Page 13 of Murder Most Actual

“Yes, several.”

“No, I mean … sort of a mysterious woman.”

There was a shifting of springs as Hanna rolled onto her side. “My darling, for all we have disagreed today, you are still the only mysterious woman for me.”

“I’m serious. She was … lurking.”

“Lurking?”

“In a red dress. She looked like a blonde Hedy Lamarr.”

More movement from Hanna’s side of the bed. “It was just the excitement. Go to sleep.”

Liza went to sleep.

Failed to go to sleep.

She’d be just about to drift off when her mind would slide onto some stray observation or scrap of evidence, and she’d find herself scratching at it like a scab. Why was Mrs Ackroyd out in the snow only half-dressed? When had things started to go wrong with Hanna? What had Mr Ackroyd been doing on the balcony?

It was no good. Slithering out of bed again, Liza retrieved her phone, dragged on a pointlessly luxurious hotel-issue dressing gown, and crept outside into the corridor where she wouldn’t wake Hanna. Then she switched her phone to record voice-only and started talking.

“Hi, listeners. Or maybe hi, Rachael. Or note to self: I’ll work that out later. Anyway, this is Liza from Murder Most Actual, and I think I’ve just stumbled into, well, an actual murder, and it’s … it’s weird. I’m in a hotel with my wife—that’s right, guys, Rachael and I really aren’t dating—and there’s a snowstorm that means we can’t leave or speak to anybody outside, and a man has just fallen off a balcony, or been pushed off a balcony, and …” Shit. Serial this was not. “There’s some kind of private detective here who’s taken over investigations, and he claims there’s a mysterious crime lord in the hotel and, Christ, saying this out loud makes me sound like I’m losing it, but I swear something is going on, and I’m going to get to the bott—”

And there, at the end of the corridor, was the woman in red.

Beckoning.

“And now,” Liza said, “a mysterious seductress is trying to get me to follow her.” It was probably unfeminist to call her a seductress. After all, as a modern, independent woman, the lady in red had every right to get a 1940s haircut and wander a hotel in evening wear at two in the morning if she wanted to. Either way, Liza followed.

They rounded a corner and ducked into a stairwell, where suddenly the woman in red stopped, caught Liza by the arm, and pulled her very close. Then, in a voice that ached with earnestness, she whispered: “I think you may be the only person in this hotel I can trust. Is there somewhere we can be alone?”

Trying really, really hard not to think about the fact that, having entirely failed to be seduced by her own wife, she was now getting up close and personal with a woman whose picture prisoners would barter cigarettes for, Liza swallowed. “Aren’t we alone now?”

“Anybody could walk past at any moment, and I do not want to be seen. Come, I know somewhere.”

Seeing no other option, Liza followed again, letting the stranger take her downstairs, through two doors, and finally into a dark, cramped space that smelled slightly of bleach. “Where are …?”

“Cleaning cupboard. The maids will not be on duty for some hours.”

“I still don’t—” Liza got no further before a finger was pressed to her lips.

“Everything that Belloc said was true. Mr B is real. Something valuable was taken from him, and he wants it back.”

It occurred to Liza that she wasn’t completely sure if her phone recorder was still running. “What was taken from him?”

“His pride.” In the dark, Liza thought she could just make out a wicked smile. “His belief that he could have anybody he wants, control anybody he wants.” The strange woman paused a moment before adding. “And there’s also the small matter of one and a half million in nonsequential banknotes and the details of essentially all his offshore accounts.”

This was suddenly getting very real. “Who exactly are you?”

“Call me Ruby.”

“Cute.”

“I like to think so.”

Liza’s brain was on fire with questions, but she had enough discipline to ask them one at a time. “So … if you worked for Mr B, can’t you just, I don’t know, tell Belloc who he is?”

“I never met him in person. He’s even more elusive than I am, and I can be very elusive indeed. He could be anybody.”

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