She walked into the hotel, meeting Harriet as she did so. Harriet stared at her in disbelief, the wet clothes and hair, damp footprints on the just-hoovered carpet.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Harriet looked furious. Another inconsiderate person adding to her managerial problems. She obviously had no idea of what had happened.
‘There’s a drowned girl out there,’ Hanlon snapped. Quite apart from her obvious reasons for disliking Harriet, the sex parties, being drugged, the manageress was living up to Hanlon’s view of her as a first-class bitch. She had had enough of her. ‘At least it’s not a member of your staff this time.’
10
The local police were taking statements in Harriet’s office at the hotel. Hanlon was sitting across the desk from DI Campbell, McCleod was in a chair in the corner.
‘I believe that you had an argument with the deceased last night?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Hanlon raised an enquiring eyebrow.
She looked at DI Murdo Campbell and wondered why she disliked him so much. Was it his slightly arrogant, condescending attitude? Was it the fact that he obviously disliked her? Was it his slightly affected drawling voice? She couldn’t place the accent, but she was sure that it would translate into expensive schooling, a relatively privileged background and a desirable university. Posh Scottish. Or was it just his youth that she envied?
Campbell studied some notes in front of him. His red hair was very fine, not like her own coarse locks. His eyes were grey-green. It was kind of hard to tell what colour they were. Sometimes they looked blue. His skin was pale with a few freckles on his cheekbones. He read from his notes.
‘“A crazy woman burst out of the toilet cubicle and attacked Franca. I don’t know what we did to upset her. It was like she was possessed…We were terrified.”’
He emphasised the words crazy, possessed, terrified.
His green eyes, definitely green, she thought, flicked upwards to Hanlon.
‘Well?’
She could hardly deny it. She said nothing. Campbell continued.
‘That was the testimony of Ms Silberhorn. It’s not exact – her English is quite good but obviously she needed a bit of help. Luckily I speak German.’
I bet you do, she thought.
‘“Possessed” was tricky…’ mused Campbell.
‘Luckily Ms Silberhorn had seen The Exorcist,’ put in DS McCleod from the end of the table.
Hanlon stared at her in incredulity. What had that got to do with anything?
McCleod looked washed out and dull beside her colleague, colourless. The two of them reminded Hanlon of the pheasants she had seen – was it only yesterday? When she had been with the policewoman in her Volvo. The male of the species, Campbell, eye-catching with his red and green plumage, the hen, McCleod, dowdy, insignificant.
‘I was involved in an altercation with the woman I now know to be Franca Gebauer, that much is true,’ admitted Hanlon, picking her words carefully. She was tempted to just say, ‘No comment,’ like most of the suspects that she interviewed. But this would be too hostile, she felt. She had no wish to antagonise Campbell. She carried on. ‘Ms Gebauer and her friends were smoking cannabis in the toilets and doing cocaine, a situation I felt unable to ignore.’
‘Ah, yes, DCI Hanlon.’ Campbell’s voice was sharp. ‘I gather you have quite a history of “robust” interventions.’
Hanlon rolled her eyes. So Campbell had been speaking to colleagues in London, he had to have been. Donald’s words came back to her memory. ‘This is Jura, everyone knows everyone’s business.’
‘Are you accusing me of anything?’ she said, leaning forward across the table and staring hard into Campbell’s green eyes. ‘I mean, am I under suspicion of involvement in this girl’s death?’
Campbell sighed. ‘Look, DCI Hanlon, we’re here to try to find out what happened to an unfortunate dead young woman, not fight. This is not a formal interview, as well you know. We don’t even know if a crime has been committed and that will not be for me to decide. So, in your opinion, was Gebauer the worse for wear with drugs and drink?’
‘When I saw her she was probably drunk, technically, but perfectly lucid,’ she replied.
‘And this was the last time that you saw Franca Gebauer alive?’
This was the question that she had been dreading. She had no wish to get drawn into Campbell’s investigation, not even as a witness. She assumed that Franca’s companions hadn’t mentioned her coke theft and she certainly was not keen to bring that up. She suspected that she was already persona non grata in London, reports that she had been involved while on holiday in a fist fight in a toilet, followed by stealing a large bag of a Class A drug…
An image of Dr Morgan: ‘The trouble is, Hanlon, you know your own history, you know what you’ve done and what you’re capable of, and you project that onto others. They don’t know all the dubious things you’ve done over the years. You’ve got a guilty conscience, and rightly so.’
Hanlon looked Campbell in the eyes.
‘Yes.’
And immediately hated herself for lying. For a horrible moment she felt utterly transparent, that Campbell was going to call her out. It was a horrible situation to be in. Campbell would be unaware of the fight between Kai and Franca, not to mention the orgy in the hotel, the drug taking, Kai supplying coke. But any mention of any of this would necessitate talking about the bathroom fight, and word would get back to London about her unorthodox activities. That would probably be the final nail in the coffin. This officer cannot be trusted.
The moment seemed to extend indefinitely. Campbell dropped his gaze first.
‘Well, that’s that, then. Thank you very much for your cooperation. What did you say your plans were?’
Hanlon hadn’t said anything. So, I’ve got away with it, then. She decided to actually be cooperative.
‘I’m staying here for a couple of weeks, then I’m on Islay for another week.’
‘Good.’ Campbell’s phone rang. He glanced down
