The Gospel Makers (5 page)

And, nodding to Jackson to accompany him, Webb strode down the corridor towards the lift.

The manager was nervously awaiting them in his office.

‘Now, sir,’ Webb said briskly, ‘I’ve given orders that in their own interests no one is to leave or enter the hotel until further notice. And as a matter of urgency, I shall need names and addresses of everyone who was here during the relevant time yesterday, together with a note of anyone who has since left, especially if it was earlier than anticipated.’

The manager was gazing at him in horror. ‘But Chief Inspector, I can’t have my guests treated as though they were criminals! I —’

‘Mr Diccon,’ Webb interrupted forcefully, ‘one of your guests is dead, and it is possible he did not die from natural causes.’

‘You mean — someone might have killed him? Here?’

‘It’s possible,’ Webb repeated, biting back the acid comment that murderers were no respecters of refurbished hotels and their reputations. ‘Everyone, staff and guests, will have to be interviewed as soon as possible. Someone might have seen something suspicious.’

With a shrug of resignation, Diccon lifted his phone and gave the necessary orders. The support group would be here any minute, Webb thought, but they’d already wasted twenty-four hours. The murderer was probably long gone. In the meantime he resumed the interview.

‘Now, sir, you say the deceased didn’t register on arrival. But surely he’d confirmed his booking in writing?’

‘He hadn’t booked in advance,’ Diccon said, making an obvious effort to control himself. ‘Arrived on spec. As I told you, he did give his name, but the girl was doing half a dozen things at once and can’t decipher her scrawl. A two-syllabled name beginning with K is the best she can come up with.’

‘You have it here?’

‘Yes, as you asked.’ He pushed across the reservations book. On the page for the previous day, the entry against room 251 was indeed all but illegible. An initial K was the only recognizable character, though an upper loop halfway along could, Webb supposed, be a b, d, h, 1 or even another k. Not a lot of help.

‘Any idea how he arrived? Car in the car park, for instance?’

Diccon shrugged helplessly. ‘We’ve no way of knowing. The ambulance man said he had car keys — I called them first, of course, and they were trying to discover who he was. But short of going round all the cars —’

‘Our plain-clothes officers will see to that.’ Diccon opened his mouth to protest once more, but catching Webb’s eye, thought better of it. ‘And now,’ Webb continued smoothly, ‘I’d like to see the receptionist, please, and after that the young lady who found the deceased.’

‘Certainly.’

The receptionist must have been standing by; almost as soon as Diccon put down his phone she tapped on the door. He introduced her to Webb — her name, Samantha, was inscribed on the badge she wore — then tactfully left the room.

She was tall and slim, wore her hair in a ponytail high on her head, and her make-up was immaculate. Looking at her, Webb found it hard to imagine her being flustered or writing anything illegible.

‘Sit down, Miss — er — Samantha. I understand you allocated the room to the guest who died?’

‘That’s right.’ She seated herself gracefully. ‘I feel dreadful that I took so little notice of him, but as I think Mr Diccon explained, I’d been left to hold the fort and quite frankly, it was chaos. Queues of people were waiting at the desk and the phone was ringing non-stop. When he offered to check in later, I was only too grateful.’

‘I want you to think carefully, because this could be important. Had he a foreign accent?’

She looked surprised. ‘No, sir.’

‘Can you be sure, when you were so busy? If —’

‘I should certainly remember if he’d been foreign,’ she said decidedly.

‘Even if he spoke good English?’ Webb persisted, remembering the paperback.

‘I would at least have registered it. We’re trained to speak to guests in their own language if at all possible. And though I can’t remember his name, it was an English one. I’m sure of that.’

‘Ah yes, his name. You’ve not had any more thoughts on that?’

‘I’ve been racking my brains all morning, but it won’t come back. I know it began with K, and I’m pretty sure it had two syllables, but though I’ve gone through every name I can think of, none of them seems right.’

‘He couldn’t have been connected with either of the conferences? A speaker who’d been delayed, for instance?’

‘No, they all arrived the previous evening. They’d have told us if anyone else was expected.’

‘Can you remember exactly what he said?’

She frowned, thinking back. ‘I was on the phone, and the caller had gone to check something so I’d a moment free. I looked up and he was at the front of the queue. He smiled and said, “I’d no idea you’d be so busy. I’d like a room for tonight, if you have one going.”’ She smiled slightly. ‘An English idiom, wouldn’t you say, sir?’

Cheeky monkey! thought Jackson.

‘Go on.’

‘Well, I pulled over the reservations book and 251 was vacant so I took the key off the hook and asked his name.’ She paused and Webb waited, not wanting to banish any elusive memory by prompting her. But she sighed and shook her head. ‘I’d just started to write it in when the person on the phone came back and took up the conversation where we’d left off, and I had to switch back to what we’d been discussing. The key was in my hand and he — Mr K — leant forward and took it, mouthing, “I’ll check in later” and that was the last I saw of him.’

‘Did you notice how much luggage he had?’

‘Sorry — though he bent to pick something up as he turned away.’

And that was all she could tell him. Webb had to admit it was a concise account. A pity her normal efficiency had been impaired at the crucial moment.

The chambermaid was a very different case. Pale and red-eyed, she shivered constantly throughout the interview, which at first roused Webb’s pity and later his irritation. She was small, with wispy fair hair, and in response to his question, admitted that her name was Maggie.

‘You didn’t see this gentleman at all the previous evening?’ Webb asked her. She shook her head, clenching her hands in her lap.

‘Not even when you went to turn the bed down?’

‘We don’t do that now, sir,’ she whispered. ‘So as not to disturb the guests.’

To save themselves the trouble, more like. ‘But you knew the room was occupied?’

‘Yes, a twin-bedded, let as a single.’

‘Had he ordered a newspaper or early-morning tea?’

‘No, sir. That’s why I didn’t go in till going on ten, to make the bed, like.’

‘And what was your first impression on entering the room?’

‘The, the stuffiness, sir.’ She put a hand over her mouth and Jackson hoped fervently she was not about to vomit. ‘Then I saw the gentleman sitting by the window, and that neither of the beds had been used. So I said “Sorry!” and started to go out again, but he looked kind of queer, so I went a bit closer, and — and then I could see —’

She sat gazing piteously at Webb, tears streaming down her face.

‘It’s all right, Maggie, you’re doing very well. Did you notice anything else — anything in the room out of place, for instance?’

‘The other chair was pulled round, like, to face the one he was in,’ she said hesitantly. ‘And it looked like someone had been sitting on the end of the bed.’

Webb leant forward. ‘Did it now? As though two people had been with him?’

‘I — I suppose so, sir.’

‘Any cups, glasses, cigarette stubs?’

She shook her head, wiping her cheek with her hand. ‘Did you touch anything? Anything at all?’

She stared at him with frightened eyes. ‘I — I might have straightened the bedspread, sir. Sort of automatic, like.’

Webb closed his eyes briefly, hoping the spontaneous gesture wouldn’t scupper the SOCOs’ chances of lifting vital fibres.

‘Anything in the wastepaper basket?’ Such as a passport, some plane tickets, a clutch of credit cards? It had been empty when he’d glanced into it.

‘I didn’t look,’ she confessed miserably. Nor could he blame her.

‘Did you go into the bathroom?’

‘No, sir. Once I saw he was — dead, I just ran out calling for Mrs Anderson. She’s in charge of our floor, sir.’

Another hazard loomed. ‘And what did Mrs Anderson do?’ he asked heavily.

‘She came in and had a look for herself.’

‘And did she touch anything?’

‘No, and she said I mustn’t neither. Then she phoned for Mr Diccon.’

‘From the phone in the room?’

‘No, the one in the housemaids’ room.’

Thank heaven for Mrs Anderson. He could leave her interview to someone else.

‘Right, Maggie, I don’t think we have any more questions for you. Thank you for your help.’

She nodded and crept from the room, closing the door softly. Webb stretched and looked at his watch. ‘You’ve been remarkably forbearing, Ken. Do you know it’s almost two?’

Jackson grinned. ‘My stomach could have told you, Guv.’

‘Let’s go along to the bar and challenge them on the pie-and-pint stakes. I need a word with the barman, anyway. He might have spotted our lad as one particular needle in his haystack.’

*

Fortunately, the barman was one of those who’d been on duty the previous day. The lunch-time rush was now over and, having heard all the excitement, he was more than ready to chat to the detectives.

‘We’re trying to discover what our chap did after arriving at the hotel,’ Webb said, having first placed his order to placate Jackson. ‘Since it was around one o’clock he could easily have come in here.’

The barman shrugged. ‘Wish I could help, sir, but the place was going like a fair. One solitary gent —’

‘We’re hoping he might have met someone.’

‘People were meeting each other all over the place. It’s what they come here for.’

Webb took a long draught of his beer. ‘Come to think of it, he might have met two people. Is that any help?’

‘Not with the conference mob in at the time.’ He paused. ‘The only bloke I remember is one who lost someone rather than met them.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, he ordered a malt whisky and went to sit down. Then a few minutes later he came back and ordered another, plus a gin and tonic. I was just about to get them, when a lady came up and tapped him on the shoulder and said sorry, her friend had arrived and she couldn’t join him after all, so he cancelled the gin.’

‘He didn’t suggest to her that they joined up?’ Webb was thinking of the two visitors upstairs.

‘No, just said not to worry, the people he was expecting would be here soon.’

‘People? In the plural?’

‘That’s right, sir.’

‘And did he come back later for more drinks?’

‘Not to me, sir, but there were three of us serving.’

‘Can you describe this gentleman?’

‘Mid-forties, dark curly hair, business suit and a rather classy tie.’

Webb let out his breath on a long sigh. ‘And the lady?’

‘Oh, a bit of all right, sir, if you take my meaning. Blonde hair, green eyes, nice figure. Looked like a model.’

‘Have you seen her in here before?’

‘Nope.’

‘Did you notice who she was with?’

He shook his head. ‘Honest, sir, I was run off my feet.’

‘But you’d know her again?’

‘Not half!’ the barman confirmed with a grin. Then suddenly, realizing the direction of the questioning, he sobered. ‘You’re never saying that’s the bloke that died?’

‘It seems very likely. What time did all this take place?’

‘Sorry, sir, all I can tell you is it was in the lunch hour.’ Their food arrived and Webb nodded to Jackson to take it to an alcove.

‘When we’ve eaten I’d like a word with your two colleagues,’ he told the barman.

When Webb reached the table, Jackson was already tucking into his meal and they ate in companionable silence. Only when they’d finished did Jackson take time to look about him, stroking the rich upholstery on which they sat and gazing admiringly at the bronze horse.

‘Lovely statue, that,’ he remarked. ‘Copper Coin, for a pound.’

‘Tut, tut, Ken, I didn’t know you were a gambling man.’

‘Oh, I’m not, Guv. With a wife and four kids I don’t need any help in throwing money away. But there are three races I put a bit on each year — the National, the Derby and the Cup. And that little beauty’s won me a bob or two over the years.’

‘Excuse me, sir.’

Webb looked up. A man was standing at the table, his bottle-green jacket and bow-tie identifying him as one of the barmen.

‘You was asking about a lady in here yesterday? Blonde lady?’

Webb’s interest quickened. ‘Yes, indeed.’

‘Well, sir, she was meeting Mr Derringer, one of our guests. I took their drinks across myself.’

‘This Mr Derringer — he isn’t a man in his forties, with dark curly hair?’ (Could Samantha have misheard ‘Ker-ringer’?)