Jude plunged straight in. ‘On Tuesday, Kerry,’ she said, ‘you weren’t around to help clear up after the guests had gone to bed . . .’
She could have predicted the monosyllabic response – a teenage, ‘So?’
‘I was wondering where you were.’
‘I work for Suzy, not you, Jude. If she asks me where I was, I might tell her. I don’t have to tell you anything.’
‘No. But I happen to know you weren’t in your bed at about three o’clock in the morning.’
‘How do you know that? You been snooping in my room?’
‘I walked into it by mistake.’
‘Oh yes?’ The words dripped adolescent sarcasm.
‘Yes, I did. You weren’t there. So where were you?’
‘That’s my business.’
‘Usually that might be true, but at a time when someone was dying in the hotel, what everyone was doing becomes important.’
‘What are you, Jude – an undercover policewoman?’
‘No. Since you mention the police, though – did they talk to you?’
The girl nodded.
‘And ask you where you were that night?’
Another nod.
‘What did you tell them?’
For the first time, Kerry’s defiance gave way to fear. ‘I told them I went to bed.’
‘What time?’
‘I said twelve o’clock.’
‘That was a lie, Kerry. I saw you still in the bar at twelve o’clock. With your father.’
‘Stepfather,’ came the automatic correction.
‘All right. So were you still with him later on? At three o’clock?’
Fear in the girl’s expression gave way to terror. ‘No,’ she insisted. ‘No, I wasn’t with him.’ She looked very flustered. ‘Look, I can’t talk about this now. But please don’t tell the police I wasn’t where I said I was. You won’t, will you?’
Jude had no intention of telling the police, but all she replied was a dubious, ‘Well . . .’
‘Listen, Jude, please don’t tell the police. I’ll tell you the truth. I promise I will. But not now. Not here.’ She picked up a couple of coffee pots. ‘Better take these through.’
‘When are you going to tell me the truth, Kerry?’
‘Tomorrow. Come to my flat in Brighton.’
‘You really have got a flat in Brighton?’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘I’m sorry, but you’re only fifteen and . . .’
‘My parents have always encouraged me to be independent,’ she said sniffily. Then she gave Jude the address. ‘I promise I’ll tell you everything then.’
Which was, thought Jude, to put it at its mildest, intriguing.
Her one-to-one with Suzy Longthorne was in an even less glamorous situation: the gentlemen’s toilet, in which one of the wedding guests had thrown up copiously. So extensive was the mess that the curious could have pieced together all the details of Max Townley’s dinner from what was splattered over the tiled floor and walls. But it wasn’t the food that had reacted with the guest’s stomach; it was the excesses of alcohol he had been drinking since noon.
The individual who had caused the chaos had sidled quietly back to his seat and it had been left for the next visitor to the Gents’ to find out and report what had happened. Suzy came through into the kitchen, as Jude and Kerry were piling up plates for the student who did the washing up. The hotelier’s face was grim as she collected mops, buckets and disinfectant.
Jude asked what they were for, and was told.
‘But you shouldn’t have to do that, Suzy.’
‘Everyone else is busy.’ As ever, Suzy betrayed no resentment, just took the practical approach. It was all part of the job she had chosen for herself.
‘I can do it. You’ll ruin your clothes.’
‘We’ll both do it,’ Suzy conceded, as she slipped a nylon overall on top of her designer dress.
So the circumstances weren’t ideal, but it was the first chance Jude had had that day to speak to her friend on her own.
As they mopped and swabbed, trying not to think about what they were doing, trying not to look at the debris or breathe in the noxious smell, Jude asked boldly, ‘Why did you lie to the police about that note, Suzy?’
There was no pretence at incomprehension, just a straight answer – the answer she had given when asked the same question on the phone. ‘Because I didn’t want a murder enquiry at Hopwicke House. The place could have been closed for weeks. I certainly couldn’t have done this wedding today.’
Jude wrinkled her nose grimly. ‘At the moment not doing this wedding seems an attractive option.’
‘I need the money, Jude.’
This prompted a characteristically blunt question. ‘Why? Do you owe a lot?’
‘Yes. I’ve borrowed like mad to keep this place going, but I don’t think I can borrow any more. I need income. Otherwise I’ll have to sell up.’
‘Place must be worth a bit.’
‘I wouldn’t be destitute, no. But by the time I’d paid off my debts, I’d have lost massively on my investment. If I can keep going for a few more months, I’m sure I can turn this round.’ There was a defiant set to her jaw. ‘A few more years and I can sell it as a successful going concern. That’ll be my pension.’
Practical as ever. Even through her years of fame and massive earnings, Suzy Longthorne had always kept a level head about her finances.
‘And you’re sure you can’t borrow any more?’
The auburn hair trembled with a decisive shake of the head.
‘Not even from Bob Hartson?’
The hazel eyes turned on Jude like the beam of a searchlight. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Max mentioned it.’
Suzy nodded, as if she had assumed that to be the case. ‘I’m not denying Bob’s put some money into Hopwicke House. I’d hoped to be able to manage without investors, but that ceased to be possible. Better someone local, someone I know, than an impersonal bank or venture capitalist.’
‘So you do know Bob Hartson well?’
‘He’s an acquaintance, not a friend.’
They had mopped up the vomit, the shreds of vegetable and other indefinable items from the walls and floor. Next they had to swab down the tiling with disinfectant.
After a few moment’s rubbing, Jude asked, ‘So what’s the quid pro quo?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘With Bob Hartson. He lends you money. What do you have to do?’
‘I have to pay interest. That’s how money-lending usually works.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘What are you saying, Jude?’
‘I was wondering why you continue to employ Kerry?’
This question seemed to bring Suzy relief, as if she’d been expecting something worse. ‘All right. There was a kind of agreement between Bob and me about that. But it’s short term, just work experience. Soon, even a devoted a stepfather as Bob must realize that the girl has no aptitude for hotel work.’
‘And will he then free her to fulfil her dreams of being a pop idol?’
‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Suzy sharply.
‘I thought that’s what Kerry wanted to be. I thought that’s what all girls of Kerry’s age wanted to be. That or a television presenter.’
‘Ah. Yes. Well, you may be right.’
Again Suzy seemed relieved. What was the worse thing that she was expecting to be asked about? Jude hazarded a guess. ‘And did Bob Hartson also put pressure on you to limit investigation into Nigel Ackford’s death?’
The hotelier was really stung this time. ‘No, he did not! I told you, I did that out of self-preservation. I can’t risk bad publicity for the hotel.’ The hazel eyes once again focused their unforgiving beam. ‘Listen, Jude, you’re a friend. A good friend. But I don’t like the tone of your questioning. I have nothing to hide.’