I don’t know what I expected to find. The room had a concrete floor and several shelves piled up with cardboard boxes, cans of paint, various chemicals … No lock on the door. Anyone could have come in here. I said so.
‘The defence made a lot of that during the trial,’ Lawrence agreed. ‘Yes, anyone could have taken the hammer. The trouble was, that was the only thing Stefan had on his side and against all the other evidence it was practically meaningless.’
We went to the room next door, which was the one that Stefan had occupied: number five. Lawrence knocked and when there was no answer he took out a Yale key, which he turned in the lock.
‘I spoke to Lars earlier,’ he explained. ‘He’s probably at the pub with Inga. They both arrived this year.’
I remembered the smart-looking girl behind the reception desk. ‘They’re Danish?’ I asked.
‘Yes. We got them through an agency.’ He sighed. ‘We don’t run our Youth Offender Programme any more.’
The door opened into a perfect shoebox of a room with a single bed beside the door, a desk, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. A second door led into a corner bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower. I guessed that all five rooms were exactly the same. Lars kept his frighteningly tidy. The bed looked as if it had never been slept in and in the bathroom I could see towels hanging with perfect precision on the rail. Apart from a couple of books on the desk, there was nothing personal in sight at all.
‘These Scandinavians are very tidy,’ Lawrence muttered, reading my thoughts. ‘It certainly wasn’t like this when Stefan occupied it.’
That surprised me. ‘How do you know?’
‘Lionel, the fitness chap I mentioned, used to spend time here. He and Stefan were quite close. You should look at the police reports.’
‘That may be easier said than done.’
‘I could have a word with DCS Locke.’
‘No. It’s all right. I know him.’ I also knew that there was little chance of Locke sharing anything with me, not even the time of day. I peered into the room, not wanting to step inside. ‘They found money in here that belonged to the dead man.’
‘Yes. It was under his mattress.’
‘Not exactly the most brilliant place to hide stolen cash.’
Lawrence nodded. ‘You can think many things about Stefan Codrescu,’ he said. ‘But one thing is certain. He wasn’t too bright.’
‘Someone could have planted it.’
‘I suppose that’s possible, but you have to ask yourself, when? It would have been almost impossible during the day. As you can see, the door faces the hotel and there were dozens of people out here. We had wedding guests, the spa was open, there were security guards, the kitchen staff going back and forth, people looking out of windows. I don’t think anyone could have slipped into the room without being seen and believe you me, the police took hundreds of witness statements.
‘And it wasn’t just the money. They also found traces of blood on the shower floor and on the sheets of Stefan’s bed. The forensics people were able to work out that they had been there for more than twelve hours, meaning that they had definitely been there during the night. The narrative was crystal clear. On Friday night, Stefan kills Frank Parris. There’s a lot of blood. He comes back and showers and goes to bed and he leaves gigantic footprints the entire way.’
‘So if someone did plant the evidence on Stefan, they must have done it sometime after midnight,’ I said.
‘Yes. But that’s not very likely either. First of all, the door self-locks – and before you ask, we did have a duplicate key in Lisa’s office. But look at the position of the bed. It’s right next to the door. I don’t see how anyone could have got in here, messed around with the bed sheets and the shower and then left again without waking Stefan up.’
He closed the door and we walked back to the hotel together.
‘Derek should be here by now,’ Lawrence said. ‘I asked him to come in early to talk to you.’ He paused. ‘Can I ask you to go easy on him? He’s worked at the hotel for ten years and he’s a good man. But he’s quite fragile. He looks after his mother and she’s not at all well. What Alan Conway did to him – to both of them – was actually appalling.’
I remembered that in the book there’s a character called Eric Chandler who works as a personal chauffeur and handyman alongside his mother, Phyllis. They appear in the first chapter and it’s not a sympathetic portrayal.
‘Did he read Atticus Pünd Takes the Case?’ I asked.
‘Fortunately not. Derek doesn’t read very much. It might be best not to mention it.’
‘I won’t.’
‘I’ll wish you a goodnight, then.’
‘Goodnight. Thanks for dinner.’
*
There was absolutely no need for Lawrence Treherne’s warning. The moment I saw him, I knew that Derek Endicott was a vulnerable man, eager to please, frightened of giving offence. It was in the blinking eyes behind the spectacles with thick lenses, the hesitant smile, the curly hair that fell haphazardly, without any sense of style. He was in his forties, but his face had a childlike quality, with plump cheeks, thick lips, the sort of skin that suggested he never shaved. He had already taken his place behind the reception desk, tucked away in the cave formed by the staircase that swung diagonally over him on its way up to the first floor. I noticed that he had some food in a plastic Tupperware box as well as a Thermos and a puzzle magazine.
He was expecting me. Lawrence had told him why I was there. He clumsily stood up as I approached, then sat down before he had become fully vertical. It was quite cool in the reception area, but I noticed a sheen of sweat on his neck and on the sides of his face.
‘Mr Endicott … ’ I began.
‘Derek. Please. That’s what everyone calls me.’ He had a wheezy, high-pitched voice.
‘You know why I’m here?’
‘Yes. Mr Treherne asked me to come in early tonight.’
He waited nervously for the first question and I tried to put him at ease. ‘You were here on the night Mr Parris was killed. What you saw or heard could be tremendously helpful.’
He frowned. ‘I thought you were here because of Cecily.’
‘Well, it’s possible the two are connected.’
He thought about that for a moment. I could actually see the mental process in his eyes. ‘Yes. You could be right.’
I leaned against the desk. ‘I know it was a long time ago, but I wonder if you can remember what happened that night?’
‘Of course I can remember! It was terrible. I didn’t meet Mr Parris. I don’t really see any of the guests unless they put me on the day shift and they only do that when they’re short-staffed. Actually, I did see Mr Parris go upstairs. It was after dinner, but we didn’t speak.’ He corrected himself a second time. ‘No. That’s not true. We spoke on the phone. On Thursday. He called down from his room. He wanted to order a taxi first thing Friday morning. I did that for him.’
‘Where did he want to go?’
‘Heath House in Westleton. I wrote it down in the book. That was how I was able to remember when the police asked me, and anyway I know that house. It’s very close to where I live with my mum. I hated having the police here. This is such a beautiful hotel. People come here to rest and to relax. Not for … ’