by L. C. Tyler
Getting back into the hotel was no more difficult than before. I nudged open the gate and peered into the garden. Nobody was sitting on the terrace. Nobody was patrolling the grounds. We slipped in and nonchalantly strolled up the steps.
‘Why isn’t anyone watching us?’ I asked.
‘We’re no longer suspects,’ said Elsie.
‘That’s the simplest answer,’ I agreed.
‘Is Herbie around?’
‘I don’t see him,’ I said, taking a quick look round, ‘but he knows where he can find us.’
‘I wish he didn’t,’ Elsie said.
‘He wouldn’t try anything here.’
‘Ethelred, he did try something here,’ Elsie said, pointing to her forehead.
‘You can hardly see it now,’ I reassured her. ‘Just a little red spot.’
‘Maybe,’ said Elsie, ‘we should report him to the police anyway.’
‘Maybe later,’ I said.
‘Later? Isn’t that a bit like “eventually”? There’s a pattern developing here, Tressider. What you’re saying is that you don’t want any contact with the police.’
‘I don’t think Herbie Proctor is a threat,’ I said. ‘Not to us, anyway.’
‘That may be what you and your friend reckon,’ said Elsie. ‘But she’s not here. In the meantime, I think you and I should stick closely together, just in case.’
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I need to make a call. You’ll be fine here in the bar.’
‘Make the call here, Tressider,’ she suggested.
I took out my phone and flipped it open and shut it again quickly. ‘Sorry – no can do. The signal’s lousy,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back in a second.’
I found myself a secluded spot, completely free of literary agents. I took from my pocket a crumpled piece of paper with a number on it in pencil. Then I dialled and waited for a response.
‘Hello,’ said a voice after a cautious pause.
‘It’s me, it’s Ethelred,’ I said.
‘Are you back in London?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Then you are not supposed to phone this number,’ said the voice. ‘I’m hanging up now. Goodbye.’
‘But I do have the diamonds,’ I said quickly.
There was a silence. Nobody hung up.
‘Who said anything about diamonds?’ the voice demanded. ‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about.’
‘So you don’t want them, then?’
‘Describe them,’ said the voice dryly.
‘Big,’ I said. ‘Very big. They’re in a blue velvet bag. It’s faded, as you might expect after all these years. It has a double-headed eagle embroidered on it.’
There was a brief silence that was more eloquent than anything she might have said.
‘You do actually have them, then?’
‘I know where they are, which is something nobody else currently knows.’
‘Don’t play games with me, Ethelred. I don’t have the time.’
‘Nobody’s playing games. Not here. Do the names Grigory Davidov and Jonathan Gold mean anything to you?’
There was another silence.
‘No,’ said the voice.
‘So, it won’t trouble you that both have been murdered?’
‘Oh, holy shit! You idiot! How did you let that happen? Where? When?’
‘At the hotel, early yesterday. And I could hardly have mounted a twenty-four-hour guard on them even if I had known that I had responsibility for ensuring their safety.’
‘Do I need to explain everything to you?’
‘Explaining even a little would have been helpful,’ I said.
‘Just get out of there and back to London.’ She had quickly regained her composure. The deaths had been noted, considered and dismissed. Her tone had reverted to its normal one of impatience and mild irritation at everything I did or said.
‘None of us can leave the hotel because the police are still investigating,’ I pointed out. ‘Hang on!’
I said these last words because I thought I heard noises off. I listened more carefully, but there was nothing untoward. Just the usual, distant but reassuring sounds of hotel activity, and a lorry passing in the street. I was clearly getting jumpy.
‘Hang onto what?’ my phone was demanding.
‘Nothing. It’s fine. Where was I?’
‘You were saying that a couple of hotel guests had been murdered. Tedious for you, and for them, but of no great concern to me. Purely out of interest, who killed them?’
‘I wondered if you could tell me that?’
‘Me? Of course I can’t. The police don’t suspect you, do they?’
‘Maybe briefly.’
‘How briefly?’ There was renewed concern in her voice, though possibly not on my account.
‘Very briefly indeed.’
‘And the diamonds are completely safe?’
‘Yes.’
There was a sigh of relief.
‘Then all you have to do, Ethelred, is sit it out. Even you should be able to manage that.’
‘A guy named Herbie Proctor’s trying to get the diamonds from me,’ I said. ‘He claims to know you.’
‘He mentioned my name?’
‘I don’t think there’s any doubt who he meant. What exactly is his role in all this? Did he kill Davidov or Gold?’
‘I wouldn’t think so. I don’t imagine he does murder – or he’s never been caught if he does.’
‘So, he’s a friend of yours?’ I said.
‘He’s not on my Christmas card list.’
‘If you have any influence with him, it might be helpful to ask him not to point a gun in my direction.’
‘He’s waving a gun around in a hotel full of policemen?’
‘More or less.’
‘I’ll have a word with him.’
‘Is he the contact I was supposed to meet?’
‘You don’t need to know that any more – not if you already have the diamonds. Complete change of plan, in fact. It sounds as if Proctor is surplus to requirements. Just bring the diamonds to me. I can deal with them.’
‘I’ll need to give Proctor the slip.’
‘And nobody else suspects you may have them?’
‘Only Elsie.’
‘Yes, I’d heard Elsie was there.’
‘How?’
‘The resourceful Mr Proctor asked my advice as to what he should do. I said to get her out of the way. He thought he might be able to charm her over to his side or alternatively to get her arrested for just long enough. It would seem he did neither. Why is she there in the first place?’
‘She came to bail me out. My credit cards got cancelled.’
‘Don’t give me any details. I really don’t want to know. You’ll need to give her the slip too, then.’
‘Didn’t Proctor tell you about the murders?’ I asked. It seemed an odd omission – unless he was the murderer.
‘He just said there had been a bit of trouble and that he would fill me in on the detail later. Why are all you men so useless?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. It’s a question I’ve often been asked, but I’ve never been told the answer. ‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Sit it out, like I say. Bring the diamonds to the address you were given. Don’t give them to the idiot Proctor. Don’t let the idiot Proctor get arrested or God knows what he’ll tell people. Don’t tell that other idiot Elsie any more than she needs to know. She’s a nosy cow, but fortunately not that bright. And don’t phone this number again.’
‘One other thing . . .’ I began.
The voice was replaced by a low buzzing noise. There was no more to say, in somebody’s opinion anyway. Still, at least I knew what I had to do. That always makes things easier, in my experience.
Twenty-eight
It’s one thing dodging into shops to avoid a crazed killer with a loaded mobile phone. It’s quite another running into him again at the hotel and trying to make small talk as if noth
ing much has happened. And if there’s one lesson I’ve learned from horror films it’s that you don’t split up. Especially if you are the cute, cuddly one. In real life you don’t always get the spooky music to tell you when the guy with the chainsaw, three days’ stubble and a chip on his shoulder is closing in on you, but in all other respects, the rules are identical. And it’s always the cute cuddly one who gets it.
With Ethelred by my side, therefore, it all felt quite safe and comfortable. The moment he went off to make a phone call, I got a bit edgy. It felt like that brief moment of silence before the spooky music starts up.
It was for that reason – and, I must stress, for that reason alone – that I sort of drifted after Ethelred. He had ensconced himself in the breakfast room, which was empty at that time of day. I thought that the best thing would be to stand just outside the room, so as not to distract him in any way. I tried hard not to listen to the conversation that he was having, but he was whispering quite loudly. As so often is the case, he had only himself to blame.
‘So you don’t want them, then?’ he was saying as I took up my position.
There was a pause as he listened intently, a bit like a dog glued to the every word of its master. Or mistress.
‘Big,’ he said. ‘Very big. They’re in a blue velvet bag. It’s faded, as you might expect after all these years. It has a double-headed eagle embroidered on it.’
So it was about the diamonds? But who else, other than dead people, me and Herbie, knew about them?
‘I know where they are,’ Ethelred added, ‘which is something nobody else currently knows.’
Well, I knew, surely? They were at the station. He had certainly implied they were at the station. Or was he playing games?
‘Nobody’s playing games,’ he went on. ‘Not here. Do the names Grigory Davidov and Jonathan Gold mean anything to you?’
It was at this point that the nice Danish lady hove into view. She looked determined to talk to somebody. It would clearly have been inconvenient to have held a discussion with her there and then, unless it could be conducted in a whisper or by sign language, which I doubted. I therefore slipped further down the corridor before she could spot me, but in the process lost audio contact with Ethelred. A couple of minutes elapsed before I was sure that she had passed on her way. I tiptoed back again to my post outside the breakfast room door. Ethelred was fortunately still speaking, but I’d clearly missed a bit – possibly a crucial bit.
‘Only Elsie,’ Ethelred was saying in a resigned sort of way.
Me? Little me? My ears pricked up. They now had every right to do so. I took the risk of peeping round the corner. Ethelred was standing with his back to me, looking out of a window.
‘She came to bail me out,’ he said as if he had to apologize for my presence rather than express his joy and eternal gratitude. ‘My credit cards got cancelled.’
True. But it was his own fault. Possibly somebody was telling him that, because he did not look entirely happy.
‘So what do you want me to do?’ he said sulkily.
Ethelred listened carefully, but still did not seem entirely content.
‘One other thing . . .’ he started. Then he stopped dead, his mouth open as if to form the final missing words. For a long time he stood there, with the phone still to his ear, not speaking. He seemed very, very thoughtful – a bit like that Master’s Voice dog you used to see on records, but without the gramophone. At last he snapped the phone closed, turned on his heel and thus came face to face with me. This did not please him as much as it should have done.
‘What are you up to?’ he demanded suspiciously.
‘Can’t a girl take a stroll?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘As long as she doesn’t listen to other people’s conversations.’
‘Was there anything interesting to listen to?’
‘No.’
‘Then it wouldn’t have mattered if I was listening, would it?’
‘How long had you been there, Elsie?’
‘Just arrived,’ I said brightly.
‘Why didn’t you stay put in the bar?’
‘I got nervous. Plus, I’ve probably got post-traumatic stress syndrome or something. Plus, I needed the loo. Plus . . .’ I paused. One good, partially true reason is often more convincing than a stream-of-consciousness collection of lies. Under normal circumstances I might have simply flounced off at this point, leaving Ethelred to guiltily work out how he had offended me, but then I remembered Herbie Proctor. And the gun.
‘Anyway, I’ve found you now,’ I said, taking Ethelred’s arm. ‘Shall we return to the bar?’
Thereafter I stayed pretty close to Ethelred as a matter of policy. I was obliged to concede that he was occasionally allowed to desert me to visit the lavatory or perform some other necessary task. It was during one of these short absences that Taylor deposited himself in a nearby chair.
‘What I miss most,’ he said in a confidential manner, ‘is chocolate. The moment they let us out I’m off to Apollinaire.’
He hadn’t struck me as a chocolate-head and he went up a notch or two in my estimation.
‘You, me and Mr Davidov,’ I said. ‘We could have had our own chocolate conference right here in the hotel.’
‘And Jonathan Gold,’ he said.
‘Gold?’
‘Yes, absolutely. I saw him in Apollinaire the day before he died.’
‘Quite slim, Jonathan Gold,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Taylor.
‘You wouldn’t think he ate chocolates at all,’ I said.
‘No,’ said Taylor.
‘Of course, some people can eat all the chocolate they want and get away with it,’ I said, thoughtfully.
‘Who can?’ asked Taylor.
Taylor dropped back several notches in my estimation.
‘Some of us,’ I said.
‘Oh right, you mean yourself,’ he said, but too late to qualify for even one Brownie point.
‘Interesting, though, in terms of how Davidov died,’ I said.
‘Interesting?’
‘The chocolate,’ I said.
Then I remembered that it was probably not common knowledge that Davidov had been poisoned with chocolate.
‘The chocolate is connected in some way to the murders?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t say that,’ I said.
Taylor looked at me oddly, though I was, frankly, getting used to odd looks.
‘I see. Thank you,’ he said.
‘No, thank you,’ I said.
‘No, thank you,’ he said.
‘Whatever,’ I said.
Taylor moved on to do the things he did when he wasn’t playing detectives. Still, it all opened up a new line of inquiry. Gold could not have poisoned Davidov (Gold being dead) but he could have passed the chocolates – and maybe the cyanide – to an accomplice, who had proceeded with a prearranged plan to poison Davidov. And that person was still in the hotel.
I wanted to talk it all through with Ethelred, but was beginning to wonder if Ethelred wasn’t the person concerned. Who were the people that he was going to deliver the diamonds to? And what was Gold’s connection with them?
Back to the Internet, then.
This time, sitting in the relative safety of reception, I typed in ‘Gold Goldstein diamonds’. As usual the interesting stuff was on page one. Strangely, none of it referred to Jonathan Gold, but it did make things clearer. Much clearer.
Twenty-nine
I was so struck by what I had discovered that I literally bumped into Herbie Proctor as I was returning to the bar. There was nobody else to be seen, but this stretch of corridor was well frequented and the chances of him picking me up and smashing my head into the wall seemed no worse than fifty-fifty. I therefore decided to tough it out.
‘Squeak,’ I said. Or something very much like it.
He smiled like some sleazy uncle who has had a bit too much Christmas sherry. He was about to ask me to trust him. That would
at least give me time to knee him somewhere soft and run.
‘Can we go and discuss things quietly?’ he suggested.
‘Oh, yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Been there, done that, got the fleur-de-lys head decoration.’
‘But we do need to talk,’ he said.
‘Whenever I talk to you,’ I said, ‘I end up arrested or with a splitting headache or both. And that wasn’t a mobile phone you pointed at me. Why don’t I just scream now and get it over with? Then, why don’t I get the police to arrest you for assault?’
‘Because you and your friend Ethelred are currently in possession of a bag of stolen diamonds, which you might find it difficult to explain away,’ he pointed out.
‘The diamonds are not in the hotel,’ I said. Ha!
‘I rather think they are,’ he said. ‘Ethelred would not have been so careless as to leave them behind at the station, would he?’
This could be true. Thinking about it, maybe Ethelred had been a little vague about exactly where the diamonds were.
‘Ethelred is going to return the diamonds to their rightful owner,’ I said, looking Herbie straight in the eye.
‘No,’ said Herbie, ‘I am going to return the diamonds to their rightful owner. Ethelred is planning to arse around with them like a total tit, and then will either get arrested or will mislay the bag on the way back to London.’
Though I still distrusted Herbie, I was obliged to concede, on the basis of past experience, that this probably was Ethelred’s plan.
‘So, what’s the deal?’ I asked, playing for time.
‘We split the profit two ways,’ he said.
‘I get half the diamonds?’
‘No, you get half the profit. As I said, I am planning to return the diamonds to their rightful owner, bypassing a certain friend of Ethelred’s, who seems to believe she is entitled to a large cut even though she has taken none of the risk. I don’t need her now, and the owners will pay me generously enough. I shall give you half of what they give me. After deducting my expenses. Including all meals.’
‘Two thirds,’ I said.
‘No, half,’ he said.
‘Sixty per cent,’ I said.
‘Half,’ he said.