James Craig - Acts of Violence

Damn. ‘Are you sure?’

‘ ’fraid so. One of the girls at school lost all her stuff last week.’

Bollocks.

‘By the way, Mum says you’re a useless git.’

‘What?’ Half-crazed with frustration, he struggled to deal with the switch in the conversation.

‘You missed Grandpa’s doctor’s appointment.’

‘Bloody hell,’ he hissed. ‘Now’s really not the time.’

‘Just sayin’,’ she replied, offended.

‘OK, OK. Tell your mother I’m sorry but it’s been a bit of a tough day.’

‘She said you’d make some kind of lame excuse,’ Alice responded with gleeful malice.

Good for her.

‘Just like you usually do.’

‘Tell her I’ll be home soon.’

‘OK. I’ll make sure I’m hiding in my bedroom when that happens.’

Deborah Burke stifled a gasp as she saw Mr 226 himself slip through the revolving door and head across the lobby. Going back to the bar? From behind her desk, she watched as Sebastian Gregori veered to the left and came to a stop in front of the lifts.

Apparently not.

Folding his arms, Gregori waited patiently behind a Chinese couple who had just checked in with more than enough luggage for a two-month stay. They were VIPs of some sort or another – Burke had seen a memo about it – but they didn’t seem to have any entourage. Gregori smiled at the woman but she ignored him. Casually picking up the mobile on her desk, Burke hit the text message she had pre-prepared – he’s back – and hit the Send button. She then checked the lifts. One was on the top floor, the other making its way steadily upwards. That should give Carlyle more than enough time to get out of there. The Chief Concierge was very unhappy about being dragged into the policeman’s little scheme which was doubtless illegal and would certainly result in the sack should it come to light. But Rosalind had insisted. Deborah heaved a sigh; the girl could be so cavalier at times. She watched as one of the lifts finally made it back to the ground floor, disgorging its collection of guests heading out to sample London’s nightlife. The Chinese couple struggled in with their luggage – where was the bellboy? – and she could see Gregori hesitate. Should he squeeze in beside them or wait for the next one? Eventually, just as the doors were beginning to close, he jumped inside. The doors shuddered then finally came together. Deborah watched as the lift stopped at the first floor then continued on to the second.

Plenty of time.

Scrolling through her emails, Rosalind McDonald heard the lift open and someone get out. Conscious of a figure coming towards her, she looked up.

Bloody hell.

Sebastian Gregori shot her a quizzical look as he headed towards the door of his room.

‘Excuse me, sir.’ Stepping in front of him, she dropped the phone into her pocket and pulled out her ID. ‘Hotel Security. I’m afraid you’ll have to go back downstairs.’

‘But I want to go to my room.’ Gregori made a half-hearted attempt to brush past her, but McDonald stood her ground. Waving his key card in front of her face, he said, ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ she smiled, ‘but we’ve been informed of a health and safety problem on this floor.’

Gregori let his arm fall to his side. ‘What problem?’

‘We have had a report,’ she said, not missing a beat, ‘of multiple carbon-monoxide monitors going off. We’ve had to evacuate the entire floor.’ McDonald allowed herself a quick peek up and down the corridor. Please God, let no one come out of their rooms right now.

From inside the room came a distinct whirring noise. Gregori stared at the door and then at McDonald. For a moment it looked as if he was about to force his way past but she pushed back her shoulders, making best use of her height advantage, in order to appear as intimidating as possible.

‘There’s someone in there.’ It was part-observation, part-cry.

‘One of our operatives, sir. Checking for fumes.’ She cast a grateful glance towards the door behind which her selfless colleague was risking life and limb before adding: ‘He’s got his own oxygen supply, obviously.’

‘They said nothing about all of this downstairs,’ Gregori grumbled.

‘It’s probably just a false alarm,’ she said soothingly. ‘We had one last week.’

‘You should get it properly fixed,’ he tutted.

‘We’re trying, sir. Hopefully it will only take a few minutes.’ She gestured in the direction he had come. ‘In the meantime, we have to follow the correct protocol. I’m afraid I need to ask you to return to the lobby.’

Gregori glanced back at the lifts. ‘Should I take the stairs?’

‘Yes, please.’ She felt her pulse slacken slightly as it became apparent he would buy it. ‘If you want to go back down to the bar, all drinks for second-floor customers are complimentary at the moment. Just mention my name and give the waitress the code word, which is . . .’ for a moment her mind went blank, ‘er, starfish.’

‘Starfish.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And it won’t be long?’ Gregori looked wistfully at the door to his own room. ‘I wanted to have a shower.’

‘Just a few minutes. As soon as we have the all clear, I will come straight down and let you know.’ Reluctantly, he turned and headed back down the corridor. Only when he had disappeared into the stairwell did McDonald allow herself a deep breath.

Hearing voices outside the door, Carlyle froze for a moment. Then, reminding himself to breathe, he gathered up all of the material on the bed, shoved it back into the safe and gently closed it, grimacing as the lock whirred shut. Stepping up to the door, he could clearly hear Rosalind McDonald trying to talk her way out of a tricky situation. Looking round, he considered his options, quickly coming to the conclusion that he didn’t have any.

‘. . . we have to follow protocol.’ The inspector smiled. Good for McDonald; the security chief was giving it her best shot, thinking on her feet. He concentrated on keeping his breathing under control. He felt a tightening of his chest and wondered if he might be having a heart attack. That would be great timing – typical. But the feeling quickly passed and instead a sense of calm enveloped him. He would just have to wait and see what happened.

To his left was the bathroom. The door was open and he tiptoed inside, carefully closing the toilet lid and taking a seat, while his fate was decided.

‘. . . starfish.’

Starfish. Carlyle stifled a giggle as he scanned the range of products lined up by the sink. Gregori certainly had a lot of toiletries for a gumshoe. Folding his arms, he counted a dozen small vials of different shapes and colours, all neatly lined up in front of the mirror. At the end of the row was a squat grey bottle of prescription tablets. Getting to his feet, Carlyle stepped over to the sink, picked it up and studied the label. ‘Well, well, well.’

As he dropped the bottle in his pocket, there was a click as the door to the room opened. He turned to find McDonald in the doorway, giving him a funny look.

‘What are you doing in the loo?’

The search of Kortmann’s room on the fifth floor was far more straightforward but yielded nothing of interest. The man’s clothes were all neatly put away and his shoes lined up next to the desk.

The inspector checked the safe: empty.

In the wardrobe, he found a bag from the Calvin Klein store on Long Acre, containing three unopened packs of boxer shorts, along with a receipt, showing that they had been purchased just after Kortmann’s visit to the police station. Carlyle was hit by a sudden feeling of listlessness as he looked around the spacious room; the bed had been made and the bathroom cleaned. Aside from a toothbrush and some toothpaste, there were no other toiletries and no bottles of prescription pills.