Tania Carver - Choked

Marina looked up and down the corridor. The maids’ mobile cleaning unit was standing further along the hall, two maids working in unison, entering vacated rooms, removing bedding and towels.

She looked the other way. The stairs were through a set of heavy double doors on the left. She ran to them, opened them. Listened. Heard footsteps coming up. Voices.

The two officers.

An image of Josephina formed unbidden in her mind. Of Phil lying unconscious. She pushed them aside, concentrating. Her heart was hammering now, eyes darting everywhere. She closed the door to the stairs, went back into the corridor. Looked round.

No one about but the maids. She walked towards the cleaning unit.

Behind her, the door to the stairs opened.

Marina ran, not looking back.

Past the maids’ trolley, eyes frantic left and right, desperate to find somewhere to duck into.

The cleaning supplies cupboard and service room was open. Without stopping to think, she jumped inside, pulled the door closed behind her.

Still holding the handle, she turned.

To find a cleaner staring at her.

The cleaner was young, foreign. Her initial amazement was quickly giving way to fear. She opened her mouth. To scream, speak, Marina didn’t know. She couldn’t take the chance and find out.

‘Sorry,’ said Marina in as loud a whisper as she dared. ‘My husband.’ She pointed to the door.

The cleaner kept staring.

‘He’s … I’m not supposed to be here.’

The cleaner still seemed unconvinced. Maybe she doesn’t speak English, thought Marina. Maybe she just doesn’t understand me. Here was a woman with wild hair and ripped, soiled clothing jumping into her room and closing the door. Holding her captive. Marina didn’t blame her for being scared.

She could hear voices on the other side of the door, getting louder.

She turned back to the cleaner, who had heard them too. Her mouth was opening, making ready to shout.

Marina desperately thought of something that would convince her.

‘My husband, he … ’ She took her hand off the handle, mimed punching herself in the face. Then she gestured to the door and the increasingly loud voices.

The cleaner nodded, understanding.

Marina thought she saw some spark of recognition in the young woman’s eyes. Some shared commonality of experience. She felt a shudder of guilt at that, but smiled.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

The cleaner said nothing. Gave a small smile.

The footsteps, the voices receded.

Marina slowly turned the handle, risked a quick glance down the hall.

With another nod of thanks to the cleaner, she left the room, heading for the stairs.

She pulled open the double doors, taking the steps two at a time until she almost tripped and lost her footing. She took control of herself, paused momentarily. Continued the rest of the way as fast as she could.

She reached the ground floor. Panting for breath, she opened the double doors, looked down the corridor.

No one about.

She stepped into the hallway, then, taking a deep breath, walked towards the main doors.

As she reached the receptionist’s desk, she kept her face averted. The receptionist had her head down. Marina was aware of her glancing up as she walked past.

‘Oh.’ Surprise in the receptionist’s voice. ‘Oh. The police … there’s someone here to see you.’

Marina kept walking.

‘Excuse me … ’

‘Just going to the car,’ Marina shouted over her shoulder. ‘Back in a mo.’

The doors opened. Marina was out into the fresh air.

She heard the receptionist calling behind her. Knew the girl would be deciding what to do next. Come out and chase her; go and find the police.

She couldn’t risk either of those things happening.

She ran across the car park, found her car. Got in quickly, locked the doors. She checked that the phone was in her bag, started the car. She could enter the postcode into the sat nav when she was away from the hotel. She drove off.

As she passed the hotel entrance, the two uniforms were standing there, the receptionist with them. One of them, the male, moved into the path of her car, waving his arms about, trying to flag her down, stop her.

Marina speeded up.

He jumped out of the way.

She made for the exit and away.

She couldn’t think about them, about what she had just done.

She just had to focus on where she was headed.

‘Feels like we’re paying our last respects in a funeral parlour,’ said DS Jessica James. ‘Should be playing organ music.’

The body lay straight on the bed, arms by its sides, legs together, head back, eyes closed. She leaned over it, scrutinising. Particularly the neck and the head. She straightened up, turned to DC Deepak Shah who was next to her. ‘What d’you think? Are you fooled?’

He shook his head. ‘As much as you are, ma’am.’

She nodded.‘If he was standing upright, his head would stay on his neck about as well as a bowling ball on a broomstick.’

The investigation was into its second day but hadn’t made much progress. No one had reported seeing a child matching Josephina’s description, either on her own or with anyone else. But they were still pursuing it, the uniforms out canvassing and the team searching the area.

With nothing else happening, Jessie had paid another call to Jeff Hibbert intending to ask him some more questions, and had received no answer. Thinking that it was unlikely he’d be out, she had gone round the back of the house and found the lock on the door frame hanging off, the frame splintered, the back door itself open.

She ran inside, calling his name with no response. Fearing the worst, she made her way upstairs. And that was how she found him. Laid out on the bed. Peaceful.

She wasn’t fooled for a second.

And neither were the Forensic Scene Investigators. She had called it in straight away, keeping her hands off any surfaces, then carefully retracing the path she had taken into the house in reverse, stepping outside so as not to contaminate the scene further.

The pathologist and FSIs were finishing up their preliminary investigation and had allowed Jessie and Deepak in. They stood in the dull room, the drawn curtains lending it an ever deeper atmosphere of depression.

Her own head was feeling a little like a bowling ball on a broomstick. Caning it two school nights in a row. Not good, but she couldn’t help it. Just the one with a mate. That had been all. Or all she had intended. But it had spiralled and there hadn’t been a happy reception when she had finally got home. She sighed, rubbed her eyes, pushed it all into a small corner of her mind. She could deal with that later. She had more pressing matters to attend to.

‘What a horrible place to live in,’ Deepak said, looking round.

‘And die in,’ said Jessie, turning away from the body and seeing what the rest of the room contained. ‘Which he was doing. Lung cancer, I reckon.’ She pointed to the oxygen cylinder at the side of the bed. ‘He looked rough when I came to see him yesterday. Thought I’d better question him again as quickly as possible.’

Deepak frowned. ‘Why?’

She told him about Stuart Milton and the address he had given. ‘I got the feeling Hibbert knew more than he was letting on.’ She turned back, looked at the bed.‘We’ll never know now.’

Deepak nodded towards the FSIs. ‘Unless they can tell us anything.’

‘True.’

Jessie examined the room once more and noticed a couple of circular marks in the dust on the sideboard. She looked down at the floor. Two ugly figurines lay there, one with its head broken off. Knocked off in the fight, she thought. She knelt down beside them. Glanced under the bed. Saw something …