Free The Man Who Couldn't Lose by Roger Silverwood Page B

they were sat together for some time. But I couldn’t actually see who was in the alcove.’
    â€˜Was it one person or more?’
    â€˜Couldn’t really say.’
    â€˜And how long were they there?’
    â€˜I don’t know for certain, sir. We were busy here at the desk from time to time. You will appreciate that it was only when we were not busy that I may have had the time to notice what was happening over there. More than an hour, I would say.’
    â€˜But you didn’t see Mr Gumme leave with anyone?’
    â€˜No, sir. I’m sorry.’
    Angel frowned and shook his head.
    â€˜The porter may have seen something,’ the clerk said, banging his hand on the bell in front of him. ‘I’ll ask him.’
    An elderly man in a plain dark suit and a nebbed hat appeared from among the people coming and going past the desk.
    He looked at the clerk.
    â€˜Ah, Walter,’ the clerk began.
    Angel said, ‘May I put the question?’
    â€˜Of course,’ the clerk replied.
    â€˜Walter,’ Angel said. ‘I am a police officer. I am trying to piece together the last hours in the life of Joshua Gumme.’
    Walter’s eyes brightened. This was a pleasant change from humping cases up and down the place.
    â€˜Oh yes. I heard about him being shot and that.’
    â€˜He was here on Tuesday evening. He arrived about eight-fifteen and was seated in his wheelchair over there, facing the end alcove. Did you see him?’
    Walter thought about it for a few seconds, then said, ‘No, sir. Can’t say as I did.’
    â€˜Didn’t order drinks or ask for anything from you?’
    â€˜No, sir. I would have remembered.’ He pulled an unpleasant face and added, ‘I know about Mr Gumme.’
    Angel was disappointed.
    â€˜Thank you, Walter.’
    â€˜Sorry, sir,’ the porter said and then vanished into the general throng of people in the hallway.
    Angel ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip.
    The clerk said, ‘Is there anything else I can do to help?’
    â€˜Yes. Let me see the register of guests you had staying here on Tuesday evening.’
    â€˜Certainly, sir. We were full, of course. We usually are during the week. We have twenty-eight letting rooms. Most of the rooms are double, but some would be let as single where necessary.’
    The clerk turned back two pages of the register, then swivelled the book round to face him.
    Angel put his finger on the name at the top and ran his finger slowly down the page. He didn’t know what he was looking for. He hoped a name would jump out and jolt his memory, but it didn’t.
    The clerk watched him thoughtfully.
    At length, Angel said, ‘I need a copy of this. Have you the facility for copying the whole page including the address column and signature?’
    The clerk smiled.
    â€˜Of course, sir,’ he said and he picked up the book. ‘Won’t be a minute.’ He turned and went into the office at the back of the reception desk.
    Angel took out his mobile and tapped in a number.
    It was soon answered.
    â€˜DS Gawber.’
    â€˜Ron, I’m getting a list of the residents of The Feathers the night Gumme was murdered. I want you to go through them with a fine-tooth comb. It might throw up a … suspect.’
    â€˜Right, sir,’ Gawber said.
    â€˜And Ron, tell Ahmed I want him to get me a run-down on Benjamin or Bozo Johnson on the PNC. I know he’s served time, but I want to know all there is to know. Also his known associates. Got that?’
    â€˜Yes, sir. By the way, there was no sign of a pot dog or any of Mrs Buller-Price’s stuff in Dolly Reuben’s shop.’
    Angel wrinkled his nose.
    â€˜Well, we can’t put any more time into that. I’ll be back at the station shortly.’
    â€˜Right, sir.’
    He closed the phone and shoved it in his pocket as the clerk returned waving two printed pages of A4 and the