by H. Y. Hanna
“Thank you…!” came the garbled reply, as the buzz of the electric toothbrush was followed by the whooshing of water in the sink.
“Good night! Sleep well.”
I withdrew my head and pulled the door firmly shut, then took one final trip down in the lift. The lobby was still as busy and noisy as ever, although the reception counter was empty again. I heaved an impatient sigh—I’d been hoping the hotel could call a taxi for me. I wandered over to the main entrance, hoping that I might be able to snag a taxi from an arriving guest, although I didn’t think there would be many people arriving this late at night now. And from what I could see through the sliding glass doors, it looked like it had started raining. Still, it was better than standing around in here. As I was about to step out into the cold, however, a side door next to the entrance opened and Derek Sutton, the hotel manager, stepped in. He was wearing a coat and his hair was slightly ruffled.
“Brr!” he said, giving me a smile and rubbing his hands. “I think your Australian friend was right after all. It’s a chilly night out there…”
I must have looked curious because he smiled ruefully and explained, “It’s the curse of being a smoker. Now that we’re no longer allowed to light up indoors, we have to brave the elements every time we want our nicotine fix.” He looked at me more closely. “You’re not staying at the hotel, are you? Forgive me, I’ve only come back on duty today and I’m not that familiar with the new guests yet.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just leaving actually, and I was hoping to order a taxi.”
“Oh, they should be able to order one for you at …” He trailed off as his gaze went to the empty reception counter. He frowned. “Where’s that girl got to? I’ve asked one of the maids to help out on Reception as she’s had some experience on a front desk and she wasn’t supposed to leave it unattended…” He sighed, then gave me an anxious smile. “I’m very sorry about the service this evening. I hope you’ll believe me when I say that this isn’t the norm for the Cotswolds Manor Hotel.”
“No, of course not,” I murmured politely.
“I’ll personally order the taxi for you—and the hotel will pay the fare, as a gesture of apology,” said Derek Sutton quickly.
“Oh, that’s very kind of you but it’s really not necessary—”
“I insist. If you’ll come with me and give me the address…”
The side door suddenly opened again and a young woman in a maid’s uniform burst out, breathing rapidly, as if she had been running. She had a Mediterranean look about her, with black hair and olive skin and flashing dark eyes. She stopped short when she saw us.
“Marie! Where have you been? I thought I’d asked you to stay on Reception?” said Derek Sutton in the tight tone that people use when they’re very angry but trying to remain polite in public.
“I’m sorry, sir, but a guest needed something upstairs…” She trailed off. I realised that the side door led into a stairwell which connected with the staircase that led up to all the floors, as well as providing access to the outside.
“Please remain on Reception until the end of your shift,” said Derek Sutton icily. “If there is anything that needs attention upstairs, please ask one of the other maids or myself.”
“Yes, sir,” she said sullenly, following us back to the reception counter.
The hotel manager ordered my taxi himself and then, after plying me with more apologies, finally disappeared back into his office. As I waited for the taxi to arrive, I glanced across the lobby lounge and saw Andrew Manning standing alone at the bar. He was downing a large whiskey and still looked very shaken. I smiled to myself and wondered what kind of dressing down he had received to leave him so rattled. Good for that woman. I almost wished I had been a fly on the wall!
***
I was roused from the depths of sleep the next morning by my mother’s voice calling through my door.
“Mm-mmph…?” I raised my head off the pillow, looking blearily around. From the light shining in through a gap in the curtains, it must have been mid-morning already. I sighed. I had been meaning to get up earlier to get my body clock back on track but it looked like I had overslept again.
Then I realised my mother was still calling me through the door. “Gemma? Darling, are you awake?” She knocked and opened the door. “There’s someone on the phone for you.”
“Who?” I said, yawning and rubbing my eyes.
“The police.”
“The police?” I stared at her in surprise. “Why?”
“I don’t know, darling—something about an accident at the Cotswolds Manor Hotel.”
Frowning, I got out of bed, pulled on my dressing gown, and followed my mother downstairs.
I picked up the phone in the hall. “Hullo?”
“Miss Gemma Rose? This is Inspector Glenn of the Oxfordshire CID. I understand that you’re a friend of Jenn Murray’s?”
“Yes, that’s right—well, I only met her recently on the plane, coming back from Australia, but I suppose you could say we’re friends.”
“And you had drinks with her last night at the hotel?”
“Yes, that’s right,” I said again. “Why? What’s happened?”
“Can you tell me what time you left her?”
“I think it must have been just after 11 p.m. Why? What’s going on? And how did you get my number?”
“We contacted the taxi company. They gave us the address you were dropped off at and we traced the number accordingly.”
“But why did you need to trace me? I don’t understand—”
“Miss Rose, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Your friend, Jenn Murray, is dead.”
“Dead? What do you mean—dead? How?” I leaned against the hall table, shocked.
“A maid went into her room this morning and found her collapsed in the bathroom. She had suffered a blow to the head.”
“But… but she was fine when I left. I mean, she was a bit drunk but I thought she would just sleep it off. Oh God, maybe I shouldn’t have left her… Did she have an accident?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, then the inspector said, “We are conducting an investigation and we’d like you to answer some questions. I’m currently at the hotel, interviewing some of the staff and other guests. If you could come here, it would save me having to return to the station. I could get my sergeant to come and pick you up.”
“Yes, of course, that’s fine but… I don’t understand—what do you mean, conducting an investigation? Didn’t Jenn just fall down and hit her head in the bathroom?”
The inspector’s voice was carefully neutral. “There is some uncertainty over the cause of death. The blow to her head was not accidental.”
I caught my breath. “You don’t mean… Jenn was murdered?”
CHAPTER SIX
I stood and looked around the empty hotel room, noting the open suitcase in the corner, and the laptop on the desk with various papers and the Oxford tour guide next to it. The bright blue turquoise scarf hung over the back of a chair and I swallowed convulsively. I couldn’t believe that Jenn was dead.
I almost couldn’t nerve myself to go into the bathroom, even though I knew they had already removed the body. I followed the inspector silently as he led me through the adjoining door and glanced over the vanity counter—the little group of creams and lotions, the quilted gold cosmetic bag, the wooden hairbrush and a couple of elastic hair ties, the electric toothbrush standing forlornly by itself next to the sink… I swallowed again and turned hastily away.
“Does everything look the same as last night?” asked Inspector Glenn, a grizzled detective in his mid-sixties, with a balding head and shrewd brown eyes beneath bushy grey eyebrows. He reminded me slightly of a large terrier and seemed to share the same suspicious nature and aggressive tenacity.
I skimmed the rest of the bathroom, taking in the toilet, shower, and bathtub, the towels hanging on the rails, the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner, then gave a helpless shru
g.
“I suppose so. To be honest with you, I wasn’t paying that much attention. I was only in the room briefly—I helped Jenn to the bed and then came in here to get a glass of water for her to drink.” I looked at him. “Are you thinking that someone came in here after me and moved things around?”
“No one has been in the room since the body was discovered by the maid this morning,” said Inspector Glenn. “She called the police immediately and we were lucky that a patrol was in the neighbourhood so they arrived and secured the scene. There’s been a constable on guard at the door ever since.” He leaned forwards and looked at me intently. “You seem to be the last person to have seen Jenn Murray alive—which means that any change you notice now may be a clue to the murderer.”
I winced at the word. “I’m sorry—I really can’t be sure if something specific has changed.” I wandered back into the bedroom and scanned the room. “It all looks pretty much the same to me—the suitcase was in the corner over there, and her scarf draped over the chair… and I think that laptop and those papers were on the desk like that…” I turned my head. “And her handbag is still there, where I left it.” I looked at the inspector. “Was her wallet stolen? Her jewellery? Money?”
“No, nothing was taken.” He gestured to the handbag. “What was that you said about the bag being where you left it?”
I recounted what had happened the night before, explaining how I had helped Jenn up to her room and then my second trip downstairs and back to retrieve her handbag.
“What time did you bring Ms Murray up to her room?”
“I don’t know—I think it must have been just after ten-thirty.”
“And you left immediately again to return downstairs for the handbag?”
“Yes, pretty much—I only stayed a few minutes to get her a glass of water.”
“I’ve questioned the bartender and a few of the guests who were in the lounge last night. They did remember seeing you search for a handbag but they said it was closer to eleven o’clock.”
I shrugged, not sure what he was getting at. “Yeah, probably—I wasn’t really watching the time. But what does it matter? Jenn wasn’t found until this morning—she could have been killed anytime in the night or even the early hours?”
“The pathologist has put the time of death at sometime between nine-thirty and eleven-thirty. Since Ms Murray was seen down in the lobby until around half past ten, she must have been killed in the hour after she went up to her room.” He paused, then added in a carefully neutral voice, “One of the German guests was standing in the lobby by the lift and he remembered getting a call just as you walked past him. The phone register shows that his call came in at 10:51 p.m.”
“So?” I said, puzzled and starting to feel impatient at these pedantic statements.
“So… it seems strange that you claim to have left Ms Murray’s room around ten-forty and yet it took you over ten minutes to arrive downstairs?” The inspector raised his eyebrows. I didn’t like the tone of his voice.
“Well, the lift was really slow,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “And when one finally came, there was a couple in it.”
“A couple?”
“Yes, you know… they were… um… kissing… and stuff.” I flushed slightly. “I didn’t really want to ride down in the same lift with them so I decided to wait for the next one. So it took me quite a while before I got back down to the lobby.”
“I see.” Again, I didn’t like his tone. “And then you found Ms Murray’s handbag and went straight back upstairs?”
“Yes, as soon as I could get the lift,” I said tartly. “I went back to her room and returned her handbag.”
“What time was that?”
“I think it was just after eleven o’clock.”
“And did Ms Murray seem all right to you?”
“Yes, she was in the bathroom. I came downstairs, got a taxi, and went home.”
“Yes, we’ve already questioned Mr Sutton, the manager. He went off duty shortly after you left but he confirms that he ordered your taxi and saw you leave, before he left the hotel himself.”
“Well, of course, he saw me leave,” I said sharply. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Inspector Glenn said nothing for a moment. Then he asked, “You said you met Ms Murray on the flight over from Australia?”
“Yes,” I said evenly. “We had seats next to each other.”
“Got very friendly, didn’t you?”
“We were sitting next to each other on a twenty-hour flight—it was only natural to start chatting.”
“What did you talk about?”
I shrugged. “All sorts of things… Flying—she was a really nervous passenger—and holidays and coming back to the U.K…. I guess we felt an instant bond because we were both British expats living in Australia. I mean, her accent was pretty Aussie but I’m fairly certain she was originally English.”
“And did Ms Murray mention the reason for her trip?”
I frowned. “No, not really. I got the impression that she was visiting on holiday. She said she got a good package deal at the hotel here—and she had that tour guide with her.” I nodded towards the book on Oxford sitting on the desk.
“Why Oxford?”
“I don’t know. It’s a popular tourist destination, isn’t it? Jenn seemed quite private and I didn’t like to pry.” I hesitated. “She did seem very familiar with the University… and I think she mentioned coming to Oxford as a child or something.”
“And so you met on the plane, had a bit of a chat, and then you came to spend the evening with her?” The inspector raised his eyebrows again. “Are you always so chummy with strangers?”
“Well, it wasn’t a social call initially. Jenn had left a scarf on the plane and I picked it up. I happened to be in Meadowford village nearby, so when she got in touch, I said I’d drop it off at the hotel. She invited me to stay and have a drink with her and I accepted.”
“A drink? That’s it?”
“Well, it turned into a couple of drinks—” I broke off and frowned at him. “What are you insinuating?”
The Inspector gave me a patronising smile. “Oh, come now, Miss Rose—there’s no need to be coy with me. I’m a man of the world. If your friendship with Ms Murray was a bit more—shall we say, intimate in nature—you don’t need to conceal it from me.”
“What?” I stared at him incredulously. “No, of course we weren’t ‘intimate’! Where on earth did you get that idea from?”
He shrugged. “I have my sources. And…” He leaned forwards. “I’ve done some checking up on you. You were living in Darlinghurst, a well-known gay suburb in Sydney.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but there are straight people living in Darlinghurst as well! It happens to be one of the trendiest suburbs in central Sydney. Lots of young people like to live there. It’s a short walk to the shopping malls in the city, it’s near Hyde Park and public transport, and there are loads of great cafés and eateries.”
“So you deny that there was any relationship of a sexual nature between you and Ms Murray?”
“Of course I deny it! It’s a ridiculous assumption! Why can’t two women just meet and become friends?” I stopped suddenly as the realisation dawned on me. “Am I a suspect? Do you think I murdered Jenn?”
“You were the last person to see her alive,” said the inspector.
“But… that’s… that’s crazy! Why on earth would I want to murder Jenn?” I paused, then said urgently, “I just remembered. There was a man—his name is Andrew Manning and he has the room next to Jenn’s—he was harassing her earlier in the evening, trying to chat her up, and she rebuffed him. I passed him as I was stepping out of the lift when I returned upstairs with Jenn’s handbag.”
“When was this?”
“I told you, around eleven o’clock. He got in the lift just as I was getting out. He looked really agitated, like breathing really fast, and he was very pale. I saw him again downstairs later—he was having
a drink at the bar and still looked very shaken. I remember thinking that he must have had a nasty telling-off by some woman he had tried to chat up. Maybe it was Jenn! Maybe he had gone to her room and they had had an argument or something—and he was smarting from her comments. Some men can’t bear to be rejected, can they? And he looks like the type who has a huge ego. Maybe he finished his drink, went back up and… and killed her.” I leaned forwards. “You should be questioning him!”
“We will be questioning everyone in connection with the case,” said the inspector pompously. “You need not concern yourself with that. And now, if you’ll follow my sergeant downstairs, he’ll type up your statement and you can read it and sign it.” He indicated the young man who had been scribbling notes next to us. “I will be speaking to you again, Miss Rose, and I would advise you not to leave Oxford for the time being. If you do, you must advise the police of your intended destination.”
With these ominous parting words, he escorted me to the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I tried to hold my head high as I walked past the inspector and yanked the door open. A young woman in the doorway fell forwards, stumbling sideways to avoid crashing into me.
“Oh!” she cried, flushing.
She was wearing a maid’s uniform and I recognised her as Marie, the girl whom I had seen behind the reception counter last night. From the way she had fallen into the room, she must have been leaning against the door. Had she been eavesdropping on the interview?
She straightened up and re-arranged her clothing, giving me an accusing look. “I was just about to knock—you opened the door so quickly, you startled me.” Her gaze went beyond me to Inspector Glenn and she said, “I… I was just wondering if the room needs to be cleaned, sir?”
“Hmm?” He glanced up from some papers he was examining by the desk. “No, no… this room is off limits. It’s a crime scene, and until I release it, no one is to enter without permission.”