The Hireling's Tale (4 page)
And The Barbican Hotel, which occupied the eastern block. Anyone staying in the hotel would have access to the roof. Shapiro filed that interesting fact away for further consideration.
Donovan took him to the spot he’d found where years of airborne pollution had been swept from the parapet. The roofs ran together in a continuous concrete span, so the fact that the girl had gone off the northern building didn’t mean that’s where she’d come from. The spot was chosen simply because there was a kind of concrete step against the wall which would have made it easier to lift someone over.
‘I wonder if he knew there was a boat there,’ said Shapiro. ‘Maybe he meant her to go in the canal.’
‘Better for him if she landed on something solid,’ grunted Donovan. ‘He may have thought her injuries would cover up the beating he’d given her.’
The superintendent nodded slowly. ‘I suppose it was meant to look like suicide. Or an accident. If he’d fed her a bit less cocaine it might have done. She
got high, she was prancing around up here in the buff, she lost her balance and fell. Only we know she wasn’t prancing anywhere. She couldn’t have walked, let alone climbed the parapet.’
got high, she was prancing around up here in the buff, she lost her balance and fell. Only we know she wasn’t prancing anywhere. She couldn’t have walked, let alone climbed the parapet.’
‘At least we know now why nobody saw anything. Unless you were looking at precisely the right moment, there was nothing to see. First she was up here, out of sight; five seconds later she was dead in the bottom of the boat. Doped up like that she wouldn’t even have yelled.’
Shapiro looked around. The concrete desert was interrupted by various outcrops: water-tanks, gear-houses for the lifts, doors that led by way of stairs into the buildings below. When The Barbican was redeveloped from the old warehouses the architects had it in mind that a very pleasant roof-garden could have been created up here. But somehow roof-gardens weren’t very Castlemere. Even after the council had done its best it remained a working town rather than a bastion of middle-class gentility. If they’d done the redevelopment ten years earlier people would have strung washing-lines up here.
‘Has anybody tried the doors?’ he said. ‘To see which open and which are locked?’
Donovan tried them now. There were eight in all, two on each building. Only two opened from the outside: one each on the north and east wings. ‘Doesn’t mean they won’t open from the inside. They might have to, as part of the fire regulations.’
So it proved. Shapiro sighed. ‘So he could have come from any door in any building, walked round till he found a handy spot and pushed the poor girl
over, and unless he was unlucky enough to bump into a late-patrolling caretaker there was next to no chance of him being seen. Get hold of the caretakers, make sure they really didn’t see anyone at the top of the stairs, then meet me in the hotel foyer.’
over, and unless he was unlucky enough to bump into a late-patrolling caretaker there was next to no chance of him being seen. Get hold of the caretakers, make sure they really didn’t see anyone at the top of the stairs, then meet me in the hotel foyer.’
‘They could as easily have come from one of the flats,’ objected Donovan.
‘Of course they could,’ agreed Shapiro. ‘But the hotel will have a much bigger turnover. Plus, if you were planning on killing a girl you probably wouldn’t want to chuck her off your own roof and have her found still pointing an accusing finger at your bedroom window. It’s different for hotel guests: they could be miles away before she was found.’
‘But she died last night,’ said Donovan. ‘Whoever killed her was here last night.’
‘So our prime suspect is someone who was staying in the hotel but left last night or first thing this morning.’
That narrowed it down, but not very much. When he went down to The Barbican Hotel Shapiro discovered what Liz had just learned: that a conference booking had occupied some forty rooms, some of them doubles, from Friday evening until Monday morning. Of the sixty-three delegates, forty-eight were men. None had their wives with them. Most had left before Tom Lacey noticed the split in the canvas.
‘I’m going to need names and addresses for all of them,’ said Shapiro wearily. ‘And since crime is an equal opportunities employer, you’d better give me the women as well.’
‘We have the names, of course,’ said the manager. ‘But you might get a more comprehensive list from Mr Kendall. He organized the conference and he made a block booking for rooms and other facilities.’
Shapiro raised an eyebrow and the manager replied with an angry blush. ‘I didn’t mean girls. I meant the jacuzzi.’
‘Where would I find Mr Kendall?’
‘As a matter of fact he’s here at the moment, settling the bill.’
Shapiro joined him in the manager’s office. It was by no means clear that the dead girl was ever in the hotel, and even if she was neither her activities in life nor the manner of her death could fairly be blamed on the management. He saw no need to conduct his investigation publicly in the foyer.
He’d met Philip Kendall before, at Chamber of Commerce dinners or the Civic Ball. He was senior sales executive at Bespoke Engineering, one of Castlemere’s major employers. They custom-made machinery for clients throughout the world in a high-tech plant with a lot of smoked glass off the ring road.
He was a man in his mid-forties, strong open face, hair on the cusp of going grey. He looked up as Shapiro entered, surprised but not initially troubled. Then the awareness of something wrong - the knowledge that senior detectives don’t walk in on you for no particular reason - grew in his eyes and his brows gathered uneasily. ‘Superintendent. Is something wrong?’
Shapiro nodded soberly. ‘I’m afraid so, Mr
Kendall. A girl died here last night. We think she was a prostitute, we think she may have been visiting one of your delegates.’
Kendall. A girl died here last night. We think she was a prostitute, we think she may have been visiting one of your delegates.’
He had a photograph of the girl in his pocket-book. Mr Coren, the hotel manager, didn’t remember seeing her, neither did Kendall. Coren took the photo out to reception but none of his staff had seen her either.
He returned it with an apologetic shake of the head. ‘I don’t think she was staying here. She just might have been visiting a guest. Unless he brought her through the foyer wearing thigh-boots and carrying a cash-box, I couldn’t guarantee we’d have spotted them.’
That was realistic. No respectable hotel likes its guests bringing in prostitutes; most of them accept that they can’t prevent it.
‘We don’t know how she was dressed,’ said Shapiro. ‘That’s something you might look out for: a bundle of women’s clothes. In the meantime, Mr Kendall, I’m going to need a full list of the names and addresses of your conference delegates.’
Mechanical engineering is a precise business: not very much happens that’s seriously unexpected. Shock had run like a wave through Kendall’s expression: when it reached his knees they went weak and he’d sat down abruptly. He was still struggling to come to terms with this. ‘My God. You think one of my delegates … ?’
Shapiro was not an unkind man. ‘We don’t know. But it’s a possibility we have to look into. Fifty
strange men in town and a prostitute ends up dead? - we can’t assume that’s a coincidence.’
strange men in town and a prostitute ends up dead? - we can’t assume that’s a coincidence.’
As the first horror passed, so Kendall’s concern became focused on his own interests. ‘You’re going to contact my customers and ask if they had a prostitute in their hotel room? Superintendent, I brought them here to try and sell our services to them. This was our major marketing ploy for the year. And you’re going to tell them they’re suspects in a murder investigation? What’s that going to do for our sales figures?’
Shapiro breathed heavily and hung on to his patience. Shock took people different ways: you couldn’t hold them responsible for the first thing they thought of in its aftermath. ‘Mr Kendall, your sales figures are not my prime concern. I have a dead girl to worry about. I have to find out why she died and who was involved. Until I get something concrete to go on, the only way I can do that is by speaking to everyone who could conceivably have been involved and start eliminating those who probably weren’t. I’m sorry if that’s going to knock the bottom out of the grommets market for a while, but I expect your cooperation.’
Philip Kendall was getting control of himself already. He sucked in a deep breath and nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Of course we’ll cooperate any way we can. But I feel I should warn you, you may have trouble contacting some of the people who were here. It’s an international business, we have clients all around the world. Some of them have a rather - casual - attitude to their own law
enforcement agencies, I’m not sure how quickly they’ll respond to enquiries from ours.’
enforcement agencies, I’m not sure how quickly they’ll respond to enquiries from ours.’
Shapiro knew what he was saying. He knew what it meant. He just felt he had to have Kendall say it before he could believe his bad luck. ‘You mean, they’ve already left the country?’
‘Not all of them,’ said Kendall hastily. ‘But yes, a lot. Some of them left after breakfast this morning; some of them left to catch flights last night.’ He brightened a little. ‘There are a few people left in the hotel. Would you like to talk to them?’
‘Yes: thank you.’ But if Shapiro was sure of nothing else, he was confident that whoever was responsible for this had fled the scene soon afterwards. ‘And could I ask you to separate the ones who’ve gone into two lists - those who went last night and those who had breakfast here this morning?’
While Kendall and Coren were working out who left when, Shapiro addressed the stragglers in a small room off the lobby. There were less than a dozen of them. Three were catching later trains back to London, one was waiting for a train to Manchester. Four were British nationals and were making a leisurely start before driving home. One had slept in and missed his flight - Shapiro mentally ruled him out there and then - and two more wanted to round off their visit to Castlemere with a bit of sightseeing. Try as he might, Shapiro couldn’t imagine what they thought there was to see.
‘Some of you may already have heard,’ he said, ‘but for those who haven’t these are the facts. There was an incident here last night, in the hotel or one of
the adjoining buildings, and a girl fell from the roof.’ He passed round the photograph, watching faces as he did. ‘Did anyone see her, either in the lobby or upstairs in the corridors? Did anyone hear a disturbance?’
the adjoining buildings, and a girl fell from the roof.’ He passed round the photograph, watching faces as he did. ‘Did anyone see her, either in the lobby or upstairs in the corridors? Did anyone hear a disturbance?’
A small man with a Zapata moustache gave a Latin shrug. ‘There was a great deal of disturbance here last night, Superintendent,’ he said, half apologetic, half amused. ‘Unfortunately, we were responsible for most of it. I think you could have fired a cannon upstairs and no one would have heard.’
‘I see. Mr—?’
‘Eduardo da Costa,’ the man introduced himself with a small bow. ‘I am here representing the government of Brazil.’
‘Mr da Costa. So there was a bit of a party down here?’
The Brazilian nodded. ‘Tb put it mildly.’
‘And I assume that meant girls? Girls, I mean, rather than female delegates?’
He shrugged again. ‘I was dancing with women who seemed to know very little about engineering.’
‘What about this girl?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’
A woman who knew a great deal about engineering raised her voice. ‘Grace Atwood, Superintendent. Are you going to want us to stay here indefinitely? I’d like to phone home, tell them not to expect me if you do.’
The vague mental picture which Shapiro had of
the culprit in this case matched in no particular the squat, middle-aged woman with the round intelligent face who addressed him. But bitter experience had taught him to assume very little. ‘Where is home, Mrs Atwood?’
the culprit in this case matched in no particular the squat, middle-aged woman with the round intelligent face who addressed him. But bitter experience had taught him to assume very little. ‘Where is home, Mrs Atwood?’
‘Ipswich. I’m not saying it’ll be difficult for me to stay, Superintendent, just that I don’t want my husband worrying where I’ve got to.’
Shapiro nodded. ‘I’d like a brief statement from each of you at this point. Those of you who live in Britain will then be free to return home. Those from overseas, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stay a little longer. Hopefully we’ll have this sorted out in a day or two.’ And indeed that was what he hoped, even if he didn’t expect it. ‘I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but you’ll appreciate this is a murder investigation: while there’s any chance you may have seen something that could help I need you to be available.’
There was a certain amount of muttering, a few startled looks, but nobody raised any objection. Da Costa said, ‘In that case I’ll go back to my room and unpack again.’
‘I appreciate your cooperation,’ said Shapiro, almost without irony.
He knew, of course, that these eleven people were the least likely of the entire conference to be involved. If one of Bespoke Engineering’s customers had thrown a girl off the roof, it was a pound to a penny that he checked out immediately afterwards and was on the first flight going anywhere without an extradition treaty. That was why he didn’t take too much trouble hiding the body. He just needed
two or three hours to escape the jurisdiction of British courts. He couldn’t leave her in his room: as soon as he checked out a maid would go in to change the linen. Dropping her in the canal would serve his purpose: even if she was spotted right away it would have taken time to establish where she’d come from and prevent anyone from leaving. That she went undiscovered for fourteen hours was a bonus.
two or three hours to escape the jurisdiction of British courts. He couldn’t leave her in his room: as soon as he checked out a maid would go in to change the linen. Dropping her in the canal would serve his purpose: even if she was spotted right away it would have taken time to establish where she’d come from and prevent anyone from leaving. That she went undiscovered for fourteen hours was a bonus.
He went back to the manager’s office. ‘How’s that list of names and addresses coming? Mr Coren, I’ll need you to match them up with room numbers. Then I’ll get my people to check all the rooms that were occupied last night - not just for the conference, any others as well. If we’re lucky there’ll be bloodstains or clothing left behind to tell us who she was visiting.’
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