Quintin Jardine - Alarm Call

Don Johnson’s place seemed a long time past, but I didn’t fancy going anywhere to eat, not even down to the hotel’s excellent restaurant. Instead we ordered a couple of room-service salads and a few more beers in an ice-bucket and spent the evening getting quietly plastered. . at least I did, I can’t speak for Prim.

I don’t remember who suggested the sleeping arrangements that night. I only know that I woke up slightly feverish in the middle of the night, from a very bad dream involving gunshots, to find that I was in her bed, without a pyjama in sight. For a few moments, I was worried, but I wasn’t so drunk that I’d have forgotten that. Still, after I’d relieved myself of the burden of all that beer, I crept back to my own room and flaked out on top of the duvet.

She said nothing about it next day, other than a cheerier ‘Good morning’ than I had expected. She did ask about my ear, though; the pain wasn’t as bad, but it was still there, so I popped a couple of tablets to ease it.

We had room-service breakfast at eight o’clock; they brought a couple of Saturday morning’s newspapers with our order. I wasn’t the lead story, but I had front-page treatment in both of them. I was glad to be getting out of San Francisco, for all sorts of reasons. As I chucked the last one away, I decided I’d better phone Susie again.

I went to my room to make the call. She was still anxious about me: there had been some footage on the British TV news taken outside the police station and she’d seen the blood on my shirt and the patch on my ear. ‘I thought you said it was just a graze,’ she said.

‘It is, love, honest. They put in a few micro-stitches, that was all. I might have a designer ear for the rest of my life, but there’s no lasting damage otherwise. It’s all positive: it’ll make me look like a war hero and I’ll be able to bore dinner parties with the story for years to come.’

‘The guy who did it’s not going to get out or anything, is he?’

‘Not in the full vigour of his youth, that’s for sure.’

‘That’s comforting to know. Just you be sure you don’t get into any more trouble. Do you hear me?’

‘Yes, my darling, I hear you.’

‘Ah, so I’m still your darling, am I?’

‘And always will be.’

‘That’s good to hear, since that carry-on in Minneapolis. The sooner this thing is over with and Prim’s far away from you, getting on with her life, the happier I’ll be.’

‘Hopefully that’ll be tomorrow.’ I told her about Los Angeles. ‘He’s got to show himself this afternoon. I feel the same way you do; I just want the deal done, whatever it is, and the kid returned.’

‘And Prim? How does she feel?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Will she give up her fortune for her son?’

‘Wouldn’t you?’

I heard her sigh. ‘Yes, of course. Ignore me, love, I’m super-cynical about people and money, that’s all. It’s all right talking about sacrifice; actually making it’s the acid test. I wonder whether she’s hoping that, when the moment comes, you’ll be able to muscle the boy away from Wallinger.’

‘Hey, if I see a chance to do that, I’ll take it … as long as it’s within the law.’

‘You keep that in mind,’ she warned me. ‘In this world you can be a hero today and a villain tomorrow.’

‘I promise.’

‘Good.’ She paused. ‘By the way, I didn’t tell you. When I saw you on television, I was prouder of you than I’ve ever been before. I’ll bet your dad and Ellie are too.’

‘Oh, Christ, I never warned them!’

‘Don’t worry, I did.’

‘Thanks. Listen, love, I’d better go.’

‘Do that. Did you make those calls?’

‘What calls?’

‘The ones I told you about, remember?’

‘Oh, shit. With one thing and another. . I’ll make them now.’

I dug out my pocket PC … techno-freak, I know … where I keep my contact numbers, for convenience, and found the number of the Merchant’s Hotel. As I dialled it, I wondered whether the general manager would be on duty on a Saturday or whether he’d be taking his kids to the lakes, as all good Minnesotans do, but Benjamin E. King was conscientious: he was in his office.

‘Mr Blackstone,’ he said, as he answered my call. ‘I’m so glad you could get back to me. I see from the newspapers that you’ve been having an exciting time since you left us.’

‘One I could have done without,’ I confessed. ‘Why did you want to speak to me?’

‘I wanted to let you in on the results of my investigation into the incident which marred your stay with us. I’ve spoken to the clerk who dealt with your booking and now I know the whole story.’

‘I thought your assistant manager had done that.’

‘I’m afraid that gentleman was negligent,’ King admitted. ‘The story he fed you about your reservation being misunderstood was a fabrication, designed to get him off the hook. The person involved was off duty on Tuesday and only returned to work on Thursday. She tells it completely differently: it’s still not a pretty story from our point of view, but it’s better than an outright lie.’

‘Let’s hear it, then.’

‘Apparently, your booking was made correctly. You were allocated two of the last three rooms we had available at that point. However, on the morning of the day you were due to check in, the reservations office had a call from a gentleman who said he was your personal assistant. He said that your arrangements had changed, that you were now travelling with your wife and would only require one room. In accordance with our normal practice he was asked to confirm by fax or e-mail. He chose the latter, and a message was received. If the clerk had been super-efficient, it might have occurred to her that the original instruction was confirmed by electronic fax, on your personal letterhead, but she accepted the change at face value. By the time you checked in, your second room had been allocated, and the hotel was indeed full.’

‘What was the e-mail address on the message?’ I asked.

‘Hold on, I have it here.’ I waited, but I knew what he was going to say, even before he had started spelling the letters out. ‘It reads “p-w-a-l-l-i-n-g-e-r at trickledown dot com”. Does that mean anything to you, sir?’

‘Oh, yes. It surely does.’

‘Then I am afraid that you have been the victim of a practical joke, with our unwitting connivance.’

‘As a matter of interest, did the person who booked that other room ever turn up?’

‘Yes, sir, a Mr Jack Nicholson. He walked in off the street less than half an hour after your booking was changed. He took the room for three nights and paid in cash: unusual these days, I know, but it still happens.’

‘Which room was that?’

‘Twenty-oh-six; it’s across the landing from the room you and the lady occupied.’

‘Did he go out a lot, this Mr Nicholson?’

‘I have no idea, sir. This is a very large and busy hotel, you understand. But I can tell you that he took all his meals in his room.’

‘Did your checkin guy recall anything else about him? For example, did he have a laptop?’

‘He may well have done; most of our guests do these days. However, I have no way of knowing for sure.’

I could take a good guess at it, though. I thanked Mr King and hung up, then went back out to the living room, thinking all the way. What he had told me put a new spin on things.

Jack Nicholson, indeed! A name plucked from the flotsam of yet another shattered Hollywood dream? Or just a stupid bastard having a laugh at my expense? If it was, that was yet another mistake: I like to have all the funny lines.

Prim came out of the bathroom as I closed my bedroom door behind me; she had a turban on her head and another towel wrapped around her. ‘What’s up?’ she asked. ‘You look worried.’