They knew little about Angelina Robbins, and that’s what they hoped to change today. She’d instructed Kate to lead a team to her private residence too.
The guesthouse was privately owned, which made it uniquely intimate. Kelly guessed that’s why it was chosen.
They were expected, and Kelly saw a forensic van parked in the small carpark. The SOCO was already here, having a head start on them from the scene in Grasmere, and she and Fin got out of the car and made their way to the entrance. A young receptionist looked worried and was trying to balance guest queries with managing the movement of forensic officers around the communal spaces. A couple of uniforms had done a great job managing the situation, but the young woman looked tense. She promised to find the manager and Kelly chatted to one ofthe uniforms in the meantime. He told them that they’d taken a statement from the staff on shift today and they’d secured the contact details of others who weren’t here today but who might have come into contact with the young woman in room 13.
A man older than Kelly expected approached and held out his hand.
‘Sorry about the intrusion,’ Kelly said. She introduced herself and Fin and the man told them the whole thing was bringing on his eczema.
Kelly apologised again.
He introduced himself as Tommy and explained that room 13 was upstairs.
‘It’s a beautiful place you have here, Tommy,’ Kelly said. They followed him out of reception and upstairs. The floor creaked and the ceilings were low. ‘Did you meet Mr Robbins, who checked his sister in on Friday?’
‘I did. I admired his car. It was a limited edition. We get wealthy folk here, but he was on another level.’
‘Really?’
‘He paid in cash, and he gave me brand new-notes, in twenties. He paid for the room for six months, upfront, no questions.’
‘Right. That’s a long time. Were you aware of why Ms Robbins was staying so long?’
‘I told your lot on the phone. She was private. Secretive, you know? My wife thought she was pregnant.’
When he said the word, he hushed his voice, like old people did when a woman was with child out of wedlock. Kelly’s mum used to do it. That generation were almost gone now, and it saddened Kelly that some of their sayings were too.
‘So, she didn’t work for you?’ Kelly asked.
Tommy laughed. ‘She didn’t need to work, the way her husband flashed around the cash.’
‘Her husband?’
‘The guy in the flash car.’
‘Oh.’
‘He had work to do and was coming back for her. Has he been told she’s missing? Poor sod.’
‘Actually, Tommy, I’ve got terribly sad news. The young woman was called Angelina, and she was found dead in Grasmere on Monday.’
Tommy stopped. ‘Oh, my Lord, that’s just awful.’
‘And Jamie, the man who paid for her room, was her brother. I was hoping you could help us piece together her time here.’
They carried on walking, but Tommy’s shoulders sank a little lower. Then he stopped.
‘Washer brother?’
They paused in the corridor; there was no easy way to say it.
‘That’s how we found her. He passed away yesterday and it led us here.’
‘How terribly sad. I thought they were a couple. Here we are,’ Tommy said, stopping outside a door, a little less bright than he was outside. Bad news did that to people: it let air out of them and made them smaller.
‘He told me she was here to paint. She was an artist. That’s what he said.’
Kelly recalled the dark inky substance on Angelina’s fingers.
