was true, the tralk had been very noticeable….far too noticeable.
“Sod.” Hazel said viciously and, ignoring the onlookers, and any comment they made, tore back up the stairs at a rate of knots.
The tralk had been waiting for the lift when Hazel last saw her, but waiting for the lift and taking it were very different things. How long did it take for the lift to arrive? What was Hazel doing while this was going on?
Hazel had her back to the tralk. Hazel was far more concerned with Sid Fuller.
At the top of the stairs, alone once more. Hazel stopped. She crossed to the lift. The tralk stood just here To the right was the corridor she had just come down. It was, technically, possible she may have gone into another room. Hazel looked left.
Alternatively…..
The fire exit. That was very well marked and an emergency door operated by a large locking bar, easy to find in a smoke filled environment. Hazel grasped the bar and lifted. She pushed.
As it should, the emergency door swung open.
Hazel stepped out onto the fire escape landing and looked down.
A pair of high heels, impractical to walk in, lay on the cold, damp metal.
Hazel sighed and took out her police radio to call in the incident.
* *
“It’s been renovated.” Martin Ross said. He tended to lose his Scottish accent when dealing with paying customers. Today he kept it, He patted the side of the static caravan. “All mod cons. Usually we get the tourist trade you see.” He made a vague gesture off in the direction of the other caravans. Given the weather in this town he was sometimes amazed at just how popular this caravan site was. But then no one, if they knew anything at all about Temple Caneston, came here for the weather.
Except that American couple four years ago who lived out in some mid western desert. They had loved all the rain. “You do know you don’t have to stay here. We’ve plenty of room at the house.”
The blonde shook her head, “You know the trouble there would be. I really don’t fancy going back there. I’m a little surprised I’m allowed to stay here.” She leaned against the caravan, “Really. I’m fine in this old thing.”
“Think of it as an oldie but a goodie. I know it’s not quite the size of some of the others.” A number of the caravans owned by the guests were hotel rooms on wheels. A few camper vans mixed humbly with their more expensive cousins. “But it’s not exactly tiny either. You know what they say, Size isn’t important.” He gauged his laughter carefully. The joke was old, slightly crude, and far from original.
“It’s always nice to have plenty of room.” She said, mildly amused by the joke She studied the caravan exterior. It was a plain white with red accents here and there. Ross had been busy with the power washer, cleaning and polishing. The caravan hadn’t been empty for very long, a few days at most, but he was keen to have it occupied once again and get a few euros coming in for it. “Do I get the garden too?” . Ross hadn’t seen her for years. Not since she had been married. Now here she was again, turning up out of the blue. In some ways a total stranger. But so familiar. Refined accent. Casual, but nice clothes. The military style camouflage smock was a bit of an affectation. Underneath it she wore a red plaid shirt and jeans with the knees missing. The boots were study and expensive.
“The garden comes with the caravan. Ah…the last resident…Ms….well you wouldn’t know her…liked to grow her own vegetables. Very…organic.”
“Well it looks like she’s left me enough for dinner at least.” She was friendly anyway. Whatever problems she had he was pleased to see they weren’t with him. “Can we get inside? The weather’s a bit….”
“The weather’s a lot and always is here.” Ross said, “It’s always like this.” He unlocked the caravan door. Stepped back to let her inside.
“At least you know what to expect.” She went inside. “Oh very nice.” She looked around while Ross pointed out the various points of interest. Kitchen area. Seating which converted to a bed. The toilet at the back. “It’s not plumbed in to anything of course, but waste removal is part of the service.” He employed people to do the menial tasks. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s very nice.” She said. “I’m likely to be in town for about a month. So if I pay you for that we can sort out any more rent if I decide to stay on.”
“You don’t need to do that.” He said, “You can stay here.”
“This place costs money to run.” She broke out a bundle of euro notes. “Here. Take it, please. It’ll make me feel better.”
Ross accepted the money, He said, “It’s good to have you home.”
The blonde snorted slightly, but smiled and said gently, “This isn’t my home. I don’t think it ever was.”
Chapter Four
Maxine Graff stepped out of the shower and watched most of her fake tan drain away down the plug hole. The clothing she had worn, along with the wig, all fitted neatly into the large shoulder bag. The entire deal now rested at the bottom of the river.
She toweled herself down and thought about the event. The policewoman, a detective of some sort, appearing as she did was unexpected, but nothing to be vastly concerned about. Fuller evidently suspected something. Maybe Grant hadn’t been as careful as he should have been when gathering information.
Maxine shook her head. No, that wasn’t like Grant, besides, with his background he wouldn’t have been seen.
However, if Fuller was the nervous kind and was always on his guard….
It doesn’t matter, she told herself forcefully. The job was done. It had been smooth and simple. A knock at the door. Fuller opens it. He likes what he sees. From then on a simple matter to take him to the bathroom and finish him.
The policewoman had been quick on the scene. The thought continued in her head. A few minutes earlier and it would have become messy.
Maxine stepped out of the bathroom. The Caliburn Hotel was one of the best in town, and, she suspected, was today what The Orient Park had been to the 1930s.
Except this hadn’t been a hotel back then. It had been a privately owned house. According to the tourist information The Caliburn Hotel, before the property developers had got their greasy little mitts on it, had been the stronghold of Giles de Bracineaux, Grand Master of the Knights Templar.
Maxine stood, totally naked, by the window and looked down onto the hotel grounds. The whole damn town just reeked of age and tradition and history. She should, she thought, be somehow reassured by that, but instead it just made her feel….old.
She leaned on the window sill. Beneath her she watched a car draw up and a family get out. Harassed looking parents. Mother and father on the first day of their holiday, having just got here. A couple of children, awake and enthusiastic. Neither of them above twelve. The girl looked the eldest. How did they put up with this town? How did the people who lived in this bloody museum of a town manage to get by without going mad?
So many churches, empty but for the tourists. Museums packed with camera toting Americans. Art galleries devoted to the treasures of the past. It was like a time warp.
Below her the mother and father were unloading the luggage. Their car was a fairly standard Eurobox. They all looked the same to Maxine. A nondescript silver grey. No doubt the father worked in IT or sales management or something equally dull. Mother looked to be doing her best despite having two children to deal with.
She noted the son wore an MP3 player, his head nodding away to whatever passed for music these days.
Maxine allowed herself