The Hawkshead Hostage (6 page)

In the hotel foyer, Simmy noticed her newly arranged flowers with surprise. Such a lot had happened since she’d done them that she felt they ought to be looking wilted by this time. Instead they were fresh and undeniably beautiful. The sinuous shape created by the eucalyptus and honeysuckle suggested, with the very faintest of hints, an air of sensuality and luxury, heightened by the scent. She waited for everyone else to reach the same conclusion – but they all seemed far too distracted. As she ought to have been herself, of course. But then she remembered poor Dan Yates, and how pleased he would have been to find how capably she had met his requirements. Along with that thought came an alarming one: would the hotel management still want her to provide flowers twice a week, now their under-manager was dead? Would they close down out of respect – or what?

Such selfishness, she reproached herself, was a disgrace.
The world of flowers and holidays and harmless fell-top walks had been shaken by violence and confusion. It was of no help at all to remember that she had encountered not just murder but kidnap in the recent past. To have it happen again was so appalling, she just wanted to dig herself a hole and hide away in it. A filament of guilt was gaining ground inside her, too. Not only for her selfishness, but for her failure to hear Ben’s frantic message on her phone when he first called her. How could she have been so stupid as to leave it in the van? She couldn’t have saved Dan, but she might well have been in time to interrupt Ben’s captors, and save him from abduction.

People were swirling about, asking questions and making demands. Not a single hotel guest was amongst them, for which Mr and Mrs Boddington-Webster must surely be thankful. There was more than enough confusion already with the staff all clamouring for information. Melanie seemed to form a still centre, silently distressed, her soaking clothes marking her out as especially significant. Simmy herself was wet, but nowhere near as much as Melanie. And because nobody knew her, or understood her part in the story, she had been shifted to the outer edge.

Finally, reinforcements arrived in the shape of DI Moxon, already well known to Simmy and Melanie. With a singularly unprofessional smile, he went first to Simmy, both hands extended. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

She waved at the manager and his staff. ‘Their colleague’s dead, down in the lake. And Ben’s missing.’ She choked on the last word. ‘He’s been abducted. There’s no other explanation.’

‘Okay. Leave it to us,’ he said, in a tone that did little to inspire confidence. ‘Don’t go away, though. I gather you’re a crucial witness.’

‘What time is it?’ Only then did she remember other commitments and obligations.

‘Um … Twenty to three.’

‘It’s not, is it? What will Bonnie think? Why hasn’t she called me?’ Then she remembered. ‘Your men have got my phone. There’s a message from Ben on it. She must be going crazy, wondering where I am.’

‘Call her on the hotel’s phone, then.’

‘Right.’ At first glance there was no phone available on the reception desk. ‘Where is it?’

He made a small gesture of impatience. ‘Ask someone.’ His gaze fell on Melanie. ‘Miss Todd’s here as well?’

‘She works here. She knew Dan. I think, actually, she must have had
feelings
for him. She’s very upset.’

‘So I see.’ He sighed. ‘Well, let’s get some sort of order established. One thing at a time. Don’t go away,’ he said again.

Simmy went around the same circuit of panic, paralysis, mistrust and misery as before. She could see that Moxon had an uphill struggle ahead of him, when it came to achieving order. Melanie, still wet and shocked, was leaning against the reception desk. The skeletal Penny was standing back, eyes wide, making small shooing motions with her hands. The manager and his wife were whispering together, apparently arguing over the best place to put the police personnel. It was a miracle, Simmy thought foolishly, that nobody had knocked her flowers over.

She went to her former assistant. ‘Have you got your
phone?’ she asked. ‘Bonnie will be going mad, wondering where I am.’

Melanie took a breath and gave the question some thought. ‘I think she might have called. Somebody did.’ From a mysterious pocket in her cotton jacket, she extracted a phone. ‘I didn’t think I should answer it.’ She looked at Moxon with a mixture of respect and impatience.

‘It still works, then? It didn’t get wet?’

‘Seems okay.’ Melanie’s voice was flat. She was shivering and plainly shocked.

Simmy felt guilty at her lack of concern for the girl. She took the phone, but made no attempt to use it. Other things must come first. ‘You need to go and change your clothes. Somebody ought to have made you some sweet tea by now. It’s so
disorganised
,’ Simmy complained. ‘It’s
hours
since Ben disappeared and nothing at all’s been done to find him.’

‘That’s because Dan’s not here. They’re all incompetent except him.’ Melanie spoke loudly, obviously not caring who heard her.

‘Come with me, then.’ Simmy felt suddenly adult and capable. She led the way through the door she had noticed earlier, into a large office. There were computers, a telephone, filing cabinets, and a long row of keys with big plastic tags hanging from hooks. She pushed Melanie onto a padded, upright chair and looked round for a coffee machine. There was no such thing. Nor were there any spare clothes. ‘This isn’t much use,’ she grumbled.

‘What did you expect?’

‘I don’t know, really. Where do you keep your normal clothes, for a start?’

The girl hesitated and her cheeks went pink. ‘At home. I haven’t got anything here.’ She sounded defensive. Simmy remember that Melanie’s original plan had been to acquire a job that provided accommodation, to enable her to escape from her crowded and noisy family home, but the Hawkshead Hotel had failed her in that respect. She mostly used the ferry across Windermere, and then caught a rare bus to Hawkshead, which saved some time and meant she didn’t need to use a car. Simmy was ignorant of the details, since the girl had ceased to work for her. But in any case
home
now seemed impossibly inaccessible.

‘They want me to stick around for a bit, but I suppose I could pop into Hawkshead and try to buy you something. You can’t go all afternoon like that. Look at you!’

Melanie’s legs were not just wet but muddy, her shoes ruined. ‘I’m going to leave awful marks on this chair,’ she said. ‘Not that I care.’ She plucked at herself. ‘There’ll be some spare clothes somewhere around,’ she said vaguely. ‘Something I can borrow.’

‘Who from? Mrs Bodgett’s miles smaller than you. Those girls, whoever they are, are little, as well. Not to mention Penny,’ she added with a giggle.

‘There’s another one. Camilla, she’s called. She’s my sort of size. But she probably won’t have anything. And she might not be in today.’ Melanie tailed off, her teeth chattering. ‘I am a bit cold,’ she admitted.

‘And in shock.’ Suddenly, Melanie’s needs dropped down Simmy’s list of priorities. At least she was here and alive. ‘Mel – I have to do something about Ben. His parents ought to know what’s happened. And
Bonnie
.’ She kept forgetting Bonnie, who had been so cruelly abandoned
without explanation, making all sorts of a mess running the shop, no doubt.

‘Yes,’ Melanie agreed. ‘I’ll go to the kitchen and make myself some tea or something. They’ve got a little room where they change. I can borrow an apron.’ A flicker of a smile crossed her face. ‘A big white apron to wrap round me.’

Simmy let her go, and simply sat there for ten minutes, listening to voices and car engines coming from beyond the room. She was shocked herself, with squelching shoes and a fair degree of dampness around the lower legs. Everybody else had allotted tasks, the staff no doubt despatched in all directions to assemble all their colleagues and ready themselves for questioning. The only window looked over the parking area, revealing a steady increase in vehicles containing officials.

Finally she gave herself a shake and lifted up one of the phones on the office desk. She keyed the number for her shop, her heart pounding as she rehearsed what she would say. It was not answered very promptly. ‘Bonnie? Are you all right?’ she began.

‘Sort of. Where
are
you? Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’

For a wild moment, Simmy wondered whether Ben had miraculously shown up at the shop, telling the story of his adventures to his girlfriend. How else would she know there was something going on? ‘How do you know?’ she asked.

‘It’s obvious. Your phone’s off. Melanie isn’t answering hers. And Corinne came in a bit ago and said there was weird stuff on the police radio.’

Corinne acted as a kind of foster mother to Bonnie. Her social circle included a number of people Simmy regarded as somewhat disreputable. Like Melanie, she knew everybody in Windermere and Bowness, having lived there all her life. Listening to the police radio had become a habit some years ago, according to Bonnie. ‘She’s always expecting to hear something about people she knows,’ Bonnie had laughed. Sometimes she did.

‘Yes, well …’ Simmy said. ‘I’m sorry to leave you on your own for all this time. Have you had any trouble?’

‘Not really. Nobody much has been in. Tell me what’s going on. Why do you sound so peculiar?’

‘The police are here. There’s been a death. I’ve got to answer some questions.’

‘Wow! And Ben? I bet he’s having a right old time, then. He loves anything like that.’

‘Actually … We’ve lost him.’ It sounded ridiculous, as if he was a dog or a carelessly mislaid toy.

Bonnie gave no hint of concern. ‘He’ll be doing his own investigating,’ she chuckled. ‘Who died?’

‘Dan Yates. The under-manager. Melanie’s very upset. She’s in shock. We found him, you see. In the lake.’

‘What lake? I thought you were at Hawkshead somewhere.’

‘Esthwaite.’

‘Oh, right. I always forget about that one. It’s not much of a lake, is it? Did he drown himself in it?’

‘Not exactly. Look, Bonnie – it’s all rather complicated. I have no idea when I’ll be back. You can close up, if you like, and go home. And if Ben calls you, please let me know right away. And the police.’

‘Why do they want him?’

‘He’s
missing
. He probably saw the people who—’ she stopped herself just in time. ‘He might be a witness to a crime.’

There was a small silence. ‘Missing? Lost? What do you mean? How
can
he be? Wasn’t he with you?’

‘He went for a walk – down to the lake and to a place called Colthouse. He phoned me about seeing Dan’s body. I missed the call. It was on my voicemail. After that he just – disappeared. We found his phone.’

‘Oh. And you’re scared something awful’s happened to him. No, no. That wouldn’t be it. He’s too clever to let it. He’ll be fine. He’s just tracking them or something. You know what he’s like.’

‘Yeah. You’re probably right. So – if he does phone … ?’

‘I’ll tell you. Is your mobile on again now?’

‘Oh, no. The police have got it. Well, you’d better call the police, okay? I don’t matter.’

‘I will shut the shop, then,’ said Bonnie decisively. ‘And I’ll go and talk to Ben’s mum, if she’s home. She can drive us up to Hawkshead to look for him.’

She made it sound so blissfully simple. ‘I’m not sure …’ Simmy began. ‘Shouldn’t she be told by the police first?’ At some point, she had given the Harkness address to one of the policemen. Helm Road was in Bowness, ten or fifteen minutes’ walk from the centre of Windermere. If Bonnie was determined to go there, nothing Simmy said could stop her. Ben’s mother mostly worked from home, in a very well-appointed office at the top of the house.

‘It’s okay, Simmy,’ said the girl. ‘It’s going to be okay.’

It was tempting to believe her. ‘Oh, well,’ she said feebly.
‘I’m going to be here for ages yet. I’ll try to catch up with you this evening.’

She was interrupted by the door to the office opening and DI Moxon coming in. His face was a mixture of briskness and solicitude. Their relationship – such as it was – went back ten months or so and she had gradually learnt more about him since then. She had shared her own painful past with him, administered urgent first aid to him, and eventually met a wife she had never suspected existed. She was still not entirely sure that she liked him. He had a strong aura of the police, with the odd lack of human understanding that seemed to go with the job. Much of what she said to him apparently came as a big surprise, although he seldom manifested disapproval or criticism. He seemed to find her instructive, she often felt, with her instinctive feeling for people’s emotional states.

He was even more baffled and amazed by Ben Harkness. Only Melanie gave him any comfort, with her comprehensive knowledge of local networks and connection to elements with which the police were habitually familiar.

The detective was holding a clipboard in one hand, like a charity fundraiser or somebody doing a street survey. It struck Simmy as incongruous, for some reason. ‘Hello,’ she said.

He nodded and said, ‘I’ve just been speaking to Miss Todd,’ he told her. ‘She’s been extremely helpful. I think I’ve got it straight now.’ He tapped the clipboard. ‘Names of all the staff, who was on the premises this morning. List of guests. G5.’

She frowned at him. She’d heard of a G5, but could not
remember what it signified. And why was he reporting to her as if she was his superintendent? ‘G5?’

‘The form that has to be completed whenever an unexpected death occurs. Last seen by … Next of kin … Name of his GP. That sort of thing. I always like the G5,’ he finished wistfully. ‘It was a very clever invention.’

‘You can’t have got all that from Melanie,’ she objected. ‘She was in here only a minute ago.’

‘Fifteen minutes at least,’ he corrected her. ‘She’s all fixed up with dry clothes, and wanting to go home. Somebody will take her in a little while. And you’re right, of course. We’ve been talking to several others as well.’

Simmy blinked at the strange rush of time that this implied, but forced herself to stick with the most important details. ‘So who was he last seen by? Dan, I mean.’