Chapter 12 Robin #2
“Hello everyone. I’m DS Starling. DC Goldie is with our other colleagues outside.
We’re going to be taking statements. Sorry we’re only just getting started, they had us go the long way due to the flood barriers being set up in the village.
” We’re expecting heavy rain within days, and considering we’re in the heart of York where the flooding gets pretty bad, I bet the bridge outside the hotel won’t stand a chance.
He brings out a notepad and turns to Merle. “Are all guests in the house?”
He nods. “Yes. Everyone’s dotted around, but we’re all here. Anything we can help with please just let me know.”
Perfectly timed, Lily, Bran, Jay and Mavis fly down the staircase; the latter ending up in her boyfriend's arms, whilst Lil moves around Merle to shake the detective's hand.
“Thank you so much for coming. I’m Miss Claythorne, I rang you over the hotel’s line.”
Her cheeks are stained with dried makeup and tears, her hair a bird's nest. I probably look the same.
“It’s no problem Miss Claythorne. I am incredibly sorry for your loss.”
Falling under his gaze next, I already feel scrutinised but that may be because the only time I’ve actually met a detective, I was a child and Mum was dead.
“I know you briefly explained what happened Mr Redfern,” He dips his notepad towards Merle, “but can we go over things again. Who found the body?”
Lily sniffles. “Myself and Willow did. We were looking for the next clue—I thought it might have been in the pool house and, well—” she chokes, pushing her face into her palms.
Hovering awkwardly this entire time, Jay reaches out for her and Mavis does too, both wrapping an arm around her to lead the way towards the kitchen. Bran moves closer to his brother, who takes over speaking with DS Starling about this morning.
“Clue?” He raises an eyebrow and his moustache moves.
“Yes, we were hosting a murder mystery this weekend. Corbin is—was throwing it. We only started last night.”
“I’ll need a list of all the guests here this weekend. Any contact information too.”
“We don’t actually have our phones.” I say, probably a matter that didn’t need to be voiced, but surely the murder mystery weekend is over now.
“We’d actually like permission to take everyone’s phones. We can come back with the paperwork, but it’d be easier and quicker if everyone hands them over.” DS Starling directs at Merle, but his attention returns to me. “What’s your name?”
“Robin. Robin Osbourne.”
“Relationship to the deceased?”
I hesitate.
“Are we really doing this in the hallway?” Wren asks, not fully blocking me, but pulls me further into his side. He seems apprehensive about him too.
“Of course not. We can go sit down. I’ll take your statement first, Miss Osbourne.”
Another detective appears from the dining room and he introduces himself as DC Goldie. His features are hard and worn from experience of hard graft, which surprises me, but who am I to judge an officer?
Wren tries to protest but I slip my hand onto his chest, trying to reassure him with a smile, but I can already tell he’s not falling for it.
“Sure. That’s fine. Shall we go to the library?” It’s far enough away from Phin that it shouldn’t wake him.
Leaving everyone standing in the lobby, Goldie closes the door behind him and I lead them to the high back armchairs near the dark fireplace.
The library doesn't offer me any comfort like it did yesterday, it’s too silent and stale.
Both men stretch out their legs and DS Starling crosses his ankle over his knee, before propping his notepad in his lap.
“So, Miss Osbourne. How did you know the deceased?”
Well, we’re diving straight in. I know I shouldn’t lie, they’re bound to find out. I honestly can’t believe I slept through them arriving. My palms itch and I rub them against my dress.
I know this isn’t going to sound good. In crime fiction, the lead suspect is always the partner. Bloody hell, I wrote my own murder mystery where it turned out to be the wife. “We used to date.” I finally exhale.
His brow lifts and his moustache twitches. Honestly, he could be attractive in a rugged way if he lost the thing.
“You’re his ex-girlfriend?”
“One of his ex girlfriends. Probably not the latest either.” Did the realtor fall into the category of girlfriend?
He taps his pen against his pad, yet to write anything. “How did you feel about him being here with his fiancée? Mr Redfern–Merle, provided us with a guest list.”
“Indifferent. It’s none of my business. We hadn’t spoken since we broke up over six months ago.”
“Quite quick to have gotten engaged don’t you think?”
I try so hard to mask my nerves and portray how unaffected I am by his relationship with Aya.
Yes, I had a huge freak out and felt numb at his senseless death.
But did I care he’d moved on and proposed to someone in a shorter time than we were even together?
Honestly, no. I just felt free to be away from him.
“Probably, but I guess sometimes you just know. Right?” I think of the two of them last night at the dinner party, and how unengaged he was with her.
He writes something down. “Do you think he was seeing her when you two were dating?”
I shrug. “To my knowledge no, but there’s a lot that happened at the time of our relationship that I didn’t know about. You’d be best to ask his fianceé.”
He writes something down again. “Unfortunately Miss Drakunov-West is no longer at the hotel. We were told that she booked a taxi early this morning and is travelling back to London.”
The fact that Cardinal’s last name was Drakunov-West, seemed incredibly prestigious, but what piqued my interest is that Aya must have decided after the dinner party to go home.
After playing the first victim, she must have decided it wasn’t worth staying and left.
Or, they had gotten into an argument over something last night and that's how he ended up barging his way into my room.
I still shudder at what could have happened if Wren hadn’t appeared.
The two detectives asked me a number of questions like what I did for work, how did I get to the hotel, how did I meet Corbin and finally the question I was hoping they wouldn’t ask.
“When was the last time you saw Mr Claythorne?”
This is going to sound so, so bad. “He came to my room last night, after the dinner party. Nothing happened! He wanted to talk and I didn’t want to.
He started to get a little…aggressive.” I hate how I posed the word as an uncertainty, because I know full well that he’d meant to scare and intimidate me.
I’d felt so suffocated as he invaded my space.
“Why was he being aggressive?” DC Goldie asks this time and scribbles in his own notepad.
“I asked him to leave and he refused. Thankfully Wren overheard and made him leave.”
“Mr Hastings, correct?” DS Starling cross-questions, looking down at a paper with all our names on it.
I nod.
“He’s your…?”
I pin him with a look and try to hide my annoyance. “He’s my nothing.”
Sitting back, an unnerving smile makes his moustache twitch again.
“Well that's not true.” He flips the paper over where notes have been written, tapping his leg with the pen and my nerves grow in my stomach. “It says here that he is your partner in the murder mystery game being hosted this weekend, by Mr Claythorne. Correct?” I nod too quickly, and as his lip curls up in the corner, I’d give anything for mind reading powers.
After more questions on our break up, I’m finally allowed to go. I practically run from the library, exhaustion hitting me harder this time and all I want to do is fall into my bed so I can sleep the rest of the day away.
A firm lump presses against my foot at the bottom of my bed and wakes me up.
I’m short, but whilst stretching out like a cat, I shouldn’t be able to reach the bed frame.
Sitting up, I squint into the stale darkness, trying to blink a slither of light into existence.
I must have gotten comfy and crawled under the covers at some point, but as I feel the fabric brush against my bare thighs, I realise I’m no longer in my dress.
The solid form at the end of my bed moves and instinctively I kick hard.
“Sweetheart,” Wren grunts, “I’d love to play footsie, but maybe don’t aim for my ribs next time.”
Shrieking, I fumble for the bedside lamp, unsure if it’s even there because this is a hotel room and not my own bedroom. It takes a couple of tries but I hit the little latch, whirling to glare at the curled up rockstar looking sleepy and smirking. “Good evening, gorgeous.”
“What are you doing?” I hiss whilst a blush creeps up my neck.
Lifting himself up onto one elbow, he cocks his head to the side and looks around. “Having a sleepover—duh.”
“You’re not funny!” I grab a cushion and aim it at his head, to which he doesn’t even flinch. “This is taking your stalkerish tendencies a little too far.”
He scoffs. “Do I have to remind you, it was you that hid under a desk and watched me yesterday. I still have the little teeth marks to prove it.” he waggles his finger tips devilishly.
Glaring, I take a look down to confirm I’m definitely not in my dress; I’m in a t-shirt. A Larks t-shirt. Slowly, I look back up and wonder how many pillows I could throw at once to knock that smirk from his face. “Did you get me changed?”
All at once I’m incredibly aware I’m alone, in bed with a man who admittedly is very hot and very out of my league. I’m sure I have bed head and god knows how my makeup is sitting after a day of crying my eyes dry, and throwing up. Luckily I did manage to brush my teeth before falling on the bed.