The Hanging in the Hotel (27 page)

Wendy Fullerton summoned up her courage. ‘Yes. Whoever it is, let me know.’

Jude would have made the call straight away, had the sound of a car stopping not drawn her to the front window. A smart new BMW Mini had parked outside Woodside Cottage, and out of it, elegant
in burgundy silk shirt and white jeans, stepped Suzy Longthorne.

The hug enveloped Jude in a perfume far too exclusive for her to be able to name, let alone afford. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Suzy. ‘I’ve hated holding
out on you. I felt so guilty, I thought I’d just come straight round and talk.’

‘Bless you.’ Jude grinned in surprise. ‘Almost time for a drink. I could stretch a point. How about you? Or are you waiting for the one glass after you’ve tidied up
dinner.’

‘No,’ Suzy replied. ‘I’ll have one with you. No one booked in tonight.’

Another lie from Max, thought Jude as she fetched a bottle of white Bordeaux from the kitchen fridge. He hadn’t had to rush off from the Crown and Anchor to prepare a lobster dish for that
evening’s diners. But she didn’t say anything, as she handed her friend a glass.

‘Thanks. Listen, Jude, I don’t know everything Rick’s been up to, but I gather he’s been messing you about.’

‘I’m not sure he’s been messing me about. He’s certainly been ring-fencing himself in alibis, so he’s covered for every minute of that Tuesday night he spent at
your place.’

Suzy Longthorne smiled ruefully as she sank into one of Jude’s much-draped armchairs. ‘Rick is just so paranoid about publicity.’

‘Isn’t that a bit of a pot and kettle situation? You’ve had your moments too.’

‘Yeah, OK. But I’ve never been as bad as Rick. As soon as he heard about that solicitor dying, he went into complete damage-limitation overdrive. I wasn’t to breathe a word to
anyone. I must let him know the minute anyone asked about what’d happened, the minute anyone showed any signs of suspicion.’

‘So all your early holding out on me – were you just following orders from Rick?’

‘Not entirely. Things’ve been dodgy at the hotel for a while. The death was just the last straw, and if I could do anything to keep it quiet, then I was damn well going to
try.’

‘That’s why you didn’t tell the police about the threatening note?’

‘That’s why I tried not to tell anyone about anything. And that included you. I’m sorry.’ Suzy reached across and squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘Forgive
me?’

‘Nothing to forgive,’ said Jude lightly. ‘But what’s changed? Why’re you no longer clamming up on me?’

‘I think the threat of bad publicity has blown over.’

‘What makes you think that?’

Suzy shrugged. ‘The young man’s death has been reported in the newspaper. That hasn’t prompted any further enquiries. I like to think the danger’s passed.’

‘Yes, I saw that in the
Fethering Observer
.’ Jude looked shrewdly at her friend. ‘Very minimal reporting. Not even the name of the hotel mentioned. Do you have any
explanation for that?’

‘Just got lucky.’ Suzy looked as though she believed the explanation. But over the years, under a lot of different circumstances, Jude had seen the same innocence in the famous hazel
eyes. So she reserved her judgment, and changed the subject.

‘When did Rick arrive at your place that evening?’

‘Seven o’clock, eight o’clock. I went across and said hello to him just before we started serving the dinner.’

‘You were expecting him?’

‘Oh yes. He’d rung to say he was going to be working in Brighton and could he stay? I didn’t particularly want to see him, but I didn’t want to make a big deal of saying
no.’

‘And do you know what he did during the evening while you were looking after the Pillars of Sussex?’

Suzy shrugged at the unimportance of the question. ‘I’ve no idea. He cooked himself something – and left the dirty plates, as usual. Maybe he watched television, fixed a few
deals on his mobile phone. Quite honestly, I’m no longer interested in what he does.’

‘Was he still up when you finished at the hotel?’

‘Yes. Rick always did keep late hours. Required part of the rock and roll lifestyle, I suppose.’

‘And was Max with him when you got back to the barn?’

‘Max?’ Suzy was incredulous. ‘No. Why on earth should he have been?’

Jude mentally ticked off another lie told by the chef. And probably engineered by Rick Hendry. ‘So did you and Rick talk before you went to bed?’

‘A bit. We rarely see each other face to face, and there’s always financial stuff lingering on that we have to sort out.’

‘So how long did you talk?’

‘I don’t know, Jude. A quarter of an hour, maybe, twenty minutes – I was beat, so we went to bed.’

‘Separately?’

Suzy gave her friend a look of long-suffering, as if the question didn’t need an answer. But she still gave one. ‘Yes. Separately. The break between Rick and me was so total, and so
painful, that there’s no danger of anything like that being rekindled – on either side.’

‘Just asking.’

Suzy smiled a weary forgiveness.

‘And Rick didn’t leave the house again during the night?’

‘No. I’m certain he didn’t. I’m a very light sleeper, and that barn’s like a sounding box. You can hear when someone drops a sock, let alone opens the front
door.’

‘So you didn’t hear anything during the night?’

‘No. For the few hours I was allowed, I slept very deeply. And if I slept deeply, that means there was nothing to hear.’

Jude felt it was about time she said, ‘I’m really sorry to be asking all this stuff.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Suzy grinned wryly. ‘You’re still convinced that young man was murdered, aren’t you, Jude?’

‘Yes.’

‘Huh. Always were a lover of the dramatic. He topped himself. That’s all there is to it.’

‘You’re probably right.’ It was worth one more try. ‘But, Suzy, going back to that night . . .’

Suzy Longthorne rolled her eyes in mock-horror. ‘Again? All right, what about that night?’

‘The note. You’re not going to deny we both saw that note.’

‘I’m not denying it any more. The note existed.’

‘And Kerry found it in the four-poster room before six o’clock that evening.’

‘That’s what she said.’

‘So who put it there, Suzy?’

The famous face took on the expression which had crushed generations of tabloid journalists and paparazzi. ‘I hope you’re not looking at me.’

‘No, I’m not. And, actually, I didn’t put it there either.’

‘Well, that doesn’t leave many people who were around the hotel during the relevant period. The chambermaid had done the four-poster room about eleven that morning. She’d have
told me if she found anything like that. So either Kerry was playing out one of her fantasies . . .’

‘Or Max put it there – for reasons I can’t imagine.’

‘Or . . .’ Suzy twisted her face in mock-concentration – and still managed to look beautiful. Then her expression changed. ‘Just a minute. There is one other person who
could have planted the note.’

‘Who?’

‘The old bald bloke. You know – the Pillar of Sussex who arrived early.’

‘Donald Chew?’

‘That was his name. He was asleep in the bar, wasn’t he? But we don’t know how long he’d been there. Technically he could have had time to put the note in the four-poster
room.’

‘And he was Nigel Ackford’s boss, so there are definite connections between them.’

‘Yes . . .’ Suzy Longthorne took a thoughtful sip of wine, then shook away introspection. ‘Still, I really don’t want to think about the hotel. Actually, as I was driving
over, I was – for no very good reason – thinking about that photographer who kept coming on to us – you know, back in the sixties. Czech I think he was. Kept saying –’
she assumed an exaggerated accent ‘– “I want you both to come back to my studio, so that we can see what will develop.” Always the same joke. He was dreadful. What was his
name?’

And they were into half an hour of giggly nostalgia.

Then, her all-too-short moment of freedom at an end, Suzy had to return to Hopwicke House. She kissed Jude on both cheeks and asked plaintively, ‘Friends?’

‘Friends,’ Jude confirmed.

Only when she was tidying up prior to bed did Jude come across the receipt on which she’d written down the number Wendy Fullerton had given her.

She looked at the large round watch, strapped to her wrist with ribbon. Ten past ten. A bit late for a social call, but . . .

She was answered after two or three rings. To her surprise, it wasn’t a woman’s voice. A young man’s, quite educated, but tense and urgent. ‘Hello?’

‘Could you tell me who I’m speaking to, please?’

‘Karl Floyd. Who’re you?’

‘My name’s Jude.’

‘What’s this about?’

‘I believe you knew a young man called Nigel Ackford . . .’

‘So?’

‘He died recently.’

‘I know that.’

‘And in the weeks before his death he was on the phone a lot to you, so—’

‘That’s enough!’ said the young man with sudden vehemence. ‘Why’s everyone always on to me about Nigel? I’m not going to talk about him. And I’m going
to chuck this mobile and get a new one.’

The line went dead.

Carole Seddon really resented having paid out a hundred and fifty pounds to attend the Pillars of Sussex Auction of Promises. At that price, she thought bitterly, I hope I at
least find something that’s relevant to the investigation. As it turned out, she got rather more than she had bargained for.

None of the attendees at the auction would be staying overnight at the hotel. Not that the Pillars of Sussex intended to drink any less than was their custom, but on this occasion they had their
womenfolk with them. And, among that class and that generation, one of the marriage vows taken by wives was to drink less than their menfolk at social events, and to drive them home.

Brenda Chew had asked her ‘little group of helpers’ to arrive at six, though the pre-dinner drinks were not scheduled to start until seven-thirty. The early call was avowedly
‘so we can double-check everything’s all right’, though, in fact, it was so that Brenda could reiterate to her helpers how much hard work she’d put into organizing the
event, but how she didn’t mind at all, she was used to it.

She was also very concerned with the stage management of her bouquet – at exactly what point in the evening it should be presented to her, and who would say the few words about ‘the
infinitely dependable Brenda Chew, who has worked far beyond the call of duty to make this event such a success, and without whom nothing on the fund-raising side of the Pillars of Sussex’s
work would ever happen.’

Since, however, the presentation was meant to be a surprise about which she knew nothing, getting her anxiety across with regard to the bouquet was quite a challenge, but a challenge Brenda Chew
met with consummate skill born of long practice. Indeed, the finesse with which she managed to make her points without actually mentioning the word ‘bouquet’ might well form the basis
for a long-running Radio 4 panel game.

In spite of their rapprochement, Suzy had not called on Jude to help out with the event, but, working with waitress staff Carole had not seen before, the hotelier had yet again transformed the
dining room into a magnificent venue. From a centrepiece on each table swirled a display of greenery intertwined with ribbons picking up the colours of the Pillars of Sussex tie. As well as a thick
menu, at each place-setting stood a stout auction catalogue with the association’s insignia embossed on the front. Beneath this crest, given appropriate star billing, was printed the name of
the evening’s auctioneer.

Carole flicked through and found the promise of ‘A two-hour session of kinesiology given by a well-known professional practitioner.’ So Brenda had decided that the attraction of the
package would not be augmented by the addition of Jude’s name.

By a quarter to seven, there was nothing left for Carole to do. All possible double-checking had been double-checked, and Brenda Chew was engaged in indicating to Sandra Hartson and some other
helpers the best curtain behind which her bouquet should be hidden. As soon as the week for two in the Hartson’s Spanish villa had been knocked down by the auctioneer, that would be the ideal
cue for the flowers to be produced. If Rick Hendry could be persuaded to make the presentation himself, that would also be ideal. Since Brenda was still abiding by the rule of not mentioning the
word ‘bouquet’, explaining all this was a complicated procedure.

Carole drifted through to the bar, to find Donald Chew, dressed in a dinner jacket that knew his contours well, sitting there with a glass of whisky in his hand. No surprise, really. Daft to
bring two cars and, since Brenda had to be there at six, her husband would have had to tag along. Donald could always be relied on to kill a bit of time with a glass in his hand.

The way he greeted Carole suggested the drink wasn’t his first of the day. He rose unsteadily and enveloped her in a whisky-hazed hug. ‘My dear Mrs Seddon, wasn’t expecting to
see you here, though now I come to think of it, entirely logical you should be since you’ve been helping Brenda on the . . . Amazing how much she gets done, Brenda, isn’t it?’
Long habit still did not allow him to mention his wife without an accolade to her remarkable industry, but the words sounded less than heartfelt.

Carole sat down, and Donald subsided with relief back into his chair. ‘Will you have something to drink? Only have to ask the lovely Suzy and . . .’

‘No, thank you. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of drinking later on.’ Carole was very good about alcohol when she was driving. (She had actually been very good about alcohol
when she wasn’t driving – until she met Jude.) Like the rest of the womenfolk, she would be restricting her intake that evening.

Still, she had a perfect opportunity to start getting her hundred and fifty pounds’ worth. Jude had filled her in on the truncated conversation with Karl Floyd, which raised some
potentially interesting speculations about Nigel Ackford’s private life. And here was Carole fortuitously sitting next to the young man’s boss.