A morning of Amy’s company was as much as he could take, Ross decided. At the Malmaison, he told her he wanted to spend the afternoon and evening alone. He would order from room service, and he suggested she did the same.
Their flight from the pub had unnerved him. It not only demonstrated how annoying Amy was – after all, they’d travelled a hundred miles and she could still encounter someone who disliked her – but it revealed a startling layer of dishonesty. She knew more about Kat’s disappearance than she’d told him. How were they supposed to work together when she was withholding information from him? Ross sat in his room, sipping a beer at last. Of course, Amy might argue that he didn’t need to know everything; that her secrets were of no consequence in their search. Ross’ lips pursed. He would rather be the judge of that.
Lizzie, too, almost certainly knew more than she had divulged. At least he had Erik and Marty’s names, and half of Marty’s address. Ross began to search online. Erik, he assumed, would have the same surname as Kat: White. If what Lizzie said was true, it almost certainly wasn’t the name on his birth certificate. With no other information about Erik, Ross drew a blank. He was more successful with Martyn Bridges, obtaining the number of the house in Wellington Road, and of commercial premises in Florence Street.
Ross saw that Florence Street was a short stroll from his hotel, and decided to walk there at once. Just to be sure of seeing Bridges, he phoned ahead for an appointment. He was told Bridges was away on business that day but would be available in the morning. His staff would not supply personal contact details.
Ross paid a modest fee to a website that claimed to hold twenty million UK telephone numbers. He was given one for Wellington Road, but no one answered it when he called. Rather vexed, Ross spent an hour in the hotel gym before a few ruthless hands of online poker saw his bank balance increase even further. He paced his hotel room restlessly, bored. While he might have taken a more congenial travelling companion to dinner, he decided to leave Amy to her own devices and explore Birmingham by himself. Behind the hotel, there were several bars overlooking a canal lined with brightly painted houseboats. He sat outside with a beer, appreciating the short skirts of the young women passing by, if not their local accents. Finally, he took the lift to the top of the Cube, a squarish skyscraper mosaicked like a randomly-completed jigsaw. Here, he enjoyed a rare steak and a panoramic view of the city. Away from his daily routine, it felt like his holiday was beginning.
After the intensity of his day, Ross wanted an early night. Another beer sent him soundly to sleep in his hotel bed. The rest stood him in good stead, as he was surprised to be woken at six by the West Midlands Police.
They knocked on his door just as he was starting to rub sleep from his eyes. He was an early riser from habit; he liked to visit the gym before breakfast. “Police. Open up.”
Somewhat alarmed, Ross did as requested. The two men outside were uniformed, so although he asked them for identification, he didn’t spend much time examining it before letting them into the room. “I’m Ross Pritchard,” he said smoothly, extending a hand to each of them in turn. Neither responded with a handshake. Taken aback, Ross asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m arresting you on suspicion of the attempted murder of Elizabeth Clements,” the younger of the two, identified as Darren Donnelly, said. “You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
“This is a joke, isn’t it?” Ross asked. Although it would be an elaborate prank, and he struggled to imagine who’d arranged it, he couldn’t believe the men were serious.
“Not at all,” Donnelly said. He and his colleague remained poker-faced. “Did you take a taxi from Harborne High Street yesterday?”
“Yes.” Ross had no idea why that might be of interest, and was about to say so.
“And you also saw Elizabeth Clements?”
“You mean Lizzie? Someone’s tried to murder her?” Ross was dumbfounded.
“Did you see her?” Donnelly persisted.
“Yes,” Ross admitted.
“Thank you, Mr Pritchard. We’re taking you to the police station, where we will be asking you to give a full account of your movements yesterday.”
“In that case,” Ross said, still shocked, and sensing he might spend several hours in their company, “you will let me get dressed first, and I’ll also need to ask the hotel to extend my stay.” The cost was hardly an issue for a man of his means, especially as his tax-free poker winnings yesterday had been substantial.
As they left his room, he saw Amy, similarly accompanied. He’d made an effort to look professional in a suit, shirt and tie, even wearing spectacles he only really needed for screen work. Amy, by contrast, appeared tired and drained, hair unkempt and skin free of make-up. Ross had little sympathy for her. She ought to learn to wake earlier, especially if she was dragging him into a criminal investigation. “Boo,” he said.
Amy glared at him. Her eyes were red and moist.
“I suppose you know what this is all about?” he asked her.
“No.” Amy’s voice was subdued, her expression puzzled.
The bewilderment might be an act. He couldn’t trust her. Nevertheless, he hissed at Amy, “Tell them nothing. I’m getting both of us a good lawyer. It’s no comment until then. Understand?” He remembered an old school friend, a criminal lawyer, telling him this was the best strategy and one used by all his long-standing clients. Saying nothing, they couldn’t either implicate themselves or find their words misconstrued before he arrived on the scene.
Donnelly scowled at Amy, the WPCs with her, and finally at Ross. “Come along, Mr Pritchard. We haven’t got all day.”
“Have you got that?” Ross yelled at Amy.
“Yes,” she nodded.
He was allowed to speak briefly to the single member of staff on the hotel reception desk, a young woman whose professional polish was unaffected by the presence of police. Having extended their stay for two nights, he and Amy were taken away in separate cars. He glimpsed hers arriving as he was led into the police station, a gracious old red brick building. Still astonished by the turn of events, he wondered what awaited him behind its pretty exterior.