network.”
“So their attempts to civilize you have failed?”
“I think they’ve had the opposite effect. And when I was fourteen, I had problems…” The memory of that time was still fresh in her mind. To talk about it was to lower her guard, but perhaps the past wasn’t meant to be bottled away, to ferment in the dark.
He was quick to sense her discomfort. “We can talk about something else if you’d rather.”
She took a swig of her beer. “Basically, I screwed up my parents’ long-term plans by getting expelled from school. Gwen went berserk. Told me I’d let her down. How could she face her friends, all that kind of stuff, so I smashed the house up and accused her of some pretty terrible things. I didn’t know what I was saying. It was kind of a breakdown.”
“So what happened?”
“I got sick. They put me in therapy, and the doctor tried to blame my behaviour on all kinds of revolting stuff, so I hit him. The blow ruptured a blood vessel in his nose. Jack had to settle out of court. Gwen had me sent away to a special-care centre. I wouldn’t stay there, kept running away. Eventually we reached a truce, Gwen and Jack and me. If I learned to control my behaviour, they’d allow me to follow my own course. There’s money held in trust, which I’m supposed to get when I’m twenty-one. I had to agree to be the model daughter. At that point I even promised to go into the family business.”
“So how did you end up as a receptionist?”
“I guess I broke the promise.”
“And they’re upset with you for doing so?”
“That’s putting it mildly. Now tell me about you.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Talking about it is depressing. Tell me something.”
“This is my first job after getting my degree. I’ve been given a chance to put my design ideas into practice. I’ve already begun the preliminary work on the Tasaka Corporation’s next production. They’re paying my hotel bills plus a retainer, but I’ll rent a place as soon as my first real salary cheque comes through. Believe it or not, I hadn’t expected to meet someone involved in a murder case. Have you heard anything more from the police?”
“Well, I’m involved, but it’s not as if I’m related to the deceased or anything.”
“Then why are you so interested?”
She faltered. It was not a question she wished to ask herself. “I think it has to do with the things that scare me.”
“I guess it’s a good way of coming to terms with your fears.”
She studied his face as he ate. Joseph was just the kind of person she wanted to be, self-assured and purposeful. “I’d like to see your designs,” she said.
“The most detailed plans are with the construction team, but I can show you the rough sketches.” He smiled. “Come and visit; I’m only on the second floor.”
“I don’t know, I may be busy. Nobody’s been murdered in the hotel for a few days. The management probably want me to be around in case something violent and disgusting happens.” She stopped chewing. “I thought you were on the fourth floor?” She remembered seeing his room number on the reservation card.
“I was supposed to be, but there was a mix-up with the rooms. I’m in two sixteen.”
“Two sixteen?” The number inscribed on the bookmark in Jacob’s Bible, an odd coincidence.
They arrived at the Savoy reception desk after dinner to find Nicholas in a state of panic. The upgraded security arrangements meant that queues of complaining guests were filling the lobby.
“You can help out now,” Nicholas told Jerry, “but it’s no use begging me to keep quiet about your timekeeping. I’ll still have to report you.”
“Why did you change Joseph’s room, Nick?”
Nicholas looked over his shoulder at the leather-clad designer. “You can’t complain about that because it wasn’t my fault.” He waved his hands ineffectually, as if the idea was stuck to his fingertips. “It was the telephone booking that threw everything out.”
“What do you mean?”
“The lawyer, you know – Max Jacob.” Nicholas lowered his voice. “He made a telephone booking two days before he arrived in London, asking specifically for room two sixteen.”
“Then why didn’t you give him the room?” she asked.
Nicholas looked shifty. “I made a mistake when I typed in the request. I had a lot on my mind, and the security guards for the delegates were swarming all over the place. I told Jacob that his room had been allocated to someone else. I promised to have a word with the new occupant and switch the rooms back, but he didn’t want to change. What more could I do? Then Jacob died.”
“Do you often give guests incorrect reservations?” asked Joseph.
“He has a point,” she agreed. “A dissatisfied guest. I’m going to have to report you.”
“All right, Jerry, that’s enough,” snapped Nicholas. “I’ll forget it this time, but this is your absolute final warning.”
“Let’s go to your room,” she told Joseph, heading for the stairs.
“I don’t understand what you expected to find in here.” Joseph unlocked the door and switched on the lights.
“I don’t know, either. Why would Jacob have insisted on this particular suite?” Jerry looked around. “It’s no better or worse than his other one. They’re virtually identical.”
“Perhaps it had some sentimental significance for him.”
“He was a lawyer, Joseph.” She walked into the bathroom and checked under the sink. “Suppose it was some kind of drop point?”
For the next ten minutes she pulled the bedroom apart while Joseph looked on. By the time he had decided to stop her, she had finished. If Max Jacob had come to London to collect something from room 216, it had to still be in the suite. “No one else has come into the room except you.”
“What about the maids? The staff have passkeys. Anyone could have – What is it?”
She was on her knees, feeling the white tiles at the rear of the washbasin pedestal, when one came away in her hands. “It’s an access point for the sink trap,” she explained. Beyond it was a square hole six inches across.
Joseph crept forward. “What’s in there?”
She carefully pulled out a beige envelope, noted the jagged tear along the top. “Looks like we’re too late to find out,” she said. She shook the top section of the envelope, and a slim torn segment of Xeroxed photograph fell out.
“Whoever took this stuff was in a hurry to check the contents. I bet it was narcotics. I bet the lawyer was a drug mule.” She checked the envelope for residue, but found none. Instead, when she examined the photograph, she found herself looking at two pairs of bare legs, a bottom, a breast, and part of an unappealing erection.
“
? Seventy-Seven Clocks ?
17
Art Appreciation
“How are you feeling?” May seated himself on a section of the Moroccan bedspread that wasn’t covered in the Saturday-morning newspapers. His partner’s eyes were red and swollen, his face the colour of a supermarket chicken.
“Oh, wonderful. That’s all I needed right now, on top of everything else, a cold.” Bryant fixed him with a beady, suspicious eye. “Have you eaten all the grapes?”
May looked around guiltily. It seemed that he had. For someone who wasn’t feeling very well, his partner didn’t miss much. “There were only a couple left,” he said. “You had a nice rest yesterday. You’ll be back on your feet by Monday.”
