Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [40]
Sherri, meanwhile, had been good at her job and bright about it, and she had been spotted by the management of the hotel for further training. That was ultimately how she came to be in Chicago, where she was currently assistant housekeeper in a big hotel in the same chain.
I didn’t see how all this information was going to be of any use to me, but I sat quietly and listened as she unburdened her emotions.
“How come you and Herb fell out?” I asked in one of the frequent pauses.
“He refused to come home from New York for the funeral when Dad died. I said he should be there to support Mom, but he refused, and he said he wouldn’t come to her funeral either if she dropped down dead tomorrow. Those were his exact words. And Mom heard him say them because she and I were in my car and the call was on speakerphone.” She paused, and more tears ran down her cheeks. “I still think it’s the reason why she did it.”
“Did what?” I asked.
“Swallowed a whole bottle of Tylenol Extra. A hundred tablets.”
“Dead?” I asked.
She nodded. “That night. I found her in the morning.” She sat up straight and breathed in deeply through her nose. “I accused Herb of killing her, and that’s when I told him I never wanted to see or hear from him again.”
“How long has it been since your parents died?”
“About six years, maybe seven.” She thought for a moment. “It’ll be seven years in June.”
“When did you change your mind?”
“What? About contacting Herb?”
I nodded.
“I didn’t. It was he who contacted me, about two years ago.” She sighed. “Five years was a long time not to speak to your twin brother. I had wanted to be in touch with him much sooner, but I was too proud.” She paused. “Too stupid, more like. He wrote to me at the hotel company, and we arranged to meet in New York. Then last summer he invited me to come to England and stay with him for a holiday. It was great.” She smiled. “Just like old times.” The smile faded and the tears began again. “I just can’t believe he’s dead.”
Neither could I.
I finally arrived at the office at twenty past one, a time when I reckoned Gregory should be just sitting down to his substantial lunch at the far end of Lombard Street. However, I approached number 64 from the opposite direction to the one he took to his usual restaurant in order to minimize the chances of running into him if he was late.
I ignored the lift, sneaked up the emergency stairway to the fourth floor and put my head around the glass entrance door. “Has Mr. Gregory gone to lunch?” I whispered to Mrs. McDowd, who was sitting at the reception desk.
“Ten minutes ago,” she whispered back.
“And Mr. Patrick?” I asked.
“Went with him,” she replied. “Both gone for an hour at least, probably two.”
I relaxed and smiled at her. “Maybe I’ll just stay for an hour.”
“Very wise,” she said with a grin from ear to ear. “Now, tell me, is it true what it says in the paper?”
“No, of course not,” I said.
She gave me one of her “I don’t believe you” looks. “You must have done something or it wouldn’t be on the front page.”
“Mrs. McDowd, it’s nothing. I promise you.”
She curled down her mouth as if she was a spoilt child who had failed to be given an ice cream. I ignored her, walking past the reception desk and down the corridor beyond. As I passed by, I glanced through the ever-open door of the Compliance Office, but Jessica Winter was not at her desk. Jessica was one of those who always went out for her lunch hour, as Herb had done, though in his case it was not to eat but to work out at a local gym.
I went on and into my office, not that I had it completely to myself. There were five cubicles crammed into the small room, one of which was mine. Herb had been next to me, both of us close to the window, while Diana and Rory, Patrick’s other assistants, occupied the two cubicles nearer the door. The fifth cubicle was no one’s specific personal domain but was used by any visiting staff, usually an accountant for two days a week, and Andrew Mellor, the lawyer,