Searching around without a warrant. I’m not sure that’s a very wise career move, is it, gentlemen?”
Bitch. She had them cornered. Secretive posh fuck had them right where she wanted.
Brian took a deep breath of the perfume filled air. Some chlorine wafted through from the pool area. Time to try something else. A different approach. “Janet, I’m sorry for our shortness. My partner and I, we’re having a rough time. It’s a murder investigation. The boy at Whittingham Hospital—you might’ve heard on the internet in the last hour, I dunno. Andy Wilkinson’s whereabouts could really help us—”
“And as I told you, Andy Wilkinson has not checked into this hotel, and I’m not in a position to cave to your CCTV demands. You’ll have to consult my manager for that information. Or get a warrant.”
Brian squeezed the edge of the counter with his fingers and tried his best to keep his frustration from bubbling over. “And how do we speak to your manager?”
“She’s off sick,” Janet said. Took her glasses off. Turned around to organise a few papers.
Brad shook his head. Wandered off away from the counter.
“Right,” Brian said. “And when will we be able to speak to her?”
“Tomorrow,” Janet said. “Maybe it would be advisable to get a warrant after all.”
I’ll break your fucking business, Brian thought. “I’ll do that, Janet. Thanks for all your cooperation.” He scooped up the photographs of Andy Wilkinson, blood boiling. Made sure he smacked his hand against a rather expensive looking pot ornament in the process before turning and walking towards the door.
His cheeks were hot. He needed to get outside. Outside and away from this shitty posh haven. Away from the hypnotic music, the perfume smells, the bitchy glances and—
“Brian, look at this.”
Brad’s voice came from Brian’s left.
Brian kept on walking towards the rotating doors. Went to go through them, back out to the shitty rain and wind.
“Don’t have time to screw about here. Best go get that warrant before—”
“Brian. Here. Now.”
Brad’s voice was stern. Stern enough to get Brian looking at him, walking over to him.
He was standing at a little window. A window that looked through to the pool area. Through there, Brian could hear splashing, see men in speedos that were in much better shape than him wading their way through the water.
“Come on, Brad. You can wait ‘til we get home to look at naked fellas.”
Brad tapped on the glass. Pointed at someone who was sitting in the mini jacuzzi, feet up.
Andy Wilkinson.
“Brought your trunks?” Brad asked.
TEN
When Andy Wilkinson saw Brian and Brad entering the shower area of the Marriot Hotel swimming pools, he had that look in his eyes like he was getting ready to run.
And then, realising there was nowhere to go, he just stopped and sighed like a rabbit trapped in the old proverbial headlights.
“Wise move,” Brad said, as he stepped up to him.
“Staying put is always a wise move where police are involved,” Brian said.
Andrew Wilkinson was naked but for his little black speedos. The shower area was steamy and empty but for the three of them. Brian had to be careful not to slip on the soaking floor with his shoes on. Didn’t want to make any more of an arse of himself. Besides, Evil Janet would be on their cases in no time, no doubt. They had to get this done with.
Andrew wrapped a blue towel over his muscular shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s funny,” Brian said, smiling at Brad. “Andy here doesn’t know what we’re talking about.”
“Doesn’t know a thing about Jean Betts?”
“How about her son? Little Sam Betts?”
Andy tried to step past Brian, but he put his arm on his shaven chest and pushed him right back.
“You’re not going anywhere, Andy. Not just yet.”
Andy looked at them both with wide, bloodshot eyes. “Look, nothing happened. It’s a private service. I—”
“Was
Bitch. She had them cornered. Secretive posh fuck had them right where she wanted.
Brian took a deep breath of the perfume filled air. Some chlorine wafted through from the pool area. Time to try something else. A different approach. “Janet, I’m sorry for our shortness. My partner and I, we’re having a rough time. It’s a murder investigation. The boy at Whittingham Hospital—you might’ve heard on the internet in the last hour, I dunno. Andy Wilkinson’s whereabouts could really help us—”
“And as I told you, Andy Wilkinson has not checked into this hotel, and I’m not in a position to cave to your CCTV demands. You’ll have to consult my manager for that information. Or get a warrant.”
Brian squeezed the edge of the counter with his fingers and tried his best to keep his frustration from bubbling over. “And how do we speak to your manager?”
“She’s off sick,” Janet said. Took her glasses off. Turned around to organise a few papers.
Brad shook his head. Wandered off away from the counter.
“Right,” Brian said. “And when will we be able to speak to her?”
“Tomorrow,” Janet said. “Maybe it would be advisable to get a warrant after all.”
I’ll break your fucking business, Brian thought. “I’ll do that, Janet. Thanks for all your cooperation.” He scooped up the photographs of Andy Wilkinson, blood boiling. Made sure he smacked his hand against a rather expensive looking pot ornament in the process before turning and walking towards the door.
His cheeks were hot. He needed to get outside. Outside and away from this shitty posh haven. Away from the hypnotic music, the perfume smells, the bitchy glances and—
“Brian, look at this.”
Brad’s voice came from Brian’s left.
Brian kept on walking towards the rotating doors. Went to go through them, back out to the shitty rain and wind.
“Don’t have time to screw about here. Best go get that warrant before—”
“Brian. Here. Now.”
Brad’s voice was stern. Stern enough to get Brian looking at him, walking over to him.
He was standing at a little window. A window that looked through to the pool area. Through there, Brian could hear splashing, see men in speedos that were in much better shape than him wading their way through the water.
“Come on, Brad. You can wait ‘til we get home to look at naked fellas.”
Brad tapped on the glass. Pointed at someone who was sitting in the mini jacuzzi, feet up.
Andy Wilkinson.
“Brought your trunks?” Brad asked.
TEN
When Andy Wilkinson saw Brian and Brad entering the shower area of the Marriot Hotel swimming pools, he had that look in his eyes like he was getting ready to run.
And then, realising there was nowhere to go, he just stopped and sighed like a rabbit trapped in the old proverbial headlights.
“Wise move,” Brad said, as he stepped up to him.
“Staying put is always a wise move where police are involved,” Brian said.
Andrew Wilkinson was naked but for his little black speedos. The shower area was steamy and empty but for the three of them. Brian had to be careful not to slip on the soaking floor with his shoes on. Didn’t want to make any more of an arse of himself. Besides, Evil Janet would be on their cases in no time, no doubt. They had to get this done with.
Andrew wrapped a blue towel over his muscular shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s funny,” Brian said, smiling at Brad. “Andy here doesn’t know what we’re talking about.”
“Doesn’t know a thing about Jean Betts?”
“How about her son? Little Sam Betts?”
Andy tried to step past Brian, but he put his arm on his shaven chest and pushed him right back.
“You’re not going anywhere, Andy. Not just yet.”
Andy looked at them both with wide, bloodshot eyes. “Look, nothing happened. It’s a private service. I—”
“Was
Similar Books
