Wendy did not object to being a shoulder to cry on, but she could not feel a lot of sympathy for a person whose woes were self-inflicted due to her lack of moral restraint. Yet she still liked the woman, the sort of person who was easy to talk to, not like Gwen, her sister, who was now meeting with her ex, Terry Hislop, a man who had shown the capability to act violently.
‘You mentioned three,’ Wendy said as she sipped her coffee. It was lukewarm, with too little milk and not enough sugar. Any other time, she would have complained.
‘Archibald Marshall, an accountant, and a woman, the head of Human Resources.’
‘Did you know the other two?’
‘Not personally, although I’ve no reason to doubt they are who they said.’
‘Let’s assume they are. We can check later. Now, what was the gist of the meeting?’
‘Archibald Marshall told me that I had been dismissed and that I would be leaving the building immediately.’
‘Immediately?’
‘It always upsets people, but I did have access to the hotel’s money and privileged information: passwords, bank account details, that sort of thing.’
‘You were taking their money, giving it to your fancy man, and then to Marshall. Any mention made of that?’
‘Not in detail and they must have known about Archibald. It’s only logical.’
‘He wasn’t a stupid man. He could have altered the records.’
‘I would have seen if he had, and so would head office. Those two with him knew that he was guilty.’
‘And he’s free of all blame, is that it?’
‘But why? Why would they do that?’ Christine asked. Wendy thought it had to be a rhetorical question.
‘They’ve not finished with him yet. He’ll get a sweetheart deal, and the whole sorry saga will be swept under the table. The hotel maintains its reputation, worth more than what you stole.’
‘It’s so unfair.’
‘Christine, what happens to him is not your concern, just accept it as one of life’s lessons learnt.’
‘He followed Colin once.’
‘Who? Marshall?’
‘The last time that Colin was in the hotel. Not that Colin ever knew, but I saw Archibald walk out of the hotel not long after Colin and follow him down the road.’
‘Are you sure he was following? He could have just been heading in the same direction.’
‘I’m certain of it. At the end of the road, Colin had hurried across the road, and Archibald had run after him, almost getting hit by a car. I followed from a distance. I could see that Colin was unaware of what was going on.’
‘And?’
‘Colin went into a building on Westbourne Terrace.’
The address intrigued Wendy. ‘The number?’
‘It was 125. Does it mean anything?’
‘What did you do?’
‘I stayed there for a few minutes on the street. Archibald was still watching, and I was worried that he’d see me.’
‘How long was this before Colin was murdered?’
‘Four to five weeks. I can’t remember the exact date, but he was staying at the hotel, so you must be able to find out.’
‘Christine, what I suggest you do is to go home, take a long hot bath, drink a glass of wine, and forget today. That’s my recommendation, but you’re on self-destruct, and you may well ignore my advice. So far, you’re free and innocent of all charges. Don’t jeopardise this.’
‘I won’t. I’ll do what you said.’
Wendy wasn’t convinced that she would.
***
Isaac was conscious of Jenny’s packing back at the flat they shared, her growing excitement about her first trip to the Caribbean. He thought that she may have the notion of a wedding proposal on a starlit beach, the waves gently lapping on the seashore, a harp playing in the background. He had to admit that was on his mind, although not the harp. Maybe a guitar in Jamaica, a Rasta selling drugs down one end of the beach, the noise of cars beeping their horns in the distance.
Jenny’s notion of the Caribbean, he realised, was tempered by the movies and the travel brochures, not the reality. He knew that behind the gloss there was crime and poverty and misery. In the resorts, she would see very little of them, but they were going to stay with his parents. She had grown up in a small town in Sussex, a county on the coast to the south of London. Her childhood had consisted of country life, a school for the girls of gentlefolk, a safe and happy environment where the family house was separated from the world outside by a privet hedge, not the electric fence that surrounded his parents’ house.
‘Nancy Bartlett lied to you?’ Isaac said to Larry, Wendy was standing beside him. The three of them were at Challis Street. It was Wendy who had come back with the latest revelation from Christine Mason.
‘It’s her address, 125, Westbourne Terrace, but why?’ What did she hope to gain? If she was still paying him for services rendered, then why didn’t she tell us? I’ll go with Wendy, check her out.’
‘We could bring her into the station.’
‘If needed, we will.’
‘Has anyone checked on the father?’
‘Not recently. According to Amelia Bentham, he’s been around at Matilda’s house since she died,’ Wendy said. ‘Apparently he wants to sell the place.’
‘A discounted price if anyone finds out the truth of what happened in there.’
‘We’ve never satisfactorily answered the question as to why the woman committed suicide,’ Larry said.
‘She died because of the trauma in her life, the death of her brother.’
‘But she was dead when we found out about the house, which means she either killed him, or she had been told.’
‘Or she had read the newspaper, seen a photo and a description on the internet.’
‘Let’s assume
