Death Is Now My Neighbour (36 page)

After hesitating, finally capitulating, over the offer of coffee, Morse soon found himself listening very carefully.

Sara had (she told him) been able to re-interview almost all of the service personnel who had been on duty the previous weekend, most of whom, as it happened, were performing similar duties that present weekend. But there seemed
little
to add, at least in general terms, to the details earlier communicated by the Manager himself to the Thames Valley Police. One minor correction: the room the Storrs had slept in was a Standard Twin, not a Standard Double; and in fact
the
couple had asked for the same room again, if it was available. Which, by some strange coincidence, it was: the only Standard Twin still available in the hotel that weekend. Registration? She passed to Morse the card dated the previous Saturday,
2
.3.96:
Guest's Name; Address; Telephone No.; Arrival Date; Departure Date; Nationality; Payment Type; Passport No.; Signature; Car Reg. No. -
and more. All filled in with a neat, feminine, sli
ghtly
forward-leaning script, in black Biro; and signed 'Angela Storrs'. It would be comparatively easy to check, of course; but Morse had
little
or no doubt that the signature was genuine.

'The Manager told my sergeant, when he rang about last weekend, that we might be able to see some itemized bills?'

Sara Hickman smiled.

'I thought somehow you might ask for them,' she said, and now read aloud from a small sheaf of bills in front of her.

'Last Saturday night they ate at Table twenty-six, in the far corner of the restaurant. He had the Carpaccio of Beef, Truffled Noodles, and Parmesan, for his starter; for his main course, the Seabass served with Creamed Celeriac and Fennel Liqueur; Passion Fruit Mousse for sweet.
She
wasn't quite so adventurous, I'm afraid: Consomme; with Baked Plaice and Green Salad for her main course; and then cream-crackers and Edam - the waiter particularly remembers her asking for the Edam.'

'Good low-fat cheese they tell me,' mumbled Morse, recalling his own hard-nosed dietitian's homily in the Geoffrey Harris Ward. And he was smiling vaguely to himself as the Deputy Manager continued:

'Now, Sunday morning. Mr Storrs had ordered breakfasts for the two of them over the phone the previous night - at about eleven, half past - can't be sure. He said he thought he was probably too late with the form, but he obviously had it in front of him - the night-porter remembers that. He said he'd have a Full English for himself, no kidney though, with the tomato well grilled, and two fried eggs. Said his wife would go for a Continental: said she'd like cereal, Ricicles, if we'd got some -
Chief Inspector, we've got a bigger selection of cereals than Sainsbury's! - some brown toast and honey, the fresh-fruit compote, and orange juice. Oh, yes' (Sara checked the form again) 'and hot chocolate.'

'The time?' asked Morse.

‘I
t would have been between seven-thirty and eight.
We don't serve Full English unti
l after seven-thirty - and both breakfasts went up together.'

'And last night for dinner?'

'They didn't eat here.'

'This morning?'

'They had breakfast in their room again. This time they filled in
the
form early, and left it on the door-knob outside the room. Same as before for Mr Storrs—'

'How do you know it wasn't for
her?’

'Well, it's exa
ctly
what he ordered before. Here, look for yourself.'

She passed the room-service order across the desk; and Morse saw the instructions: 'Well grilled' against 'Tomato'; no tick against 'Kidney'; the figure
'2'
against 'Eggs (fried)
’
.

‘I
see what you mean,' admitted Morse. 'Not even married couples have exa
ctly
the same tastes, I suppose.'

'Especially
married couples,' said Sara Hickman qui
etly
.

Morse's eyes continued down the form, to the Continental section, and saw the ticks against 'Weetabix' ('semi-skimmed milk' written beside it), 'Natural Yoghurt', 'Toast (brown)', 'Coffee (decaffeinated)'. The black-Biro'd writing was the same as that on the registration form. Angela Storrs' writing. Certainly.

'I shall have to have copies of these forms,' said Morse.

'Of course.' Sara got to her feet. 'I'll see that's done straightaway. Shall we go over to the bar?'

The day was brightening.

But for Morse
the
day had already been wonderfully bright; had been for the past hour or so, ever since the Deputy Manager had been speaking
with
him.

And indeed was very shortly to be brighter still.

Queen Elizabeth the First Slept Here (Notice which according to the British Tourist Board is to be observed in approximately
2400
residences in the United Kingdom)

They walked across
the splendidly tended garden area behind the main complex to the Dower House, an elegant annexe wherein were situated most of the hotel's suites and bedrooms, as well as the restaurant, the main lounge - and the bar.

Immediately inside the entrance, Morse saw the plaque (virtually a statutory requirement in Bath) commemorating a particularly eminent royal personage:

George IV
1820-1830
Resided here
1
799
as
Prince of Wales

In the lounge, Morse sat down amid the unashamedly luxurious surroundings of elaborate wall-lights, marble busts - and courteously prompt service, for a uniformed waitress was already standing beside them.

'What would you like to drink, sir?'

Lovely questi
on.

As he waited for his beer, Morse looked around him; and in particular at the portrait above the fireplace there: 'Lord Ellmore,
1765-1817',
the inscription read, a fat-cheeked, smooth-faced man, with a protruding lower lip, who reminded Morse unhappily of Sir Clixby Bream.

Then he walked through to the Gents in the corridor just off the lounge where the two loos stood side by side, the Men's and the Ladies' logos quite unequivocally distinct on their adjacent doors.

It would have been difficult even for the myopic Mrs Adams to confuse the two, thought Morse, as he smiled and mouthed a few silent words to himself:

'Thank you! Thank you, Mrs Arabella Adams!'

It wasn't that she could have been certain - from some
little
distance? with her failing eyesight? - that the person she had seen was a man or a woman. Certainly not so far as the recognition of any facial features was concerned. Faces were notoriously difficult to distinguish, appearing so different when seen in profile, perhaps, or in the shadows, or wearing glasses. No! It was just that old Mrs Adams had always known what men looked like, and what women looked like, since habitually the men wore trousers and the women wore skirts. But of course if someone wore trousers, that certainly didn't prove that the wearer was a man, now did it, Morse? In fact it proved one thing and one thing
only:
that the person in question was wearing trousers!

Ten minutes later, as he worked his way with diminishing enthusiasm through an over-generous plateful of smoked-salmon sandwiches, Morse saw Sergeant Lewis appear in the doorway - a Lewis looking almost as self-satisfied as the oily Lord Ellmore himself - and raise his right thumb, before being introduced to Sara Hickman.

'Something to drink, Sergeant?'

'Thank you. Orange juice, please.'

'Something to eat?'

'What have you got?'

She smiled happily. 'Anything. Anything you like. Our Head Chef is at your command.'

'Can he rustl
e up some eggs and chips?'

She said she was sure - well, almost sure - that he could, and departed to investigate.

'Lew-is! This is a cordon bleu establishment.'

'Should taste good then, sir.'

The buoyant Lewis passed a note to Morse, simultaneously (and much to Morse's relief) helping himself to a couple of sandwiches.

You don't mind, sir? I'm half starving.'

*

At
2.30
p.m. Marilyn Hudson, a small, fair-complexioned young woman, was called into Sara's office. Marilyn had been a chamber-cum-kitchenmaid at the hotel for almost three years; and it was soon clear that she knew as much as anyone was likely to know about the day-to-day - and night-by-night - activities there.

Morse now questioned her closely about the morning of the previous Sunday,
3
March.

You took them breakfast?'

Yes, sir. About quarter to eight.'

You knocked on the door?'

'Like I always do, yes. I heard somebody say "Come in" so I—'

You had a key?'

'I've got a master-key. So I took
the
tray in and put it on the dressing-table.'

'Were they in bed together?'

'No. Twin beds it is there. She was on the far side. Difficult to miss her, though.' 'Why do you say that?'

'Well, it was her
pyjamas -
yellow an' black an' green stripes - up an' down.'

'Vertical stripes, you mean?'

'I'm not sure about that, sir. Just up an' down, like I said. An' she's got the same pair now. I took their breakfast again
this
morning. Same room - thirty-six.' Marilyn gave a nervous little giggle. 'Perhaps it's time she changed them.'

'She may have got two pairs,' interposed Lewis — not particularly helpfully, judging from the scowl on Morse's face.

'Do you think it
could
have been anybody else - except Mrs Storrs?'

'No, sir. Like I say, she was there in
the
bed. But
...'
'But what?'

'Well, I saw
her
all right. But I didn't really see
him.
He was in the bathroom having a shave - electric razor it was - and the door was open a bit and I saw he was
still
in his pyjamas and he said thank you but
...'

'Would you have recognized him if he'd turned his head?'

For the first
time
Marilyn Hudson seemed unsure of herself.

'Well, I'd seen them earlier in the hotel, but I didn't notice him as much as her really. She was, you know, ever so dressy and smart - dark glasses she wore - and a white trouser-suit. Same thing as she's got on today.'

Morse turned to Lewis. 'Do you think she's got
two
white trouser-suits, Sergeant?'

'Always a possibility, sir.'

'So' (if Morse was experiencing some disappointment, he gave no indication of it) 'what you're telling us is that you're pretty sure it was her, but not quite so sure it was
him?'

Marilyn considered the question a while before replying:

'No. I'm
pretty
sure it was both of them, sir.'

Good girl, our Marilyn,' confided Sara, 'even if her vocabulary's a bit limited.'

Morse looked across at her quizzically:

'Vertical and horizontal, you mean? I shouldn't worry
about that.
I've always had
t
rouble
with
east
and west myself.'

'Lots of people have trouble with right and left,' began Lewis - but Morse was already making a further request:

'You've still got the details of who was staying here last Saturday?'

'Of course. Just a minute.'

She returned shortly with
a
sheaf of registr
ation cards; and Morse was looking through, flicking them over one at a time - when suddenly he stopped, the familiar tingling of excitement across his shoulders.