Five minutes later he pulled into the Platinum Inn’s car park and looked across to the greyhound stadium behind. The floodlights were on and a crackly voice was announcing the runners for the final race.
Jon glanced around the car park. Two other cars, a Ford Mondeo and a Citroën Xara. Salesman choices. He pushed open the doors to reception. The place had obviously seen better days. The glut of cheap chain hotels in the town centre was slowly strangling it to death. Another few months and it would be boarded up, and shortly after that probably burned down by local kids.
Behind the counter was an alarmingly thin woman. You’ve had a tough paper round, thought Jon. He held up his warrant card. ‘DI Jon Spicer. And you are?’
‘Dawn Poole, night manager.’
‘Just the person I need to speak to. Were you on duty last night?’
‘I’m on duty every night.’
Jon looked around, not envying her lonely job in an area where women’s corpses were turning up, stripped of their skin.
‘Seems quiet. How’s business?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s been busier.’
‘Who do you get staying here? Company reps, mainly?’
‘Mainly. Some younger sorts having a night out in Manchester. Three to a room can work out cheaper for them than a taxi home, specially if they manage to sneak in an extra mate.’
‘Who else?’
‘That’s about it.’
‘So if I take a seat here, there’s no chance of any couples coming in to book rooms by the hour?’
Her mouth tensed up and she pointed to the tariff sheet on the wall. ‘The rates are for the night only.’
‘Come on, Dawn.’ Jon leaned on the counter, sensing it wouldn’t take much to make her crumble. It never did with the mouse-like types. Usually they’d do whatever it took to keep attention off them. ‘This place is used as a knocking shop. I don’t work Vice. Help me out here and I won’t need to get them involved.’
She crossed her arms, the bones in her elbows jutting out painfully. ‘What do you want to know?’
That’s more like it, he thought. ‘The girls you get coming in here, do you know their names?’
‘Some of them.’
‘Ever heard of an Alexia?’
The skin below her eyes flinched. ‘I don’t think so.’
Jon didn’t break his stare. ‘You don’t think so? How about a yes or a no?’
She dropped her head. ‘No, I haven’t.’
He took a breath in. ‘Last night, someone heard something. It could have been the sound of an assault. Did you have any trouble? A girl coming out of her room looking injured?’
‘No.’ She was still looking down.
‘Look at me, please. It was around three thirty in the morning.’
‘No. That Fiona what’s-her-name made a report, right? Listen, she staggered in pouring with blood. I helped patch her up, gave her some booze.’
‘How much?’
‘A lot. There wasn’t much left in the bottle by the time she went to bed. Probably shouldn’t have given her any, the state she was in. Totally stressed out, she was. Then she thinks she heard something in the middle of the night.’ Bony fingers fiddled with her necklace. She sighed. ‘Look, it can get pretty busy here, but I’d have noticed. Honestly.’
‘What about side doors? Emergency exits? Is there one at the other end of this corridor?’ He pointed through the double doors at the corridor beyond.
‘Yes.’
‘If someone left by that route would it set off an alarm?’
‘No, it doesn’t work on that door. But why would they? It leads straight out to the bin area. They’d have to walk right round the building to get back to the car park.’
‘My informant believes the commotion was coming from room nine. How about I take a look in it?’
Dawn handed him a key. ‘Be my guest.’
Jon could tell searching the room was going to be a waste of time. His eyes shifted to the clock in the back office. Quarter past ten and he was dog tired. He knew she was holding something back. Probably just afraid of him finding out that she was putting the night’s takings straight into her pocket.
He weighed up the two women’s stories. Given the third victim’s time of death, Fiona’s emotional state and the hefty amount of booze it appeared she’d got through, he decided her claim was a waste of time. He gave the key back. ‘OK, Dawn, take care.’
Her mouth opened with surprise. ‘That’s it?’
Out in the car park he glanced towards the rear of the building. It was plunged in shadow and he’d have to get a torch if he was to look around properly. Bollocks to that, he thought.
In his car, he called Fiona’s mobile. ‘It’s Jon Spicer.’
‘Have you been to the motel?’
‘I’m in the car park right now. I’ve spoken to the night manager, Dawn Poole.’
‘That’s her. What did she say?’ The words were slurred and
Jon wondered how much she’d been drinking.
‘She didn’t notice anything suspicious last night.’
‘Well, did you check the room?’
‘It was spotless, like you said. And there was nothing round the back of the building, either.’
‘What about Cheshire Consorts? Did you call them?’
‘Yes. The owner told me there’s no Alexia on her books.’
‘She could be lying.’
‘There’s a web site. Have a look yourself. All the girls are listed there.’
‘So what now? I really think I heard someone being killed.’ Her voice was rising.
‘Fiona, there’s nothing more I can do. I’ll keep an eye on the police computer. If an unidentified female body shows up, I’ll look into it.’
‘That’s it? You’re not doing anything else?’
A wave of irritation washed across him and he ran a hand through his cropped brown hair. ‘What do you suggest I do?’
‘I don’t know. You’re the policeman. If this was an angelic little girl or a copper’s wife, things would be different, wouldn’t they?’ Jon felt his jaw clench. ‘You think you heard something. You were traumatised and pissed.’ He paused to let the comment sink in. ‘You could contact the Missing Persons Bureau, I suppose, but without a surname I doubt they can help. I can’t think of anything else.’
‘So you’re washing your hands of it?’
‘For fuck’s sake, Fiona, I’m working on a big murder case. You can probably guess which one. I don’t have time for this.’ Her voice was twisted with sarcasm. ‘No, I suppose not. After all, it’s only another whore who’s disappeared.’ Jon hung up.
*
Ten minutes later he pushed his front door open. Claws scrabbled in the kitchen and Punch peered eagerly through the doorway. The dog gave a delighted hrrmph! through its squashed nose and bounded down the hall.
Jon scooped the animal up and began rocking it in his arms like a baby. Punch craned forwards, trying to lick Jon’s face.
‘Who’s my stupid boy?’ Jon said, lifting his chin and allowing a wet tongue to lap at his throat.
‘I don’t know how you can stand that.’ Alice had come out of the TV room. She was wearing a dressing gown and clutching a mug in both hands.
Jon put Punch down. ‘What a day. How are you, babe?’
‘Good,’ she smiled. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘Only some crap pizza, unfortunately.’ He hung his jacket on the banister post and walked over to her. Careful not to put any pressure on her swollen stomach, he hugged her lightly. ‘How’s the bump?’
‘Fine. I could feel some kicking earlier. Here.’ She took his hand and placed it on her stomach, inside her dressing gown.
‘On the right there, that’s where the legs are.’
They stood motionless, Punch staring up at them with a bemused look on his face. Jon was careful to maintain an inquisitive smile, although privately he felt freaked out every time something began moving independently inside Alice’s body. He kept his hand there for a few seconds longer. ‘No. The little thing must be asleep.’ With a twinge of guilty relief, he slid his hand out of her dressing gown, went into the kitchen and cracked open a beer.