I had decided to spend the first night in a hotel, which was, frankly, weird. A lifelong Londoner, I had somehow degenerated into a tourist and I hated the hotel, a Premier Inn in Farringdon, not because there was anything wrong with it – it was perfectly clean and comfortable – but because that was where I was forced to stay. Sitting on the bed with its mauve cushions and ‘sleeping moon’ logo, I felt perfectly miserable. I was already missing Andreas. I had texted him from the airport but I knew that if I FaceTimed him I would probably end up crying and that would prove he was right, I should never have gone. The sooner I was in Suffolk, the better. But I wasn’t ready to make the journey yet. There were one or two things I had to do.
After an intermittent sleep and a breakfast – egg, sausage, bacon, beans – that looked identical to every breakfast ever served in a cut-price hotel chain, I strolled over to King’s Cross to one of the storage depots built into the arches under the railway lines. When I moved to Crete, I had sold my flat in Crouch End and almost everything in it, but at the last moment I had decided to hang on to my car, a bright red MGB Roadster which I had bought in the moment of madness that had coincided with my fortieth birthday. I had never thought I would drive it again and storing it had been a crazy extravagance; I was paying £150 a month for the privilege. But I just couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it and now, as it was wheeled out for me by two young men, it was like being reunited with an old friend. More than that. It was a part of my former life that I had back again. Just sinking into the cracked leather of the driver’s seat with the wooden steering wheel and absurdly old-fashioned radio above my knees made me feel better about myself. If I did go back to Crete, I decided, I would drive there and to hell with the problems of Greek registration and left-hand drive. I turned the key and the engine started first time. I pumped the accelerator a few times, enjoying the growl of welcome that came from the engine, then drove off, heading down the Euston Road.
It was midmorning and the traffic wasn’t too bad, which is to say that it was actually moving. I didn’t want to go straight back to the hotel so I drove around London, taking in a few sights just for the hell of it. Euston Station was being rebuilt. Gower Street was as shabby as ever. I don’t suppose it was coincidence that brought me into Bloomsbury, the area behind the British Museum, but without really thinking about it, I found myself outside Cloverleaf Books, the independent publishing house where I had worked for eleven years. Or what was left of it. The building was an eyesore, boarded-up windows and charred bricks surrounded by scaffolding, and it occurred to me that the insurers must be refusing to pay out. Perhaps arson and attempted murder hadn’t been included in the policy.
I thought of driving out to Crouch End, giving the MG a good run for its money – but that would have been too dispiriting. Anyway, I had work to do. I put the car into an NCP in Farringdon, then walked back to the hotel. I didn’t need to check out until noon, which gave me an hour alone with the coffee machine, two packets of complimentary biscuits and the Internet. I opened up my laptop and began a series of searches: Branlow Hall, Stefan Codrescu, Frank Parris, murder.
These were the articles I found: a murder mystery stripped of its intrigue and told in just four indifferent chapters.
The East Anglian Daily Times: 18 JUNE 2008
MAN KILLED AT CELEBRITY HOTEL
Police are investigating the murder of a 53-year-old man after his body was discovered in the five-star hotel where he was staying. Branlow Hall, located close to Woodbridge in Suffolk, charges £300 a night for an executive suite and is a much sought-after venue for celebrity weddings and parties. It has also been used as a location for many television series, including ITV’s Endeavour, Top Gear and Antiques Roadshow.
The victim has been identified as Frank Parris, a well-known figure in the advertising industry who won awards for his work on Barclays Bank and for the LGBT rights organisation, Stonewall. He rose to be creative director of McCann Erickson in London before moving to Australia to set up his own agency. He was unmarried.
Detective Superintendent Richard Locke, who is heading the investigation, said: ‘This was a particularly brutal murder that would seem to have been carried out by a single individual with the motive of theft. Money belonging to Mr Parris has been recovered and we expect to make an arrest shortly.’
The murder took place on the night before the wedding of Aiden MacNeil and Cecily Treherne, whose parents, Lawrence and Pauline Treherne, own the hotel. The body was discovered shortly after the ceremony, which had taken place in the hotel garden. Neither of the couples was available for comment.
The East Anglian Daily Times: 20 JUNE 2008
MAN HELD IN WOODBRIDGE KILLING
Police have arrested a 22-year-old man in connection with the brutal murder of a retired advertising executive at Branlow Hall, the well-known Suffolk hotel. Detective Superintendent Richard Locke, who is in charge of the investigation, said: ‘This was a horrific crime, committed without any scruples. My team has worked quickly and very thoroughly and I am glad to say that we have been able to make an arrest. I have every sympathy for the young couple whose special day was ruined by these events.’
The suspect has been remanded in custody and is due to appear at Ipswich Crown Court next week.
The Daily Mail: 22 OCTOBER 2008
LIFE IMPRISONMENT FOR ‘HAMMER HORROR’ SUFFOLK KILLER
A Romanian migrant, Stefan Codrescu, was sentenced to life imprisonment at Ipswich Crown Court, following the murder of 53-year-old Frank Parris at the £300-a-night Branlow Hall hotel near Woodbridge, Suffolk. Parris, described as ‘a brilliant creative mind’, had recently returned from Australia and had been planning to retire.
Codrescu, who pleaded guilty, entered the UK when he was twelve years old and quickly came to the attention of London police investigating Romanian organised crime gangs involved in cloned credit cards, stolen UK passports and false identity documents. Aged nineteen, he was arrested for aggravated burglary and assault. He was sentenced to two years in jail.
Lawrence Treherne, the owner of Branlow Hall, was in court to hear the sentence. He had employed Codrescu, who had been at the hotel for five months, as part of an outreach programme for young offenders. Mr Treherne said that he did not regret his actions. ‘My wife and I were shocked by the death of Mr Parris,’ he said in a statement outside the court. ‘But I still believe that it is right to give young people a second chance and to try to integrate them into society.’
But sentencing Codrescu to a minimum term of twenty-five years, Judge Azra Rashid said: ‘Despite your background, you were given a unique opportunity to turn your life around. Instead, you betrayed the trust and goodwill of your employers and committed a brutal crime for financial gain.’
The court had heard that Codrescu, now 22, had racked up debts playing online poker and slot machines. Jonathan Clarke, defending, said that Codrescu had lost touch with reality. ‘He was living in a virtual world with debts that were spiralling out of control. What happened that night was a sort of madness … a mental breakdown.’
Parris was attacked with a hammer and beaten so badly that he was unrecognisable. Detective Superintendent Richard Locke, who made the arrest, said that this was ‘the most sickening case I have ever encountered’.
A spokesperson for Screen Counselling, a Norwich-based charity, has called on the gambling commission to ban online betting with credit cards.