Technically, Colin McLaughlin was flying without a licence. He’d nipped back to his room to change out of his sopping wet clothes and grab a quick snack, so therefore hadn’t begun his questioning of Keith when Darren’s instruction to cease and desist was ordered.
If life were a television drama, there’d be repercussions. As it was, our newly-clothed, recently replenished, and blissfully unaware amateur investigator walked down the hallway, unbound by law or order. When he reached Keith’s door, he raised a hand but did not knock, for a sound on the other side of the divide acted as a pause button.
If anyone happened to come across Colin now, it would look like he was frozen in some sort of political stance; standing straight backed, fist raised against some unknown oppression, to which he was lending his silent support.
In fact, he was trying to make out what the sound was. Initially, it sounded like a vacuum cleaner with a broken fuse which caused the suction to start and stop every few seconds. He realised, quite quickly, that it was in fact Keith snoring.
Sounds like a deviated septum to me, thought Colin, as he hammered on the door, feeling a twinge of guilt in the process.
The strange whirring gave way to a bewildered shout, as Keith was pulled cruelly from his slumber. If time were not of the essence, Colin would perhaps have been kinder. As it was, they needed to hear what Keith had to say.
Heavy footsteps heralded Keith’s progress across the room, and when the door was pulled back, Colin could easily imagine him as the faceless killer.
Dark rings surrounded his eyes and a few days’ worth of growth clung to his jaw. He was still wearing his sequinned catsuit, though it was not quite as pristine as when he stepped onto the boat less than twenty-four hours ago.
He stared at Colin with a simmering rage.
‘What?’ he barked.
‘I was wondering if I could have a quick chat?’
‘I heard Sherlock Holmes was wandering the building.’
‘Usually I’m considered the Watson character,’ Colin said, hoping to soften Keith’s expression with a self-effacing barb.
It didn’t work. Keith’s jaw remained set and rigid; his unblinking stare fixed on the bridge of Colin’s nose. Eventually, he took a step back and motioned for Colin to follow him into the room.
‘You woke me up, you know?’ Keith asked, as he flopped down on the bed again.
‘Sorry about that. I won’t keep you long.’
‘Get to the point, then.’
Colin watched as he unscrewed a bottle of water and poured it into a glass with smeared fingerprints covering it like graffiti. He took a series of loud gulps before turning his gaze back to Colin.
‘You’ve known Albert a long time, right?’
‘Yes,’ Keith nodded. ‘I’ve worked at that station for thirty years. Knew his father before him, and Albert has been a close friend for most of my life.’
‘And you’ve been prime-time host for how long?’
‘Oh, going on fifteen years now. I’m a very lucky man.’
‘We spoke to Sophie earlier…’ Colin started, and then stopped, noting Keith’s expression. It was as if the mere mention of her name had caused the rainclouds from outside to drift through the window and plant themselves above his head. His cheeks reddened and his brow furrowed.
‘I imagine that was a very illuminating chat,’ he scoffed.
‘Well, she told us about how you were being demoted.’
‘Demoted? Is that what she said? Ha, the cheek of the woman. Honestly…’ he said, before stopping, as if searching for the words that needed to follow. ‘That woman has been nothing but trouble since she turned up.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, she came in on her first day with an ego—bear in mind she hadn’t spoken a single word into the microphone at this stage. I took an instant dislike to her. After her first show, we gathered for cake to celebrate her debut broadcast. I looked across at her at one stage and she was staring at me like… like a witch from a fairy tale. Like she was letting me know she was coming for my job.’
‘And she got it.’
‘Yep. Didn’t take her long once she turned on the charm with Albert.’
‘Surely that’s not the only reason she got the slot,’ Colin said. ‘You have to be good at what you do.’
‘It helps to be good at what you do, of course, but you want to have seen the two of them round the station. A flirty comment here, a low-cut top there, a friendly hand on the knee in the break room. It was obvious she was using her womanly charms on Albert for her own benefit.’
Colin doubted that a man approaching retirement would be taken in by Sophie’s charms, if indeed that was what she was doing.
‘And what did Albert do?’ he asked, in spite of himself.
‘Well, he’s a man, isn’t he? An old man, but still a red-blooded male. He looked delighted at the attention. It wasn’t long until he pulled me into his office and said that the station needed a shake up and that he was considering switching shows. I assumed I was safe…’
‘But you weren’t?’
‘I thought I was, until last night when that harlot told me that she’d been promised my show.’
‘And how did you take it?’
‘Not well, especially hearing it from her. Vindictive cow. And when you think of all the help I’ve given him over the years.’
‘Help?’
‘Albert is notoriously bad with money. His father left him the business in good standing, but Albert made poor investment after poor investment. He’s had to take out loans over the years, and then more loans to pay back the loans—that’s how bad of a position he’s been in. I’ve waived my salary for a few months to help him out here and there, but that all gets forgotten when a pretty blonde with an agenda turns up.’
‘Is he okay now, money-wise?’
‘No idea. I stopped taking an interest in anything to do with him. I’d stop turning up for work if it wasn’t for my loyal listeners.’
He launched into another tirade against Albert, though Colin was only half-listening. From his tone, it felt like he had been waiting for an age to let this vitriol spill out into the world. Colin’s attention was taken by these new revelations of lost money and poor investments.
Could this have something to do with Margaret’s death?
When Keith had finished his lengthy diatribe, he leant back against the headboard, breathing heavily like a bull. His belly rose and fell, straining the fabric of his cheap jumpsuit.
‘Were Albert and Margaret happy?’
‘Yeah,’ Keith nodded. ‘They’ve been happily married for nearly forty years. When he had his car accident, she waited on him hand and foot. And I don’t mean that in a jokey way, because he only had one foot after the crash.’
He may not have meant it as a joke, but he sure was pleased with it anyway, judging by the silly grin he was attempting to chase away.
‘Who do you think killed Margaret?’ Colin asked as he stood.
‘No idea, I rather think that it’s the police’s job to find out,’ Keith answered, giving Colin a look that suggested it would be an opinion best shared.
‘You’ve been very helpful,’ Colin said, taking a few steps towards the door. He reached for the handle, but spun around before taking it in his hand. ‘Oh, one last thing.’
Keith nodded.
‘Why did you tell Albert to move Margaret’s body?’
‘I didn’t tell him to do anything,’ Keith scoffed. ‘I went to see him, to check how he was doing. The poor man was sitting on the bed, holding on to her cold hand. I suggested to him that he could do with some rest, and maybe having Margaret’s body temporarily removed from the room would be for the best. As much as he’s screwed me over, I still care for the old codger, in spite of it all.’
‘And you didn’t think about what the police would say?’ Colin asked.
‘Like I said, I still care for him. To hell with the fuzz.’
Keith sunk back onto his bed, keen to get a bit more shuteye in, and Colin left him to it.