by Alex Clare
Robyn shuddered. ‘I think you mean Dr Felicity Bergmann. She has interesting things to say about a lot of people.’
‘Yeah, her. Isn’t it funny how her name’s got “man” in it?’ Khalid paused. ‘OK, just me. So the others on the panel are the Mayor and the local girl who got through to the quarter-final of Superstar Seeker.’ Khalid paused. ‘I can’t wait to hear her views on the gender divide.’
‘That’s not going to be a debate, it’s going to be a one-woman show.’ Conscious the bride’s father was still watching her, Robyn held up her hand to him then watched with relief as the man headed back towards the ballroom. ‘Bergmann’s only got one setting and attacks everyone. She’ll make mincemeat of Fell.’
‘I’m trying to make sure he just talks about topics where he’s got evidence. The problem is, Bergmann’s articulate and gets a lot of publicity.’ There was almost a hint of admiration in Khalid’s voice. ‘She’s founded this group called RAW – Real Adult Women – to make sure there’s always a female commentator when the media are looking for an opinion.’
Much of the criticism of trans people Robyn had read was from trans-excluding radical feminists like Bergmann. ‘The problem is they’re single issue and don’t like anyone who they don’t count as a “real woman”.’
‘Oh, sure. I’ve been showing the Superintendent extracts from their website to try to persuade him just to provide a statement. He’s insisting we go ahead as we need to present Meresbourne as a “diverse and tolerant town”.’ Khalid laughed. ‘In other news, I’ve just started writing the entry for the “Division of the Year” competition.’
Robyn smiled. ‘Fell’s desk wouldn’t look the same without that big, silver cup on display, would it?’
The doors to the ballroom opened again. The man in the indigo kameez had one arm around a slim woman in a deep red sari, gold trim glinting even in the dim light. A white man in a tail coat trailed behind, holding up a long train of fabric.
‘Khalid, sorry, I’ve got to go. We’ve been trying to hold the guests here in case we need to interview them but they’re getting restless.’
‘Just one other thing: I’ve been looking up details of relevant cases recently. Compared to the regional averages Fell loves so much, Meresbourne is ahead in attacks on women and below in clear-ups which is exactly where we don’t want to be. The panel starts at seven on Monday, so if you can give me a call tomorrow afternoon to give me the latest I’d be grateful – bye.’
Robyn put the phone back in the holster and re-joined Lorraine. ‘OK. At the moment, we have no reason to hold people, so you’d better show me what made you suspicious.’
‘It’s the room, Guv.’ Lorraine led the way to the reception desk. ‘Right. I need to go up to 108.’
‘I’m afraid I will have to see some ID.’ The older of the two receptionists stuck her chin out.
‘Your manager let me in twenty minutes ago.’ Lorraine grimaced at the woman’s badge. ‘Sophie. Oh for crying out loud, here.’ She held out her warrant card.
Sophie scrabbled a plastic card from a rack on one side of the desk and inserted it into a slot on the other. Ignoring Lorraine’s outstretched hand, she put the key-card on the counter.
Shaking her head, Lorraine swept up the card and marched across the lobby. ‘The good thing about these things compared to regular keys is the hotel should be able to tell you who they were issued to.’
Robyn started up the staircase. ‘That could be useful. By the way, where’s Graham?’ As the team’s sergeant, Graham Catt should have been the default call.
Ahead, Lorraine paused at the landing, looking down. Three women, two in saris, one in a garish floral frock, marched towards the reception desk, faces set in angry lines. Lorraine grinned. ‘Maybe there’s something in this karma lark.’ She led the way up the right fork of the staircase. ‘I called him first. He isn’t answering. Probably stuck in traffic.’
They were now level with the chandelier. Robyn spotted three bulbs out before she stopped counting.
On the first floor, Lorraine stopped dead. ‘Someone’s been into this room.’ A bundle of police tape was lying on the burgundy carpet next to a yellow ‘Wet Floor’ sign lying on its side.
‘Was there no one you could ask to secure the scene?’ The rebuke was as mild as Robyn could make it, given Lorraine was already stressed.
‘When I got here and found Ravi and, well – I guess I screwed up.’ Lorraine bit her lip. ‘I’m getting the manager.’
Robyn leant over the rail, watching Lorraine retrace her steps. From here, you could see most of the lobby. There was something there, an impression her instinct told her she needed to catch. She found herself staring at a large painting on the wall above the landing. A red-haired woman in a green dress was leaning so far over a balcony it looked as if she might plunge into the water below. One arm was stretched out towards a sailing ship just visible in the corner of the frame as it disappeared into mist. Set into the heavy, gold frame was a sign in Gothic script: ‘Lady Ann.’
A hubbub of angry voices drifted up to her. Two more women were approaching the reception desk, both in pastel coats and dresses. They disappeared out of view and the volume increased. A small man in a grey suit scurried to the stairs, Lorraine following. One of the pastel women followed, demanding to be allowed to leave. ‘You’ll get a one-star review!’ Her voice echoed around the lobby.
Lorraine kept close behind the man to hurry him up until he stood beside Robyn. ‘Right, look. Who has been into this room?’
‘I can assure you, madam, no one has been in this room since you left it.’
‘You can assure me?’ Lorraine pointed at the door. ‘When I told you this room was off limits, I made sure this tape covered the key-card slot. The only reason to push it aside is to open the door. How many people have access to this room, including your staff?’
‘Everyone has been told not to come here and we have been doing our best to keep the guests in the ballroom.’ The man stopped his shifting from foot to foot. ‘Doing your job, in fact. Now, can we have the room back?’
‘In due course.’ Robyn was conscious of time passing: she wanted the man to be gone. ‘And,’ she narrowed her eyes to look at the badge on his lapel, ‘Lawrence, you haven’t answered my colleague’s question and the quicker you do, the quicker we can get on.’
Lawrence’s lips narrowed. ‘I recognise you now. You’re the policem – person who had to hunt for the little boy. Of course. The hotel will be happy to help but this seems to be a tragic, ah, accident.’ There was a second of silence.
‘How many have access?’ There was an edge of impatience in Lorraine’s voice.
‘Ah yes. I checked and we issued five key-cards. The maids and porters have master keys.’
‘Why so many?’ Lorraine rested her card on the reader and slipped on blue latex gloves.
‘This is one of our largest rooms and it was where the groom, best man and ushers got ready before the wedding.’
‘Well you can cancel all those immediately. If anyone else asks for one, I want to know about it.’ Turning her back on Lawrence, Lorraine shoved the card into the slot. After a whirr, the latch clicked open. ‘Just remind your staff not to use their cards either.’ She strode into the room.
Lawrence moved forward. Robyn put out her hand and let the door swing to. ‘We’ll let you know when you can come in.’ She waited until it became clear he was not taking the hint. ‘I’m sure you have urgent things to be getting along with?’ Only when he had started down the stairs did she push open the door.
Standing in the room’s narrow hallway, she let the door shut behind her, testing the atmosphere. In the yellow glow from the wall lamps, the floor-to-ceiling dark wood unit to her right seemed to suck in light. At the end of the room, a grey net curtain flapped inwards: a draught reached her a second later. She took a step forward. A pile of kit bags and a luggage trolley lay under a clothes rail where a single tail coat swung from a hanger. A shirt
was on another hanger, trousers and tie resting on one of the bags. She took another step. From her left, heat radiated from the open bathroom door. Every surface was covered with bottles and jars. The tiled floor was covered with towels.
Robyn continued past the bathroom and joined Lorraine in the body of the room. In front of her, two single beds were covered in debris, more grooming products, empty spirits miniatures and plastic wrappers. Slipping on her own gloves, she smoothed one out. ‘Drinking I can understand – why would you eat steak pasties before your wedding?’ A telephone and everything else that looked as if it belonged on the bedside unit was on the floor. The cushions and covers from the double bed had been pushed to one side, the bottom sheet marked by livid smears. Where the pillows should be, a larger patch glowed bright red.
‘This is what I wanted to show you, Guv.’ There was a tremor in Lorraine’s voice. ‘When I came in, the quilt was pulled up but I could smell something, so I checked. Blood. Whose is it and why is there so much of it?’
‘I see why you called.’ Robyn looked around the untidy room. The things on the floor now suggested violence, not clumsiness.
‘One other thing. The reason the porter was in here was because there was a complaint about banging on the wall from the room next door.’ The ornate metal bedhead wobbled as Lorraine touched it, then tapped against the wall as she pushed harder. ‘I think we can guess what caused the banging.’
In the wall mirror, she saw the curtain billow. Robyn frowned. There was a starred break in the pane. When she moved closer, something crunched under her foot. Broken glass from a smashed mineral water bottle caught the spotlights. ‘Was the outer door open when you arrived?’
‘Felt like it, Guv, the room was freezing.’
Stepping outside, the wind blew water droplets into Robyn’s eyes. She blinked to clear them, taking in a pair of metal chairs and a small table, police tape flapping in the chill wind. ‘On a day like today, this isn’t a place you’d choose to come out to.’
‘Nobody saw her fall.’ Lorraine spoke from the doorway. ‘Just saw her hit the ground.’
Robyn turned when she heard the sniff.
Lorraine was wiping her eyes. ‘Sorry, Guv. Don’t know why this one’s getting to me.’
‘I understand.’ Robyn put a hand on Lorraine’s arm. ‘It’s OK. This isn’t some closing-time brawl, it’s different when it’s someone you know or a person you can recognise yourself in. And good work – this would have been easy to miss.’
‘Yeah.’ Lorraine managed a small smile. ‘Thanks, Guv.’
‘This is now a formal investigation.’ Robyn stepped back into the room and looked around, to fix the image in her memory. ‘Two questions: one, did she jump or was she pushed? And then, was there some form of assault, potentially sexual? We’ll need some backup.’ On her way past the bathroom, her nose cleared by the outside air, Robyn caught a hint of something bitter. Under the smell of products and soap was a tang of sourness or sickness. She took a step into the room. A red light glowed on the towel rail, the dial was turned up to maximum. Robyn laid the back of her hand against the towels on the floor and found them almost dry.
‘What are you thinking, Guv?’ Lorraine stood in the doorway.
‘What time did the wedding start?’
Eyes lifting, Lorraine thought for a second. ‘I think it was eleven, why?’
Robyn felt each towel in turn. The one on the closed toilet was damp. ‘This was used after the others and, given how warm it is in here, not that long ago.’ She opened the toilet seat: the smell of sickness was much stronger, making her tongue retract. ‘In a room with five lads, somebody came in here and was sick and then put the toilet seat down. Maybe this is a stereotype but isn’t that more likely to be a woman than a man?’
‘Look at this.’ Lorraine held up the damp towel by one corner, showing red smears across the middle. ‘Looks like someone had their fun then must have cleaned themselves up and went back downstairs to re-join the party. Bastard.’ She already had her phone in her hand. ‘Right. I’ll call forensics and Uniform to help with interviewing. We’ll need the guest list for the wedding and the register for the hotel and the staff lists.’ She took a breath. ‘I’ll check if they’ve got CCTV in the corridors – anything else?’
‘A good start. And get someone stationed on this door, given this is a crime scene.’
‘Yes, Guv.’ Lorraine led the way into the corridor.
There was still noise from the lobby. Robyn paused, her hand on the door for support. ‘For the interviews, given what, ah, I mean, given some people don’t always feel comfortable talking to me and Ravi was a bit, well, what I’m trying to say is maybe it would be best if you took the family ones and I’ll do the staff?’
Lorraine opened her mouth then closed it again. ‘Sure, Guv.’
‘Oh and did you hear back from Graham?’
‘I’ll call him again.’ Lorraine shrugged. ‘He hasn’t come back to me.’
‘Keep trying. We’ll need all the help we can get.’
3
As Robyn and Lorraine reached the lobby, the manager appeared from the ballroom, taking elaborate care over shutting both doors. He clapped his hands in the direction of the group of staff again huddled around reception. ‘Right. Let’s get this area tidied up. We have a full house tomorrow, everything must be ready.’ Moving behind the desk, he straightened the monitor. When he looked up at Robyn’s approach, there was a second of scrutiny before a professional smile.
‘Are you finished, officers? As I’m sure you are aware, the guests are anxious to leave.’
‘No, Lawrence, we’re not.’ Robyn folded her arms. ‘More officers are on the way and we are going to do initial interviews with all guests and staff. The room upstairs is to be treated as a crime scene which needs to be inspected by a specialist forensic team, so the area is out of bounds until they have finished.’
‘What happened in there?’ Lawrence slumped, knocking over a display of Marvellous Meresbourne tourist trail leaflets.
‘We don’t know yet, which is why we have to investigate. We will need somewhere to interview guests and somewhere else to talk to your staff. I want to start with the porter who went into 108.’
The manager cast a worried glance around. His staff were looking at him, waiting for orders. ‘Oh yes. Jade, the daily sheet, please.’
The receptionist fumbled under the newspaper and produced a clipboard. Muttering, Lawrence scanned the page, checking his watch. He looked up. ‘The Dove Lounge is free for the rest of the day, you can hold interviews in there. And officer, could you be discreet? We don’t want guests inconvenienced – we’re fully booked tonight and tomorrow, you know.’
Robyn counted to three. ‘We’ll do what needs to be done, sir. And I presume you have an office? That will do for the staff interviews.’
The office turned out to be a windowless cubbyhole behind reception, the fluorescent lights too bright for the small space. Robyn took the battered swivel chair: Lawrence seemed reluctant to leave, fussing with papers on the desk. There was a knock at the open door. A slight man stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame. Behind him was the solid shape of PC Donna Pound, wearing a short-sleeve uniform shirt despite the cold.
‘Afternoon ma’am.’ Donna sounded far too cheerful. ‘This is Keith Eldon. He’s a porter here, the one who entered the room.’ The man sank into one of the hard plastic chairs facing the desk, putting his head into his hands.
‘Hello, Donna.’ The PC’s rather knowing smile reminded Robyn she owed Donna for her support during a recent Professional Standards investigation. ‘Is Clyde around somewhere?’ The pair were frequent shift partners and PC Clyde Boothe’s slow courtesy would be ideal for this situation.
‘No, ma’am. He’s coming in for the late shift. I’m doing a double as I need the money.’
‘Don’t worry, Keith, everything will be cleared up.’ The manager had his hand on the older man’s shoulder.
Robyn caught Donna’s eye then looked from the manager to the door.
‘We could do with you in the Dove Lounge, sir.’ Donna held out her arm to direct Lawrence. ‘Come along, sir. You can help us keep the guests in order.’
The door swung closed behind them and Robyn inspected the man in the chair. Spare fabric sagged across the shoulders of his uniform jacket. Above the Nehru collar, his pale skin was damp.
‘Mr Eldon? I’d like to talk about what you saw earlier.’
The man did not move. His breathing was shallow, a hint of a whistle when he inhaled.
‘Mr Eldon, I’m Detective Inspector Bailley. I need you to tell me what you saw upstairs.’
‘The poor girl – how is she?’ Eldon’s watery blue eyes looked up into Robyn’s. ‘I couldn’t bear it if she were dead. So pretty, everything to live for.’ A teardrop detached itself from a gobbet of yellow sleep.
‘She’s been taken to hospital. I have no update, I’m afraid.’
Eldon’s chin sank to his chest.
‘Tell me everything you did.’ Raising her voice to get back his attention made Robyn conscious of how deep her voice sounded in the confined space.
There was another slow blink, the left lid a little behind the right. ‘She looked so frightened.’ Eldon’s voice was little more than a whisper. ‘All I did was to check if she was all right. She … she …’ His hands found a handkerchief and raised it to his face.
‘Why did you go up to the room?’
‘We got a complaint.’ Eldon sighed. ‘Jade on reception said I had to go up.’
‘Was anyone on the staircase or in the corridor?’
Eldon shook his head, gazing at his clasped hands.
‘Why did you go into the room?’
Whether he heard a hint of the impatience in her tone as suspicion, the reaction from Eldon was immediate. He looked up, moving his hands to the desk. ‘I wanted to check they hadn’t damaged any hotel property.’ He swallowed. ‘The pair on reception thought it was funny.’