Murder at the Murder Mystery Weekend Page 11

  “Having five minutes, Joe?”

  Chief Inspector Grant’s words brought him back to grim reality.

  “Arguments all over the shop in there,” Joe replied as Grant sat alongside him and lit a cigarette.

  “Has the famous Joe Murray any ideas?”

  “Hundreds, but nothing I could pin down.” Joe dragged on his cigarette. “You?”

  “We’re questioning Kendrew. It’s routine. Nothing to suggest he had any part in it, but after what you told us, and the way Wendy Grimshaw reacted when we put it to her, we thought we’d better put the screws on him. I’ve left him with Hayley.”

  “Hayley?”

  “Sergeant Idleman,” Grant explained. He laughed sharply. “She’s good at questioning men.”

  Joe smiled ruefully. “Bit of an Amazon, is she?”

  “She’s a good copper, even if she is slightly motivated by gender politics. Don’t get me wrong, Joe, if she’s confronted with a woman suspect, she gives no quarter.” He narrowed his eyes in an amused fashion. “You do know you’re still a suspect, don’t you?”

  “Gar.” Joe took another irritable drag on his cigarette. “You know damn well it isn’t me. Have you spoken to Melanie Markham yet?”

  “No. I’m planning to interview her after we’re through with Robbie Kendrew. I’m sure she’ll give you a good reference.”

  “Yes, and when she’s through, she’ll give you a roasting.” Joe chuckled at Grant’s surprise. “She was trying to tell you earlier. We’ve all paid a lot of money for this weekend and she’d like to go ahead with the entertainment.”

  “The show must go on, eh?”

  “Yes, because otherwise she’ll have to give us all our money back.” Joe crushed out his cigarette and indicated the uniformed officers. “You’re looking for the gun?”

  “Not specifically,” Grant said. “We’re looking for anything that may throw light on the matter, but yes, at this moment in time, we’re wondering where the gun is.”

  “Any indication of the type of firearm?” Joe asked.

  Grant shook his head. “Too early for that, mate. All the doc will say is it’s a small calibre. Possibly a two-five or a thirty-eight.”

  Joe smiled again. “Ladies’ gun.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Private joke,” Joe returned.” How soon will we be able to get away?”

  Grant was puzzled. “You’re not thinking of going home?”

  “No, no, but I know my two friends, Sheila and Brenda… Mrs Riley and Mrs Jump. They’ll want to get a look at Lincoln sometime today.”

  “Oh, that’s no problem. You’ve been interviewed, so you’re free to go, and the minute they’ve given a statement, your two friends can do as they please, too.” Grant took out his mobile. “Give me your number and take mine. Helps us to keep in touch.”

  Joe pulled out his notebook and scribbled down his number. When he had Grant’s he transferred it immediately to his mobile directory.

  “So you don’t object if we get a look around Lincoln?”

  “Beautiful city, Joe, so help yourself, but remember; don’t leave town without letting us know.”

  Joe stood up. “Will do, and thanks.”

  ***

  When Grant returned to the makeshift interview setting in the Scampton Room, it was to find an agitated Robbie Kendrew facing Sergeant Idleman. The young man could not sit still. He fidgeted constantly; with his tie, with the buttons of his jacket, he ran a finger round his collar regularly, and his right foot jittered on the carpet, causing his knee to jog rhythmically.

  He took his seat alongside his junior colleague, giving Kendrew a smile of threat-filled assurance, Grant took Idleman’s notes and read through them.

  “We won’t keep you much longer, Mr Kendrew, but there are some issues I’d like to clear up.” Grant consulted the notes again. “You left the bar after midnight, went to your room and stayed there, and your wife will verify that?”

  “That’s correct.”

  Grant sat back, maintaining an air of total relaxation. When he spoke, it was with a nonchalance that matched his ease. “How did you feel about Mr Grimshaw?”

  The knee jerking started up again. “Reggie? He was all right, bit of a tartar, but hell, we had to bring in the business. He was bound to get tough when we missed targets.”

  “According to Mrs Grimshaw, he was going to retire next year and control of the sales division would fall on either you or Ms Barton.”

  The knee began to move faster. “Really? I hadn’t been told that.”

  Grant sat forward again, with a menace that took Kendrew by surprise. “But you must have been, Mr Kendrew, or how could you have complained to Joe Murray about it last night?”

  The knee stopped. Then started again. An old hand at the game, Grant waited patiently for Kendrew to work out his next move. Whatever it was, Grant had more up his sleeve.

  “Oh, well I’d heard the rumours, naturally, but nothing official from Wendy or Reggie.”

  Grant would not let go. “I find that hard to believe, too, sir, because I believe that’s why you were in Mr Grimshaw’s room arguing with him at midnight last night.”

  “What? No. That’s wrong.” Colour rushed to Kendrew’s cheeks. “I wasn’t... I never went anywhere near Reggie’s room last night.”

  “I have a witness who overheard an argument between you and Reggie Grimshaw at midnight or thereabouts.”

  “It’s not possible. I wasn’t there. I was…”

  Kendrew trailed off and looked frantically around the room at the small army of uniformed officers talking to other guests.

  “You were what, Mr Kendrew?” Grant demanded.

  “I was not in Reggie’s room. My wife will verify where I was. With her. All night.”

  Still leaning on the table, Grant tapped his palm on Idleman’s notes. “It’s my belief, sir, that almost everything you have told my sergeant is a tissue of lies. Wendy Grimshaw told us you were bending her ear yesterday, trying to convince her to persuade her husband that you should be promoted, not Naomi Barton. In the end she got so sick of it that she told you to clear off, and she later took the matter up with both her husband and Ms Barton. I also have a witness who heard you arguing with Grimshaw at midnight. In short, Mr Kendrew, it doesn’t matter what you or your wife tell us, you cannot satisfactorily account for your movements between midnight and breakfast this morning, and that fits the time span during which Mr Grimshaw was murdered.”

  Kendrew rallied briefly. “I am not a murderer. I was never in Reggie’s room last night. And all right, so I was hassling Wendy Grimshaw, but you don’t know that cow, Naomi. She’s the one you should be looking at. She was sleeping with Reggie; trying to make sure she got the job, not me. But Reggie didn’t work like that. He wouldn’t give her the job just because she was opening her legs for him. And if he told her so, she could have lost it and killed him.”

  “I accept that,” Grant agreed, “but so far, Ms Barton has accounted for her movements last night. At least as well as everyone else in the hotel. She hasn’t lied about being alone. You, sir, are the only person who has tried to mislead us, and that places you top of my list of suspects.” The chief inspector relaxed again. “You can go, but we will need to speak to you again. In the meantime, I suggest you think about what you were doing last night, and when we interview you again, tell us the truth.”

  Kendrew scraped his chair back, leapt to his feet and marched briskly out.

  “Well?” Grant asked.

  Idleman put down her pen. “He’s the front runner for now, sir.”

  “I agree.” Grant’s frown deepened. “The problem is, Sergeant, Joe Murray didn’t actually hear Kendrew arguing with Reggie. He only heard the old man ranting and we’re just assuming the row was with Kendrew.”

  His partner tapped her pen repeatedly, absently on the table. “If you’ll forgive me, sir, I did say we shouldn’t be relying on civilians.”

  “And if you recall, Ser
geant, I said we weren’t, but Joe’s evidence could be crucial to nailing our man.” Grant checked his list. “Melanie Markham was giving me some earache earlier, so we’d better get her in next.”

  Chapter Eight

  “My problem, Chief Inspector, is that I have getting on for one hundred people who have paid for a weekend of entertainment,” Melanie said. “I appreciate you have a real murder on your hands, and I also accept you have to restrict our movements, but I believe we can help you by keeping the guests entertained.”

  “And I have no problem with that, Ms Markham,” Grant replied. “But I do have a problem with your people wandering round the outside of the hotel.”

  “It’s a necessary part of the play,” she urged.

  “Perhaps after uniformed have completed their search, sir?” Idleman suggested.

  Grant checked the time. “Fair enough. I anticipate our officers will be through by about three o’clock. Would that be early enough for you?”

  Melanie considered it a moment. “We can probably work with that. There are other scenarios we can run indoors until we’re free to go out.” She half stood. “If there’s nothing else?”

  “There is, Ms Markham,” Idleman said. “If you’d stay where you are for the moment.”

  Uncertain of herself, Melanie sat down again. Across from her, Idleman shuffled through her statements until she came across the one she was seeking.

  “We spoke to Joe Murray earlier. He told us he spent the night with you. Could you confirm that?”

  Melanie balked at the question. “Is it really any of your business?”

  “Yes,” Idleman asserted. “As we speak, almost everyone in the hotel is considered a suspect. If you spent the night with Mr Murray, then you are confirming his alibi, subject to the pathologist confirming the time of death, and by turn, he will confirm your whereabouts.”

  Melanie tutted. “Mr Murray and I did spend the night together, yes, but forgive me. I didn’t know it was against the rules, and as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, establishing an alibi for the murder of Mr Grimshaw was the last thing on my mind.”

  “You’ll have to forgive Sergeant Idleman’s scepticism, Ms Markham,” Grant apologised. “We’re not remotely interested in what you and Mr Murray were doing, only in confirming your whereabouts and his during the hours we suspect Mr Grimshaw was killed. May I ask, do you own a pistol?”

  “A pistol? Of course not… well, that is, I don’t own one personally, but as a company, Markham Murder Mysteries owns a few replicas. They’re necessary for our productions, you understand.”

  Her reply piqued the interest of both officers, and Melanie went on the defensive.

  “They can’t be fired,” she assured them and again, she immediately corrected herself. “That is, they can fire, but only blanks. The barrels are not fully drilled out. Gerry Carlin is designated as the person responsible for them. We’re fulfilling all our responsibilities under the Firearms Act and the Health and Safety at Work Act.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Grant replied. “However, we’ll need to take a look at those guns you have with you.”

  “We have just the one for this show,” Melanie told him. “I think it’s a thirty-eight calibre pistol.”

  Again the two officers exchanged concerned glances.

  “In that case, we really will need to take a look at it,” Idleman declared.

  Feeling uncomfortable under their intense stare, Melanie shuddered. “Of course. I’ll get Gerry to bring it down for you. We’ll need it anyway. It’s one of the items we like to hide in the bushes outside for the guests to find.”

  “Once we’ve cleared it,” Idleman insisted.

  ***

  “Thank you, Mr Carlin,” Grant said, after examining the replica Mark IV Webley, and learning that the barrel, as Melanie had promised, was not drilled out. “You can carry on with your show now, but bear in mind we still need a statement from you. One of the uniformed officers will get to you.”

  “Whenever they’re ready, old son,” Gerry said slipping the revolver in his pocket.

  Watching him leave, Grant fished into his pocket for his cigarettes. “Time for another smoke and a chat with our favourite sleuth, I think.”

  “Murray?”

  Grant nodded and Idleman scowled.

  “I really don’t like him shoving his nose in, sir.”

  “That, Hayley, is because you’re not thinking straight. You’re thinking Joe Murray is running the show, but he isn’t. Think about it. What is it we need most when we’re on this type of investigation? The public’s help. Am I right?”

  Idleman nodded. “We need them to tell us what they may have seen, certainly.”

  “Which is where a man like Joe Murray really comes into his own.” Grant chuckled. “He fancies himself as a detective. Truth is, he probably couldn’t detect a smell in a bunged up lavatory. In reality, he’s a keen observer. He notices things; the little things the rest of us miss, and in amongst those little things, Sergeant, will be something that may give us a pointer.”

  “Well, my money is still on Kendrew,” Idleman said.

  “So is mine.” Grant got to his feet. “And that’s precisely why I need to speak to Joe Murray. See if he’s noticed anything that may point to Kendrew; something more concrete than Kendrew moaning about Naomi Barton. Back in a little while.”

  He left the bar and wandered out of the hotel where he found Joe and Brenda sat on the metal bench.

  “Hello, Joe,” he greeted. “And is this Mrs Riley or Mrs Jump?”

  “Brenda Jump,” she introduced herself. “It’s easy to tell Sheila and me apart. I’m the sexy one.”

  Grant laughed and lit his cigarette. Perching next to Joe, he said, “I want to talk to you about Robbie Kendrew.”

  “A very unhappy lad,” Joe said. “Even less happy now that Wendy Grimshaw has accused him outright. Can’t say I know much about him, though.”

  “You only had the one conversation with him?” Grant asked, and Joe nodded.

  Brenda volunteered more information. “He was griping about Joe taking control this morning.”

  “Perhaps he’s heard of Joe’s reputation,” the chief inspector suggested.

  “What? As a detective or a lover?” Brenda grinned at Joe’s irritation.

  “Take no notice, Grant,” Joe advised. “She’s only trying to wind the pair of us up.”

  “And with good reason.” Brenda pointed an accusing finger at Joe. “He was AWOL in the early hours of this morning. Busy giving Melanie Markham a good seeing to when Sheila took ill…” Her face lit up in surprise. “Oh. That’s a point.”

  “You’ve remembered something, Mrs Jump?” Grant asked.

  “Kendrew. He was wandering about the lobby when the ambulance came this morning. I had to tell him to get out of the way. I mean, I’m not saying…” Brenda trailed off, unsure of what she was not saying.

  “What time was this?” Grant asked.

  “I dunno. About one this morning. The hotel management should know. They called the ambulance on the doctor’s orders. And if they don’t, the ambulance service would.”

  “Where exactly was he?”

  “In the lobby. Looked like he’d just come in from out here.”

  “He’d probably just had a smoke,” Joe suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Grant agreed, “or perhaps he was out here disposing of the weapon.”

  Joe waved at the grounds, now devoid of uniformed officers. “I thought your people had checked everywhere.”

  “Yes, Joe, but there’s nothing to say he got rid of the gun in the hotel grounds.” Grant pointed across the road, beyond the gates of the Minster. “Who’s to say he didn’t wander over there and dump it?” Grant drew on his cigarette and crushed it out underfoot. “I think it’s time I had another word with our Mr Kendrew.”

  ***

  “You were seen in the lobby area at about one this morning. Mrs Jump saw you while she was taking her friend, Mrs Riley t
o the hospital. She did not see your wife.”

  Kendrew was in slightly better shape than he had been an hour earlier, but Grant’s declaration reduced him once more to nervy, jerky movements of his hands and feet. “Oh, er, that’s my mistake. I’d forgotten about that. I went for a cigarette. I’d had a trying evening, what with one thing and another.”

  “You went for a cigarette?” Idleman asked, suspicion bursting through her words.

  Kendrew controlled his jerking leg. “You can’t smoke in the rooms. It’s illegal.”

  “And how long were you gone, sir?” Grant asked.

  “Hard to say, really. Half an hour, forty-five minutes, I can’t remember exactly.”

  “That’s a hell of a long smoke break,” Grant observed.

  “So I smoked more than one cigarette.” Kendrew raised his voice. “I was at the door, finished my smoke and came back in. What the hell’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing,” said Sergeant Idleman. “Provided that’s all you did.”

  “For the last time, I did not kill Reggie Grimshaw, and I don’t own a pistol.”

  Grant studied Kendrew’s previous statement. “That last time we spoke to you, sir, about an hour ago, you told us you went to bed, and you said your wife could confirm that. You said the time was about after twelve. Now, based on other information, from yet another source, you admit that you didn’t go straight to your room with your wife.”

  “I forgot,” Kendrew pleaded. “I was half drunk.”

  “And what else might you have forgotten?” Grant demanded. “The argument with Mr Grimshaw in his room?”

  “I told you earlier, I did not get into an argument with Reggie. He left the bar at about ten thirty as far as I can remember, and I didn’t see him after that.”

  “In that case, Mr Kendrew, you won’t object if we search your room, will you?”

  Kendrew’s alarm increased. “Search my room? What for?”

  “A pistol? Ammunition? Or just to clear your name.” Grant smiled with sufficient menace to make his position clear to Kendrew. “And if you refuse, I’ll get a warrant, but I can assure you, you will not leave this hotel until I’m satisfied that you are innocent.”