He smiled again, almost as though it were him interviewing me. ‘I can prove it, actually.’
Somehow I was surprised when he shrugged, took his phone from his dressing-gown pocket and started scrolling. I hadn’t thought he was stupid enough to volunteer the video himself. He smiled when he found the file he was after and handed it to me. The still image was of Sophie. I pressed play and breathy sounds filled the room. The video showed the girl, flat on the bed as Ollie laboured on top of her. The expression on his face was priceless. He couldn’t believe his luck, either.
‘Looks like a pretty satisfied customer, wouldn’t you say?’ There was a leer creeping out from the corners of his lips. I felt like slapping it off his face. I stopped the video, erased it, then went to his deleted items and cleared that, too. He snatched for the phone but I moved it in time.
‘Is that the only copy?’
‘Yeah, you—’
‘Sit down, Ollie.’
‘What?’
‘Sit down.’ Hesitantly, he did. ‘OK, tonight’s main story.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t believe that this is the only copy.’
‘I don’t give a shit what you believe,’ he said, re-folding his arms. I looked at him for a moment then ran my middle finger along the corners of the coffee table, holding the powder residue up to him.
‘Think you can make me believe this is dandruff?’ He blushed. ‘I don’t believe it’s the only copy,’ I repeated. I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket again. ‘So we’ll have a look at your computer. Once we’ve deleted it from there, I’m going to go and you won’t hear from me again.’ I looked at him. ‘Sophie won’t hear from you again, either. Will she?’
‘No,’ he said, holding eye contact. He took me through to his study and showed me the files saved on his computer. We trawled through various video images but none saved in the last week. My phone was vibrating again and I looked at the screen. Sutty.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, stepping into the next room to answer it.
‘You moving into one of these fucking flats or what?’
‘I’ll be five—’
‘We’ve got a job. You’ll be at the main entrance in sixty seconds or you’ll be walking.’
He hung up and I went back into the study.
Cartwright looked at me. ‘I’m telling you that was the only copy.’
I didn’t believe him but the fear seemed real enough.
‘Fine,’ I said, walking back through the living room towards the front door. ‘But if you’re lying to me you’ll be making your next sex-tape in prison.’ In the hall I stopped for Sophie’s jacket and unhooked it. ‘And I’m taking this with me,’ I said, holding it up.
‘Good riddance.’
‘You’re getting off light, Ollie. Have a nice life.’
I could feel my heart beating when I got back to the car. Sutty was standing beside it, leaning on the roof. He was squinting into his phone, trying to type a text message with the knuckle of his index finger.
He looked up when he saw me coming. ‘Oh, finally …’
‘Everything OK?’
‘Reported breakin, Palace Hotel.’
I climbed into the car and started up. Felt Sutty’s slick disinfectant on the steering wheel again. ‘Why can’t uniform catch it?’
‘It’s money,’ he said. He looked at the girl’s jacket I’d thrown on to the back seat. ‘Don’t even tell me what that’s about.’
7
The Palace is an enormous Victorian redbrick on the corner of Oxford Road and Whitworth. It sits opposite the Grand Central and the Thirsty Scholar, with the Black Dog Ball Room around the corner. I could see the clock tower, two hundred feet above us, commanding the skyline. There had been nights when I’d gotten so drunk and so lost that I’d used that tower like a lighthouse. In the bad old days I’d even stayed at the hotel once or twice, sometimes with girls I’d just met, sometimes when it was too late to even try and get home. I’d thought it was a shame when it was shut down. Renovation implied change, and the Palace was heritage, one of those rare things in life that should stay the same. It had been a while since the doors closed, and I’d read nothing in the press about them reopening. As we got closer I saw that even the clock tower, something I’d always relied on, was telling the wrong time.
It was 1 a.m.
The entrance was a grand, architectural statement. A fifteen-foot marble archway set into the red brick of the building. A young woman was waiting outside. I was surprised to see her breath in the air until I noticed the glowing blue tip of an e-cigarette between her fingers. She was smartly dressed, projecting the kind of confidence that made her look cool against the listless, hot and bothered nightlife. As we approached she was staring into the middle distance, exhaling synthetic smoke, and we had to wait a second for acknowledgement.
‘Police?’ she said, placing the e-cig in her purse.
‘I’m Detective Constable Waits and this is Detective Inspector Sutcliffe.’
Sutty cut in. ‘We hear you’ve got yourself a visitor, Mrs—’
‘Ms,’ she said.
‘Well,’ he smiled. ‘I stand politically corrected. Ms …?’
‘Aneesa Khan.’
‘And what’s your connection to the Palace, Ms Khan?’
‘I work for Anthony Blick Solicitors. We’re currently negotiating the sale of the hotel.’
‘Hadn’t realized it was on the market,’ said Sutty. ‘I might’ve made you an offer …’
She gave him a smile that was there and then gone again, like a shrug of the face. ‘Misdirection, Inspector. Renovation sounds better than the truth.’
‘Which is?’
‘Shut down due to the costly acrimonious split of its owners.’
‘So the place is empty?’
‘It should be.’ She frowned. ‘I suppose we’d better go inside and find out.’
The lobby was enormous, and the only light came from the hotel’s front desk on the far side of the room. It was an impressive, overwhelming space, somehow insulated against the heat from outside. Many of the furnishings were originals from when the Palace was built in the 1800s. It had been the headquarters of a prominent life insurance company and had a sense of style and grace rarely seen in modern architecture. The ceiling, which must have been thirty feet above us, was a stained-glass dome. The floors were gleaming, glazed stone, and enormous pillars lined the room, keeping the roof above our heads. As the world became more cramped, it felt remarkable to walk off a congested street at one in the morning, into a wide open space.
‘The alarm was triggered about an hour ago.’ Aneesa spoke quietly but her voice reverberated about us. ‘When no one switched it off, they called me.’
‘Not unusual for something to fall over in a building this big …’
‘We have a night watchman, though. Ali. I haven’t been able to get hold of him.’ All three of us looked at the unmanned front desk. The lamp that had been positioned to shine out at the doorway, right into our eyes. Its glare shrouded the far side of the room in darkness.
‘Is that his workstation?’ I asked. Aneesa nodded, not taking her eyes off the desk. ‘I’ll check it out. You can wait here if you like.’ I turned and walked towards the light. After a moment I heard her following me, heels echoing on the stone floor. There was a sigh, then the cheap squeak of Sutty’s plastic shoes.
I reached Ali’s workstation and moved the light out of our eyes. It was hot to the touch and must have been on all night. There was no one behind the desk, and the only objects on its surface were a phone, a key card and a coffee. Sutty squeaked towards me, leaned over and touched the mug.
‘Cold as ice,’ he said.
I moved round the desk, held up the mobile phone. ‘Could this be his?’ Aneesa nodded. I pressed a button and the screen lit up. Five missed calls.
‘They’re all me …’ she said.
‘Could he be doing his rounds?’
‘Without his phone?’
Sutty yawned into his armpit. ‘He’s probably sleeping it off in one of the rooms.’
‘Sleeping what off?’ said Aneesa.
‘It,’ Sutty replied.
‘I don’t think he’s the type.’