The Spanish Hotel
Page 25
“You silly sod; you texted me. Remember?”
“Oh yes, I did, didn’t I. What it is, is, well, where should I start?”
“Just say it Chas.”
“Where would a man go for sex in Dubai?”
“Good on you babe. It’s good to think that you are looking for some fun. You take life far too seriously.”
“No, I’m here on police business and the man we’re looking for likes sex.”
“Huh, what man doesn’t?”
“Flighty, help me out here.”
“Let me think, Dubai? Most times I have been there it has been a case of out of the airport and a short transfer to a hotel down the road, so I wouldn’t claim to know the hotspots too well. The best I can say is that I once went to a club with one of the better crews I’ve been holed up there with. It was in the business district off a big six-lane dual carriageway. The club was at the back of a hotel. But from what I hear you can pick up hookers in quite a lot of hotel bars there. I assume we are talking about hookers are we?”
“I guess so. Unless there is somewhere an older guy is bound to make a hit without paying.”
Flighty laughed. “The guy always pays one way or the other. I thought you would know that by now babe.”
“But you think this club is the most obvious place?”
“It’s the only one I can suggest. The fact that the blokes we were with thought it worth the trip across town suggests they had it down as the best place in town. And I have to say, it would take some beating. Even I was shocked by how many women were on the game there.”
“Can you remember the name of it?”
“It was a single word. The name of a reptile.”
“Crocodile, alligator, snake, lizard.”
“Stop it Chas, let me think.”
Harrington stopped talking and stared at the amber glow creeping in round the side of the window blind. It projected a shadowy, but relatively clear image of his bottle of aftershave onto the side wall.
“Salamander,” said Flighty triumphantly. “It was called The Salamander. Well, just Salamander, not The Salamander.”
“And you say it was at the back of a hotel?”
“Yes, but don’t ask. All I can tell you is it was the other side of the creek from the airport and up this massive road. Then you turn off a slip and down towards the beach. It’s not as far as the Burj Al Arab though. You could see it, but it was still some way off.”
“Is that the posh one that looks like a sail?”
“That’s the one babe. The Salamander is somewhere between there and the creek.”
“Thanks, that’s definitely something to work with. We should pay you for the help you give us.”
“Pay me by taking my friends on that boat trip we talked about.”
“I will. I must go now Flighty, I need to try and catch up on some sleep, my alarm’s set for six.”
“You know what to do if you can’t sleep?”
“What?”
“Imagine it’s me that is rubbing it for you.”
“I doubt if I will have any trouble getting back to sleep.”
“Give it a quick rub for me anyway.”
“I will.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” Just not now, thought Harrington. “Bye.”
“Bye, sleep tight babe.”
Chapter 16
At terminal one of Dubai international airport, Aisha entered the ladies toilet and changed into a black burka with just a slit for her eyes. The arrivals hall was somewhere a lone Arab woman could be seen sitting and drinking coffee. If she had left for Al Ain straight away, she would have arrived there in the early hours of the morning, with no local taxis on the street. Her guts told her to flee Dubai as quickly as possible, her plan told her to stay for two hours.
In the unlikely event that the police came looking for her, they would gravitate to the departure halls of the three terminals. There would be numerous women in black burkas all over the airport. It was the perfect garment to wear as a disguise. You could look out on the world, but the world could not look in on you. Islamic custom and practice dictated that a man should not even look at the eyes of a strange woman in a burka.
Finally her wait was over. She walked the route Collins and Harrington had walked the day before. The taxi driver smiled and nodded enthusiastically when she asked to be taken to Al Ain. He tried it on, but Aisha haggled him down to three hundred dirham. Perhaps it was still overpriced, but it was not bad for transporting a murderess on the run a distance of some one hundred miles.
He dropped her at the Al Ain Hilton. She allowed the porter to take her bags inside and enquired about the price of a room at the reception desk.
“Maybe I’ll try the Intercontinental,” she said.
“As you wish madam.”
By the time she was back outside with her bags, a local taxi was swinging in from the main road.
“The Mezyad border post please.”
The driver pressed the button to reset the meter and pulled away. As they made their way along the long straight, dusty road to the border, Jebel Hafeet was always to their right.
Inside her head she spoke to the mountain. Sorry I never got to the top of you, but I hear there are bigger and better mountains in Oman.
As they approached the border post, Aisha passed a fifty dirham note forward to the driver. “Will that get me across?” she asked.
“Sixty.”
“Okay, I’ll pay the full amount once we are on the other side.”
The driver did not seem to understand, but he drove towards the first checkpoint anyway. Aisha dropped her head and prayed to a god she didn’t believe in.
Twenty minutes later, the taxi driver was lifting her luggage into the back of Nabeel’s Land Cruiser. It was Nabeel who paid the balance of the taxi fare.
“The Salamander sir.” Harrington twisted the lid off a small pot of strawberry jam and dipped his knife in.
“And you say it’s attached to a hotel?”
“Yes. It’s over on the other side of the creek. My guess is that is where Phillips will be staying.”
“And how many hotels are there in this city?”
“Lots sir.”
“Exactly.”
“But Flighty thinks…”
“Chas, maybe we’ll check this place of yours out later, but let’s go to the conference as planned. We don’t know for certain he will be at this hotel, but we do know he will be at the conference.”
“You’re right sir. I just got a bit excited I guess.”
“Get that croissant down your neck and then let’s get over to Festival City. Is everything around here called a city?”
“It seems that way sir.”
“Perhaps they should rename Wembley, Wembley Football City.”
“They do more than just play football there guv.”
“I know. The thing is; I didn’t see any festivals at Festival City, did you? All I saw was shops and hotels.”
“And water sir.”
“Aye, and water. Why didn’t they call it Water City then?”
The two officers approached four computers all set up in a line along a row of tables with a navy-blue cloth draped over them. Collins caught the eye of what appeared to be a supervisor. He was young, blonde and gay-looking, but he had an air of authority about him.
“Good morning, I’m with the Metropolitan police in London.” He flashed his warrant card. “I have an important message for one of our government ministers, the right honourable Douglas Phillips. Is he here yet?”
“I will check for you sir.”
Without apology the blonde-haired man placed his hand on a computer mouse one of the registration clerks had just let go of. His eyes focused on the screen while his index finger clicked the mouse.
Thirty seconds later he looked at Collins. “Not registered yet I am afraid. Though he is due to speak at the closing ceremony.”
“What time is that?”
“Thank you. Could you make sure I know the moment he registers?”
“VIPs are escorted straight past us. Someone else will register him.”
“But you will let me know the moment he is registered.”
The man gave Collins a wry smile. “I will let sir know if I know where sir will be.”
“Ah, have you any suggestions?”
“We only have tea and coffee facilities here. Why not go through to the hotel and make yourself comfortable in one of the restaurants or coffee lounges. If you let the concierge know where you are, I will make sure someone comes to find you.”
“Thank you. You have been very helpful.”
The man nodded courteously.
At ten minutes past eleven, Collins was sick and tired of waiting. Harrington was sick and tired of being sent back and forth to the registration desks to check on progress.
“Go ask the concierge where this Salamander club is.”
“The one at the other hotel yesterday wasn’t particularly helpful down those lines.”
“That’s why I’m sending you. You’re younger, this one might be more open with a young man.”
Harrington reluctantly rose to his feet. “He knows I’m an English copper though sir.”
“Just try it Chas,” said Collins impatiently.
Harrington returned a few minutes later, still breathing heavily fro his trips up and down the stairs. “He said to ask a taxi driver.”
“I thought that is what he would say.”
“Well why…”
“Just in case the taxi driver doesn’t know. Come on; let’s just hope Phillips isn’t on his way here while we’re on our way there.”
The hotel was filled with the sound of a pianist playing ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water.’ Collins wanted to tell her to shut up while he spoke to the receptionist, but he didn’t.
To bolster his position he spoke as if he knew Phillips was staying at the hotel. “Is Douglas Phillips still in the hotel?”
“Could I see that again?” The receptionist pointed at his warrant card.
Collins opened it and laid it on the counter.
Without speaking she picked up the phone and punched in two numbers.
“Good afternoon sir. This is reception. Could you come down?”
Collins leant on the counter and repeatedly switched his main standing foot as he waited.
A tall stocky man with hair as black as his suit strutted across from the lift lobby.
Collins stood more upright and locked eyes with him.
“How can I help?”
“I was asking your receptionist if Douglas Phillips is still in the hotel.”
“And your name is?” He tilted his head and smiled.
“Collins, Detective Chief Inspector Collins. Your lady here has already had a good look at my warrant card.” He held it out again.
“I see you are with the Metropolitan police. If I am not mistaken, that is the London police force.”
Recognising where this was heading, Collins went on the offensive. “Douglas Phillips is a member of the British government. I am a senior officer in the British police force. And I need to speak to Douglas Phillips urgently.”
The manager looked over Collins’ shoulder to the receptionist. “Telephone the police for me please.”
“What? I just need to speak to the man. Call up to his room and I’ll speak to him over the phone.”
“They will not be long.”
“Oh for God’s sake.”
“I would advise you not to curse Mr Collins.”
“I am not a mister, I am a Chief Inspector.”
“Yes sir. Can I suggest you wait over here?” He gestured towards cushioned seats laid out around coffee tables on the far side of the lobby.
Harrington started to head that way.
“I’m staying right here until I get to speak to Douglas Phillips,” declared Collins.
Harrington stopped in his tracks.
“As you wish sir.”
True to the manager’s word, two police officers arrived in a very short time indeed. Both were wearing light-green combat style uniforms and black berets. Harrington’s eyes were drawn to the pistols on their hips.
The manager intercepted the two Emirate policemen and talked to them for more than a minute. His next move was to step into an office at the back of the cashier’s desk. Collins watched him call one number and then another. He could not hear what was being said.
Eventually he left the office and spoke to Collins. The Emirate officers approached immediately. “Mr Phillips seems to be asleep.”
“What does seems to be asleep mean? Not answering his phone, not opening his door?”
“You are correct. Mr Phillips is not answering his telephone. He also has a Do Not Disturb sign on his door.”
“The man is due to speak at a conference on the other side of Dubai in less than two hours. He can’t be asleep.”
The taller of the two Emirate officers spoke for the first time. “We should check the room.”
The manager responded with a nod and led the way towards the lift lobby.
Once they were outside five-zero-one, the manager tapped on the door and waited with his head turned sideways.
He tapped again, only this time harder.
After thirty seconds or so had passed the taller emirate policeman spoke in Arabic. The manager inserted his key card into the slot. A green light flashed and he turned the handle.
The two Emirate offices did not wait for an invite. All five men scanned the sitting room. Collins was first to the bedroom door.
“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed.
Phillips’ dead body was still tied to the bedposts. The thing that hit Collins in the face was the bloody mess between his legs. Two flies buzzed around the ashtray on the bedside table.
“I think the conference needs a new closing speaker,” said Collins.
“Go no further,” commanded the second Emirate officer.
Both Collins and Harrington stayed rooted to the spot, both thoroughly scanning the crime scene.
“Please leave.” The shorter Emirate directed his order at all three men. Although he didn’t like being forced to leave the suite, as he did so, Collins thought: I would do the same.
The two British men waited in the lobby for over two hours. They were served tea and pastries three times during that time. Only the first plate got consumed. As they drank the tea, they watched dozens of uniformed and plain clothed police officers scurry back and forth across the lobby.
An incident room set up in a meeting room became a hive of activity. Hotel staff queued up outside two offices, waiting to be interviewed.
At fifteen-twenty-five, a short slim man in a white shirt and brown suit approached Collins and Harrington.
“Forgive me, my English is not good. My name is Abdula. You will know Mr Phillips has been murdered. We believe the victim is a young woman.”
“Sorry,” Collins interrupted him. “Douglas Phillips is the victim. Do you mean you suspect the killer is a young lady?”
“Yes, as I say…”
“Would her name be Aisha Al Nuaimi?”
“We do not know her name. A lady was allowed to stay here without correct registration. This is contrary to our laws, it should not have happened. The room was booked in the name of Alice Evans.”
“Well I can tell you Alice Evans is not the killer.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Alice Evans was murdered months ago.”
The man paused for thought.
“As I say; an unknown lady stayed without correct administration. The same lady checked out of the hotel very early in the morning, shortly after what we believe to be the time of death.”
“Do you think she watched him bleed to death then?”
“He did not bleed to death. The…” He paused. “The victim was suffocated with a pillow. This is
still to be confirmed.”
“I understand. I suspect you will discover the woman who stayed here was Aisha Al Nuami.” Collins pulled a photo of her sitting on the Spanish balcony from his pocket. “Show this to the staff.”
Abdula raised his eyebrows as he looked at the photograph. “It is better that the English stay in England.”
Collins swallowed his reply.
“I will ask.” Abdula took the photograph away.
When he reached the reception desk he showed the photograph to the girl known as Angela. Collins watched her nod.
Abdula walked back over. “Can I keep this?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. Do you have the equivalent of an all ports here?”
“Once again, I am sorry…”
“Can you contact the airports to stop her leaving? She came into Abu Dhabi on an Etihad flight two days ago.”
“I will do all I can. Can I suggest you sit out in the courtyard? It is not so hot now. Maybe you would like some English food and some English beer.”
“No thank you, but I could do with some air.”
“I will send for you when I have something.”
They chose a table outside the Black Horse. From it they could see the entrance to the club. It was not illuminated, but a large neon sign spelt out the word Salamander.
“What can I get you?” Collins was surprised to hear a female Irish voice coming over his shoulder.
“Perhaps I will have a half after all.”
“Pints don’t cost much more,” chirped the barmaid.
“Two pints then.”
“Fosters, Stella, Heineken, Guinness, Kilkenny?”
“Is the Guinness chilled?”
“Almost frozen when we pour it. It gets up to thirty degrees if you take half an hour to drink it.”
“Guinness for me then.”
“I’ll have a Stella,” said Harrington.
When the barmaid returned with their beers, Harrington took the opportunity to ask her about the Salamander club.
“So is that place really a brothel?” He pointed across the courtyard.
“It’s a night club. Opens at nine.”
“And closes at…?
“Three in the morning.”
“Do a lot of ladies of a certain kind go there?”
“Sorry, I don’t have time to stand around and chat. Should I put these on your room?”