***
Isaac wrestled with the complexities of the investigation, not least of all how Matilda Montgomery fitted into the picture. It was clear that she had committed suicide, that had been confirmed, but why? The woman had undoubtedly had issues, possibly severe and psychological, but she had apparently never expressed a morose view of life in general.
Everyone that had been interviewed had agreed that she revealed very little of her life, yet she had stood on a step ladder, thrown a rope over a beam, tied it off, formed a noose and then, either accidentally or intentionally, kicked the step ladder away. The death could not have been pleasant or painless, the woman gasping for breath, searching for support for her feet if she had had a last-minute change of mind. Pills would have been less traumatic, walking out into the River Thames at night, allowing the cold and the water to overcome her, more logical.
And now, another possible suspect for the murder of Barry Montgomery. In the hot seat in the interview room, Archibald ‘don’t call me Archie’ Marshall, the manager of the Fitzroy Hotel.
It was the first time that Isaac had seen him, not the first for Wendy. It would be the two of them sitting across from him. The opportunity to bring in a lawyer of his choice had been offered to Marshall; he had declined, and it had been duly noted.
Wendy could see tension in the man, not sure what was coming. He must have realised something was amiss when Wendy had stopped him outside the hotel as he walked outside to light a cigarette. Her request, she realised on reflection, had not been made with the delicacy that it should have been. She did not like the man, a predator who had preyed on a vulnerable woman, although a woman who was not blameless in herself, a woman who would need to explain her actions in detail and to tell her husband more than she wanted to.
Wendy felt sorrow for Christine Mason, not for Archibald Marshall.
‘What’s this all about?’ Marshall said. He scowled as he spoke, used to the staff at the hotel obeying his commands. It was not going to work at Challis Street.
Isaac said nothing until he had completed the procedure for the interview, informing Marshall of his rights and that ‘whatever you say may be used in evidence…’.
Marshall, his arms crossed, nodded when required, shook his head at the appropriate times. Wendy kept her eyes firmly on him.
‘Mr Marshall, we are investigating the murder of one of your guests,’ Isaac said. Wendy had forewarned Isaac of her dislike of the man, which had required him to remind her that Marshall was innocent until proven guilty. The fact that he was a lecher and that he had been taking liberties with Christine Mason did not alter the need to give the man the respect accorded him by law.
‘Colin Young. Yes, I’m aware of who you’re referring to,’ Marshall replied.
‘How did you know about this man?’ Wendy asked.
‘I came over to Christine, asked her about her responsibilities for the day, and you said clearly that she had seen a fatal accident and that she was a witness.’
‘That’s what I said, so why Colin Young?’
‘I quizzed Christine afterwards.’
‘Why?’
‘Curiosity, a concern that it may reflect on the hotel.’
‘That’s not the story that I’ve been told,’ Wendy said. Isaac looked over at her. She understood to hold back for the time being.
‘Tell us about Colin Young,’ Isaac said.
‘What’s to tell? I checked the hotel records after Christine had told me the truth. He had stayed at the hotel on a few occasions, always paid his bill, and took nothing from the minibar.’
‘Is that it?’
‘No. But I don’t want to say any more,’ Marshall said.
‘Why? It’s important that full and frank disclosure is made now.’
‘I didn’t kill the man, never met him. I may have seen him, said hello, wished him well, have a good trip, that sort of thing.’
‘You’ve seen a photo since?’
‘Yes. He seemed familiar, that’s all.’
‘Let’s come back to what else you found out,’ Wendy said. She was on edge, wanting to push him, to see what else fell out.
‘There were anomalies with the accounts,’ Marshall said.
‘Explain what you mean,’ Isaac said.
‘I keep an eye on the accounts. I’m not an expert, you understand, but I know enough to find discrepancies.’
‘Mr Marshall,’ Wendy said, ‘you’re selling yourself short. You know more about accountancy than you let on.’
‘Very well, it’s true. A hotel manager must be skilled in many areas, and with time, I picked up expertise in such matters.’
‘Have you taken money from the hotel before for your personal use?’ Wendy asked. She was treading lightly, not wanting to play her trump card yet.
‘No. Why should I?’ Marshall squirmed on his seat. ‘Has anyone been saying differently? I came here of my own free will, and I’m being subjected to the third degree. I didn’t kill Colin Young, you know that.’
‘Mr Marshall, we don’t know any such thing. You weren’t in our focus before, but we have verifiable proof of embezzlement and bribery against you. The connection to murder wouldn’t be that difficult,’ Wendy said.
‘How? Why? I know you’re friendly with Christine. Is this some kind of vendetta against me because I’m a tough boss?’
‘You know that’s not the case.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘Christine Mason has been taking money from the hotel, giving some of it to Colin Young, some to you. Are you going to deny this?’
‘I didn’t know when she was giving it to her toy boy.’
‘Toy boy, long time since I’ve heard that term.’
‘That’s what he
