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  ‘Did they ask for those specific rooms?’ Melsom asked.

  ‘Not Sarah, but she did ask for that type of room. The receptionist remembers suggesting that the second caller try the Hawthorns. She always tries to put business their way if the hotel is fully booked or too expensive for the caller, because the Fantinis are her parents. And Shapiro’s booking at the Hawthorns matches the time and date perfectly. Those two reservations were linked.’

  ‘So the killing might not be random after all? They probably knew each other,’ Melsom said.

  ‘It looks as though there was some kind of link, but we can’t make the assumption that the murder was pre-planned, Jimmy,’ said Sophie. She nodded for Marsh to continue.

  ‘Third odd fact. Shapiro lied to Mrs Fantini. They didn’t come by bus. The times don’t check out. The buses were running to time and I’ve had people interviewing the bus drivers on both routes into town. No one matching their description came in by bus yesterday afternoon or evening. What we do have, though, is a vague match with two men who were seen walking out of the town’s main car park in Victoria Avenue a few minutes earlier. It was sheer good fortune, since it was dark by then. The times match nicely with their arrival at the Hawthorns.’

  ‘Reliable witness?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘I think so. She’s a local resident and passed them on the pavement.’

  ‘Why would they lie about something like that?’ Melsom mused.

  Marsh shrugged. ‘It is odd. But it suggests they didn’t expect all this to happen, don’t you think, ma’am?’

  ‘You’re right. Whatever they were up to, they expected it to be trouble-free. But Jimmy’s question remains. Why did they lie about their means of transport? My guess is that they didn’t want their car identified. Like most places, the Fantinis ask for car registrations. I saw the space for it on the check-in card. So Shapiro opted to park across the road and lie about it. And the car’s no longer there.’

  ‘Fourth odd fact. It follows on from the close timing of the booking sequence. It looks as though Sheldon might have misled Rosemary Corrigan into thinking that the two men were strangers to her, whereas she may well have known one or both of them somehow. But if they did already know each other, why couldn’t she have just said so? Why pretend that the meeting was accidental?’

  ‘Because it might have led to too many questions from Rosemary,’ said Sophie. ‘Where did you meet? How did you meet? How many times? Where did you go together? Easier to pretend that you’ve never met before.’

  She turned to Melsom. ‘Now it’s your turn to tell us what you found out when you interviewed the other guests at the hotel.’

  ‘Not much. I found another group that were in the hotel bar late last night and their accounts match what Mrs Corrigan and Mr Wilton told us. One of them noticed that Shapiro seemed in a bit of a mood. They confirmed that Mrs Sheldon and the taller man stayed for a few minutes after the other three left the bar, then walked towards the stairs together. That also checks out with what the porter remembers. He thinks Shapiro left at about twelve-twenty, followed by Wilton and Rosemary a minute or two later.’

  ‘But no one noticed Shapiro, or anyone else, coming back in later? Or anyone else leaving? Sarah got out of the building somehow, or her body was carried out, probably through the fire door. Could you check whether it’s alarmed in any way?’

  ‘There’s a back entrance from the garden to the car park, ma’am. You can get into the garden via a footpath coming in from the road down at the back. And there’s a side door near the restaurant that leads out to the garden. It’s meant to be locked at eleven, but the porter admits that it’s sometimes a lot later than that. Even then some guests open it to go out for a smoke and don’t bother locking it when they come in again.’

  ‘So we have a possible way that Shapiro got back into the building. Good. We’ll get that door fingerprinted as well as the fire door next to the room.’

  ‘But why would he have come back, ma’am?’ Melsom asked.

  ‘It could have been prearranged. But all the witness accounts tend to indicate that the two men weren’t behaving as if they were particularly close. There may be a simpler explanation. Maybe it was Derek who had the key to the Hawthorns. It’s possible that Shapiro left in a huff, got to the front door and found he couldn’t get in. Maybe he went back to get the key from Derek.’

  ‘Why not ring the bell and get Mrs Fantini to let him in?’

  ‘Maybe he tried and got no response. She told us she went to bed just after midnight. We’ll have to ask her whether she’d have heard the doorbell once she was in bed. Can you do that, Barry? And if it was Shapiro, how did he know about the hotel’s rear door leading in from the garden? He wasn’t staying there, and, according to Rosemary, he didn’t leave the bar area until about the same time as they did. Do you think he could have been here before?’

  ‘Ma’am,’ said Marsh, ‘do you remember that Rosemary Corrigan told us Mrs Sheldon had stayed out all night when they went to other music festivals? What if she was meeting Derek then? What if this isn’t the first time the two of them have met up at one of these festivals, but it’s the first time things have gone wrong with whatever they’ve been up to?’

  ‘Oh, that’s clever, Barry. Just the way I want you thinking. Yes. We’ll need to track back through the hotel bookings at previous festivals . . . So what could have gone wrong last night?’ Sophie glanced at her watch. ‘It’s time we joined the crew out on the pub hunt. Barry, you go on ahead to any venue that’s got a gig on. See that every single person is being questioned thoroughly about our foursome. Other people must have seen them, surely? I want corroboration. Jimmy, you stay and look through booking records to see if any of the names have cropped up before. I’ll have another word with Rosemary and check a few things with Mrs Fantini. Then we’ll both join Barry in the town. We’ll also need to check the cars in all the car parks. Is there a car unaccounted for that might belong to one of the two men, or has it disappeared along with its owner?’

  ‘There was one more thing, ma’am,’ Melsom added. ‘There are still a couple of residents who haven’t been traced yet. The staff think that they’ll trail back in during the day sometime. They said there are always a few who find somewhere else to spend the night. Parties and things.’

  ‘Keep on it, Jimmy. I want them all accounted for.’

  * * *

  Each of the pub gigs lasted for about two hours, but the festival organisers had sequenced them so that visitors had a choice of at least two events at any one time throughout the day. Sophie and Melsom joined the throng in one of the town centre bars, looking for Marsh. The atmosphere was subdued. News of the suspicious death had swept through the small resort, and visitors to the festival were understandably worried. Sophie recognised several police officers, each talking to people in the crowd, using the descriptions that Corrigan and Wilton had supplied, and occasionally showing photos of the pair. She pushed some money into Melsom’s hand.

  ‘Get me an orange juice, Jimmy. And something for yourself and Barry. But nothing alcoholic, okay?’

  She reached a small group of people standing around Marsh.

  ‘Ma’am, these people were sitting at the table next to our five late yesterday evening. They’ve agreed to give statements. There’s also someone else you should meet. He’s waiting in the office. If Jimmy can stay here, I’ll take you through.’

  They went through a narrow door leading to a corridor.

  ‘It’s someone who claims he saw our two guys a bit earlier in the evening than Ed Wilton did. He’s a roadie with one of the bands and was moving equipment.’

  The two detectives entered a tiny office where a heavyset man, dressed in faded denim, was standing beside a uniformed officer.

  Sophie held out her hand. ‘I’m DCI Sophie Allen. You have some information for us?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m sure it was them. They were standing just outside the doorway to the patio, and I was trying to get our kit
in from the van. They were right in my way but wouldn’t move until I told them to shift themselves. And they didn’t act like normal punters.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sophie asked.

  The man scratched his bulging stomach. ‘Well, most people try to be helpful. Some even help me shift the kit. But these two just gave me a look — it was meant to scare me. Fuck’s sake. I told them to fucking move or there’d be trouble. They shifted a bit after that. But they weren’t happy bunnies, and I don’t just mean with me. They were uneasy about something, but I couldn’t tell what.’

  ‘Did you hear anything they were saying?’

  ‘No. But they were definitely disagreeing over something. They weren’t there all evening. When I was reloading the van after the gig, they’d gone.’

  ‘And you’re sure it was them — the two we’re asking about?’

  ‘Yes. And one of them . . . I think I’ve seen him before somewhere.’

  ‘Do you mean here? At Swanage? This weekend or some previous blues festival?’

  ‘We’ve never played here before, so it must have been somewhere else. But I can’t be absolutely sure. He just seemed kind of familiar, know what I mean? I was thinking about it just now, before you came in. It could have been at some other festival.’

  ‘How many do you play?’ Marsh asked.

  ‘About six or so each year. The rest of our gigs are in pubs along the south-east coast. We’ve never been this far west before. But I don’t think it was at a normal gig. It could have been daytime so it was probably at another festival. We’ve done an occasional jazz festival, so it might have been at one of them.’

  ‘Can you put together a list of festivals you’ve played at over the past couple of years and include it with your statement?’ said Marsh.

  ‘Sure.’

  Sophie broke in. ‘Which one was it? The one you’ve seen before?’

  ‘The shorter one. I reckon he was the boss. I didn’t recognise the other one. Rude bastards.’

  They left a local detective to take a statement.

  ‘This makes it even stranger, Barry. If they were disagreeing, what was it about? There’s something complicated going on here. Whatever they were up to, something went wrong, and Sarah’s death last night was the consequence. We need to find what other festivals there are, and start looking for links.’

  Marsh’s phone sounded. He listened in silence.

  ‘We have an address for Sarah Sheldon in Portsmouth. The address she used on the hotel’s reservation slip matches what Rosemary told us, and the local force in Portsmouth have just confirmed it. They’ll have someone to meet us there and a forensic team on standby.’ He took a quick look at his watch. ‘In about an hour and a half. Can we make it in time?’

  ‘I’ve bought a new car, Barry. Just watch me go.’

  * * *

  The interior of the flat was neat and clean. The hallway smelled of polish and the scent from a vase of slightly faded flowers sitting on a shelf beside the front door. Everything seemed relatively new, all the furniture, carpets and accessories. The lounge had a small bookcase containing recent paperback titles, along with a dictionary and some travel guides.

  Sophie inspected the shelves and surfaces carefully, while the local Portsmouth man peered behind the furniture. Marsh opened the drawers and cupboards in a sideboard unit.

  A second doorway from the hall led to a brightly painted kitchen-diner. All the utensils and crockery were neatly stacked inside cupboards and drawers. A window looked out over a small, shared garden area where several whirligigs, some encased in plastic covers, stood sentry over the little patch of lawn. Sophie glanced at the bills and letters pinned to a corkboard fixed to the wall. She asked the local Portsmouth detective, DC Phil Barber, to examine the cupboards in the hallway. Marsh finished looking through the drawers, but found nothing out of the ordinary.

  The two detectives went into the main bedroom. The room, like those downstairs, was well-lit and colourfully decorated. The furniture was simple and contemporary.

  ‘No pastel shades here, ma’am. She liked her colours.’

  ‘It matches her personality, from what we’ve been told. We’ll just have a quick look through the units to see if anything stands out.’

  Nothing seemed amiss. Clothes, jewels, books and possessions were exactly the kind of items Sophie would have expected from an educated, middle-aged woman. She glanced inside the rattan laundry basket and under the bed. They walked through to the small second bedroom, which doubled as an office. In addition to a single bed tucked against one wall and the small wardrobe and dressing table, a small desk stood in front of the window with an office chair in front of it. A single shelf of folders and books stood to one side. Sophie looked at the laptop lying on the desk. There was a small laser printer beside it.

  Marsh looked under the desk, and opened the single drawer. He took out several memory sticks and slid them into a plastic bag, then turned to the forensic officer, who had followed them upstairs, and pointed at the computer.

  ‘Can we switch the laptop on?’

  ‘The decision’s yours,’ came the reply. ‘But it might be better to take it back to your computer forensic team. The chances are it’s absolutely fine, but just occasionally we’ve come across one that’s been rigged to bugger itself up if someone tries to log on. You know, it’s been booby-trapped with a clean-up program and all the important stuff gets wiped. It depends who you’re up against.’

  ‘Leave it, Barry,’ Sophie said. ‘We’ll take it with us. We don’t really know who we’re investigating, so we’ll get an expert to do it. If we phone ahead maybe someone can be there waiting for us. I don’t want to be waiting for days to find out what it contains.’

  They took one last look around the room and returned to the lounge. A second forensic man held out a plastic bag containing two booklets.

  ‘An address book and a diary for last year. Only one person’s prints on them, and I’ve made a record. There’s no diary for this year, by the way.’

  ‘She probably had it with her, although it hasn’t turned up yet. But these will be very useful. We’ll examine them back at our place. You have my number. If you find anything unusual, please let me know right away.’

  She turned back to Marsh, who was inspecting Sarah’s music collection. ‘It’s a bit odd, ma’am. They were at a blues festival, but none of the CDs here are remotely linked to blues or jazz. It’s all fairly middle-of-the-road stuff. Seems a bit peculiar, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe. Although some people use the festivals as a way of finding new partners. They may not be interested in the music at all.’

  ‘In that case, why not use an internet dating service? It’d be a helluva lot easier.’

  ‘I take your point. Is there nothing at all?’

  ‘No. She might have mp3 files on her laptop, but there’s no player anywhere here. She might have stuff stored on a smartphone and, from what you say, that probably vanished from her bag, but it’s a bit curious.’ He paused. ‘I’m beginning to agree with your idea, ma’am. The blues festival just provided a convenient pretext. If they were up to something, you know, from what that roadie told us, then it’s possible none of them, at least the three we’re interested in, were attracted there by the music. Remember what Rosemary told us? And Ed Wilton? He said the band playing last night was something really special. Yet Mrs Sheldon and this Derek guy didn’t show any interest. They spent the whole hour canoodling. According to them, even Shapiro didn’t take much notice of the music. We assumed they were looking for romance. But what if it was something else?’

  ‘Maybe when we start going through her address book and contacting people we’ll start seeing the bigger picture. Anyway, let’s finish off here for now.’

  They knocked at the other five flats in the block. The two who did answer could only say that Sarah had moved in less than two years previously. Sophie asked Barber, the local CID man, to call on the other neighbours early the following we
ek in case any of them could help with background information.

  Chapter 4: Tough Questions

  Saturday evening

  ‘You can stay at my place again tonight, Rosemary. Honestly it won’t be a problem.’

  Ed Wilton and Rosemary Corrigan were sharing a pot of tea in a small café on the High Street. It was late afternoon and the sky was darkening as rain clouds moved in from the west. Rosemary frowned and took another sip from her cup.

  ‘Ella’s still with me until tomorrow afternoon. She’s offered to cook something tonight and she’s said there’ll be plenty for three. And what else can you do? Your room will be off limits for days, surely?’ He glanced out of the window. No one had umbrellas up just yet.

  ‘Well, the hotel has offered me a spare room in the staff accommodation, so they have made an effort to look after me. They don’t have any other guest rooms because of the festival.’

  ‘That’s not surprising. Everywhere’s fully booked I expect.’ He looked at her tired eyes. ‘Well, the offer’s there if you want it. And to be honest, I just feel you’d be safer with us. My original plan was to go out again and see another couple of bands this evening, but I really don’t feel like it after what’s happened . . .’ His voice trailed off into silence.

  ‘Oh, Ed, I can’t even think straight. I just keep imagining what it must have been like for Sarah and what she went through last night. And I keep thinking, what if I’d been there as well? Would I be dead too?’ She finished her coffee and refilled the cup. ‘But in answer to your question, yes, please. I’d feel more secure at your place. But only if Ella is happy about it, and only if she stays too. And if the police are okay with it. I watch enough TV drama to know that both of us must be on their list of suspects. Anyway, they want to know where I am at all times. I think they want another interview sometime later, but I’m not sure what about. I don’t have many more clothes and I’m not allowed to remove anything from my bag in the hotel room until I get the go-ahead, and that could take days.’