Moonflower Murders Read online

  ‘Can I see?’

  I don’t know what I expected to find. The room had a concrete floor and several shelves piled up with cardboard boxes, cans of paint, various chemicals . . . No lock on the door. Anyone could have come in here. I said so.

  ‘The defence made a lot of that during the trial,’ Lawrence agreed. ‘Yes, anyone could have taken the hammer. The trouble was, that was the only thing Stefan had on his side and against all the other evidence it was practically meaningless.’

  We went to the room next door, which was the one that Stefan had occupied: number five. Lawrence knocked and when there was no answer he took out a Yale key, which he turned in the lock.

  ‘I spoke to Lars earlier,’ he explained. ‘He’s probably at the pub with Inga. They both arrived this year.’

  I remembered the smart-looking girl behind the reception desk. ‘They’re Danish?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. We got them through an agency.’ He sighed. ‘We don’t run our Youth Offender Programme any more.’

  The door opened into a perfect shoebox of a room with a single bed beside the door, a desk, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. A second door led into a corner bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower. I guessed that all five rooms were exactly the same. Lars kept his frighteningly tidy. The bed looked as if it had never been slept in and in the bathroom I could see towels hanging with perfect precision on the rail. Apart from a couple of books on the desk, there was nothing personal in sight at all.

  ‘These Scandinavians are very tidy,’ Lawrence muttered, reading my thoughts. ‘It certainly wasn’t like this when Stefan occupied it.’

  That surprised me. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Lionel, the fitness chap I mentioned, used to spend time here. He and Stefan were quite close. You should look at the police reports.’

  ‘That may be easier said than done.’

  ‘I could have a word with DCS Locke.’

  ‘No. It’s all right. I know him.’ I also knew that there was little chance of Locke sharing anything with me, not even the time of day. I peered into the room, not wanting to step inside. ‘They found money in here that belonged to the dead man.’

  ‘Yes. It was under his mattress.’

  ‘Not exactly the most brilliant place to hide stolen cash.’

  Lawrence nodded. ‘You can think many things about Stefan Codrescu,’ he said. ‘But one thing is certain. He wasn’t too bright.’

  ‘Someone could have planted it.’

  ‘I suppose that’s possible, but you have to ask yourself, when? It would have been almost impossible during the day. As you can see, the door faces the hotel and there were dozens of people out here. We had wedding guests, the spa was open, there were security guards, the kitchen staff going back and forth, people looking out of windows. I don’t think anyone could have slipped into the room without being seen and believe you me, the police took hundreds of witness statements.

  ‘And it wasn’t just the money. They also found traces of blood on the shower floor and on the sheets of Stefan’s bed. The forensics people were able to work out that they had been there for more than twelve hours, meaning that they had definitely been there during the night. The narrative was crystal clear. On Friday night, Stefan kills Frank Parris. There’s a lot of blood. He comes back and showers and goes to bed and he leaves gigantic footprints the entire way.’

  ‘So if someone did plant the evidence on Stefan, they must have done it sometime after midnight,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. But that’s not very likely either. First of all, the door self-locks – and before you ask, we did have a duplicate key in Lisa’s office. But look at the position of the bed. It’s right next to the door. I don’t see how anyone could have got in here, messed around with the bed sheets and the shower and then left again without waking Stefan up.’

  He closed the door and we walked back to the hotel together.

  ‘Derek should be here by now,’ Lawrence said. ‘I asked him to come in early to talk to you.’ He paused. ‘Can I ask you to go easy on him? He’s worked at the hotel for ten years and he’s a good man. But he’s quite fragile. He looks after his mother and she’s not at all well. What Alan Conway did to him – to both of them – was actually appalling.’

  I remembered that in the book there’s a character called Eric Chandler who works as a personal chauffeur and handyman alongside his mother, Phyllis. They appear in the first chapter and it’s not a sympathetic portrayal.

  ‘Did he read Atticus Pünd Takes the Case?’ I asked.

  ‘Fortunately not. Derek doesn’t read very much. It might be best not to mention it.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I’ll wish you a goodnight, then.’

  ‘Goodnight. Thanks for dinner.’

  * * *

  There was absolutely no need for Lawrence Treherne’s warning. The moment I saw him, I knew that Derek Endicott was a vulnerable man, eager to please, frightened of giving offence. It was in the blinking eyes behind the spectacles with thick lenses, the hesitant smile, the curly hair that fell haphazardly, without any sense of style. He was in his forties, but his face had a childlike quality, with plump cheeks, thick lips, the sort of skin that suggested he never shaved. He had already taken his place behind the reception desk, tucked away in the cave formed by the staircase that swung diagonally over him on its way up to the first floor. I noticed that he had some food in a plastic Tupperware box as well as a Thermos and a puzzle magazine.

  He was expecting me. Lawrence had told him why I was there. He clumsily stood up as I approached, then sat down before he had become fully vertical. It was quite cool in the reception area, but I noticed a sheen of sweat on his neck and on the sides of his face.

  ‘Mr Endicott . . .’ I began.

  ‘Derek. Please. That’s what everyone calls me.’ He had a wheezy, high-pitched voice.

  ‘You know why I’m here?’

  ‘Yes. Mr Treherne asked me to come in early tonight.’

  He waited nervously for the first question and I tried to put him at ease. ‘You were here on the night Mr Parris was killed. What you saw or heard could be tremendously helpful.’

  He frowned. ‘I thought you were here because of Cecily.’

  ‘Well, it’s possible the two are connected.’

  He thought about that for a moment. I could actually see the mental process in his eyes. ‘Yes. You could be right.’

  I leaned against the desk. ‘I know it was a long time ago, but I wonder if you can remember what happened that night?’

  ‘Of course I can remember! It was terrible. I didn’t meet Mr Parris. I don’t really see any of the guests unless they put me on the day shift and they only do that when they’re short-staffed. Actually, I did see Mr Parris go upstairs. It was after dinner, but we didn’t speak.’ He corrected himself a second time. ‘No. That’s not true. We spoke on the phone. On Thursday. He called down from his room. He wanted to order a taxi first thing Friday morning. I did that for him.’

  ‘Where did he want to go?’

  ‘Heath House in Westleton. I wrote it down in the book. That was how I was able to remember when the police asked me, and anyway I know that house. It’s very close to where I live with my mum. I hated having the police here. This is such a beautiful hotel. People come here to rest and to relax. Not for . . .’

  He couldn’t work out a way to finish the sentence and fell silent.

  ‘To be honest with you, I wasn’t feeling very well that night, the night before the wedding,’ he went on, eventually. ‘I was upset . . .’

  ‘What had upset you?’

  ‘No. I mean . . . my stomach was upset. It was something I’d eaten.’

  ‘You didn’t go to the party.’

  ‘No. But I was invited! I was so happy for Cecily and for Mr MacNeil.’ It was interesting that Cecily seemed to be the only person in the hotel he referred to by their first name. ‘I thought they were a perfect match. And it was lovely to see her so happy. Do yo
u know where she is?’

  ‘I’m hoping to find out.’

  ‘I hope nothing’s happened to her. She’s one of the kindest people. Nothing is ever too much trouble. She’s always been very good to me.’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened on the night Mr Parris was killed?’ I asked.

  ‘Not really.’ Despite his protestation, Derek had surely rehearsed all this. He drew a breath then plunged in. ‘I was behind my desk – here – at ten o’clock. That was about the time the staff party finished. Everyone sounded as if they’d had a good time. They were all very happy.

  ‘Mr Parris went up to his room about five minutes after I arrived, so that would have been about five past ten. After that, I saw quite a few of the guests go past; some of them were members of the public and some of them were here for the wedding. But anyway, at midnight I was on my own – which is fine. I like this job because I don’t mind being by myself. Mother makes me a sandwich and I’ve got something to read and sometimes I listen to the radio. Cecily said I should watch films on the computer but I don’t like to do that because I think it’s my job to stay alert.’

  ‘So did you hear or see anything that night?’

  ‘I’m just coming to that!’ He took another breath. ‘A little bit after midnight, Bear suddenly cried out.’

  ‘Bear? The dog?’

  ‘Cecily’s dog. Most of the time he sleeps in the house but sometimes he spends the night over here on the first floor and that was where he was, in his basket.’ Derek pointed up towards the circular opening, the gallery on the first floor. It was impossible to see the basket from where he was sitting, but any sound would have carried down. ‘They didn’t want him with them because of the wedding and everything else going on,’ he continued, ‘so he’d gone to bed up there.’

  ‘And he cried out.’

  ‘I thought someone must have stepped on his tail or something so I went up the stairs. But there was no one there. Bear was lying in his basket, absolutely fine. He must have just had a bad dream. I knelt down and gave him a stroke and it was while I was there that someone went past.’

  ‘Went past where?’

  ‘Along the corridor. Going from the new lift towards the Moonflower Wing.’

  I’ve already described Branlow Hall as being built in the shape of a letter H. When Derek was crouching beside the dog, he would have been about midway along the crossbar with a corridor at each end. Whoever had travelled towards room twelve must have come from the front of the building.

  ‘Could they have come from outside the hotel?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But the front door. Was it locked?’

  Derek shook his head. ‘We never locked the doors. Not in those days. There wasn’t any need.’ He grimaced and added portentously: ‘We do now.’

  ‘And you didn’t see who it was.’ I almost had no need to ask. The figure, flitting along the corridor, would have been in his line of vision for less than a second.

  ‘I thought it was Stefan,’ Derek admitted. The next words tumbled out quickly, in anguish. ‘I didn’t want to get anyone into trouble. I only told the police what I saw. He was carrying a toolbox. It was Stefan’s toolbox. I’d seen it lots of times. And he was wearing a knitted hat.’ He put his hands on his head to show me what he meant.

  ‘You mean . . . a beanie?’

  ‘Yes. Stefan often wore a beanie. But the lights were on low and it was so quick. I told the police I couldn’t be sure.’

  ‘So what did you do next?’ I asked. ‘After you saw the man with the toolbox?’

  ‘I went to the main corridor to see who it was – but by the time I got there it was too late. He’d gone.’

  ‘He’d gone into one of the rooms.’

  ‘He must have.’ Derek looked miserable, as if the whole thing was somehow his fault. ‘The police said he’d gone into room twelve.’

  Room twelve was only five or six paces away from the point where the landing met the corridor and it was on the near side of the fire door. If Derek had walked forward straight away, the intruder must have disappeared in a matter of seconds.

  ‘Did you hear him knock?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did anyone say anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what did you think?’

  ‘I didn’t think anything. I mean, I thought maybe Stefan had gone into one of the rooms to mend something – a toilet or something – although that didn’t make any sense because if anyone had needed him they’d have had to call me. But everything was quiet. There wasn’t any noise or anything. So after a bit I just went back to my desk and that was the end of it.’

  ‘You didn’t hear anything else?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Derek . . .’ How could I put this gently? ‘Frank Parris was attacked with a hammer. He must have cried out. I can’t believe you didn’t hear him.’

  ‘I didn’t hear anything!’ His voice rose. ‘I was all the way back downstairs and I was listening to music on the radio . . .’

  ‘All right.’ I waited for him to calm down. ‘Who discovered the body?’ I asked.

  ‘That was Natasha. She was one of the maids. I think she was Russian or something.’ His eyes widened as he remembered what had happened. ‘She found it when she went in to clean the room. They say she screamed and screamed.’

  ‘But that wasn’t until much later . . . the next day.’

  ‘Yes.’ Derek leaned forward and almost whispered, ‘Someone had put a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door of number twelve!’ he told me. ‘They did it on purpose. So no one would know.’

  ‘So why did Natasha go in, then?’

  ‘Because someone took it off again.’

  ‘Who took it off?’

  ‘I don’t know. They never found out.’

  He had nothing more to say. I could see that. He looked exhausted.

  ‘Thank you, Derek,’ I said.

  ‘I wish it had never happened. The hotel has never been the same since then. There’s always been an atmosphere . . . I’ve said it often enough to my mum. It’s as if there’s something evil here. And now Cecily going missing. I knew something was wrong when she made that phone call. She was so upset. It’s all part of the same thing and I don’t think it’s ever going to end.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who killed Frank Parris?’

  He was surprised by my question, as if nobody had ever asked him what he thought. ‘It wasn’t Stefan,’ he said. ‘Even if it was Stefan I saw going along the corridor, I’m sure it wasn’t him. He seemed such a nice sort of guy. He was very quiet. I know Miss Treherne – Lisa, I mean – didn’t like him very much and she said he was dishonest, but he seemed all right to me. Do you think they’ll find her?’

  ‘Cecily Treherne?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sure they will. I’m sure she’ll turn up safe and sound.’

  That was what I said, but in my heart I knew I was lying. I hadn’t even been in the hotel for one full day but something there had reached out to me. Maybe it was the sense of evil that Derek had been talking about. But I was quite sure that Cecily was already dead.

  FaceTime

  Was I getting old?

  I was examining myself on the computer screen as I tried to connect with Crete and although it’s true that the camera on a MacBook Air never does anyone any favours, I wasn’t too happy with what I saw. I looked tired. Two years of Cretan sun and cigarette smoke had not done great things for my skin. After I’d left London I’d stopped putting any colour in my hair and I wasn’t sure if the result was delightfully natural or plain drab. I’ve never been very fashion-conscious. Kicking around alone in my flat in Crouch End, I used to go for oversized T-shirts and leggings. Of course I’d dress up for work, but with forced retirement I’d found myself liberated from the three S’s – suits, stockings and stilettos – and in the Greek sunshine I’d dressed in anything that was light and loose-fitting. Andreas ha
d always said that he loved me as I was and that there was no need to impress him, but looking at myself, I wondered if I wasn’t letting myself go – a horrible phrase that brought to mind debauchery and decay.

  There was a zing and my image was pushed into the corner where it belonged and in its place Andreas’s face filled the screen. I had been afraid that he would be out or – worse – that he would be in and wouldn’t answer. But there he was, sitting on our terrace. As he leaned back, I could see the shutters behind him and the tubs full of sage and oregano that I had planted myself. His computer was on the glass table with the crack in it, the one we had said we must replace but never would.

  ‘Yassou, agapiti mou!’ he said. It was a joke between us that every morning, from the first day I had arrived at the hotel, he would greet me in Greek, but I wondered now if he wasn’t taunting me, reminding me that I was so far away from him.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m missing you.’

  ‘How’s the hotel?’

  ‘The hotel . . . is the hotel! It’s still here.’

  Andreas’s face lit up my screen – and I mean that in every sense. His dark skin and thick black hair emphasised the dazzling white of his teeth and I could actually see the sparkle in his eyes. He was an incredibly handsome man and looking at him in front of me, I felt a longing to climb through that rectangular window and throw myself into his arms. I hadn’t left him. That was what I told myself. I had just gone away for a week. I would go back to Crete when this was all over, ten thousand pounds richer. In the end, the whole experience would bring us closer together.

  ‘Where are you now?’ Andreas asked.

  ‘At the hotel. Branlow Hall.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘It’s barking mad. There are oil paintings on the walls and stained-glass windows. Some of the rooms have four-poster beds. You’d love it.’

  ‘Who are you sharing yours with?’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘I miss having you in mine. It’s not the same here without you. Lots of the regulars have complained.’

  The mood had changed and we were serious. I realised now that I had left Crete without even thinking about the immediate consequences. There had been no discussion between us, no attempt to iron out the difficulties that had insinuated themselves into our relationship. Our last conversation had been acrimonious. ‘I don’t want you to go,’ he had said. But I had gone anyway. I wondered now if I had behaved badly and, worse still, if I had broken something that was precious to me.