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Start of book
Book Murder at the Regal Hotel continued:
In fact Sian was pretty late that Saturday. When I phoned about ten o'clock there was no answer so I decided to go over to the hotel where Dubois had died. It took me only ten minutes at that time of night. It was all closed up when I got there and there were police ribbons all across the front and back doors. There were also two constables standing on the pavement so there was no chance of my getting in even as far as the front foyer, if it had one. So the only detecting I could do was to look at the outside. That didn't yield much at first but then I looked at the sign above the front door. It was the usual, 'Licensed to sell alcohol for consumption on the premises, licensed for music and dancing.' The Licensee's name was Smethhurst, H. V. Smethhurst. Not a common name, but then not a terribly strange one either. I don't know why it stuck with me for the next hour or so. Perhaps it was just that it was the only fact I got from that visit.
It wasn't until nearly midnight that Sian got back from Newport. As I expected, she was alone and quite willing to talk about the case.
"You'd better both come round here." she said. Having a meeting after midnight on Saturday night was her way of keeping me on my toes.
I picked up Jane at her flat and we arrived at Sian's flat about twenty minutes later. Parking wasn't a problem at that time in the night in the City centre. I pressed the button for Apartment 44 and she answered the call with a simple "Yes?" "It's me." I said and heard the click as she unlocked the outside door. "Come on." I said to Jane and we went into the foyer and shut the door behind us. We walked through to the lifts over the thick carpet and went up to the fourth floor. I knocked the door of number 44 and went in.
Sian was in the kitchen. "Would you like a drink?" she asked Jane. She didn't bother to ask me but poured out a glass of my favourite red wine. Sian had discovered long ago that I like claret, preferably St. Emilion. She had introduced me to it , and she was pleased that I liked it. Jane asked for orange juice. Sian got it for her and then took us into the living room, when she sat down in an armchair and gestured to us to sit opposite her on a settee. She already had a balloon glass with brandy in it on a side table.
"Right then. Where are we? Davy, bring me up to date."
I told her everything we knew, making sure I left nothing out. At the end of that she knew what we knew.
She sat back for a while, thinking. Then she asked Jane. "A statement like that, by Dubois, it would carry a lot of weight in court wouldn't it?"
"Yes," answered Jane, "A dying man. The general view is that he would have no reason to lie."
"A bit like a deathbed confession?" Sian enquired.
"Yes," Jane was subdued but then rallied, "But Greg says he didn't do it."
"Well," said Sian, "What are the other possible explanations for what happened."
I interjected, "What lines can a defence take? Firstly, if we agree that Frenchie wasn't lying, what about the policeman Williams?"
"That he was lying?" Sian shook her head, " I doubt it. Why would he? He didn't know anything about the case. It was only later that he discovered Greg's name. No, I don't think a defence lawyer would make that stick. It seems to me that there are three other possibilities. One, that Williams said 'Who did this?' but Dubois wasn't answering the question. That he was trying to say something like, 'Greg will tell you what happened.' or something."
"Yes," said Jane enthusiastically, After all, he had just been shot. He must have been in a state of shock. Perhaps he didn't understand the question."
"Secondly," Sian continued, "That Dubois understood the question and answered it, but was simply mistaken. He knew Greg was coming, and if he heard someone, he would have assumed it was Greg."
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Film scripts * pitching a film script to directors * movie scripts * film rights for sale * free internet publishers * new scriptwriters needed * breaking into the film industry
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