by John Schou
phone without any oral salutes.
4 – Breaking Up
I went straight back to room 2545, where Alice and Jeannine had waited nervously for me. “With a certain right,” I commented and then I told about the assault. “Let’s order something to be brought to the room, I do not dare to leave any of them now.
“Look, we found a door between the rooms and got it opened, so 2543 is now blocked from the inside and we can see if somebody is coming,” Alice said.
“That is just excellent. We shall all leave this hotel tomorrow morning. Let us finish packing before we go down for breakfast so that we don’t have to come back. At 10 a.m. we shall be by Mr. Smith, and then afterwards we shall find an accommodation for Jeannine. How long do you plan to stay in Copenhagen?”
“Just a few days until George’s coffin are returned to London.”
“Please stay with me,” Alice said. “I shall take a couple of days off the job.” In an exclusive shop just before Christmas, I thought. Was this the first symptom of a devastating cold?
“Thanks for this offer, Alice, I greatly appreciate it. Anyhow, I have enough of hotels at the moment, however elegant and expensive they may be.”
I ordered a delicious late supplement dinner with first a Chardonnay and then half a bottle of Gewürztraminer. However, before it arrived, Erlandsson knocked at the door.
“I want to know why Mr. Osborne was here, why Mr. Gusto is here, why Mr. Smith’s luxury car is here and what exactly happened this evening.”
“The first three questions are answered fast: I am here to find out why Mr. Osborne was here, a task I didn’t manage to solve before his death. The Bentley brought us here and Miss Jørgensen, whom you have met on a previous occasion, went to school with Mrs. Dumont in Lausanne. It was not quite easy to get a room at Shepherd’s Copenhagen.”
“My compliment for this success, even if it didn’t help you further.”
“But maybe you can tell us what it is all about?”
“I’m sorry, I have strict obligation to secrecy.” He was interrupted by the room service. His eyes betrayed an immense hunger as he saw what was rolled in.
“Do you need a fourth set?” the waiter wanted to know.
“No, Mr. Erlandsson will leave soon due to certain obligations,” I answered.
“I may … be able to … postpone them,” he stuttered. “After all, we are working together in this case.”
“Could you supplement this small buffet with about the half?” I asked the waiter.
“Without the fish parts … perhaps some ham instead … and a beer,” Erlandsson nervously suggested.
“I shall be back in 10 minutes,” said the waiter.
“No need to rush, we shall discuss some matters first – but you can of course bring it here as soon as it is ready – and bring a second beer right away.” I said, wanting to make it clear to Mr. Erlandsson that he had to disclose something first before enjoying the crumbles from the rich people’s table.
He perfectly understood. Before the waiter returned with the bait, he had told me what he knew about the meeting, which was not much more than I had been able to deduce but still a valuable confirmation.
“Hey, didn’t you give the waiter 200 DKr in tips?” he exclaimed as the supplements were brought and the waiter had disappeared.
“That is the level here at Shepherd’s – and it is still just a fraction of the price of your late night dinner. Please serve yourself and I shall try to describe what occurred this evening.” And so I did, supplemented by Alice and Jeannine, so that I also got something between the teeth. Did Mr. Erlandsson really not appreciate black caviar? Never mind, there are times where I also long for ham and beer, fortunately not while at Shepherd’s.
“And you have no idea who killed Mr. Osborne?” he said while enjoying the second beer.
“No. Most of the brotherhood that invaded the hotel was absent, probably giving themselves a mutual alibi, which doesn’t exclude that some came back. Oh, I nearly forgot, all the rooms here are intensively bugged, but until now, we did not disclose anything unknown to Big Brother’s humble servants.”
Mr. Erlandsson made some movements with his right hand as if he had burned it on a candle light. “You are certainly right, until now we only discussed matters known to the murderer, although he might not have known what we all know. But with the excellent late dinner, and the late time, I think I can stop working for today. How long are you staying in this hotel?”
“We are feeling kind of not strictly welcome here, so we are leaving tomorrow morning – if we survive the night.”
“Given that event, I know where to find you. Thanks for the small meal.”
“It was perhaps a small meal but … like to have a glance at the bill?”
He shuddered. “No thanks. Goodnight.” A very fast exit and he was gone.
Alice came to me. “Eric, my dearest, I know you paid for a double room, but Jeannine asked me to stay with her for the night.”
“I understand. You don’t love me anymore. I shall just stay awake and shoot all intruders – if I can remain awake after all the poison we ingested.”
“Which poison?” she asked nervously.
“I think it is called alcohol”
“O, my favourite poison. I knew you would understand.”
I did not, but who cared? I closed the middle door, went to the bathroom and heard how Alice closed the outer door to 2545 and placed a suitcase in front of it, so that any intruder would make a terrible noise. Then she just opened the middle door – I guess to enable me to shoot the intruders – and I could for a long time hear a low-grade French conversation. After half an hour, I lost my nerve and stood up. “Just before you really go to sleep, you can open the door again, but for now I need some rest.”
Around four o’clock, Alice opened the door and tested my vigilance, but I was too sleepy to abuse the occasion. Then she went back to her otherwise mourning but now sleeping mate.
The next morning brought only one interesting event while still in the hotel: while we went down for breakfast, our luggage already collected on a trailer and in the surveillance of another piccolo, I suddenly found myself behind the platinum blonde man from yesterday, whom I suspected of having attempted my assassination with the letter-bomb. So how do you open a conversation – speaking about the weather or about Christmas-presents? I decided for another tactic. “O, excuse me,” I exclaimed as I fell upon him and spilled a glass of orange juice over the back of his light-brown jacket.
He turned around and considered for a moment if he should kill me right away, but an elderly man turned up and calmed him down, not with words but with a hand on his right arm.
“I shall of course pay the expenses for the cleaning,” I said. “Please take your jacket off, so that we can reduce the damage done.” Alice had already approached with a bunch of napkins.
“No, not necessary,” he said – in a strange, high-pitched voice while nervously moving away. That is the disadvantage of carrying guns for breakfast, I thought. No doubt, this was the man I had heard in the toilet yesterday afternoon. As certain, it was not the voice I had heard talking to George just before that event. If it was of any importance, there were at least three of the fellows who stayed in the hotel yesterday evening when the others went celebrating. With my new knowledge, it was too gentle pouring orange juice over him – burning petrol would have been more appropriate. Maybe next time?
Instead, I excused myself again and confirmed my offer to pay for the cleaning of his jacket; my name was Eric Gusto, which he knew already. He did not reverse the presentation but said with a frozen voice that he understood it was an accident and if I would please excuse him, he was busy – at breakfast on a Saturday morning.
We completed our own breakfast and went to check out. Robert was at the registration desk. “I thought you would stay for the weekend.”
“So did I, but unforeseen events force us to leave; and we are taking Mrs. Dumont, previously of ro
om 2541, now 2545, with us.”
“Mrs. Dumont’s accommodation will be paid by the congress organizers. May I ask you of the new address, in case Mr. Osborne’s regrettable fate makes a contact necessary?”
“It has not been decided yet,” I lied. “For contact, you can use my address. Did I give you my phone number yesterday?”
He transferred the question to the computer. “Yes Sir.” And while he presented me the immodest bill, I gave him the key to the Bentley. Harald could then test if there was a booby trapped bomb in it.
The test was negative, and a few minutes later, we sat in the car. Since it was only 9:35, I first drove to Alice’s apartment for delivering their luggage there and emphasized the need to come right back, while I circled around in the area due to the usual absence of a parking place. I had almost ended my fourth circle and decided then to proceed to Mr. Smith without the ladies, but they must have felt my intentions, suddenly they were there. After all, Mr. Smith would find a way to occupy himself, I thought.
I was wrong! “Finally, there you are,” he muttered.
“The breakfast brought an important new revelation,” I said. Then I gave an almost thorough report of the 22 hours at Shepherd’s Copenhagen. In the meantime, Alice showed my office to Jeannine, emphasizing the view over Øresund to Sweden. I had arranged that Juanita made further coffee for them, and then familiarly entered the room without knocking the door – apparently the only person who could do so, not even from Juanita would Mr. Smith tolerate such indiscretion.
There was another person who did so and therefore harvested a brusque response. I had not quite finished my report as the doorbell rang. Juanita as usual tried to transfer the visitor to the music room, and as usual, Mr. Erlandsson went straight behind her. As she knocked on and opened the door a bit to report that “Mr. Erlandsson …” the very person pushed the door wide open freshly saying, “… is already here.”
“Would you please take place in the music room,” Mr. Smith asked.
“Gladly, if you can just can spare Mr. Gusto. He invited me here for exchanging information that he preferred not to give in the hotel – and in return, I have some strictly confidential information, for his ears only. The music room would suit me perfectly, provided you have some songs of my preference.” He knew how to serve his bait.
Mr Smith looked at me with a troubled expression. “You invited him here? For what time, then?”
I was put in the defensive. “It is true that I mentioned to Mr. Erlandsson that all rooms were bugged and I would therefore prefer to give my statement under more secure conditions – I hope this is one. But we did not agree on a certain time. Nevertheless, I am very curious to receive the confidential information. Would you please excuse me for a moment?”
“No. If Mr. Erlandsson has something important to say, he must deliver it here and now or wait in the music room until we have finished – in a few hours.”
Mr. Erlandsson expressed the obvious compromise. “I recognize Mrs. Dumont and Mrs. Jørgensen, so if you can keep the information confidentially, I can spread it to all ears simultaneously – after Mr. Gusto’s report.”
Mr. Smith grunted, the closest you could now receive for an approval. The ladies swore to confidentiality and the ball was back in my goal. I made a repetition of my just delivered report, only considerably shorter and omitting all details from outside the room. Mr. Erlandsson was not hearing anything about the crucial event which was scheduled for tomorrow. He made extensive notes of my statements. Then his ‘confidential’ news was to follow:
“The cause of death of Mr. Osborne is cleared – officially, at least. It was a heart attack.”
“Who decided that, the pathologists or the politicians?” Mr. Smith wanted to know.
“Your suspicion is well founded – and