London Calling - James Craig [25]
Carlyle stepped forward. ‘Fine. Stay down here. Make sure that Brolin stays, too … and keeps his mouth shut.’ He put on a frown. ‘If this is a load of bollocks, we’ll forget all about it and you’ll just owe me another favour.’
Miles took a theatrical step backwards and put on his best bemused expression. ‘Another favour?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Carlyle nodded.
‘And if it’s not bollocks?’ Miles asked.
‘It’ll be a lot more than one favour.’
Miles sighed. ‘Understood.’
‘Good man! That’s the spirit.’ Carlyle gently punched him on the shoulder. ‘Go and have a cigarette. If I’m not back in five minutes, it means we’ll have to start conducting some formal interviews.’
Looking tired and hassled, Anna Shue did not seem surprised by Carlyle’s sudden appearance in front of her. Doubtless, Alex Miles had already tipped her off about what was going on. Not that it mattered anyway, but it annoyed him. Why did people find it so hard to keep their mouths shut? This was just another way in which Alex Miles’ unreliability shone through.
After the introductions, Carlyle followed Shue back over to the reception desk, which was now manned by a younger, prettier blond girl. Shue spoke brusquely to the girl in something that wasn’t English, but instead might have been Russian or Polish, or maybe even Finnish. The girl promptly disappeared, leaving the night manager to tap a few keys on the computer. After staring at the screen for a few seconds, she picked up a telephone receiver and hit 329. After letting it ring for a good fifteen seconds, she put the phone down again and looked up at Carlyle.
‘No reply?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Probably asleep.’
Carlyle frowned. He didn’t like bullshit. ‘Surely the call would wake him up?’
Shue thought about that for a second. ‘Not if he’s taken something. Or he could be … busy.’
‘But he checked in alone?’
Shue glanced at the screen again. ‘Yes.’
Carlyle waited for Shue to say more, but she just stood there silently. ‘And?’
Shue snapped to attention. ‘Number 329 is registered to a Mr Ian Blake. He booked in for just the one night. He checked in at seven twenty-five last night, had some food and champagne delivered just after nine, which he signed for. He has an alarm call booked for seven-thirty tomorrow or, rather, this morning.’
Carlyle thought about that. The information was useless: it told him nothing. They were just putting off the inevitable visit upstairs. He took a deep breath: ‘OK, let’s go and pay Mr …’
‘Blake.’
‘Mr Blake … let’s go and pay him a visit. I need to take a look inside room 329.’
Shue frowned. ‘Are you sure, Inspector?’
This was a necessary part of the job, trampling over people’s reluctance to get involved, dragging them unhappily into a little bit of the mess that comprised his regular working life. Sometimes he did it with relish, but not tonight. Tonight he was painting by numbers.
She pulled a key card out of a drawer behind the desk and held it up for him to inspect. ‘Well …’
Are you sure? Carlyle looked down at his shoes, trying not to smile. He’d been asked that question a million times before. He was a policeman, for fuck’s sake. Of course, he was sure.
‘… we could end up getting a guest out of bed by mistake.’
‘Yes,’ he nodded, ‘we could.’
Her face brightened slightly, as she mistakenly assumed that he was considering her point of view.
‘Or,’ Carlyle met her gaze with a grin, ‘we could be ignoring something serious – maybe a murder.’
‘Um.’ She took a step backwards, with a look of annoyance as if he’d just tried to grab her arse.
Carlyle ignored her irritation. ‘So,’ he said firmly, ‘do you see where the balance of risk lies here?’
They rode the elevator to the third floor in silence. Stepping out, Shue led him along a silent corridor that was lit by low-wattage lighting at floor level, like the emergency lights on a plane. Their footsteps were hushed