The general murmuring picked up again, and Alec looked hard at Eddison. ‘We know that’s not—’
‘Shut it, Alec,’ Eddison hissed.
‘How can you be sure of that?’ someone asked.
Alec looked to see who it was; the voice sounded oddly familiar. He realized that the speaker was the young receptionist he had alerted when he couldn’t rouse Travers. She was speaking to Munroe, but glancing at Alec, her puzzlement evident.
‘Because,’ Munroe said smoothly, ‘we’ve had three reports from other guests along that corridor of someone knocking on their door. Fortunately, and for various reasons, no one else responded. We think our colleague might have opened the door because he was expected someone he knew. Unfortunately, what he found was a bad man with a knife.’
‘What the hell is he doing?’ Alec whispered. ‘There were no other guests involved. It’s all—’
‘And I said shut it, Alec. Leave it!’
Furious, Alec clenched his fists and clamped down on all he wanted to say. Eddison was right in one respect: it would do no one any good if Alec chose this moment to make a scene. But what good was it doing to plant the idea of some random attacker, threatening any guest foolish enough to open the door to him? The young receptionist was looking fully at Alec now. This isn’t true, her expression said. That isn’t what happened. You and I know that.
Guiltily, Alec tried not to meet her gaze.
‘The bad news, of course, is that the attacker escaped – we believe through the bedroom window and out across the staff car park.’
Munroe paused, allowing the new tide of gasps and fearful little murmurs to subside. ‘We are, of course, very concerned with where he went next, but the one major factor on our side is that the motel and its environs are very well covered by CCTV camera. He will be on one of them, and we will be able to track where he went, and it’s very likely we will be able to get a good look at his face. Now, I know that’s no comfort to you at the moment, but we’d just like to assure all of you that this is probably the safest place in the country right now.’ He gestured to the uniformed officers. ‘There are more of us, proportional to all of you, than you’re likely to find anywhere outside of Buckingham Palace.’
Uncertain laughter at that. Maybe not the best of examples, Alec reflected, given the rather high-profile security breaches there in past years.
‘Who would do such a thing?’ someone asked. Alec looked for the speaker: a man in striped pyjamas and a red dressing gown, sitting uncertainly on the edge of his chair.
‘Some nutter,’ someone else muttered. ‘I mean, got to be, hasn’t it?’
Sounds of agreement, approbation, nervousness.
Alec watched as Munroe allowed the speculation to continue, the seed of the idea to grow. Of course, Alec thought – let the idea spread that it was some random nutcase, some escaped mental patient. Easy answers. Acceptable and digestible.
Munroe cleared his throat, and expectant eyes turned back to him. His timing perfect, he interceded just before the speculation could drift into other, less manipulable explanations. He was good at this, Alec thought grudgingly.
‘Of course, there is no evidence of that being the case. We really can’t speculate. I can only assure you that we have officers mobilized from three counties and full cooperation from the CCTV providers. Technology really is on our side.’
‘So tomorrow, or the day after, we’ll be hearing about an arrest then,’ Alec said bitterly. ‘Some unknown, unnamed non-existent—’
‘The police don’t do that sort of thing, Alec.’
‘Don’t we? But I’m forgetting Munroe isn’t police, anyway, is he?’
Eddison’s jaw tightened, but he gave no other sign that he had even heard.
‘In the meantime,’ Munroe continued smoothly, ‘I suggest you all try to get some sleep. Those of you that haven’t yet spoken to one of the officers, please make sure you’ve at least checked they have your name and address, and please, if you think you might have seen or heard anything – anything at all, however seemingly insignificant – don’t be afraid to come and tell one of us. Please, don’t be worried about it being nothing, we’d much rather know about it.’ He smiled, a surprisingly warm smile . . . provided you didn’t look at his eyes, Alec thought.
‘Are we free to leave?’ a woman asked.
‘If you’ve spoken to one of my officers, then certainly. Though I really would urge everyone to try and get some rest before they go. It’s late, and I’m sure everyone is exhausted.’
He’ll be telling them next that tiredness kills and they should take a break, Alec thought angrily. Munroe’s soft, patronizing attitude was jarring on him, or maybe what was jarring was that people were responding to it. He was telling them what they wanted to hear.
‘You called me back from the hospital for this?’
‘Best you’re present at the briefing, Alec,’ Eddison said smoothly. ‘Best we’re all kept in the loop, don’t you think?’
Alec grimaced at the implied rebuke but didn’t rise to it. ‘So, what now?’ he asked tightly.
‘You get some rest and we talk in the morning, decide what your position is going to be in the ongoing investigation.’
‘If I still have one, you mean?’
‘Not my call, Alec,’ Eddison said and wandered off to join Munroe.
Alec stood impotently for a moment, wondering what to do. If it wasn’t Eddison’s call, then whose was it? Munroe’s? He caught sight of Parks chatting to some of the guests. His blond head tilted sympathetically to one side, the cherubic little mouth tight with concern. He nodded briefly in Alec’s direction and then turned back to the anxious little group.
‘It didn’t happen that way, did it?’
Startled, Alec turned towards the speaker. The receptionist. ‘Didn’t it? I don’t think any of us are clear what happened yet.’
She said nothing, but her expression spoke of betrayal. She had been sure he would listen to her, tell her what was going on.
Alec sighed. He hated this. But two people were dead, he reminded himself, and another almost so. Instinct warned him that the best thing he could do for this young woman was to toe the party line.
Gently, he took her arm and led her aside, aware that Eddison had seen and was now headed back their way. ‘Look,’ he said quietly, ‘sometimes we have to give out half truths in order to keep what really happened out of the media. If the media get hold of too much then the criminal will know exactly what we know. Sometimes we have to deliberately mislead, hold certain things back, certain things that might only be known to us and to the killer. You understand?’
‘I think so.’ She still looked doubtful. ‘So whoever it was really was out to get your friend?’
Alec hesitated for a second and then nodded. ‘We think so,’ he conceded.
Oddly, she looked relieved then. ‘But you want the killer to believe that you don’t know that. To think you’ve not made that connection?’
‘That’s exactly it.’ Alec was glad to resort to at least a half truth. ‘So, even though you know different—’
‘I don’t say anything.’ She nodded, half smiled. It would please her, he thought, to feel she was privy to some secret thing. That she was helping out by staying silent about her doubts. Hopefully, silence would also help to keep her safe. He noticed Eddison observing them and assumed he had heard. Alec excused himself and walked past the senior officer towards the lobby.
‘Good move, Alec,’ Eddison growled.
Alec ignored him and walked on, heading towards his room. It took all his self-control not to just get back into Travers’ car and drive away.
NINE
Gregory sat at Christopher’s bedside and watched the old man sleep. The light was dim in here, and the nurse had covered the lamp with something that filtered the light and turned it fragile and pink.
She had no idea who Gregory was and had been doing the job long enough not to ask. She entered now, touched Christo
pher’s hand and checked his pulse, tucked the frail hand back under the covers and asked Gregory if he needed anything.
He shook his head. ‘How is he?’
‘Comfortable. That’s the best we can offer.’
He nodded. He wanted to ask ‘how long?’ but he was afraid Christopher would hear, and that seemed wrong, somehow. His boss, his mentor, his friend and, latterly, his protector, Gregory was still uncertain what this death would mean for him.
‘We are dinosaurs, you and I,’ Christopher said.
‘Are we? What kind?’
The nurse smiled at them and left the room.
‘Oh, something slow and heavy and about to become extinct. We must make way for the mammals, Gregory. The world of the warm-blooded.’
Gregory laughed softly. ‘Will they make the world a better place?’
A harsh chuckle from the old man. ‘Oh, if I thought that, my friend, I could die more peacefully.’ He reached a pale hand towards his one-time protégée. ‘You should not keep coming here, you know that. Separation, Gregory, that’s the key now, keeping yourself distant when the merde begins to fly.’
He took the hand. ‘Too late for that,’ he said. ‘You know what pains me? It was that in their own way they were both innocents.’
Christopher laughed, and then choked.
Gregory looked anxiously towards the door, wondering if he should call the nurse.
‘I’m all right. Innocents, you say? Well, yes, the young woman was guilty of idealism, no more than that, and I do believe we both suffered that affliction once upon a time, before the world got far too complicated for us. But Robinson? He was a career criminal, Gregory. He even tried to take you down.’
‘He was an amateur,’ Gregory said. ‘Out for what crumbs I might have spilled. He didn’t deserve to die for it.’
‘Gregory, my friend, Robinson didn’t die for that, as well you know. He died for what the girl may or may not have told him. And remember, too, he found out enough to know who you are. He was one of the mammals.’
Gregory smiled and nodded, and Christopher closed his eyes. He stayed until he was sure the old man was sleeping, and then he laid the hand beneath the blanket and slipped away.
Some decision seemed to have been made overnight, and Alec was woken by a call from reception asking him to meet his colleagues for breakfast.
Alec glanced at his watch. Ten to eight. He had slept after all. How had that happened?
Alec could remember texting Naomi to tell her that he was OK and things were looking better for Trav, and then he’d lain down on the bed, fully clothed, still in half a mind to leave. Sitting up now, he realized that he was still fully clothed, stiff and crumpled and as muzzy headed as though he’d got a hangover.
Telling himself that Eddison and co could wait, he showered and changed his shirt. There was little he could do now about the crumpled suit. Then he headed for the restaurant. They were already there, halfway through their breakfasts. Parks indicated an empty chair, and Alec nodded then went to the buffet. He was hungry, he realized. Surprisingly ravenous, in fact. With a loaded tray he returned to the table and plonked his breakfast down on the already overcrowded table.
‘I like to see a man who enjoys his food,’ Eddison intoned.
Parks laughed. Alec ignored him and nodded acceptance as a waitress arrived with tea. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and then focused on his breakfast.
‘So,’ Eddison continued, as though Alec had already been there, ‘that’s David and Alec looking through the CCTV footage. We’ve already got a lead on that, so get yourselves briefed and then relieve the overnight team.’
Who’s David? Alec wondered, then realized Eddison was referring to Parks.
‘Phillip and I are going back to talk to Robinson’s sister,’ he added.
Phillip, Alec thought, almost surprised that Munroe had a first name. He couldn’t recall Eddison referring to anyone by their first name until now. Was he trying to make like they were a proper team? ‘Travers?’ he asked.
‘Spent a comfortable night and is stable. Family Liaison Officer Susan Moran is with the wife, and the friend is planning on going home later today.’
Alec nodded, satisfied. He had dreamt about Travers, he remembered now. An incident from when the pair of them had still been in uniform and had been called on to cover some kind of protest. He tried hard now to recall what it was about. A factory closure, maybe? Some kind of government contract that had been withdrawn and the workers were protesting.
He could not at this time and distance grasp at the details, but Jamie had been there too, reporting on the protest for the local paper. Alec remembered placards and shouting and – a sit-in, that was it. Workers had occupied the building, and it had made quite a splash in the local press at the time.
He’d not thought about it in years, but in his dream the memory had been clear as day, and now that he tried hard to recall details that were already slipping away, as dreams so often do, he was left with some scrap of a joke Jamie had been making about her new jacket. It had a blue striped lining, and she’d had the sleeves turned back because they were too long for her—
‘Alec?’ Eddison said sharply, and Alec realized he must have been speaking to him. He apologized automatically. Tried to catch up with the last bit of the conversation he remembered hearing.
‘The sister? Neil Robinson’s sister?’
‘What other bloody sister have we been talking about?’
Alec shrugged. ‘Why talk to her again?’
‘Because she was holding back,’ Munroe said.
‘Holding what back?’
‘If we knew that we wouldn’t need to talk to her again!’
‘No, I mean about what happened to Neil Robinson, or, I don’t know, whatever she told Jamie on his behalf.’
Munroe shrugged. ‘Why?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. It’s something no one’s talked about much. How did he know about Jamie in the first place? He wasn’t local to Pinsent, so he didn’t know about her from when she started out. So what made him choose her? And how did the sister make contact? No one’s told me that either.’
A beat of silence.
‘Maybe you didn’t bother to ask,’ Eddison said.
Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d been waiting for Travers to ask that sort of question. Maybe he’d just been caught up in Trav’s concerns to the extent that he really hadn’t been doing a proper job. ‘I’m asking now.’
‘We don’t know, is the short answer. Clara, Neil Robinson’s sister, says she got a message from him. One time she said he called her, another she said she thinks he wrote her a letter telling her to get in touch with Jamie Dale and say that her brother Neil had a story for her.’
‘She’d know the difference. If he’d written her a letter she’d have kept it. That would be the natural thing to do. People . . . families don’t throw away personal letters.’
‘Ah, thanks for the insight, Professor Friedman,’ Parks teased. ‘No, we figured as much too.’
‘And someone like Jamie Dale wouldn’t get in touch with anyone just because they said there might be a story. When she worked the local paper she reckoned she got a dozen calls a day like that. Usually, it was just a vindictive neighbour or a lost cat.’
Munroe nodded agreement. ‘And since she started to make a name for herself, it is reasonable to assume she got even more “hot tips”.’
‘So what did the sister tell her that was sufficient bait? Neil Robinson must have offered something very specific. Something Jamie would have recognized; known about already. Have we looked at what she was working on? Looked to see if there was a link?’
‘Course we bloody haven’t,’ Eddison said irritably. ‘We’ve all been sitting here waiting for you to come up with that one.’
Alec ignored the sarcasm. ‘So?’ he asked, slicing into his second sausage and layering it with bacon before dipping his fork into his egg. ‘What was she working on?’
Parks an
d Eddison exchanged a glance. Munroe just shrugged. ‘On the face of it, nothing that would have got Neil Robinson’s juices going,’ Munroe told him. ‘She was almost done with filming a documentary, a two part exposé thing on how many ex servicemen end up as rough sleepers. Especially those from special forces.’
‘Not news, surely?’ Alec said. ‘I’ve seen a couple of films like that in the past few years.’
‘No, but she was doing something on comparative care. Here, the USA, some of the old Soviet Bloc countries.’ He shrugged. ‘Previous to that she’d been part of a team, each making a kind of personal reflective thing on the changing face of Britain or Britishness or some such. It seems to be the fashion at the minute from what I can gather. You know, who we are and if multiculturalism works or is some kind of myth put about by politicians.’
I guess you could say it worked for Jamie, Alec thought. Her mother had been Welsh but working in Pinsent when she had met and married a man who was, if Alec recalled correctly, half French and half Nigerian. Jamie had spoken about half a dozen languages, largely because of family connections. How had Jamie thought of herself ? Alec realized he hadn’t the foggiest idea. She’d just been Jamie Dale, a pen name she’d adopted so early in her career that he found he couldn’t recall what her actual family name was.
He thought hard while attacking more of his breakfast. Fouquet, that was right. Or was it Foucault? ‘Have you seen the films?’
Parks shrugged. ‘Bits of them. Neither was a finished product yet.’
‘So we’re back with the original question. Why contact her, and what hooked her?’
‘Which is what we’re going back to ask the sister. Again.’
Eddison got to his feet and stretched, the movement untucking his shirt enough to expose a small area of hairy belly. Munroe followed his example, but he didn’t stretch. Munroe, Alec found himself thinking, was not a man who would stretch. Such extravagance of motion was available only to those people who were capable of relaxing. Munroe was not one of them.
‘So that leaves us,’ Alec said to Parks when the others were gone.
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