The Concierge by Abby Corson

Author:Abby Corson [Abby Corson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-20T00:00:00+00:00

We sat around for a few hours, the sky darkening as we sunk deep into the night, waiting for Alec’s body to be taken from Lavender Plates. It was a solemn time. May he rest in peace.

Once Alec’s body had been collected, Detective Raj and some of his officers, American Dave, Fiona, Mr Potts, and I gathered in the library. American Dave’s mistress tried to join us, but he slammed the door in her face, leaving her in the corridor. We each took a seat and looked expectantly at the detective. (Except Mr Potts, who was in the corner of the library, his back turned to everyone. Nobody else noticed, but I guessed what he was up to, and the ever-so-slight clink of the lid being placed back onto the whisky decanter confirmed my suspicions.)

Detective Raj took his place in front of the unlit fireplace. He seemed drained. His eyes begged for sleep and his facial hair, which had been neatly groomed, now looked patchy. There were coffee stains on his white shirt, which was wrinkled and untucked. He agreed to answer any questions we had, as long as his responses stayed in that room. I think he could sense that we had the potential to become a troublesome bunch and that keeping us on side would help maintain control.

Fiona went first. ‘Are you any closer to finding out who killed Bruno, and now, potentially Alec, so we can all get the hell out of here?’

‘We’re slowly ruling people out, so yes, we’re getting closer,’ Detective Raj responded.

Fiona followed up with: ‘Do you think the killer is still in the hotel?’

‘Yes. Looking at the CCTV footage, we are positive that the killer is still among us.’

It was my turn. ‘Do you realise that there’s no CCTV facing the terrace doors of the suites?’ I asked.

‘We are aware of that and assume that is how the killer gained access to Mr Tatterson’s suite.’

‘What about the murder weapon?’ American Dave leant forward in the armchair, resting his elbows on his knees and twirling his hat in his hands.

‘Missing.’

‘But it has to be somewhere in the hotel?’ American Dave persisted.

‘Presumably so.’

‘Well, let’s all get off our asses and look for it!’ American Dave sprung up.

‘Oh, sit down you great arse!’ Fiona snapped. ‘We don’t even know what we’re looking for.’

‘A knife, we think,’ said Detective Raj, adding: ‘We are still waiting for forensics to confirm.’

When you work in a hotel, you have a fair idea of the sort of inventory stored within the building. And knives, well, we had plenty of those. Sushi knives. Steak knives. Fish knives. Gardening knives. Letter openers. Butter knives (although I am fairly certain one of those wouldn’t break the skin). I am sure American Dave’s documentary will paint him to be a hero because he happened to be the one who eventually found the murder weapon. We will get to that later.

The clock above the fireplace chimed eleven times. We were to spend our third night in the hotel, and we all agreed that perhaps it was best for everyone to get some rest.

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