Under a Watchful Eye(49)

Seb was introduced to Dot, who came out from an office to stand behind a counter set in an alcove under the staircase. A front desk small enough to suggest a lectern. Even then, a vast array of brochures, stationery and equipment had been arranged upon it. Somewhere from the office behind, a telephone rang.

‘I’ll get it,’ Ray said, and then nodded his plump, hairless head to indicate Seb. ‘This fella was a friend of the one in number three.’

When he saw the look of dread on the woman’s face, Seb quickly redefined the ‘friendship’ for her, and found himself repeating the short speech that he’d edited and improved through repeat usage to explain his association with Ewan.

He also endeared himself to Dot by producing his wallet and then his credit card and insisting that he cover Ewan’s unpaid bill at the Beach Haven.

Seb was not entirely comfortable with the idea that he was paying for information, but what he desperately sought was a grim reassurance that Ewan had died because of a fit. That his much-weakened constitution and poor health, after decades of hard living, alcohol and substance abuse, had mostly been responsible for stopping his heart. Seb needed to believe that whatever it was that had been hunting Ewan could not kill a man by appearance alone. The idea of death by such an agency, and then a victim’s fate post-mortem, was the destination to which Seb’s thoughts had recently flowed, circled and then settled.

Dot returned from the office with a set of keys attached to a large plastic fob. Coming out from behind the tiny counter she said, ‘Come on up. I’ll show you the room.’

Ray shuffled from the office and stood at the foot of the stairs, reluctant to join the tour.

The little hotel was clean and plainly decorated. Clearly a business in which much pride and hard work had been invested, and this amplified the indecency of Ewan’s transgression. But Ewan had long stopped caring about anyone not committed to his obscure and selfish cause. What little sympathy Seb had conjured for him since his death evaporated.

When they stood outside number three, indicated by a brass number fixed into a newly white door, Dot said, ‘We came up in the morning because he still hadn’t paid. And you should have heard him in the night. He woke up the lady on the other side and the couple upstairs. We heard it too, me and me husband, but then it went all quiet in here.’ Dot nodded at the door as she unlocked the room. She didn’t share Seb’s sudden nervous reluctance to see it opened.

‘He liked a drink, that was clear, but he kept hisself to hisself and didn’t bother no one. Don’t think he went out much. Never ate breakfast here. Don’t think he was up in time. Only saw him eat once and that was chips.’

Seb followed Dot into the room. It was small but well kept. There was a bed with a fitted cabinet on one side, a wardrobe, a tiny desk and a flat-screen television attached to the wall.

‘We’ve given it a thorough clean and it needed a good airing.’ Dot paused and wrinkled her nose. ‘Between you and me, I don’t think he ever used the shower.’

Seb cleared his throat. ‘He certainly had his fair share of problems.’

‘It’s hard to tell with people these days. You know, with all their tattoos and piercings and things, but we’ve never been quick to judge, like. Live and let live, we’ve always said. You can’t jump to conclusions, but we were in two minds about letting him have the room in the first place. When we started to, you know, really catch wind of him, it was too late and he’d paid for twelve nights. He said he wanted to keep the room for a few more nights so we held it for him, but he never paid up when he came back. We felt a bit sorry for him too, you know. He seemed lonely. Depressed, like. And with the drinking we was just kind of counting down the days till he moved off. But that’s where we found him, by the radiator, under the window.’

Dot shuffled to the window as if to recreate the scene for Seb. ‘He was down the side of the bed, somehow, with his arms up like he was trying to climb out. Still in his clothes. I don’t think he had any other clothes with him, just bags of paper when the police went through his things. They wore gloves too and wouldn’t take his stuff with them. You could see they didn’t even like touching it, cus of the smell, like. Said someone would come and fetch it, but they still haven’t. Bags of paper he had with him. Fancy dragging that round with you? Horrible sound he made, though. Screams, you know, and really sudden, like.’

Seb nodded, trying to appear as thoughtful as he could manage. ‘No one heard anything else that night?’

‘Well that’s the strangest thing, because the lady down the hall, now she said she thought she’d heard someone else in his room on the night before Mr Hazzard died, when he wasn’t here, like. Sorry, Mr Alexander. But we never knew that at the time. He’d give us a false name. But the lady down the hall mentioned these noises she’d heard in Mr Alexander’s room to Ray – a complaint, to be honest, about the chap in three. She’s not here no more, otherwise I’d ask her to tell you what she told me. But she told us that she saw someone the night before he died, on his hands and knees, and moaning like he was unwell. Out in the hall. Or this fella on the floor might have been crying. We never saw no one come in though. The lady across the hall thought he was blind drunk, like Mr Alexander often was.

‘But, as I said, this was the night before Mr Alexander come back and passed away. It was ever so strange because this lady was really frightened. Really put the wind up her, as my old dad used to say, cos whoever she saw had his head inside something, like a sack or pillow case. That’s what she said. Never heard anything like that in my life, have you? She shut her door quick, like, and told Ray in the morning.’