Hotel Morgue by Janet Laurence

Author:Janet Laurence [Laurence, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery, Cooking & Food
ISBN: 9781872672823
Google: xs9IvgAACAAJ
Amazon: B01M7RW4Q4
Goodreads: 1882734
Publisher: Story Sound
Published: 1991-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

Back at the Manor Park by two thirty, William Pigram and Pat James found that Adam Tennant was still tied up with his luncheon appointment.

‘We’ll wait,’ said William, his tone grimmer than usual.

Pat tried to forget her rapidly deteriorating physical state, took another couple of aspirin and helped to tidy up the bedroom, enjoying restoring it to its previous immaculate state.

At ten to three the bedside telephone went. One of the receptionists announced that Mr Tennant awaited the police in his office.

‘So that’s the way he wants to play it.’ William ran a hand over his unruly hair. ‘Let’s go along and let him think he’s calling the shots.’

Pat followed him along the deeply carpeted corridor, down the mahogany balustraded staircase and into Adam Tennant’s small but impeccable office. He was standing by his desk studying a wine list as they entered.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting around.’ He flung the large folder down on his desk and came forward. ‘Most important meeting with the chairman of our hotel consortium, planning future marketing strategy. We have to go international, link up with hotels in Europe and the Far East as well as the States. But you don’t want to hear about that. Sit down and tell me how I can help in this dreadful tragedy.’

He’d changed his tune from the other day, thought Pat as he drew out a chair for her. She sat beside William in front of the desk. Having seen her settled, Adam Tennant sat himself in a large leather chair behind his highly polished desk.

His manner was suave, his white hair sleeked back, his tailoring smooth, but a more than slight unevenness in his breathing was betrayed by the gold chain flashing across his waistcoat. His right eye twitched and his fingers drummed a rhythmless pattern on the wood as he sat back with an enquiring smile, awaiting their questions.

William Pigram placed a sheet of notes in front of him, deliberately arranging the paper with care.

‘Mr Tennant, we have spoken to all your staff and to your wife. After our talk this afternoon I do not anticipate we shall need again the room you have so kindly placed at our disposal.’

Adam Tennant gave a graceful, acknowledging dip of his head.

‘As I said,’ William continued, ‘our last formality is this talk with yourself.’

‘Anything I can do to help. I am exceedingly regretful it has taken so long to find time to place myself at your disposal.’

‘Good of you to make yourself available now, sir,’ William’s tone was dismissive. ‘To bring you up to date with our investigation ... oh, by the way, I should I suppose give you the official stuff about you not being bound to tell us anything but that if you do your words will be noted and may be used in evidence at a later date. Well, as I was saying, no one at the hotel claims to have seen Sharon after six o’clock on the Saturday evening, when her friend, the receptionist Shirley, says she left to go on a date with a boyfriend.

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