Murder at the Ritz

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘I understand,’ said Coburg. ‘Shall I take you somewhere?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Julie. She stood up. ‘I’m heading for a train station, and I’ll go under my own steam. The last thing I want is to be seen in a police car.’

  Donna also got up. ‘Let me come with you,’ she offered. ‘Just as far as the station.’

  Julie nodded. ‘Yeh. Thanks, Donna. If anyone’s watching, they might think twice if there’s two of us.’ She gave Rosa a hug goodbye, picked up her suitcase, then waited while Donna put her coat on.

  After Donna and Julie had left, Coburg and Rosa sat back down at the table.

  ‘At least they let her go,’ said Rosa.

  ‘Yes,’ said Coburg thoughtfully. ‘One thing I agree with her about: they weren’t official. Her description of where she was kept sounds like a storeroom. The good thing was they didn’t harm her.’

  ‘But who were they?’

  ‘The tall one with the chewed ear sounds to me like someone who works for a local gangster, someone who Joe Williams may or may not have been working for when he was killed.’

  ‘Who?’

  Coburg shook his head. ‘At the moment it’s safest you don’t know his name, just in case you’re tempted to mention it.’

  ‘I’m not that stupid!’

  ‘No, but you may hear someone say it, and you might react, even without saying anything. And if anyone spots that, you could be at risk.’

  ‘So, this man is dangerous?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘But he let Julie go.’

  ‘That’s one of the peculiarities about this particular man, he has his own set of standards he prides himself on. He treats women, and others he considers to be vulnerable, with care. Unless he feels they threaten him, of course. In which case he’d have no compunction about having them disposed.’

  ‘You know some nice people,’ commented Rosa acidly.

  ‘It goes with the territory,’ said Coburg. ‘My worry is, if they abducted Julie and know it was you who brought me in to show you the photo, they might be looking at you.’

  ‘Why should they want to do that?’

  ‘Because this character wants to find out what people knew about Joe Williams being in the suite. So, either he was behind whatever went on and he wants to make sure there’s nothing to link him to it, or he wasn’t involved and he wants to find out who was. Whichever it was, I’m worried in case he sends his men back here again. I don’t want you to be at risk here, so I suggest you come and stay with me at my place.’

  Rosa shook her head. ‘No. That’d leave Donna on her own, and the two men who took Julie saw her. She’s more at risk than I am.’

  Coburg took her in his arms. ‘I take your point, and I think I can deal with this, but maybe not till tomorrow. So, just for tonight, to make sure you’re both safe, why don’t you and Donna stay at my flat? Then tomorrow I’ll go and see this person and warn him off.’

  ‘You think he’ll listen?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Coburg determinedly. ‘He won’t have a choice.’

  Rosa nodded. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘And thanks.’

  Coburg smiled. ‘You could say it’s me taking advantage of the situation to get you back to my flat.’

  She smiled back at him. ‘Honey, I don’t need persuading. So, will we do the same as before? You come to see me perform tonight and we’ll go back to your place together. If so, I’ll get Donna to join us there.’

  ‘I’ll be there tonight, but I’ll be working,’ said Coburg. ‘I’ve got to interview the kitchen staff.’

  ‘Oh yes, the poor guy who was killed!’ She looked distressed. ‘What’s happening to the place?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I don’t think it’s some maniac bumping people off at random. I’m fairly sure the killings are connected. I’ll give you my key, so you and Donna take a taxi to my place, and I’ll see you there after I’ve finished. Hopefully, I shouldn’t be too long. Is that all right?’

  She nodded, then kissed him. ‘Thanks, Edgar. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.’

  He smiled at her and hugged her close. ‘You’d do the right thing, and you’d do it well. You’re a strong woman, Rosa. I’m just here as your backup.’

  ‘Time to catch up and swap notes,’ Coburg told Lampson when he got back to the Yard. ‘How did you get on with Thackeray’s girlfriend, Vera?’

  ‘She was out, so I’ll try her again tomorrow. What about you, guv?’

  ‘Well, the first thing is that my friend Rosa’s housemate was returned home.’

  Lampson frowned. ‘Eh? Who by? Or maybe she wasn’t snatched?’

  ‘Oh, she was snatched all right, and I think I know who by. Two of Mel McGuinness’s men. She described them to me and one of them sounds like Lofty Parks, a known associate. So, tomorrow morning we pay Mr McGuinness a visit.’

  ‘Did they hurt her?’

  ‘Apparently not. It seems they just asked her questions about Williams, which suggests to me that Big Mel didn’t know what he was up to. Anyway, the experience frightened her enough that she’s gone away.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘She didn’t want to say. Friends or family, I guess. Somewhere she feels safe. The other thing is my contact at the British Museum identified the language on those papers we found at Alex Ollen’s place. It’s Macedonian.’

  ‘Macedonian?’ frowned Lampson. ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘In the Balkans,’ replied Coburg. ‘Right next to Albania.’

  ‘So, that suggests his murder is connected to what went on in the Albanian king’s rooms.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Coburg. ‘Two murders in the same hotel, both with Albanian links. It’s too much to be a coincidence.’

  ‘But why did he use a forged Swiss passport?’

  ‘I get the impression that Albanian passports aren’t that easy to get hold of because of what’s happening in that area and questions might be asked about it, whereas a Swiss passport is accepted everywhere.’

  ‘Do you think we’re any closer to finding out who killed Williams and the kitchen hand, guv? And now Billy Thackeray?’

  ‘Thackeray, I don’t know,’ admitted Coburg. ‘The other two, I feel it all hinges on the money, and Albania. The problem is that brings in politics, so I’m not sure how far we’ll be allowed to progress. But all we can do is keep pushing. And I’m going to dot that tonight when I talk to the Ritz’s kitchen night staff and see what they can tell us about Alex Ollen.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ‘Good evening, George.’

  The hall porter beamed in welcome as Coburg walked through the doors of the Ritz and came over to his reception desk.

  ‘Good evening, Chief Inspector,’ he said. ‘I was told that you’d be returning to talk to the kitchen staff tonight, so I’ve arranged for the room the chefs use as their office to be made available to you.’

  ‘With their agreement, I hope,’ said Coburg. ‘The last thing I want to do is upset a chef. They’re notoriously short-tempered at the best of times, and within dangerous reach of sharp implements.’

  ‘There’s no danger of that. The chef is as keen as everyone else to find out who killed Alex, and why. He feels the murder disgraces his kitchen.’

  ‘Is there any news on Count Ahmed?’ asked Coburg.

  George shook his head. ‘Alas, no. He is still away, and no one is saying where he is. But I shall keep trying to find out.’

  ‘Thank you, George. And now, is Miss Weeks available?’

  ‘I believe she’s in her dressing room preparing for the show.’ Suddenly George spotted someone, and his face broke into a smile as he said: ‘Correction. Miss Weeks is here.’

  Coburg turned and saw Rosa appear from the interior of the hotel, wearing a shawl lightly over the dress she wore for her performance.

  ‘You look lovely!’ said Coburg.

  ‘Thank you, kind sir,’ said Rosa. She kissed him. ‘I decided to come up and see if there was any n
ews of you. What time you’d be arriving, that sort of thing.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘I’m due to meet with the night staff in half an hour so I can talk to all of them before their shift starts. My first job will be to talk to the chef before that and make sure I’ve a list of the staff who were here when Alex Ollen was killed.’

  ‘It’s so terrible,’ she said. ‘I never thought that sort of thing would happen here.’

  ‘Oh, you’d be surprised,’ said Coburg. ‘Some of the best hotels hide some of the darkest secrets.’ He produced his front door key and handed it to her. ‘I had a spare key cut for you, in case I’m still tied up when you finish. Is Donna here?’

  ‘She’s joining me later,’ said Rosa. ‘Thanks for this. We’ll both sleep easier tonight.’ She slipped the key into her bag. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Good luck tonight,’ he said. ‘Or, rather, break a leg I understand is the preferred wish for performers. Enjoy.’

  He gave her another kiss, then made for the stairs down to the kitchen.

  ‘Mr Coburg is a wonderful man, Miss Weeks,’ said George.

  Rosa smiled. ‘He certainly is, George.’

  She was about to return to her dressing room, when she found a tall, fleshy man dressed in a white tuxedo standing in her way, smiling at her. He had a pencil-thin moustache, thinning hair, giving the overall impression of a movie impresario. This was backed up when he opened his mouth and she heard his American accent.

  ‘Miss Weeks. I hope you don’t mind my stopping to say hi. I’ve seen your spot a couple of times as I’m staying here at the hotel, and I think you’re sensational.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Rosa.

  ‘And this is not from just a fan. My name’s Ray Harris and I’m an executive with Swan Records in the States. I’d love to talk to you about recording with us.’ He gave a wry grin and added: ‘I promise you, this is not just a chat-up line.’ He produced a business card and handed it to her, and she read ‘Raymond Harris, Marketing Executive, Swan Records’, with an address and telephone number in New York. ‘I came over last summer, just before war broke out, to check out British acts and see if there were any that’d be right for the States.’

  ‘And did you find any?’

  ‘I did,’ said Harris. ‘Jack Payne, Henry Hall, Al Bowlly, Hutch Hutchinson, and now there’s you.’

  Rosa gave him a smile. ‘Forgive me for being sceptical, Mr Harris, but I’ve been in this business a long time, and the number of men who’ve approached me to talk about possible recording contracts, or tours—’

  Harris held up his hand to stop her.

  ‘That’s exactly how I expected you to respond, and I promise you this isn’t one of those ruses. You really do have something special. In fact, when I was here a couple of nights ago I wanted to talk to you after your act finished, but I was told you’d gone off with some detective inspector. Not in trouble, I hope?’

  Rosa laughed and shook her head. ‘Not at all. The inspector and I are old friends, so we were catching up.’

  Harris gave a smile of relief. ‘That’s OK, then. I worried maybe you’d been picked up for something and were languishing in a cell somewhere. With this war on there’s a lot of people disappearing of late. Like this place. All the waiters have gone. And most of the barmen.’

  ‘Italians and Germans,’ said Rosa with a sigh. ‘Me, I’m local.’

  ‘Which part of England are you from?’

  Rosa chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t let anyone from my home town hear you say that, Mr Harris. They’d be most upset.’

  ‘Oh? And where is your home town?’

  ‘Home city, to be exact. Edinburgh.’

  ‘Ah, a Scot!’ He frowned. ‘But you don’t have a Scottish accent.’

  ‘We don’t all walk around going “Och aye the noo”,’ she said. ‘When you’ve spent as many years on the road as I have, gradually your original accent disappears.’ She shot a look at the clock, and said: ‘Actually, Mr Harris, it’s been nice talking to you, but now I need to get ready. My audience will be starting to filter in.’

  Harris nodded. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we could talk afterwards?’

  She looked at him warily. ‘That’s very nice, but—’

  ‘Business talk only, I promise,’ said Harris hastily. ‘Unless you’re heading off with your detective inspector again? Even then, I’d be happy to talk to you with him, just to show there’s no funny business in my mind. Strictly the music business.’

  ‘Fine,’ Rosa agreed.

  ‘Great.’ Harris smiled. ‘It’ll be a pleasure to buy you both a drink.’

  ‘I think it’ll be only me,’ said Rosa. ‘He’s busy.’

  ‘Let me guess. This dead guy in one of the King of Albania’s suites, and now the one in the kitchen.’ He gave Rosa an apologetic look. ‘It’s hardly a big secret. Everyone knows about it.’ Then he smiled again. ‘I’ll wait for you at my table after you’ve finished your spot. Is that OK with you? All out in the open.’

  ‘That’ll be fine,’ said Rosa. ‘I may have a girlfriend with me. Will that be all right?’

  ‘Fine by me. I’ll see you after the show.’

  Coburg sat in the small, cramped room that was the head chef’s office with the night shift sous-chef, Kurt Schiller, who, according to the list of workers he’d been given, came originally from Geneva.

  ‘You are Swiss?’ asked Coburg.

  ‘I am,’ said Schiller.

  ‘The man who was killed here, Alex Ollen, according to his papers he was Swiss.’

  Schiller said nothing, just watched Coburg.

  ‘Was he Swiss?’ asked Coburg.

  ‘If his papers say he was, then he must have been,’ said Schiller.

  ‘We have been informed that actually he was from Macedonia.’

  Schiller said nothing at first, obviously weighing up how to reply, before he said: ‘It is possible.’

  ‘Did you know him well?’

  ‘No,’ said Schiller. ‘The only person I would say I know is the chef.’

  It was the same response he’d received from the others he’d spoken to. The denials that anyone had known Ollen was a closing of rank against authority. Nearly everyone here has something to hide, thought Coburg. Most of the kitchen workers were refugees of some sort, afraid of being looked into too closely, especially their papers. Many of them were political exiles doing their best to put their past behind them. At least, until the war was over. So far the men who’d been presented to him had been from Spain, Poland, France, Morocco, Norway, Belgium and now Switzerland. None from Albania or anywhere in the Balkans, if they were to be believed. But Alex Ollen had been from Macedonia, despite his claims to be from Switzerland.

  ‘Was there anyone on the staff that he was close to?’ asked Coburg. ‘Someone here he spent time with outside of work?’

  ‘If he did, I don’t know about it,’ said Schiller. ‘I had very little to do with him. We are always too busy in the kitchen for chit-chat.’

  This is getting me nowhere, thought Coburg ruefully. I need someone who knew him as a man, not as just another worker in the kitchen. The girl that Lampson had uncovered, the one who wrote to Ollen, that’s who they needed to talk to. But say they couldn’t get hold of her?

  ‘Mr Schiller,’ said Coburg gently but seriously, ‘I am not here to interfere in the private lives of the people who work in the kitchens. I am not interested in who is here officially or who may have false papers. I am not here to arrest anyone for whatever their status may be. I am concerned with only one thing: finding out who killed Alex Ollen and hid his body behind the shelves in one of your storerooms. The fact that it was done that way suggests the person who did it had knowledge of this kitchen.’

  As he saw that Schiller was about to protest, Coburg continued quickly: ‘That does not mean the person who did it worked here in the kitchen. It could be someone who delivered food or anyone else who knows the layout down here. It could
be a member of the hotel staff outside of the kitchen: waiters, cleaners, hospitality, anyone. Or it could be someone who’s nothing to do with the hotel but knows someone who is. The point is that there have been two murders recently and I suspect they are connected, so my big concern is that the person who did it may strike again. Next time it may be another member of the kitchen staff. The next victim could be you. Until we can find out why this is happening, that is a possibility. The wall of silence I’ve encountered this evening puts everyone here in danger. You are a senior member of this team. You know the people you work with better than I can ever do.’

  He passed the list of kitchen employees to Schiller. ‘All I’m asking is, from your knowledge of these people, to put a cross against the names of the people who were not around at the time Alex Ollen was killed, which was between three and five o’clock this morning, or anyone you feel had no real contact with him. I won’t only be asking you to do this, I shall ask everyone else on the night shift to do the same.’

  ‘You are asking us to accuse someone,’ said Schiller.

  ‘No,’ said Coburg. ‘I am asking you to help eliminate people as suspects.’ He handed Schiller a pen. ‘Please, we’re trying to save your lives.’

  Rosa took her final bow, closed the lid of the piano and gathered up her music. She looked across at the entrance to the Rivoli Bar and saw Donna standing there. Donna gave her a wave, which Rosa replied to with a nod. She turned to where Raymond Harris was sitting at his table and gave him a smile, also gesturing towards Donna. Her friend looked at Rosa enquiringly as she approached.

  ‘Who’s the guy?’ asked Donna.

  ‘A record executive from America,’ replied Rosa. ‘He’s invited me for a drink and a chat after the show, and I said I’d have my friend with me.’

  Donna looked at her doubtfully. ‘An American record executive?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘And you’re buying that?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Rosa. ‘But you never know when it might be the truth.’

  ‘In that case, count me out,’ said Donna. ‘I don’t fancy playing gooseberry. I’ll wait for you in reception.’