Andrea Frazer - Holmes and Garden 01 - The Curious Case of the Black Swan Song (5 page)

Chapter Six
Saturday

Garden was the first awake the next morning, but not by choice. At the first wail of the bagpipes, Garden shot upright in bed and cautiously opened one bleary eye to look at his travel clock. Seven o’clock! And he didn’t remember going to Edinburgh. Where the hell was he, and what the dickens was going on? And he suddenly realised where they had relocated Holmes’ erstwhile neighbour, and assumed he was next door to him, Garden, because he was on a ‘bargain break’.

For a minute or so he was paralysed with amnesia and panic, then he remembered, and rose immediately from the bed faster than would have been recommended, immediately reaching both hands to cradle his throbbing head.

The noise driving everything else out of his mind, giving him the strength to momentarily overcome the pain, he marched to the next door room and rapped very loudly on it. There was no response, and ‘McCrimmon’s Lament’ skirled on. This time he both knocked and shouted. ‘Hey, you in there, either you stop or I call the RSPCA.’

It didn’t make any sense, but the volume must have disturbed the piper, for the appalling racket halted with an asthmatic and unmusical wheeze, and the door was opened by a man in full highland regalia, cradling a set of bagpipes in his arms like a beloved baby. ‘Can I help you?’ this vision of Scottishness enquired solicitously.

‘Yes! You can shut the f*ck up!’ roared John H., then blushed a deep crimson. He was not accustomed to using language like this and had surprised even himself with the vehemence with which he had spoken. ‘I’m terribly, terribly sorry,’ he apologised. ‘That’s last night’s whisky talking. I was just wondering if you could desist for a while. I’ve got the most vile headache, and a very difficult and important day before me, so I need just a couple more hours’ sleep.’

‘No problem,’ replied the tartan-clad man. ‘I’m supposed to have been put in a room well away from other guests. I’ll have a word at Reception when I go downstairs. For now, I’ll just go through my fingering practise, and not blow down the chanter until well after nine o’clock.’

‘Thank you. Make that ten, and I’ll be eternally grateful.’

Garden slewed rather unsteadily back in the direction of his own room and staggered off, almost asleep on his feet, painfully aware that he was still drunk from the night before and hoping that a few more hours’ shut-eye would render him sober enough for what he and Holmes had planned for the day – including the fearful spectacle of his mother looming out of his thoughts at him, breathing fire and brimstone for all she was worth.

Holmes cautiously opened an eye at eight thirty when the tea he had ordered arrived, the maid letting herself in with a pass key. ‘Just put it on the dressing table,’ he instructed her, shamefully aware that the room still had a cloud of fug just under the ceiling and that the glasses they had used, still reeking of what had been in them, sat on the bedside table also polluting the air.

The air also had that indefinable smell of man, partly consisting of iffy breath, stale sweat, and the ghost of unconscious farts passed while in the arms of Morpheus. The first thing he usually did in his own apartment when he awoke was to fling open all the windows, even in the depths of winter, to air the space out for the following night. Unfortunately, he had shut the window the previous evening when they had got rather loud towards the end of their carousing.

The maid was either well trained or experienced, for she didn’t flinch as she inhaled the foul miasma, placed the tray squarely on the dressing table, and wished him a good day before leaving him to wake up properly.

Rising reluctantly from under the covers, he tottered over to the pot and poured himself a cup of tea. His unexpected tour of some of the less-visited corners of the hotel was a bit of a blur, but he remembered well what their plan was for the day, and he needed to gather his scattered wits to deal with it head on.

He felt so dreadfully groggy that even his moustache drooped. It would take a full English breakfast and plenty of toast and marmalade to sort that out, probably accompanied by a pint or so of coffee, then he’d be back to full fitness.

As he was struggling to put on a pair of trousers that seemed to have far too many legs, there was an abrupt knock at his door, and he hopped to answer it to reveal the unexpected presence of Inspector Streeter, this time with an unrecognised young officer whom he introduced as DC Moriarty.

‘Sorry about my state of comparative undress, only I’m having a bit of difficulty with my lower garments. Tamed the socks, only to have a fight on my hands with the trousers,’ he stated, suddenly filled with excitement.

Moriarty! He couldn’t make this stuff up! Lestrade and Moriarty together! He couldn’t wait to tell John H. how the coincidences were heaping up, to confirm their decision to go into partnership as private detectives.

‘We have had to ask for you to be allocated to another room, Mr Holmes, as Mr Bellamy went out of the window just outside it. This part of the corridor needs to be taped off as part of the crime scene, and you won’t be granted access again until we’ve finished. I apologise for any inconvenience this may cause you.

‘Should you be kind enough to pack your stuff, a member of staff will collect it and move it to your new room, and you should enquire at Reception for your new number and key.’

‘That’s perfectly understandable, Inspector, as long as you point out that this is a smoking room, and I shall require another of similar ilk.’

‘No problem. Now, about yesterday; you say you exited your room in time to see Mr Bellamy disappear out of the window? I just need to go through it one more time.’

‘That’s right, but a couple of seconds earlier would have been of more use, as it was only his feet I actually saw disappear – or his shoes, to be more accurate.’

‘And was there anyone else around at the time that you saw, or could identify from hearing?’

‘The only person I saw – and spoke to – was the Maitland woman from the Ladies’ Guild. She suddenly appeared at my shoulder, though I’ve no idea where she’d come from. She said she was having a meeting with other members of the guild, so you should be able to find out from her which jack-in-the-box of a room she popped out of.’

‘I shall need another word with Mr Garden next. Do you know, offhand, his room number to save me a trip back to reception? I do find the little runs of steps and the maze of corridors quite confusing, I freely admit.’

Holmes sent the men on their way to room twenty-seven, and began to pack away his possessions, after necking a glass of water with two Alka-Seltzers dissolved in it.

Garden was awoken again at nine o’clock, this time to a furious knocking on the door of his room. As he slept in nothing but a T-shirt, he fumbled around furiously for his underpants before answering the ever-increasing urgency of the summons.

When he had identified that it was the police, he asked them if they would mind waiting outside for a minute while he made himself decent, grabbed the first pair of trousers he could lay his hands on – which, incidentally were a deep episcopal purple – and pulled on a lavender and pink striped shirt before opening up once more and inviting them in.

Streeter didn’t turn a hair at the man’s bright attire, but the young man with him visibly winced as he surveyed such a colour scheme on a male body. ‘May I introduce you to Detective Constable Moriarty,’ began Streeter, then was puzzled by the wild giggling that greeted this simple statement. Garden, too, was not yet quite sober, and found the DC’s name hilarious.

With a jolt of recognition, Streeter put the two names together and found out the course of Garden’s mirth. ‘Ha ha sir, very funny, but I can assure you that DC Moriarty is not a criminal genius, nor is he working for the baddies and against Mr Holmes.

‘I have just had a word with Mr Holmes who saw Mr Bellamy embark on his ill-fated dive. I now want to go over again with you, as much as you can remember about his landing. You have confirmed that it wasn’t a belly-flop.’ Here, his constable groaned at the sick joke, drawing a look of disapproval from his superior.

‘I told you yesterday that he must have landed on his head, although I didn’t actually see him land. I heard him scream, but didn’t have sufficient time to turn round to identify the source before I was covered in blood and … er, stuff.’ Garden felt his gorge arise anew as he remembered what had adorned his trousers and shoes the day before. ‘Please excuse me for a moment,’ he mumbled, as he headed for the bathroom for a bit of the morning-after dry-heaving.

As he leaned his head down the lavatory pan, he heard the preliminary wheezing of a piper preparing to give it some welly. What a day, and he hadn’t even got up properly yet.

When he re-entered the room he found both detectives with their fingers in their ears. ‘What the hell is that cat-strangling noise?’ asked Streeter in a distressed voice.

‘It is the sound of Scottish music played enthusiastically on the bagpipes,’ shouted Garden in reply. ‘I’m going to have to ask that one of us is moved to a different room.’

‘I’m actually glad now that they want independence. The only place in England that you can hear a sound like that is outside an abattoir,’ commented Streeter in a loud voice.

‘I love the skirl of the pipes,’ roared Moriarty, ‘but not usually at such close quarters. Fascinating instrument, are the pipes, and so many variations. I think my favourite are the Irish ones. And they have the benefit that you inflate the bag with your arm, so even asthmatics can play them.’

‘Sod asthmatics. We’ll catch up with you later, Mr Garden. I have sufficient respect for my sense of hearing to determine that this conversation should be carried out later in the day, at a place far removed from your room.’

There were others, too, in the small town of Hamsley Black Cross who awoke either in, or to, distress that morning.

Lesley Piper and Marion Guest were awoken by their radio alarm at eight o’clock, both momentarily amnesiac about what had occurred the day before. It didn’t take long, however, before memory returned, and Lesley rolled over in their queen-sized bed to glare at Marion.

‘I hope you’re not going back to the hotel to smarm around young Pippa,’ she said, stressing the word young, ‘in the pretence of expressing your condolences. There’s nothing worse than when an old dyke gets designs or a pash on a youngster. You’re already making a fool of yourself, and it’s got to stop, or there will be consequences.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ replied Mabs, although she flushed with embarrassment.

‘You think I haven’t noticed the way you are around her, and you talk endlessly about how great she is, taking on the hotel with her grandfather. Well, let’s see how she copes on her own now,’ snarled Lebs.

‘You have a sewer for a mind. And I’m sure Pippa will cope exceedingly well.’

‘If she knew how you felt about her, she’d completely flunk it and leave the area as soon as possible.’

‘I don’t know what’s got into you this morning. You’re being perfectly horrible,’ said Mabs almost in tears.

‘Just making my position perfectly clear. I’m your partner, and this is my house. If you want to go on living here, count your blessings and don’t go thinking the grass is greener.’ At this, Lebs turned her back on Mabs and pretended to go back to sleep.

Garden decided to stick with what he had put on and, after a shave and a bit of a wash, he started on his way down to breakfast.

A wrong turning brought him to what he identified as Holmes’ room, but instead of being able to go in and ask for company to find the bar-cum-restaurant, he found the whole end of the corridor taped off as a crime scene. This was a bit of a facer, and he about-turned to seek another route.

On his way he stumbled upon the girl from Reception, whom he now knew was the deceased owner’s granddaughter, engaged in a rather heated discussion with Margery Maitland, both using raised voices in a bit to outdo each other.

‘Ladies, ladies,’ he interrupted. ‘I’m sure it’s only the tension created by the tragic events of yesterday’ – he’d woken up a bit by now – ‘that have caused you to fall out. I’m sure there must be an amicable solution to whatever you are in disagreement about.’ Good Lord, he sounded almost like the father he barely remembered.

‘I want to reschedule last night’s committee meeting for tonight in the hotel, and Pippa here doesn’t think she can accommodate me, although I don’t know why, when there are simply dozens of little rooms scattered round this maze of buildings that would do admirably.’

‘Not if you expect waitress service, there aren’t,’ snapped back Pippa Berkeley angrily. ‘There simply aren’t the spare members of staff. And I’d like to point out that, due to my grandfather’s demise, I am now the proprietor of this establishment, so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it.’

Placing himself between the two battling females, now separated by himself as well as two generations, he enquired if a trolley could be loaded with refreshments, to be collected by one of the committee members.

‘It could,’ replied Pippa shortly.

‘And would you be able to find someone willing to do that?’ asked Garden of the older woman.

‘Why, I’d be glad to do it myself,’ replied Margery Maitland, with a sycophantic little smile at their unofficial referee.

‘Well, that’s settled then,’ replied Garden, smiling too and taking advantage of this chance meeting by asking if one of them would be good enough to accompany him to the ground floor, as he was desirous of breakfast, and wasn’t terribly good at finding his way around yet. He left the scene with both ladies for company, as neither wanted to give way to the other in accompanying this lone male to his destination. If they only knew the truth about him, he doubted they would have shown such keen enthusiasm. His female dress sense was better than theirs any day.

The slight rush of adrenalin from the police visit and the argument that had initially made him feel better had worn off by the time he took a seat at a table opposite Holmes, and he was only able to manage a nibble on a piece of dry toast and some black coffee. Holmes got on with putting away a plateful of fried things that Garden couldn’t even bear to look at. Keeping his eyes firmly on the contents of his plate and coffee cup, he asked Holmes if he had had a visit from the inspector so far this morning, as his room now seemed to be out of bounds.