Special Branch interviewed the hotel manager in a cluttered cubby hole flatteringly proclaimed an office by the stencilled wooden strip screwed to a paint blistered door. The space smelled of unwashed socks.
Expertly flipping a warrant card open and shut, Special Branch took his ease on an extremely uncomfortable varnished wooden chair. He rubbed its shiny arm rest and examined such dark graining as was visible.
“Edwardian?” he enquired.
“Hardly,” the hotel manager said. “Detective Inspector…?”
“Smith,” said Special Branch. “Now then, tell me all about our friend in Room 101. You know, the recent occupant of the room that Lochaber’s finest have been hoovering.”
“304,” the manager was not well read. “He was in Room 304.”
“In particular, what do you know about his comings and goings? Was he a drinker? Or loud and brash, maybe?”
“He was very quiet, apart from his motor bike.”
“I’m sure he was,” Special Branch said. “Can you tell me at what times he checked in his room key and picked it up again coming in.”
“I’ll need to ask Reception.”
“Let’s do this together. Can you bring Reception here? The human part of it, preferably carrying your Hotel Register with a record of meals taken,” and a plainly irritated Reception soon arrived with his ledgers.
A possible leaching away of the hotelier’s co-operation was stemmed by a suave apology. Regret was expressed at any disruption of management in this bijou hotel, which urbanity the hotel manager graciously accepted as his due. He proffered the Hotel Register for examination, and himself for questioning. His arms spread generously, revealing frayed shirt cuffs. “How can I assist, Inspector?”
A few general enquiries revealed that the activist had drawn rather more attention to himself than he had wished, or rather his Ducati had. Special Branch acquired a potted history, noting the Friday for which the activist was recorded as present at the hotel when in fact he had been absent.
“Every night was spent here, I see,” Special Branch glanced at Reception who was peering at the Register as though he had never before studied it. “Took nearly all his meals here too, except for one Friday. Bit odd, don’t you think?”
“Why odd? He seemed perfectly satisfied with the food and the service.”
“I’m sure he was. But big bike, mountains left and right, island scenery a swift hour away, glorious weather, and biker doesn’t travel around? After coming all the way from…where was it?”
“Leeds,” the manager said uncomfortably, overwhelmed by his lack of perspicacity, “although he did go for two or three bike rides.”
“I see he signed for breakfast on, let me see now, every morning except one, the Saturday before he checked out. Sudden, was it, the check-out? Business emergency? Death of a dear one? No argument about payment, I venture to guess. Model customer. Quiet chap, I think you said. Except for his Ducati.”
The manager fired off an ‘oh, for Christ’s sake’ look and received a blank return stare. He hastily nodded, his small hands opening and closing over the desk. “It was pretty much like that,” he said. “You’re not from around here, Inspector, I know all the local bobbies. What on earth has this man done?”
“I am simply pursuing a line of enquiry,” Special Branch advised. “Bit of drudgery, really. No need to make this a topic of hotel gossip. Dull police business. Unspectacular. Tedious. Can you make me a copy of this stuff? For the record. Need to keep the files shipshape. I’ll wait until it’s done. Most obliging of you.”
The manager looked authoritatively towards Reception who blinked and gathered up the ledgers. “Won’t be long,” he muttered, “the copier is just next door.”
“Of course,” said Special Branch, who remembered passing what he took to be another linen cupboard. He contemplated the manager’s untidy desk and from habit began to read upside down lettering on A4 sheets marked ‘Urgent’.
“We are very busy, Inspector,” the hotel manager wrested back command of communication.
“I can see that,” Special Branch said as Reception re-entered clutching a sheaf of paper and held it out. “I’m obliged,” Special Branch reached for the copies, “you have been most helpful. By the way, if this chap comes back – I imagine many guests do – could you perhaps let the local police know? Just to keep them informed.” And having served this red herring, Special Branch departed.
At Belford Hospital, the constable on duty hurried towards him.
“Biker’s conscious but confused, doesn’t seem to know where he is.”
“Likely story,” Special Branch remarked. “He’ll be trying to figure out what to say, what to do. He saw you around the bed, did he not, nicely pressed uniform, shiny buttons?”
“Well, yes sir,” the constable appeared to redden with annoyance, “but the doctor thinks he’s got amnesia.”
“Too bloody true he’s got amnesia. You think he’s going to remember everything and start explaining himself?”
“No, really sir, they think it’s genuine amnesia.”
“My balls in a tin,” Special Branch said. “Where is the bloody doctor?”
“That is the consultant coming now, sir,” the constable said respectfully.
The consultant was young and sandy haired. His smooth light skin was speckled with brown dots, reminding Special Branch of an wren’s egg. He was also disinclined to waste time on plain-clothes policemen. With optimum brevity he outlined the condition of the patient who held such interest for the forces of law and order, concluding with his diagnosis of post traumatic amnesia, likely of short duration, possibly a week or less.
“Bollocks,” Special Branch said, “he’s hardened; he’s faking it.”
“Really? I must study the patient again. Remarkable how police are able to arrive at diagnostic conclusions on the basis of no evidence whatever. It must be the special training they get.” The sandy haired doctor nodded sagely to himself, and was bleeped elsewhere.
Special Branch shrugged at the retreating white coat and turned towards the constable.
“Stay close, note everything chummie says and does, including when he makes water,” he said.
“Yes, Inspector,” the constable (who had already been instructed to do exactly that) responded evenly.
“That’s right, you’ll go far, son,” Special Branch said and walked off.