The Hanging in the Hotel

Chapter Twenty-Eight

‘I rang to say congratulations.’

‘What for?’ Kerry Hartson sounded suspicious. Why was Jude, whom she only knew vaguely, ringing her again?

‘Congratulations on getting the Pop Crop audition.’

‘Oh, yeah, well, thanks. It’s a big opportunity for me, and I’m determined to do my absolute best. I’m really going for it.’

Instantly the girl had dropped into interview mode. Jude could picture her, sitting in her flat in Brighton, looking at the sea and indulging the fantasy of the television crew around her, the fawning presenter asking about her next single. She could even imagine Kerry tidying up her sitting room, in case the interviewers arrived unannounced. The prospect of fame could have a wonderful effect on the domestic habits of teenagers.

‘You heard from Suzy, I suppose?’ the girl went on.

Jude saw no reason to contradict her. ‘She said you were going to stop working at the hotel.’

‘Yeah, well, that was like only work experience, but I don’t reckon I’m going to end up in hotels. Obviously, now Pop Crop’s come up, well, I’ve got to, like, really go for it, haven’t I?’

Still in interview mode. Jude wondered whether Kerry would repeat herself as much in a real interview, and decided the answer was probably yes.

Time for a change of tack. Time to find out where Kerry really was on the night of Nigel Ackford’s death. When last asked the question, she had claimed to be drinking whisky in her father’s room. Bob Hartson had supported that, and had claimed Barry Stilwell as a witness. Somebody had been lying, though, and, determined to find out who, Jude spelled out to Kerry the inadequacy of her alibi.

The girl was thrown. ‘Look, why’re you on about this again? I’ll have to tell Dad you’ve been asking.’

If that was meant to be a threat, the words had no effect on Jude. ‘Fine. But you answer me first.’

‘I don’t have to.’ Archetypal adolescent defiance.

‘No, you don’t have to, but if you don’t, I will know for definite that you have something to hide.’

There was a silence while Kerry took in the logic of this. Then she asserted, ‘I haven’t got anything to hide. I did go up to Dad’s room, like I said, and drank a bit of whisky with him—’

‘Just the two of you?’

‘No,’ she snapped. ‘There was someone else there.’

‘Barry Stilwell says he was there, but he says you weren’t.’

‘Well, I wasn’t there all the time. I just had a drink and left them to it.’

‘So where did you go then?’

‘I went to bed.’

‘You weren’t in your room when I turned in round three.’

‘No, I was— It was later than that when I left Dad’s room.’

‘Your father said you left about two.’

‘Yes, well . . .’ She was really floundering now. ‘Dad’s never got a good sense of time, and when he’s been at the booze . . .’

‘That doesn’t sound very convincing to me, Kerry.’

‘It’s the truth. Ask that solicitor.’

‘Barry Stilwell? The one who first of all said he was with your dad, but you weren’t there, and then changed his tune and suddenly remembered you had been there? I don’t think he’s a very reliable witness. In fact, I’ve a feeling Barry Stilwell will say anything your father tells him to say.’

Kerry Hartson might have been expected to pick up on this criticism of her precious father, but she didn’t. Instead, she spoke as if new light had come flooding into her life. ‘Of course, I’ve got it. The reason we’re getting all mixed up over this.’

‘Oh?’ asked Jude cynically. ‘And what is that?’

‘It’s Dad.’ The girl chuckled. ‘He’s always had this dreadful thing with names – mixes people up. He said the solicitor was with us, right?’

‘Yes. Barry Stilwell.’

‘But that’s it, you see, it wasn’t Barry Stilwell in the room with us while we were drinking the whisky.’

‘Then who was it?’

‘Dad’s own solicitor. Mr Chew.’

‘Donald Chew?’

‘That’s right. Yes.’

Jude reckoned a long time had passed since she had heard quite such a preposterous lie, but she let it pass, thanked the girl for clearing the matter up, and moved on. ‘Going back to the Pop Crop thing.’

‘Yeah. Exciting, isn’t it?’ And then, as if the words hadn’t been said enough, ‘I’m really going to go for it.’

‘Good for you. And you got it by doing an audition in Brighton?’

‘Sure. There were a lot of people, but I thought if I, like, gave it my best shot – really went for it – well . . . And it turned out OK.’

‘And you were auditioned by Rick Hendry?’

‘Right.’ A note of caution had come into the girl’s voice.

‘Was that the first time you’d met him?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, was the audition the first time you met Rick Hendry? Or had you met him before up at the hotel?’

‘No,’ said Kerry Hartson. ‘First time I met him was at the audition.’

But she sounded as guilty as hell. Jude wondered how soon after putting the phone down on their call, Kerry would be ringing her stepfather.

‘Carole Seddon?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Brenda Chew.’

‘Oh, good afternoon.’

‘I heard from Sandra Hartson about the promise you’d secured for the auction. This session of . . . canasta . . .?’

‘Kinesiology,’ said Carole, as though she had been familiar with the word from birth.

‘Yes. Well, I’m very grateful to you, but I thought I’d better check the details.’

‘I gave all the details to Sandra.’

‘But I just wanted to double-check.’

Recognizing Brenda Chew’s inability to delegate, Carole said rather tartly, ‘The details are all exactly as I gave them to Sandra. My next-door neighbour, who is a trained kinesiologist, is offering a free two-hour session for the auction of promises at the Hopwicke Country House Hotel next Saturday.’

‘Yes. That’s exactly what Sandra Hartson said.’

‘Of course it is. It’s exactly what I told her.’

‘Hm. So what is your friend’s name?’

‘Jude.’

‘Jude what?’

‘Most people just call her Jude.’

‘Oh dear. I’m not sure that that will look quite right in the catalogue though I suppose, in the world of alternative therapies, you might expect people to be a bit odd. Still, I’ll discuss it with her.’

‘What?’

‘I’m going to telephone her. Could you give me the number?’

Carole did so, and then asked, ‘Are you just going to ring her to say thank you for the offer?’

‘Yes, yes, that’s right.’ A moment’s pause. ‘Well, and just to double-check all the details.’

With difficulty Carole managed not to grind her teeth.

‘Oh, and there’s another very good bit of news, Carole.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You know I was saying at our meeting how useful it would be to our cause if we could get a celebrity auctioneer . . .?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’ve got one.’

‘Who?’

Brenda Chew’s voice was full of smug pride as she announced, ‘That man from the television. Rick Hendry.’ She went into a very bad impersonation of his catch-phrase. ‘I wish I’d been born deaf!’

‘What! Who on earth fixed that?’

‘Oh, I did. As I may have said before, if you want a job done properly, do it yourself.’