The Royal Baths Murder Read online

  ‘I see. So you and Carol were in reception all the time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And neither of you left?’

  She wiped her brow, as if it was an enormous effort to speak. ‘No. I heard someone ring the bell. It must have been about eight; Carol hadn’t been here long. That must have been Mr Penrose arriving. I was cleaning the office. I vacuumed the carpets and the next thing was Steve arriving. I’d just about done and I was having a smoke outside. Then about a minute later there was a scream and Carol came running back up the steps saying someone was dead. I couldn’t do anything. I can’t be doing with dead bodies and stuff. My sister’s a nurse; she says I’m squeamish around blood. Anyway, I just went and sat with Carol in the office until Mr Barnes got here and then the police came.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very clear. Can I just ask if you saw or heard anything unusual between when you arrived and when the body was discovered?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘No, it was just an ordinary day.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what my Stan will say after this. He’ll tell me I ought to leave here if there’s going to be murders and stuff. Anyway . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘I’m sure there won’t be any more, and thank you very much.’

  Oldroyd smiled at Andy as Shirley left.

  Steve Monroe sat looking very shaken.

  ‘Can you tell us exactly what happened from the time you arrived this morning?’

  ‘Yes. I got here at eight forty-five and Carol let me in. Shirley was outside having a smoke. I went straight downstairs to check everything.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘That everything’s working, that there are fresh towels available, the changing rooms are clean, stuff like that.’

  ‘You work as an attendant and a masseur?’

  ‘Yes. I have a small treatment room near the changing rooms.’

  ‘OK. So what did you see when you got down the stairs?’

  ‘Everything seemed normal. I passed the pool and looked in the steam rooms and saw the body on the floor. I knew it had to be Mr Penrose because he was booked in for a private session. At first I thought he’d fainted or had a heart attack and I was ready to do CPR, but then I saw the red line around his neck, saw his eyes were open. It was very hot in the room, but his body felt cool. I felt for a pulse, but couldn’t find one. I was absolutely sure he was dead.’

  ‘Did you move the body?’

  ‘I just turned him a little to get a better view of his neck. That’s all.’

  ‘And then you called Mrs Ashworth?’

  ‘Yes, but first it began to sink in that he’d been murdered and his murderer must be down there. I rushed round everywhere, but there was nobody there. There aren’t really any hiding places down there and I checked all the changing cubicles. Then I called Carol and she called you.’

  ‘Did you know Mr Penrose?’

  ‘No, except that I’ve seen him here before. He comes every year at festival time.’

  ‘OK. Thank you.’

  It all seemed very plausible, thought Oldroyd, but could this man who found the body have had time to kill Penrose?

  ‘See what I mean, sir?’ said Andy when Monroe had left.

  ‘I do. It’s a good ’un, isn’t it? Murderer disappeared but no way out. First, we must establish that what these three are telling us is true. Have a look at Carol’s computer and see if she was sending emails at that crucial time between eight and eight forty-five. Check her texts too. I’ve been wondering whether Monroe might have had opportunity to quickly strangle Penrose but if she’s right about Monroe calling out to her not long after he went down, it hardly gives him time to commit the murder, and it would be a stupid plot anyway. If you were the murderer, why draw attention to yourself like that? The two women’s stories seem to corroborate each other nicely, but maybe too nicely.’

  ‘The main problem with them all is the absence of motive, isn’t it, sir?’

  ‘Yes, unless we can dig something up, but I agree with you that it all seems unlikely: a crime writer murdered by three people – a receptionist, a cleaner and an attendant, who all happen to work together at the Baths. No, I think we’re faced with another cunning, well-planned murder here. My first thought would be that the murderer was already down there waiting for Penrose.’

  ‘Stayed here overnight?’

  ‘Exactly. It wouldn’t be too difficult to hide somewhere in the building and lie in wait, then get down to ambush your victim. The difficult thing to explain is how they escaped, given they were down there, and the only way out is past the receptionist’s desk. We need to talk to that technician person she mentioned.’

  ‘Sid Newman,’ said Andy, looking at his notes.

  ‘Yes, see if he noticed anything unusual. The killer must have been around when he was opening up and doing his jobs.’

  ‘There is another possibility, sir.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Those three may not have been the killers but they may have allowed the murderer to escape. We’ve only their word that there was no one else down there and no one left the building by the front door.’

  ‘True, but I notice there is CCTV, so we should be able to check that. Also, double-check the emergency exit hasn’t been tampered with.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  There was a knock on the door. Howard Barnes, the manager, came tentatively into the room. ‘Can I help at all, Chief Inspector? My staff have had a terrible shock.’

  ‘Yes, they have. What time did you arrive?’ asked Oldroyd.

  ‘Not long before the sergeant here.’ He nodded towards Andy. ‘I got a call from Carol. She sounded distraught, so I came as quick as I could. I was just about to set off for here anyway.’

  ‘Did you know the victim?’

  ‘No. Only that he was a crime writer – famous, apparently.’

  ‘Yes. So you went down when you arrived. What did you see?’

  Barnes corroborated what Steve and Carol had said.

  Oldroyd mused briefly on the irony of the situation. If things were to continue as opaquely as they were at the moment, they may well miss the victim’s skills in solving his own murder.

  ‘Have you noticed anything unusual recently?’

  ‘Nothing, except at festival time you do get an influx of unfamiliar visitors like Mr Penrose. But I’ve seen nothing alarming or sinister.’

  ‘Fine. Well, please continue to console your staff and of course you’ll have to remain closed until I give you the go-ahead to reopen, and I don’t know when that will be.’

  ‘OK. I’m going to send Carol and Steve home.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Oh, and I’ve called Sid Newman and asked him to come in. I knew you’d want to speak to him.’ Outside there was the sound of the door opening and voices. ‘I think that’s him now. I’ll just go and briefly tell him what’s happened and then I’ll send him in.’

  Shortly after, a brawny man with hairy, tattooed arms and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt came into the room.

  ‘Mr Newman?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Please take a seat.’

  ‘What’s all this about somebody getting bumped off in th’hot room?’

  Oldroyd smiled. ‘Well, you’ve summed it up very nicely. I’m afraid that’s exactly what happened.’

  Newman whistled. ‘Bloody hell! I couldn’t believe it when Mr Barnes told me; strangled, was he? Well, I hope yer don’t suspect me. It’s my job to get everythin’ goin’ on a mornin’. I don’t go round throttlin’ folk wi’ bits o’ rope.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t.’ Oldroyd had to smile again. ‘The main thing I want to ask you is: did you see anything unusual this morning when you came in? Anything at all? You see, we believe the murderer was probably down there waiting for their victim, so they would have been there when you were going about your business. I understand you have a key to the side door?’

  ‘Yes. I let myself in as normal.
Bloody hell! Down there waitin’.’ He shook his head and thought for a moment. ‘No, I didn’t see owt. But it wouldn’t be difficult to hide down there when there’s nob’dy around. I don’t look in all t’changin’ cubicles, don’t have time. I get t’boiler and t’steam generators goin’ and then sweep round a bit in there and that’s me done. It’s Steve Monroe’s job to check t’changin’ rooms and t’toilets. I have to get off.’

  ‘Have you got other jobs?’

  ‘Yes, I go on to t’Leisure Centre and do t’same job there, and then to a private gym. When ah’ve done it all, I go home for a kip. Later on I do any maintenance jobs ’at need doin’ and then I come back at night and turn everythin’ off again.’

  ‘So you keep everything moving?’

  ‘I do; they couldn’t manage wi’out me. Now then, I ’ave remembered summat. T’steam generator wa’ turned up to a higher settin’ than normal, but that’s not my job to decide. I thought someone must have asked for it to be up higher.’

  ‘What would be the effect of having the steam turned up?’

  ‘It’d create more steam, of course, and t’place’d be so full of it, you’d hardly be able to tell where you were and . . . Shit! That’s what t’bloody murderer wanted, wasn’t it, so that they wouldn’t be seen? They must have turned it up! There’s no lock on t’door to t’boiler room.’

  ‘I think you’ve got it. You’ll have to come and work for us.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Right, Mr Newman, that’s all for now.’

  Newman nodded and walked out.

  ‘Sir, I suppose it could have been possible for him to hide in that boiler room and wait for Penrose,’ said Andy, after the man had left.

  ‘Yes, but where did he go then? You have to pass reception even to go out through that side door. You didn’t find him in that boiler room.’

  ‘We’re no further forward, then, sir?’

  ‘No, and I wouldn’t expect to be at this point. This is a meticulously planned operation, and whoever’s behind it has sat down and tried to think of every possible angle. However, in my experience that’s not possible; there’s always a chink somewhere, something that gives them away.’

  ‘And it’s our job to find it.’

  ‘Of course, and we will. The main task now is to find out more about this Damian Penrose, and that should lead us to someone with a motive. Our starting point is going to be The White Swan Hotel, where I think he was involved in an event last night as part of the Crime Writing Festival. I know the people who organise that. I’m due to take part myself in a few days’ time. They’ll be very upset.’

  As the detectives were about to depart, Carol Ashworth came back in looking excited.

  ‘Chief Inspector, I’ve remembered something. I don’t know whether it’s important, but I knew what’s happened reminded me of something.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Oldroyd.

  ‘You know I told you that I read a lot of crime stories. Well, I read one recently and someone was murdered in a Turkish baths like this, and he was strangled, just like Mr Penrose.’ Her expression changed as she remembered the horror of the day.

  ‘I see,’ said Oldroyd, ‘and who wrote this book?’

  ‘It was Mr Derryvale. He comes to the festival too.’

  At The White Swan, preparations were underway for the day’s events at the Crime Writing Festival. There was to be a publishers’ forum at 11 a.m. and then Abi Derham would be reading extracts from her new book in the bar over lunch. A panel of four writers was to discuss ‘Scandi Noir’ in the afternoon, chaired by a prominent news broadcaster. In the evening there would be a creative writing workshop.

  Patricia Hughes normally worked in the Harrogate Festival office in the town centre, but during the Crime Writing Festival she operated from a temporary office at The White Swan near the hotel lobby. She sat at her desk and sighed. There was a demanding day ahead of her, and she was still furious about the previous night’s debacle with Damian Penrose. Penrose was a big draw and she didn’t really want to lose him from future festivals. However, the line had to be drawn somewhere when it came to behaviour like that, so did she have to call it a day with him?

  Glancing at the programme, she saw that Penrose was actually due to do a book signing at 10.30 a.m. in the outside marquee. It was quite a relief to remember that her deputy, Amanda Rigby, was handling this event, so she could keep away from Penrose for the time being. As if on cue, however, Amanda came into the office looking worried.

  ‘Morning, Amanda. Anything wrong?’

  ‘I hope not. It’s just that we’ve got Damian Penrose scheduled to do his book signing and he seems to have disappeared.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you know he’s staying here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve been to the hotel reception and asked if I could speak to him on the phone, to remind him. You know what he’s like sometimes.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘They called his room but no answer, so I thought he must still be having breakfast, so I went to the dining room and they told me he hadn’t been down and that’s very unusual for him.’

  ‘Doesn’t he sometimes go for early-morning sessions at the Baths?’

  ‘Yes, but he always comes back for his breakfast and I’ve looked everywhere. I’m sure he’s not in the hotel.’

  Patricia shook her head; what more trouble would that man cause her? He’d probably forgotten about the book signing and gone to York for the day or something. He really was beyond the pale.

  ‘OK, well, maybe he’s been delayed at the Baths or something. I—’

  She was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the hotel manager, Barry Evans, looking very pale and agitated.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Pat, but Damian Penrose . . .’ He appeared to be struggling for words.

  ‘What about him? He’s got a book signing at ten thirty.’

  ‘The police have just rung. Penrose has been found dead at the Royal Baths.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re on their way over here now.’

  ‘But what happened?’

  ‘Apparently he was murdered; they wouldn’t give any details.’

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Amanda. ‘But what about . . . ?’ She was about to say ‘the book signing’ but stopped.

  Patricia took a deep breath and went into emergency-planning mode. ‘OK, get round all the staff and tell them to come here for a meeting. We need to brief them about what’s happened. I’ll go over and get a notice put up cancelling his book signing. Luckily for us that’s no great loss. No one’s paid for that, and, as his last event was scheduled for next Tuesday, we should be able to get a replacement.’

  She realised her comments may have sounded insensitive in the circumstances but her responsibility was to the festival and its customers. They were all about to leave the office when a receptionist came to the door.

  ‘Mr Evans, the police are here.’

  Oldroyd admired the grandeur of the old hotel as he parked his Saab at the entrance. It was one of several majestic hotels that had survived from the golden era of Harrogate’s history as a spa and tourist destination, though some were now apartments. In front of the imposing building were extensive lawns, on one of which a large white marquee had been erected.

  In the entrance hall, people were wandering around, presumably waiting for the next event. There were a number of hushed conversations taking place and Oldroyd wondered if rumour was already sweeping through the Crime Writing Festival venue that a real murder had taken place and, irony of ironies, of a crime writer.

  Oldroyd and Andy went to reception, where Barry Evans came to take them into his office. The detectives sat facing Evans, who took a seat behind his desk.

  ‘So just to reiterate,’ began Oldroyd, ‘one of your guests, Damian Penrose, has been found dead at the Royal Baths, and not of natural causes. Consequently this is a murder enquiry. We will need to speak to everyone who had contact with him.’


  ‘I see,’ replied a still stunned Evans. ‘By all means use this office to talk to people.’

  ‘Thank you very much, sir. And we’ll start with you, if that’s OK.’

  ‘Well, yes, by all means,’ said Evans.

  ‘What can you tell us about Mr Penrose?’

  ‘Well, he . . .’ Evans was clearly struggling, having been suddenly plunged into this serious situation. ‘He’s stayed here for a number of years now when the Crime Writing Festival is on. It’s obviously very convenient for him, as we are also the venue for most of the events.’

  ‘Quite. What was your impression of him? Were there ever any problems?’

  Evans shuffled uneasily. ‘Not particularly. He always paid his bills and stuff like that but I can’t say I found him a pleasant person. When he had dinner, he sometimes complained about the food, or the choice of wines. He gave me the impression that he thought everything here was vastly inferior to what he was used to in hotels and restaurants in London.’

  Oldroyd frowned at this and Andy smiled, knowing how his boss reacted to any criticism of Yorkshire.

  ‘Did he treat the staff well?’

  ‘As far as I’m aware, no one complained about him, though I did see him flirting with waitresses and female bar staff at times.’

  ‘Have you noticed anything unusual about his stay this year?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Did he seem different in any way? Worried or anything like that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he have any visitors?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He spent time with the festival people, of course, but other than that he seemed to be alone. He went on walks round Harrogate by himself, I think. I was not aware that he had any friends in the town and nobody came with him from London, unless they stayed somewhere else.’

  Oldroyd was beginning to form a picture of the victim. Penrose had not been a very pleasant person, but that was not unusual in well-planned murders of this kind. The number of suspects was likely to increase the further the investigation progressed.

  Evans continued. ‘Apparently there was an incident last night here in the bar.’