The Hanging in the Hotel (30 page)

‘Oh yes.’ Carole now knew the direction in which Barry was worming his way. He had once again been set up by someone powerful in the Pillars of Sussex to check out what she and Jude
were thinking, whether they had accepted the accidental explanation of Donald Chew’s death. She waited.

‘Erm . . . well . . .’ Barry Stilwell wasn’t finding his appointed task easy. Eventually, bluntly, he asked, ‘You’re convinced it was an accident, Donald’s
death, aren’t you?’

‘What’s the alternative?’ She wasn’t going to make it any easier for him.

‘Well, erm . . . Do I gather you
are
convinced it was an accident?’

‘No,’ said Carole. Let him sweat a bit.

‘Ah. Right.’ Her response seemed to have confirmed his worst fears. ‘Take your point. I suppose there could be a view that it was suicide.’

‘And why would Donald Chew want to commit suicide?’

‘Well, being in the hotel again – it must have brought it all back to him.’

‘Brought all what back to him?’

‘Hopwicke House was where his young colleague, Nigel Ackford, died.’

‘I’m well aware of that, Barry.’

‘And, um, well . . . don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, of course, but did you know about Donald?’

‘Did I know what about Donald?’

‘Well, that – I mean it wasn’t much of a secret among the Pillars of Sussex. He – I know he was married but . . .’ Barry Stilwell cleared his throat, ‘Donald
Chew was homosexual.’

‘Oh,’ said Carole, at one level unsurprised. There had always been something slightly unreal about the solicitor, as though he were playing a part, as though he had something to
hide. What Barry had just said could explain that.

‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘there was a feeling around his office, I gather, that Donald was very attracted to the young man.’

‘Was the attraction mutual?’

‘That I wouldn’t know. But the suggestion was that Nigel Ackford’s suicide might be in some way related to his relationship with his boss.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Apparently Donald Chew arrived at the hotel early that Tuesday evening, and there was some suggestion that he was hoping to . . . er, meet up with the young man before the dinner . .
.’

Who was making all these suggestions? Carole wondered.

‘And maybe Nigel resisted his advances, or said that their relationship had to end and maybe Donald was so upset that . . .’

The implication was left dangling in the air. Rather as Nigel Ackford had been.

‘So the thinking is,’ Barry Stilwell continued with new energy, ‘that if Donald’s death wasn’t accidental – and of course it may well have been accidental
– but, if it wasn’t, that being back in the hotel affected him emotionally and . . .’

This time Carole helped him out. ‘And Donald Chew committed suicide in remorse for having murdered Nigel Ackford?’

‘Exactly.’ Barry seemed enormously relieved that she had finally pieced the scenario together.

‘And, for those of us who were suspicious of murder having been committed, all the loose ends are neatly tied up?’

‘Yes.’ He now sounded positively cheerful. ‘End of story.’

Don’t you believe it, thought Carole.

Having unburdened himself of his duty, Barry Stilwell could now afford a moment of philosophy. ‘Sad, to think what goes on inside human minds, stuff we never know about. We only see the
surface of people, don’t we? And we’ve no idea what they’re really thinking. Awful. Nigel Ackford. Donald Chew. Two people dead, and what really lay behind it we’ll never
know.’

Oh yes, we will, thought Carole.

The task was not one Jude relished, but she knew she had to do it. And not on the phone; this had to be face to face.

At least she had an excuse. Her promise to contact Wendy Fullerton was overdue. She left a message on the girl’s mobile, but got no reply on the Sunday. Wendy rang back the next day from
the building society.

She thought it odd and probably ominous that Jude didn’t want to tell her on the phone, but agreed to meet her after work. The rendezvous was a small wine bar behind her office.

Jude got there first and was halfway down a glass of wine by the time Wendy appeared, once again neat in her building society uniform. The girl chose a vodka and tonic, expecting to need
bolstering for the news she was about to receive.

‘All right, tell me,’ she said after she’d taken a long swallow. ‘Was it another woman?’

‘No. It was a man.’ But Jude couldn’t allow time for the relief to flood in; she pressed on. ‘Which means I’ve got to ask you a very awkward question, Wendy.’
The girl looked puzzled. ‘Do you know if Nigel ever had any gay experiences?’

The answer did not come immediately. Wendy looked pale; the idea was clearly not new to her. ‘I don’t know, Jude. I really don’t. I sometimes wondered. Nigel was certainly
screwed up about sex . . . but then he was screwed up about a lot of other things too. I don’t know. I think he really loved me.’ She clung to this thought, the last piece of the
wreckage left to her.

‘I’m not asking out of prurient curiosity. There are two reasons. The first – the man whose mobile he kept ringing. His name was Karl Floyd, by the way – I don’t
know if that means anything to you?’

The girl shook her head. ‘Does sound vaguely familiar, but no, nothing to do with Nigel. He never mentioned anyone called that.’

‘And the second reason is that a suggestion has been made that Nigel might have been in a relationship with his boss at work.’

‘His boss?’ Wendy was incredulous. ‘You mean Donald Chew?’

‘It was suggested.’

‘No. Well, I don’t know whether there was any attraction on Donald Chew’s side. I got a general feeling that round the company they thought he was gay, but pretty much still in
the closet. Still, the suggestion that he and Nigel—’ The idea was too much for her. ‘No. No.’ Though forceful, her reaction was one of logic rather than distaste.

‘You said Nigel was screwed up about a lot of things.’ Jude prompted gently.

‘Yes. I think it was part of the depression. I’ve never been depressed. I’ve been down or miserable – I’m not great at the moment – but I’ve never had
it the way he described . . . the sort of self-hatred thing. Sometimes he just worried about everything so much, about who he was, what he was doing, whether he should be doing it.’

‘You mean professionally, Wendy?’

‘I suppose so, yes. In his work. He did have worries in his work, but I’m sure they had nothing to do with Donald Chew coming on to him. It was more . . .’

‘More what?’

‘He kept saying he was worried about the ethics of what he was doing.’

Jude smiled. ‘Unusual for a solicitor to worry about that. But rather heart-warming, I suppose. Was it anything specific? Any particular part of the job – or any particular case that
was worrying him?’

‘I honestly don’t know. Nigel talked so much about everything, after a time it was difficult to keep up. I remember he kept saying there was nothing illegal. “That’s what
so wrong,” he’d say. “No laws are being broken. It’s not illegal.” But it still worried him.’

‘You can’t think of any more details?’

Wendy Fullerton gave a rueful shake of her head. ‘Sorry. He did just go on about it not being illegal. “There should be a big exposé,” he said. “People should know
what’s going on” and then he’d go back to the fact that it wasn’t illegal.’

There was a silence. Behind her mask of make-up, the girl was thinking things out. ‘I’m sure Nigel wasn’t gay. I’m sure, whatever his connection was with this Karl
person, it wasn’t that. And he certainly wasn’t in any kind of emotional relationship with Donald Chew.’

She looked at her watch. ‘Sorry, I must go. Get home, change, put on my make-up. Then go out.’

Jude found it hard to imagine that Wendy Fuller-ton’s face could take any more make-up. ‘Are you going somewhere nice?’

The girl grimaced. ‘Oh yes. Very nice restaurant. I’ve been invited out. I’m getting back into the business of dating.’

‘Good.’

‘I suppose so.’ But she didn’t sound convinced. ‘Has to be done, though. Have to move on. Meet men. Meet
the
man.’ She sighed at the effort of it all, downed
the last of her vodka and stood up. ‘Though at the moment it’s as if I’m just going through the motions.’

As she watched the girl leave, Jude got the feeling that Wendy Fullerton would be going through the motions for a long time yet. Perhaps for the rest of her life.

‘I’m beginning to wonder if it all
is
coincidence,’ said Carole grumpily. The crusading hunger she’d felt for the truth when she last spoke to
Barry Stilwell seemed to have trickled away. ‘Suppose everything is exactly as it appears on the surface? Nigel Ackford committed suicide; Donald Chew fell down the cellar stairs by
accident.’

‘I can’t believe I’m hearing you say this, Carole.’

Carole looked morosely out of the front window of Woodside Cottage, where heavy grey rain fell, matching her mood. ‘Well, we’ve tried every way to get a logical thread through recent
events on the assumption that murder was involved, and we’ve failed dismally. It might make more sense if we took things at face value.’

Jude’s haystack of hair quivered as she vigorously shook her head. ‘No. There are too many inconsistencies for us to take things at face value. We’ve been treated like the Red
Queen in
Alice Through the Looking-Glass
– been asked to believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast! Think about it.’

‘What?’ Carole was being deliberately obtuse.

‘First, Suzy covers up – not telling the police about the threatening note.’

‘Simply to protect the reputation of her hotel.’

‘All right. Then Max lets out the fact that Rick Hendry was there that night, and suddenly we have a whole new set of cover-ups. Kerry drinking with her father and Barry Stilwell –
later replaced by Donald Chew. Kerry being very happy to tell me that alibi, and the timing happening to coincide with her passing an audition to be in
Pop Crop
. Max comes back to me and
spells out a very detailed scenario which doesn’t allow Kerry to be alone with Rick – and, goodness me, it turns out that Korfilia Productions are going to be promoting Max as a
celebrity chef. Don’t you find all that a bit odd, Carole?’

‘Yes, all right. Rick Hendry was trying to divert publicity from himself, and using bribes he knew would work with Kerry and Max. But I still can’t find any connection between that
and Nigel Ackford’s death. Until he heard about the body in the four-poster room, I doubt whether Rick knew of Nigel’s existence.’

‘All right.’ Jude sighed. She couldn’t decide whether Carole had genuinely stopped believing in the murder theory, was playing devil’s advocate, or was just being
bloody-minded. ‘Let’s look at it from another angle. The information that Max gave me in the Crown and Anchor – which I don’t believe for a minute was true –
established, as you say, that Rick could not have been alone with Kerry, so no one could accuse him of messing about with yet another young girl. But it also established the same for Bob Hartson.
He couldn’t have been alone with Kerry either.’

Carole looked alarmed. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘You know what I’m suggesting. I’ve mentioned it before. Every time I’ve seen Bob Hartson with Kerry, he’s been exceptionally affectionate towards her.’ Jude
rubbed a rueful hand against her cheek. ‘He wouldn’t be the first stepfather to have found his stepdaughter more attractive than his new wife.’

Carole remembered Sandra Hartson’s pained look as she had watched her husband and daughter go arm in arm into the hotel bar on Saturday night. ‘You could be right. So what
you’re suggesting, Jude, is that Bob Hartson might have set up Max to give you all that guff?’

‘Possible.’

‘But if that were the case, Bob Hartson can’t have had anything to do with Nigel’s death.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, assuming that Bob Hartson is the one who’s been orchestrating the alibis – or at least he knows they are being orchestrated . . . We are assuming that, aren’t we,
Jude?’

‘All right.’

‘Well then, although he’s covered himself with regard to his stepdaughter, he left himself completely without an alibi for the time when the conjectural murder might have taken
place. Surely that shows he’s innocent. It never even occurred to him that he might be a suspect. If it had, he’d have covered himself.’

‘True.’ Jude nodded. ‘He was awake and inside the hotel, so he could have killed Nigel.’

‘The same goes for Donald Chew.’

‘Which brings us on to yet another cover-up. All that stuff Barry Stilwell gave you about Donald Chew being gay.’

‘I think that could actually have been true.’

‘But the idea of him and Nigel having been in a relationship. Having talked to Wendy Fullerton again, I just don’t buy that.’

‘No, Jude. Nor do I.’

Jude looked thoughtfully out into the sheeting rain. Forget April showers, this was more like another Deluge. The good people of Fethering would soon be getting out their B&Q cubit measuring
tapes and building arks.

‘It’s odd,’ she said finally. ‘All these cover-ups and alibis . . . I’m sure they’re being done just for us.’

‘Sorry?’

‘For our benefit. Nobody else is being given all of this information, because nobody else is interested. Other people either genuinely don’t care, or they recognize the fact that
it’s prudent not to care.’

‘Where’s this leading you, Jude?’

‘Well, we keep being offered scenarios to believe in, and we make it clear we don’t believe in them, and then we’re offered another one. Maybe if we claim to be satisfied with
the latest explanation, there won’t be any more of them.’

‘So if we let it be known that we believe Nigel Ackford committed suicide because of his difficult relationship with Donald Chew, and Donald Chew topped himself for the same reason,
everything’ll go quiet?’

‘Might do.’

‘And if they think we’ve accepted the explanation,’ said Carole excitedly, ‘they’ll relax, and we’ll be able to continue our investigation without so much
interference?’