Read Worthless Remains for Free Online Page B

baths. Behind them thousands of coins, thrown there by visitors, glittered at the bottom of a circular plunge pool.
    I walked over to introduce myself to the director but she beat me to it. ‘Hi, I’m Emms, I’m the director. Mags Morrison, really, but Emms is fine. You must be Chris Honeysett. Cy described you well.’
    â€˜Did he?’
    â€˜Well, the long hair, ancient leather jacket and stuff . . .’ We shook hands while I worried about
stuff
. ‘Welcome to
Time Lines
. You’ve met Cy over there. The others are busy. You’ll get to know them if you hang around long enough.’
    Cy, who was now standing with a phone clamped to his ear, looked in my direction rather than at me when he said: ‘You’re late. And so is Guy. I’m calling the hotel again.’
    Emms shrugged. ‘There’s plenty of time as long as we shoot within the hour. After that the sun will come round and we’ll lose this shot.’
    â€˜Hi, it’s Cy Shovlin again,’ he said into the phone. He nodded impatiently as he listened. ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that, but could you try his door again for me, please?’ He wandered away along the rim of the pool as he waited for an answer.
    â€˜Problems?’ I asked.
    â€˜No, not yet,’ Emms said. ‘We always call Guy to make sure he’s up and running but this morning he’s not answering and the staff at the hotel said they got no reply from his room. You met him yesterday?’
    â€˜Yes, we had a drink.’
    â€˜
A
drink? Skip it,’ she said before I could answer. ‘You’re a painter as well as a private investigator, how does that go together?’
    â€˜Oh, really well,’ I lied as though I’d planned it and not simply slid into it by accident. ‘They complement each other.’
    Cy came striding back into the sunlight. ‘They tried his door again and there’s no answer. Honeysett, that’s your baby from now on, making sure he’s on location, on time. Go up there and drag him out of bed and deliver him here. Use all reasonable force,’ he added with a cold smile. ‘Call if there’s a problem. You got my number?’
    The town had come to life in the last thirty minutes and traffic was building up but Bath is a compact place and ten minutes later I was parking the DS in the centre of the crescent in front of the Royal Crescent Hotel. No neon signs here to mar the Palladian splendour, just a couple of potted plants and a doorman with top hat and tails. ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked, rightly guessing perhaps that I would turn out not to be a guest.
    â€˜Yes, you can. Don’t let anyone stick a ticket on that car, I won’t be long.’ At reception I explained the who, why and what-for and they found me a manager. She was a concerned forty-year-old in a suit and she walked upstairs with me to the second floor.
    â€˜Mr Middleton is a regular guest at the hotel. He always takes the John Wood Suite. I do hope nothing has happened to him.’
    â€˜A few double whiskies may have happened,’ I said and started pounding on the door with my flat hand like police officers like to do.
    When the manager had had enough of the noise she unlocked the door herself. ‘We don’t like doing this except in an emergency.’ She opened the door and allowed me to go in first.
    And I found Guy Middleton. He had never made it to his four-poster bed. He lay half naked and slumped on the sofa facing the fireplace.
    The manager remained by the door as I went to look at him. ‘Is he all right?’ she asked.
    On the floor beside the sofa lay an empty cut-glass tumbler where it had fallen from Middleton’s grasp. His mouth was half open. He was snoring. ‘He’s alive, anyway.’ I shook him, without getting a response. Remembering Cy’s permission to use reasonable force I pulled him upright by one arm and