The Spanish Hotel Read online

  The Spanish Hotel

  The Spanish Hotel

  where crime can be more

  than a little naughty

  Gary Philpott

  Copyright © 2010 Gary Philpott

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Matador

  5 Weir Road

  Kibworth Beauchamp

  Leicester LE8 0LQ, UK

  Tel: (+44) 116 279 2299

  Fax: (+44) 116 279 2277

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  ISBN 978 1848 764 620

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Typeset in 11pt Bembo by Troubador Publishing Ltd, Leicester, UK

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  Dedicated to Stevie Ray Vaughan

  and living life by the drop.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 1

  Usually Alice would be dressing by now, getting herself ready for work, but today was different. A man was in her warm bed and she was outside in the cold wearing nothing more than a silk nightdress, an overcoat and a pair of trainers. Later that day she would be taken to the mortuary in the same clothes.

  Sitting on her balcony, Alice stared out over the tops of the town houses on the other side of the road. Her eyes tracked a commuter train making its way along the city bound track of the railway line that cut across a distant marshland. A glance at her watch told her it was six forty-five. Joanne would just be getting up. Alice thought it best to wait another cigarette’s worth of time before phoning.

  Darren, a regular at the local pub, was dragged down the steps of number eighty-nine by his Yorkshire terrier Molly. Momentarily she wished she had told Hasem to stick his dinner and the inevitable shag that followed it. Darren had always shown an interest, she could have gone to the pub instead. She had never slept with him, but she always imagined it only to be a matter of time before she did so.

  The next few minutes were spent watching other people leaving their houses and flats. Most of them walked briskly, as if they were cutting it fine to catch a bus or train. Very few of the residents of Wantage Avenue drove to work. The tube trains and buses were cramped during the rush hour, but not as cramped as the roads.

  It was now almost time to make the call. Alice drew the last remains of life out of her fourth cigarette of the day and picked up her mobile from the small metal table to her left. Selecting Joanne from her phonebook, she pressed call and flicked her cigarette butt over the balcony.

  “Hello,” said Joanne’s drowsy voice.

  “Morning Jo, it’s me.”

  “Oh, hi.”

  “I guess you were up?”

  “On the loo as it happens. What the flip are you doing phoning me this time of the night?”

  “It’s morning kid. Haven’t you opened your curtains yet?”

  “You must be joking. My eyes can’t cope with daylight until I’ve had at least two mugs of coffee,” sniggered Joanne. “Shit, you are alright, aren’t you?”

  “Course I am. I’ve done my usual, but no doubt it won’t be the last time. No, I thought I best tell you that I won’t be going into work today. I’m going to pull a sickie.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “So don’t wait for me at the tube station.”

  “No, I won’t. Sorry to sound so dopey Alice, but my brain thinks it’s three in the morning. It was gone one by the time I stepped out of the taxi last night, and I feel like I’ve only had an hour’s sleep.”

  “I guess you were up to the same as me then. I hope your guy didn’t drive you back to the cigarettes like mine did.”

  “Guys plural, as it happens, but I will tell you about it tomorrow. So are you telling me you’re back to smoking puff without additives?”

  “Yep. The sex was crap, it’s too early for alcohol, and so I reverted to the only other vice I had handy.”

  “Couldn’t you have just given yourself a buzz?” Joanne chuckled loudly. “It’s better for your health than smoking.”

  “Not with him still in my bed I couldn’t.”

  “Oh dear. Hang on a mo while I get my dressing gown. It sounds like you need to talk.”

  “No, it’s okay. As I said, I just didn’t want you to let a train or two go by on my account.”

  “Bear with me and we’ll have a chat. I can always make the time up later.”

  “Okay, why not?” Alice looked through a narrow gap between two of the houses opposite. She could just about see the high street. The stationary traffic backing up from the traffic lights further down the road told her it must be almost seven. A rotation of her wrist confirmed it was two minutes to.

  “That’s better, I was getting a bit chilly sitting in the buff,” said Joanne. “Can you talk or is he awake?”

  “I don’t know, I left the bastard in bed an hour ago. I’m out on my balcony. Though when I left him, he was making a sound like the dregs of a milkshake being sucked up through a straw. Why the fuck I invited him up here, I’ll never know.”

  “It’s a bit bloody cold to be sitting on your balcony.”

  “I’m well wrapped up. The bottoms of my legs are a bit chilly mind; my coat doesn’t go that far down.”

  “Where did you pick him up then?”

  “I didn’t. It’s that guy Hasem I went to Spain with. He phoned me at work yesterday and apologised for being such an arse while we were out there.”

  “Are we talking about the guy you screwed at Karen’s party? The guy Aisha brought to Brighton at the last minute?”

  “That’s the one, yep. Do I want shooting or do I want shooting?”

  “I didn’t know you went to Spain with him. I thought it was just a case of the demon alcohol carrying you upstairs to move the coats off the bed. I have to say, I didn’t expect you would want to sleep with him more than once. What happened?”

  “It was another case of, Alice, don’t do it. You don’t go away for a week with someone you’ve only shagged once, do you? But I did do it.”

  “It doesn’t sound like the wisest thing you’ve ever done Alice. So why did you?”

  “I know when we were down in Brighton we thought he was a bit of a twat, but he was good that night at the party. That’s why I told you to take him for a test drive. Anyway, he got hold of my mobile number somehow and called me on it one evening. Let’s just say I was home alone and he was very persuasive.”

  A small ventilation window opened in the kitchen of the next apartment.

  “So you invited him round?”

  Alice spoke quietly. “No, he was very persuasive on the phone. He talked my kit off. Excuse me for sounding coy, but the guy next door just opened a window. I think he m
ight be listening.”

  “Just answer yes or no then. You had phone sex?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he didn’t come round to your place?”

  “No.”

  “I’m confused. How did this lead to you going to Spain with the guy?”

  “While we were talking on the phone,” Alice dropped her voice to a whisper, “he said he would like to screw me for a week without pulling out. So there I was with hormones pouring out of my ears, and he talked me into giving it a go. Not that either of us thought we could literally do it for a week, but it was a nice idea.”

  “So the sneaky bastard talked you into going to Spain with him for a whole week? For an entire week of fucking?”

  “That was the long and short of it yes, but it only lasted half a week. The, you know, that is.”

  “The fucking?”

  “Yes. It was great for the first few days but he seemed to go off it when another couple arrived at a villa down the hill. The pervy bastard spent most of the day watching the two of them through a pair of binoculars, and most of the night come to that.”

  “Did you say he is at your place now?”

  “Yes, much to my embarrassment. I think I will just stay out here until he leaves. I don’t even want to be in the same room as the selfish bastard.”

  “It was a bit of wham bam, was it?”

  “After I had entertained him for half an hour it was. Sorry Jo, I didn’t mean to end up offloading all this on you, but you probably understand why I’m taking a day off work.”

  “No worries girl. It’s good to talk, but next time, remember it’s better to rabbit.” Joanne let out another of her loud chuckles.

  Alice dredged up a weak laugh and reached for her cigarettes. “You get yourself off to work, I’ll be alright.”

  “Text me when he goes,” said Joanne. “Otherwise I’ll be worrying about you all day.”

  “I’ll thumb it in now and send it when he’s buggered off. Have a good day then.”

  “I will, and you.”

  “Once good old Hasem’s gone I will. I think my sudden illness needs a prescription of retail therapy.”

  “Buy yourself a new rabbit. A rabbit is not just for Christmas and it might keep you out of trouble.”

  “Will you please stop going on about rabbits.”

  “Only joking. Bye.”

  “Bye Jo.”

  Alice put a cigarette between her lips, and flicked her lighter into action. For a fleeting moment she thought about going and shaking Hasem awake, but then realised she was not in the mood for a confrontation. The idea of creeping back into her bedroom to fetch a pair of jeans also entered her head, but was dismissed equally quickly.

  After taking a long drag from the Silk Cut, Alice’s thoughts drifted back to the Spanish hotel where they had stayed. Her mind then jumped forward and replayed the relief she felt when she finally joined the back of the queue for the check-in at Malaga airport. Check-in queues were something she normally detested, but that day it was the defining moment, the moment she parted company with Hasem. He left her with her case on a trolley, and went in search of a beer. They had agreed that he would check-in twenty minutes after her and that he would sit at the opposite end of the plane.

  When he had phoned yesterday, she should have said no, but she didn’t. His words, “Just let me buy you dinner to say sorry, and I’ll be gone,” tormented her once again. Instead of saying no, she crumbled, and as a consequence was treated no better than a prostitute. For the price of a meal at a modest restaurant, he got what he was after. It left her feeling incredibly cheap.

  Alice looked up to a white fluffy cloud in the sky and spoke out loud: “Today is not the day to give up smoking. Maybe it’s the day to give up sex, but it’s definitely not the day to give up smoking.”

  Chapter 2

  “Good morning, sir,” Detective Sergeant Charles Harrington greeted his senior officer.

  “You may just be right about the morning bit, but somehow it doesn’t look to be a good one to me,” Detective Chief Inspector George Collins cast his eyes down to the body lying on the small lawn in front of him.

  “No sir, it certainly hasn’t been a good morning for this young lady.”

  “Okay Chas, tell me what you know. Keep it chronological if you can.”

  “Well sir, the body was discovered by the woman who lives in this bottom flat here, this is her garden, if it’s big enough to be called a garden that is. I’ve got a WPC armed with a pot of tea trying to calm her down inside the flat.”

  “What time did she find the body?” asked Collins.

  “She said it was just after ten-thirty. She had listened to the sports news on radio five and then came out here to water the plants.” Harrington pointed to a collection of four pot plants by the wall, and then up to two sad-looking hanging baskets either side of the front door. “It was the ambulance crew who called us in. Our Mrs Manheim here had reported it as an accident, so we were a bit late on the scene I’m afraid. Still, they almost saved her by all accounts.”

  “You’re not telling me she was still alive?” Collins stared at the woman’s head that was bent right over onto her shoulder.

  “I know what you are thinking, I thought the same, but evidently her neck isn’t actually broken. It was a bottle that killed her. The paramedic pulled the biggest chunk of it out of the side of her chest, and tried to stem the flow of blood. I’ve had it bagged up just in case it was already in her before she fell, though if you look over there, there’s another just like it. It seems that if some inconsiderate bastards had not chucked bottles over the hedge, then perhaps our victim here might well still be alive.”

  “The other thing worth looking at is the point of impact there.” He pointed to a spot some five feet from the body. “I think she tried to cushion the blow by rolling as she landed.”

  “She’s not been moved then?”

  “The medics moved her to try and resuscitate her, but I asked them to put her back as close to how they found her as they could. I wanted to try and visualise the fall. More than a hundred people must have walked down this pavement without seeing her. It made me think of a car accident I went to as a bobby. Five days those poor bastards had been in the car on the wrong side of a hedgerow. They lived for four of them by all accounts. Makes you wonder if Alice here might have lived but for that hedge.”

  “So do we know where she dropped down from?” Collins looked up at a column of seven identical glass-fronted balconies.

  “Fifth floor, assuming she took the quick way down from her own apartment that is. I thought it wise not to rule out the roof at this stage.”

  “Okay, carry on.”

  “Well, the next bit explains why I thought you might be interested. At first I was assuming it was a suicide and set about looking for anything that conflicted with that theory.”

  Collins interrupted him. “Sorry Chas, but a young woman about to commit suicide does not put a coat on over the top of a silk nightdress.”

  “It’s not a nightdress sir, it’s a dressing gown, or what posh folks call a robe. I take your point though. While we’re on the subject of suicide, as yet we haven’t found a suicide note.”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. You were saying?”

  “Oh yes, it’s what she said to the paramedic. Her dying words were ‘Ask Aisha about Spain, I told Aisha about Spain.’ Who Aisha is, I don’t know. But it has a whiff of fish about it, doesn’t it?”

  “What do you mean, a whiff? No suicide note, a dead women dressed as if she was unsure if she was going out on the game, or going away on a skiing holiday. To me it stinks like the scraps bucket down at Billingsgate market. I assume you have Scenes of Crime giving her apartment a good going over.”

  “It’s just Malcolm at the moment. Do you think I should get a full team in?”

  “Actually Chas, I think I’m in charge of this one now. Leave it to me, I’ll authorise the Full Monty.”

 
“Sorry sir. Maybe I was a bit slow getting up to speed.” Harrington’s face took on a glum look.

  “No, you’ve done well. You did the right thing by calling me in on it. That’s how it works. Cusack would have clocked it as a suicide and the body would be in the hospital mortuary by now,” chuckled Collins. “So, what else do you have to tell me?”

  Looking slightly more positive, Harrington continued to tell Collins what else he had managed to find out. “A chap in his late thirties said he heard one side of a telephone conversation while he was cooking himself a bacon sandwich about seven. It had already started when he opened a window to let the fatty smell out of his kitchen. Problem is, he claims only to have heard odd bits, ‘because of the sizzling,’ is how he worded it. He had the impression she was on a mobile and that some of the conversation was about man-trouble. I’ve told him not to go anywhere until he’s given us a full written statement. Not that he was planning on going anywhere, he works nights down at Canary Wharf.”

  “A young couple with a baby have the flat below the deceased, and they heard raised voices about nine-forty, but said that was nothing unusual. It seems Alice here was a bit of a noisy neighbour. Consequently, they did not pay much attention to it. They couldn’t even be sure whether the second voice was male or female.”

  “Was she just a noisy neighbour generally, or a noisy neighbour who had a lot of arguments?”

  “I’ll check on that when we take formal statements.”

  “Is there anything else to report?”

  “A bloke in number ninety-four across the road said he had seen the victim smoking heavily on her balcony, but had not seen the fall. He said that she often sat out on the balcony, though he couldn’t remember her smoking before. It seems he watches her a lot. That fits with the eleven cigarette butts we found in this garden and the next one along. The wind’s blowing that way, so my guess is that she tossed the tabs over the balcony when she finished each cigarette. Forensics will confirm or reject the link, but to me the lipstick on the filters looks the same colour as the lipstick she has on her lips. Just to go back to the suicide bit sir, smoking eleven cigarettes doesn’t fit with her being pushed does it? Why would her attacker wait so long?”