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Authors: Michael Hillier
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love-making. There were no reports of any suspicious occurrences. Montessori said that the chamber-maid (who could hardly speak a word of English and needed him with her all the time to translate) - he said she went into the room to turn down the sheets, assuming the guests were at dinner. Frankly I think that was rubbish. I believe he was on the fiddle. I’m sure he was aware that the room had been let for an afternoon’s sexual liaison and that the couple wouldn’t be staying the night. He was planning to relet the room to some evening arrivals for cash, which of course would have gone into his pocket. So he sent the chamber-maid in to check whether they had left yet and whether Cynthia had forgotten to hand in the key.”
He paused for a second before he shrugged. “Not that it makes any difference to us. Nothing was easier than entering and leaving that hotel without being noticed. In has an enormous reception area and there are two other entrances, five staircases and three sets of lifts. Installation of CTV cameras is rudimentary and a permanent record of what they were showing wasn’t kept at the time of the murder. The hotel has seven floors and three wings. With two hundred and ninety rooms, people are coming and going all the time.” He shook his head. “It’s impossible to keep any sort of a check under those conditions.”
Charlotte agreed with him. She could tell that Paulson had done his job thoroughly. There seemed very little chance of finding out any more from an interrogation of the hotel staff - although it had to be done, of course. It seemed to her that tackling the family connections provided the best prospects for progress.
She watched him as he drove. They were creeping along now in the town-centre traffic. He was driving carefully, with consummate patience. Perhaps he was a man without a lot of imagination or intuition. But everything he did would be done efficiently and correctly. She could at least be thankful for that. Now she had to try and persuade him to be on her side.
“Can you let me have all the reports tomorrow when I’m in the office?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“I want to get all the stuff that you’ve collected over the last twelve months onto my computer before I start asking new questions.” She paused, looking for a diplomatic way of raising her next point, and failing. “The only thing I would like to do tomorrow, is see this journalist (Julian Brace - is it?) and ask about his sources.”
He looked at her speculatively for a second. However he obviously decided not to argue. “OK, I’ll have him brought in as soon as convenient.”
“No.” She looked out of the side window so that he shouldn’t see her expression. “I’d like to go to his office at the newspaper. He’ll probably talk more freely there and he’ll have all his records close to hand. I’d also like you to come with me, Stafford.” She smiled at him now. “Can I call you Stafford?”
“Of course you can.” He paused, possibly checking her comments for implied criticism. Obviously he found none so he just asked, “Why do you want me to come?”
“Well, for a start I need someone to drive me until my promised car turns up.” She hurried on, “But much more important than that is the fact that you’ve been with this investigation for a whole year. You’ll be able to ask more searching questions than I can. I want to put this chap’s ideas through the mincing machine in a nice sort of way. I think we’ll be able to do that much better if you’re there.”
He said nothing to that. They were pulling up the hill out of the town centre. Soon they turned off right into the Knowles Hill area. They found the house and he unloaded her battered suitcase while she was welcomed by her statuesque aunt. He refused an invitation to tea and promised to collect her at eight-thirty the next morning without hesitation, even though it would mean leaving home earlier than usual.
* * * * * * *
He paused for a second before he shrugged. “Not that it makes any difference to us. Nothing was easier than entering and leaving that hotel without being noticed. In has an enormous reception area and there are two other entrances, five staircases and three sets of lifts. Installation of CTV cameras is rudimentary and a permanent record of what they were showing wasn’t kept at the time of the murder. The hotel has seven floors and three wings. With two hundred and ninety rooms, people are coming and going all the time.” He shook his head. “It’s impossible to keep any sort of a check under those conditions.”
Charlotte agreed with him. She could tell that Paulson had done his job thoroughly. There seemed very little chance of finding out any more from an interrogation of the hotel staff - although it had to be done, of course. It seemed to her that tackling the family connections provided the best prospects for progress.
She watched him as he drove. They were creeping along now in the town-centre traffic. He was driving carefully, with consummate patience. Perhaps he was a man without a lot of imagination or intuition. But everything he did would be done efficiently and correctly. She could at least be thankful for that. Now she had to try and persuade him to be on her side.
“Can you let me have all the reports tomorrow when I’m in the office?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“I want to get all the stuff that you’ve collected over the last twelve months onto my computer before I start asking new questions.” She paused, looking for a diplomatic way of raising her next point, and failing. “The only thing I would like to do tomorrow, is see this journalist (Julian Brace - is it?) and ask about his sources.”
He looked at her speculatively for a second. However he obviously decided not to argue. “OK, I’ll have him brought in as soon as convenient.”
“No.” She looked out of the side window so that he shouldn’t see her expression. “I’d like to go to his office at the newspaper. He’ll probably talk more freely there and he’ll have all his records close to hand. I’d also like you to come with me, Stafford.” She smiled at him now. “Can I call you Stafford?”
“Of course you can.” He paused, possibly checking her comments for implied criticism. Obviously he found none so he just asked, “Why do you want me to come?”
“Well, for a start I need someone to drive me until my promised car turns up.” She hurried on, “But much more important than that is the fact that you’ve been with this investigation for a whole year. You’ll be able to ask more searching questions than I can. I want to put this chap’s ideas through the mincing machine in a nice sort of way. I think we’ll be able to do that much better if you’re there.”
He said nothing to that. They were pulling up the hill out of the town centre. Soon they turned off right into the Knowles Hill area. They found the house and he unloaded her battered suitcase while she was welcomed by her statuesque aunt. He refused an invitation to tea and promised to collect her at eight-thirty the next morning without hesitation, even though it would mean leaving home earlier than usual.
* * * * * * *
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