Part 2 (1/2)

”It burned, didn't it?”

Melody nodded. ”A few years before the war. I suppose it was unlikely to have escaped the bombing, in any case, a target like that.” She gestured upwards, towards the rise of Clapham Common and the wall of fog above it. ”You could see it from the City, you know.”

”It was that big?”

”Huge. And plunked right on top of Sydenham Hill, the highest point between London and the south coast.”

”What's it like, Crystal Palace? The area, I mean.” Having grown up in North London, and until this new posting, having worked mostly in West London, Gemma was still learning her new patch.

”Going upmarket a bit, I think, but I don't know it well myself. Look.” Melody pointed at the blue patches appearing in the fog, and Gemma glimpsed one of the Crystal Palace television masts before cloud shrouded it once again.

Melody concentrated on her sat nav as they looped round the elegant buildings of Dulwich College, then wound up through bare trees until the road leveled again at the top of Gipsy Hill.

Gemma glimpsed pubs and shops as they looped around a triangle of streets at the hill's summit, following the one-way system. Then as they began a gentle descent down a tree-lined road, she saw the familiar strobe of blue lights. The journey had taken them less than forty-five minutes, door to door, so they'd made good time.

”The Belvedere, I believe,” said Melody as she pulled up behind the last panda car.

The hotel was on their right, a large, sprawling building, pale-pink stucco with deep-blue awnings on the lower windows. A uniformed constable was stringing blue-and-white tape across the stairs leading up to the entry. At the top of the steps, DC Shara MacNicols seemed to be engaged in a heated discussion with a stocky woman in a blue suit.

”Hotel manager?” murmured Melody as she killed the Clio's engine and snapped open her seat belt.

”That would be my guess.” Gemma got out, flas.h.i.+ng her ID at one of the uniformed constables keeping an eye on the perimeter as she and Melody made their way towards the hotel's entrance.

As they drew closer, Gemma saw that Shara had red beads in the ends of the tiny braids in her hair, a splash of color bright as berries against the gray day. The other woman's pale skin looked blotched from shock, her straw-blond hair dry and disheveled.

”You didn't check his identification?” Shara was saying as Gemma and Melody reached the two women.

”Mr. Smith, he always paid in cash. It did not seem necessary,” answered the woman, and from her faint accent Gemma guessed she was Eastern European.

Shara acknowledged them with a nod. ”Guv. Sarge. This is Irene Dusek. She's the night manager who checked in our victim.”

”I'm Detective Inspector James, Ms. Dusek,” said Gemma. ”And this is Detective Sergeant Talbot.” She frowned as she continued. ”Ms. Dusek, I'm sure you're aware that hotels are required to take down their guests' identification details.”

”Yes, but Mr. Smith, we know him. He was never any trouble, and he never stayed long.”

”Well, he's a bit of trouble now, isn't he?” said Shara, and Gemma shot her a quelling look. Dusek sounded frightened, and Gemma was more concerned about information than government hotel regulations.

”What time did Mr. Smith check in last night?” she asked.

Dusek seemed to relax. ”It was maybe eleven, but I am not sure exactly.”

”Was someone with him?”

”Oh, no. Mr. Smith, he always comes alone.”

”Did he have luggage?” asked Melody.

”Oh, I did not see. I was busy-there was a phone call. Maybe he got something from the car.” Dusek s.h.i.+fted, and Gemma guessed she was lying.

”You saw his car?” she asked.

”No, no. But I thought-he looked like a man who would have a car. A nice car, you know.”

”So this gentleman”-Shara put heavy emphasis on the word-”came regularly, on his own, with no luggage. And you said he didn't stay long. Did you mean he didn't usually stay the entire night? It sounds to me like you're running a brothel here.”

Dusek shook her head emphatically. ”No, no,” the woman said. ”We do nothing bad. The housekeeper said he check out early. We are respectable hotel.” Her grasp of English seemed to be deteriorating under stress.

Gemma examined the frontage of the hotel, seeing no obvious secondary entrances. ”Ms. Dusek, are there other accesses to the hotel?”

”We have the fire doors, of course. They are required.” Dusek seemed glad of firmer ground. ”On the sides and in the back of hotel.”

”Okay,” said Gemma. ”We'll have a look at those. But first we'd better see your Mr. Smith.”

Dusek gave a little sob and pressed her knuckles to her mouth. ”He was nice man, always very nice. I do not understand how this thing could happen.”

”That's our job to find out, Ms. Dusek. We'll need to speak to you again. Is there someone who can sit with you?”

”There is Raymond, the day clerk. And the housekeeper. She is very upset.” Coatless, Dusek had begun to s.h.i.+ver.

”Let's get you inside, then.” Gemma guided the woman into the lobby and Melody and Shara followed.

The lobby, adorned with a violently patterned carpet in pink and blue, had a slightly scuffed reception desk to one side and a sitting area with a television on the other. Grouped around one of the tables in the sitting area were a woman in a maid's smock who was sniffing into a handkerchief, a young spotty-faced man in white s.h.i.+rt and black trousers, and a large uniformed constable. They looked as if they might be unlikely partic.i.p.ants in a card game, or, considering the pot and cups arrayed on the table, a tea party.

The constable rose immediately and came towards them. When Gemma had identified herself, he said, ”DC Turner, ma'am. Gipsy Hill Station.” He was fair and slightly bovine, but his blue eyes were sharp.

”Ms. Dusek is going to stay with you for the moment. I'll want to speak to the others later as well. Can you send the SOCOs to us when they arrive? And the doctor? Oh, and, Turner, I don't want any of the guests leaving until we've interviewed them.”