.’

‘And Mrs Allen dragged Rachael’s corpse along to Stephanie’s room to implicate her?’ Marsh sounded freshly doubtful. ‘What if she’d been spotted?’

‘What if she just wasn’t? It was only up the hall and there aren’t many rooms that side of the hotel, if I remember rightly. If she had killed her in her room it was probably worth the risk.’

‘If that’s the way it was then Mrs Allen must have known that Stephanie had already left. And Stephanie must have left her room unlocked for Mrs Allen to be able to walk straight in.’ Romney nodded agreement. ‘Do you think she knows how the dog died?’ said Marsh.

‘Maybe, but without a post-mortem she can’t be sure.’

‘It might be worth finding out what quantity of Temazepam the dog ingested. So we would know whether it received a measured dose. What if she gave it just a couple of pills so it would sleep?’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘When we first spoke to her, didn’t she say something about the dog not making a fuss so long as it wasn’t left alone for long? What if she planned to leave it alone for several hours while she went to murder Stephanie Lather because she had already killed her sister and needed someone to be blamed for it. It’s not just dead men who tell no tales or can’t protest their innocence. Dead women find it hard to communicate from beyond the grave too.’

‘We need to find a motive for why she would have killed Rachael Sparrow.’

‘No we don’t, sir. Like you said, we just have to prove that she killed Stephanie Lather and then she’ll tell us.’

‘I like your confidence, Sergeant. So, she gave the dog a hopeful dosage and ended up killing it. It’s possible. It’s also possible we’re letting our imaginations run away with us, you know.’

Marsh smiled. ‘True. But we’ve got to start somewhere and I agree with you that there is something very wrong here.’

‘You could be right about her dosing up the dog for a moonlight flit – and if she hadn’t we’d never have been any the wiser. Yet another curious incident of the dog in the night-time. ’

‘Pardon.’

‘Sherlock Holmes.’

‘Perhaps it could be argued that if you hadn’t been convinced the dog had infected you with rabies we’d never have taken such an interest.’

Romney allowed it because her mum had died. ‘How do you find Boudicca?’

Marsh was caught off guard with that. ‘She strikes me as professional and ambitious.’

‘And ruthless?’

‘I couldn’t say, sir. But she seems to be keen to make an impression. Would you mind if I spoke out of turn?’

‘Are you going to offer me some good advice?’

‘Something like that.’

‘I seem to remember you did that once before.’

‘And was I wrong?’ Romney became enigmatic. It didn’t suit him.  ‘I don’t think she is very happy with CID.’

‘Understatement of the year.’

‘And I think she’s looking for someone to blame for how CID is perceived.’

Romney smiled. ‘Are you saying you think my neck’s on the block?’

Marsh looked suddenly unhappy and serious. ‘She more or less asked me to be spy for her in CID. To be her eyes and ears. She let me know she could help me on my career path if I played her game. That’s not the way I want to advance.’

Romney’s smile had gone. ‘I appreciate your saying so, Joy. But I’d have to be blind and deaf not to have noticed her sharpening up her knives.’ Romney drained his coffee and said, ‘Ready?’

***

21

Romney brought them down the Jubilee Way bypass into Dover and along the A20. Instead of going as far as the roundabout to get back into town he veered sharply on to Marine Parade and the seafront just before the Premier Inn without indicating or warning to his passenger or other road users. Marsh caught an angry horn blast close behind them.

Pulling up outside the hotel, Romney said, ‘Put that statement somewhere safe, won’t you?’

The manager of the Dover Marina Hotel looked anything but pleased to see the familiar faces of Dover CID back cluttering up his lobby. He invited them through to his office.

‘We have some developments in the murder enquiry, Mr Unwin. I’m afraid we’re going to have to inconvenience you a little further. If you have anyone staying in room eleven, you’ll have to move them.’

‘Room eleven? Ms Lather was staying in room ten.’

‘I know,’ said Romney. ‘It’s possible things might not be as straightforward as they first seemed.’ The manager looked freshly miserable. ‘We’ll need to speak to whoever was working here on Saturday again.’

‘Surely you don’t suspect an employee of the hotel to be involved in what happened?’ said Mr Unwin, looking as though nothing would upset him more.

‘No. We’re hoping someone might have seen something regarding a new line of enquiry. No need to gather them all together. I know you have a busy establishment to run. But I would appreciate you putting the word out that we’re about and we’ll be speaking to everyone. I have a couple of other officers and a forensics team on the way. Who should I speak to about whether a guest who was staying here had their own transport?’

‘Reception should have that information.’

Room number eleven had not been occupied since Mrs Allen had left. That was good news. The forensics team installed themselves and set about collecting their samples and scouring the accommodation for something that might make a liar of Mrs Allen. Grimes and Harmer duly arrived and Romney asked the manager if he might make temporary use of one of the empty conference rooms.

Romney explained what had been discovered and what was now believed to have happened. Grimes had half a dozen colour copies of Mrs Allen’s profile photograph downloaded from the website of the literary agency she worked for and that Romney had told him to get enlarged and printed off at the station and bring with him.

They discovered that Mrs Allen had driven to the hotel and taken advantage of the hotel’s free parking. However, the parking area was not secured or patrolled and guests were free to come and go as they pleased. There was a CCTV camera monitoring the area and Romney set Harmer to investigating any footage from the weekend. Grimes went in search of employees to question regarding whether they had seen anyone resembling Mrs Allen coming or going on that night.

Both avenues of hopeful enquiry soon proved to be disappointing. A seagull had built a nest that obscured the view of the car park camera and the police were reminded of the wedding that had taken place at the hotel that Saturday, the well-attended disco of which had gone on past midnight. More than one member of staff told Grimes that it was impossible to know who was a guest and who wasn’t, let alone who anyone was.

Romney asked for the key to room ten and said to Marsh, ‘I’m going up for another look. Coming?’

Romney unlocked and they ducked under the police tape. The windows had remained shut and the air was fetid and still. The room was haunted with the unpleasantness that had occurred there and it subdued the officers.

‘What are we looking for?’ said Marsh.

Romney huffed and said, ‘I have no idea.’ After poking about for a minute, he said, ‘Mrs Allen knew that Stephanie had cleared out, right? Run off home to drown her sorrows or lick her wounds or whatever she was intending to do. She must have known it before Rachael arrived for her to have felt comfortable about leaving the body in here so that Stephanie would fall under suspicion. It wouldn’t have worked if she’d believed Stephanie could return at any time to start denying things.’