Free The Gospel Makers by Anthea Fraser Page A

instance you mistakenly approached the wrong gentleman?’
    She waved them to a seat and returned to her own. ‘Yes, what of it?’
    ‘Can you give us any information about that gentleman?’
    She stared at him for a moment, then said, ‘None whatever.’
    ‘He didn’t introduce himself?’
    ‘He didn’t have the chance. He offered me a drink but I was still looking round for Mr Derringer. Then almost at once, he came over, and that was that.’
    The feeling of let-down told Webb that he’d hoped for more from this meeting.
    ‘You exchanged no personal details whatsoever?’
    She frowned at his persistence. ‘None. Am I to be told the point of these questions?’
    ‘Did you see him again, after you joined Mr Derringer?’
    ‘Only as he left the bar.’
    ‘Alone?’ Webb asked quickly.
    ‘No, with a couple — a man and woman. Look, what is all this?’
    ‘Mrs French, I’m sorry to tell you that the gentleman in question was found dead in his room this morning.’
    Watching her, Webb saw her eyes go blank with shock. ‘Oh,’ she said after a moment. Then, ‘I am sorry. And you don’t know who he is? But surely —’
    ‘Could you describe this couple for me?’
    It took her a moment to drag her thoughts from the dead man. ‘I caught only a glimpse of them — they were nothing out of the ordinary.’
    ‘Old? Young?’
    ‘About his age. Look, if he was staying at the hotel, they must know who he was.’
    ‘Unfortunately not. The desk was very busy, so he simply took his key and the receptionist can’t remember the name he gave.’
    ‘So there’s no way of letting his family know? How absolutely terrible. But surely he had papers on him — cheque-book —?’ Her voice trailed off as Webb shook his head.
    She said slowly, ‘Isn’t that rather strange?’
    ‘Yes, Mrs French, very strange.’ Whatever Stapleton might think.
    She moistened her lips. ‘Chief Inspector, are you saying what I think you’re saying?’
    ‘That we suspect foul play? It’s on the cards, I’m afraid.’
    ‘My God!’ she said softly.
    ‘In which case we might need to call on you again. Could you give the Sergeant here your full name and address, please?’
    She did so.
    ‘What time did you actually arrive at the hotel, Mrs French?’
    ‘Quarter to one. I’d just flown back from Scotland and the shuttle was late.’ She paused. ‘How did he die?’
    ‘It hasn’t been established yet. I’m sorry to press the point, but he didn’t say where he’d come from, who he was meeting —? A pity Mr Derringer claimed you so quickly.’
    She’d thought the same herself, Christina remembered. And now the man was dead.
    Webb rose, signalling to Jackson. ‘Well, thank you for your help. Oh — one further point. He didn’t happen to have a briefcase with him, did he?’
    ‘Yes, he had. It was propped against his seat. Surely there’ll be something in that to identify him?’
    ‘Except,’ Webb said deliberately, ‘that there was no briefcase in his room.’ And leaving her staring after them, he and Jackson took their leave.
    *
    When they arrived back at Carrington Street, it was to find a commotion going on in the foyer. The desk sergeant and two other officers were attempting to deal with a couple who appeared on the verge of hysteria.
    Webb hesitated, then, catching Andy Fenton’s eye, went over to the desk. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.
    The woman spun to face him. ‘They’ve stolen my baby, if you call that a problem!’ she cried. ‘And what’s more, you won’t do anything to stop them!’
    Visions of kidnapping flashed through Webb’s mind but Fenton interposed quickly, ‘It’s not quite what it seems, sir. This lady says a religious sect has alienated her son. I’ve tried to explain it’s a matter for the Special Branch —’
    ‘Which sect would that be?’ As if he didn’t know, Webb thought resignedly. He’d been waiting for something like this.
    ‘The Final Revelationists or something.