Sebastian Gregori shot her a quizzical look as he headed towards the door of his room.
‘Excuse me, sir.’ Stepping in front of him, she dropped the phone into her pocket and pulled out her ID. ‘Hotel Security. I’m afraid you’ll have to go back downstairs.’
‘But I want to go to my room.’ Gregori made a half-hearted attempt to brush past her, but McDonald stood her ground. Waving his key card in front of her face, he said, ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ she smiled, ‘but we’ve been informed of a health and safety problem on this floor.’
Gregori let his arm fall to his side. ‘What problem?’
‘We have had a report,’ she said, not missing a beat, ‘of multiple carbon-monoxide monitors going off. We’ve had to evacuate the entire floor.’ McDonald allowed herself a quick peek up and down the corridor. Please God, let no one come out of their rooms right now.
From inside the room came a distinct whirring noise. Gregori stared at the door and then at McDonald. For a moment it looked as if he was about to force his way past but she pushed back her shoulders, making best use of her height advantage, in order to appear as intimidating as possible.
‘There’s someone in there.’ It was part-observation, part-cry.
‘One of our operatives, sir. Checking for fumes.’ She cast a grateful glance towards the door behind which her selfless colleague was risking life and limb before adding: ‘He’s got his own oxygen supply, obviously.’
‘They said nothing about all of this downstairs,’ Gregori grumbled.
‘It’s probably just a false alarm,’ she said soothingly. ‘We had one last week.’
‘You should get it properly fixed,’ he tutted.
‘We’re trying, sir. Hopefully it will only take a few minutes.’ She gestured in the direction he had come. ‘In the meantime, we have to follow the correct protocol. I’m afraid I need to ask you to return to the lobby.’
Gregori glanced back at the lifts. ‘Should I take the stairs?’
‘Yes, please.’ She felt her pulse slacken slightly as it became apparent he would buy it. ‘If you want to go back down to the bar, all drinks for second-floor customers are complimentary at the moment. Just mention my name and give the waitress the code word, which is . . .’ for a moment her mind went blank, ‘er, starfish.’
‘Starfish.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And it won’t be long?’ Gregori looked wistfully at the door to his own room. ‘I wanted to have a shower.’
‘Just a few minutes. As soon as we have the all clear, I will come straight down and let you know.’ Reluctantly, he turned and headed back down the corridor. Only when he had disappeared into the stairwell did McDonald allow herself a deep breath.
Hearing voices outside the door, Carlyle froze for a moment. Then, reminding himself to breathe, he gathered up all of the material on the bed, shoved it back into the safe and gently closed it, grimacing as the lock whirred shut. Stepping up to the door, he could clearly hear Rosalind McDonald trying to talk her way out of a tricky situation. Looking round, he considered his options, quickly coming to the conclusion that he didn’t have any.
‘. . . we have to follow protocol.’ The inspector smiled. Good for McDonald; the security chief was giving it her best shot, thinking on her feet. He concentrated on keeping his breathing under control. He felt a tightening of his chest and wondered if he might be having a heart attack. That would be great timing – typical. But the feeling quickly passed and instead a sense of calm enveloped him. He would just have to wait and see what happened.
To his left was the bathroom. The door was open and he tiptoed inside, carefully closing the toilet lid and taking a seat, while his fate was decided.
‘. . . starfish.’
Starfish. Carlyle stifled a giggle as he scanned the range of products lined up by the sink. Gregori certainly had a lot of toiletries for a gumshoe. Folding his arms, he counted a dozen small vials of different shapes and colours, all neatly lined up in front of the mirror. At the end of the row was a squat grey bottle of prescription tablets. Getting to his feet, Carlyle stepped over to the sink, picked it up and studied the label. ‘Well, well, well.’
As he dropped the bottle in his pocket, there was a click as the door to the room opened. He turned to find McDonald in the doorway, giving him a funny look.
‘What are you doing in the loo?’
The search of Kortmann’s room on the fifth floor was far more straightforward but yielded nothing of interest. The man’s clothes were all neatly put away and his shoes lined up next to the desk.
The inspector checked the safe: empty.
In the wardrobe, he found a bag from the Calvin Klein store on Long Acre, containing three unopened packs of boxer shorts, along with a receipt, showing that they had been purchased just after Kortmann’s visit to the police station. Carlyle was hit by a sudden feeling of listlessness as he looked around the spacious room; the bed had been made and the bathroom cleaned. Aside from a toothbrush and some toothpaste, there were no other toiletries and no bottles of prescription pills.
When they returned downstairs, there was no sign of Gregori in the bar. Taking a seat in the VIP area, McDonald ordered a mineral water, while Carlyle opted for a whiskey.
As the waitress hurried away, McDonald gave him a crooked smile. ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to drink on duty?’
Now it was the inspector’s turn to smile, a tad sheepishly. ‘And I would have thought you would have realized by now that there’re quite a few things I do that are not strictly by the book.’
‘Alex did mention that you could be a bit unorthodox.’
‘Ha. That was uncharacteristically understated of him.’
‘He likes you.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘He said that you were very fair.’
The waitress reappeared, placing their drinks on the table, along with a small bowl of olives. Looking at the olives, both of them decided to pass. Carlyle took a sip of his Jameson’s. ‘I try to be realistic about things.’
‘I suppose you have to be.’
‘Yes. Over the years, I’ve learned the hard way that you should pick your battles carefully.’ He watched her take a drink and for a few moments they sat in silence. Finally, he asked: ‘What should I call you, by the way?’
McDonald made a face. ‘I prefer Rosalind, but everyone calls me Ros.’
‘I shall call you Rosalind then.’ The inspector raised his glass in salute. ‘Or Ms McDonald, if you want to keep it formal.’
The Head of Security laughed ruefully. ‘I think it’s a bit late for that, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ the inspector agreed. ‘Thank you for bailing me out back there. That could have been tricky.’
‘Find anything useful?’
‘Maybe.’
Lifting the glass, he let the remains of his drink moisten his lips. ‘I like the “starfish” thing. Very good.’
McDonald nodded.
‘Quick thinking.’
‘No, no. It’s for real. We have a code that changes every month or so. At the moment it really is “starfish”, although I nearly forgot. My mind went blank for a second and I couldn’t remember the bloody word. Before that, it was “donkey”. It’s very handy if you’ve got a guest who’s pissed off about something or other. Nine times out of ten a free drink is enough to placate them. It was something I introduced when I arrived here.’
Carlyle took a more substantial mouthful of whiskey. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘I got the Head of Security job about four months ago. Before that, I was at the Imperial in Sloane Square.’
Carlyle shook his head. ‘Don’t know it.’
‘It was fine. A bit boring. Not as interesting as this place.’
‘In my experience,’ Carlyle grinned, ‘boring is good.’
‘Yeah,’ McDonald played with her glass, ‘but you know what I mean.’
‘Sure.’
‘Before the Imperial, I was in the Army. An electronic warfare specialist in the Royal Signals.’