Chapter 21
Cabinet Member Alistair Eddington backs Darlington: “Richard is a man with a heart of gold. He would never harm anyone deliberately.”
Statement from Alistair Eddington
Ethan
I knocked on the office door of our head of security to announce myself, but didn’t wait to be invited in before shouldering it open.
Hank, who’d been in charge of security at The Darlington for over a decade, sat behind his desk.
He wore a suit with a white shirt beneath it.
The hotel logo—a golden D set in a circle of floral flourishes—was embroidered on the chest. His uniform strained across his broad shoulders, and his hair had been shaved down to a crewcut.
Hank looked up. “Ethan Darlington. What a nice surprise.”
“Hey,” I said, closing the door behind me.
“What brings you here?” He snapped his laptop shut and rested his elbows on the desk. “Do I need to make another sex tape disappear from the lift cameras?”
I pulled a face. It hadn’t been my proudest moment—or rather, moments. Hank had made more than one incriminating video of me with a date go away in the past. Still, it meant I had a good connection with him, which I hoped would give me an advantage now.
“No, but I do have a few questions,” I said, sitting down in the chair opposite his desk.
Without a word, I produced a bundle of cash from the front pocket of my hoodie and let it drop on the table.
That was how things worked between Hank and me: I paid him, and our conversations stayed between us.
In general, I trusted him, but then again, money ruled the world, and if Grace was right and Amy’s killer really was trying to cover things up, we’d have to beat them at their own game.
Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “How much is this?”
“Five thousand.”
He looked taken aback. “More than usual. Do I need to make a body disappear this time?”
“No, but you have to be completely honest with me.” I fixed him with a look to impress on him how serious I was. “And who knows—if I like your answers, there might be more where that came from.”
Hank rested his chin on his hands. “I’m all ears.”
“I want to talk to you about the night of the Pearl Gala and the accident in which Grace Claymore’s sister died,” I said, pausing briefly to see if my words stirred anything in Hank, but his expression remained impassive.
“The footage from the security cameras, which should have recorded the accident, is missing. Do you know anything about that?”
“No,” Hank replied. I watched him expectantly.
For five thousand pounds, I expected a little more.
“The cameras were working fine when I checked them that afternoon. For the rest of the evening, I was supervising the lobby. Until the chaos following the accident. After that, I was helping calm the guests. A guy from forensics pulled me aside at some point to talk and asked for the footage from our cameras.”
“And how did he react when you told him the recordings weren’t there?”
Hank leant back in his chair, which creaked under his weight. “He was sceptical, but it was already late, and he said he’d be in touch again about it. Which never happened.”
I nodded. His reply confirmed not only what Grace had told me—that the footage had gone missing on site at the hotel—but also her suspicion that the police had been bribed into asking no questions.
It seemed unlikely to me that it was simply laziness or lack of time.
After all, someone had died, and the accident had made headlines, like everything connected to The Darlington.
“How do the cameras work?” I inquired.
“They run on PoE,” Hank explained. He must have noticed my confusion, because he clarified: “Power over Ethernet. It means the data and the power run through the same network cable. A power cut could take down the whole system, but there were no power issues on the day of the Pearl Gala. The camera data is usually transmitted to our server live and is stored there for a week. But that night, nothing was saved. The folder with the recordings was empty.”
“Could someone have deleted the footage?” I asked, keeping my eyes on Hank to gauge his reaction.
He pressed his lips together, but didn’t seem caught out or nervous—mostly frustrated. “Anything’s possible. But access to the server where the footage is stored is tightly restricted. Only three people have access: Mr. Darlington senior, junior, and me.”
I took a deep breath, because . . . fuck.
It was pretty obvious which of the three was behind this.
Henry would never have done something like that; he was too honest and his sense of justice was too strong.
My dad, on the other hand, had shown more than once that he had a slippery grasp of morality and the law.
“Can you prove you didn’t delete the footage?”
Hank’s expression darkened, as if I’d insulted him.
“Firstly, I would never break the law. Making your videos disappear is one thing; covering up a fatal accident is something completely different. If that came out, I wouldn’t just lose my job at The Darlington.
I’d never work in security again. And secondly, I have at least five dozen eyewitnesses who saw me helping people into taxis after the accident.
I wouldn’t have had time to delete the recordings. ”
It sounded pretty convincing, which unfortunately confirmed my first thought: My dad had deleted the CCTV footage.
Not only was it befitting of his morally corrupt personality, but it also corroborated Grace’s suspicion.
A guest at the gala had caused the accident and then contacted the hotel to cover it up.
And many of the guests had my dad’s number.
“Could someone else have got access?” I asked, clutching at straws. This family really couldn’t afford any more shit.
“I don’t see how,” Hank said. “The data is highly confidential. The system is designed to protect guests and their belongings. It wouldn’t work if all staff members had access. And I can’t think of a reason why Henry or your dad would have shared their access with someone.”
I nodded thoughtfully. I had come to Hank wanting to help Grace, not imagining that my dad might be involved. But now that I knew, there was no going back. I couldn’t hide this from her. It would make me no better than the man I despised.
I got up, reached into the front pocket of my hoodie, and pulled out another two thousand pounds. I dropped them on the desk. “Thanks for your help.”
“You’re welcome.” Hank reached for the money. “There’s one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“There might not be any footage of the accident itself, but there is some from the underground car park. I handed it over to the police. I’ve no idea why you’re asking me all these questions—and to be honest, I don’t really want to know—but if you’re trying to find out whether someone from the hotel was responsible for the death of the Claymore girl, that might help. ”
“Do you still have the originals?”
He shook his head, and the brief flicker of hope I’d felt vanished. “I’m afraid not. Like I said, the server only stores data for a week before it’s automatically wiped. I didn’t make an extra copy after I gave it to forensics. As far as I was concerned, that was the end of it.”
“I see. Thanks.”
“If you want to dig deeper,” Hank added, “you could talk to your brother or Rakesh. The gala was meticulously planned. Nothing was left to chance. There were lists and schedules for everything: who got picked up by the limousine service, who’d be seen on the red carpet, who’d stay the night at the hotel, and who’d be parking in the car park.
Parking spots were high in demand that night—they were going for a thousand pounds each.
All going towards a good cause, naturally. ”
Lists weren’t as good as CCTV footage, but they were better than nothing. I left Hank’s office and had pulled out my phone before the door had even closed behind me.
Me:
Where are you?
Henry:
At the hotel.
Me:
Funny. Where exactly?
Henry:
In my flat. Why?
Me:
Could we meet in your office?
Henry:
When?
Me:
Now.
I was already waiting outside his office when Henry showed up five minutes later.
It was the first time in ages I’d seen him wearing something other than his tailored suit, which was his official uniform since taking over managing the hotel.
Today, he was dressed in casual sportswear, although I had the feeling he’d spent the last few hours on the sofa with Kate rather than on the treadmill.
And I suspected his messy hair came from Kate’s fingers rather than an intense cardio session.
I felt a twinge of guilt for summoning him into his office on a Sunday.
“Hey,” Henry greeted me. I caught a hint of concern in his eyes.
“It’s nothing bad. I just need your help.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he entered the security code on the keypad that unlocked his office door. It opened with a click, and we stepped inside.
“What with?” Henry walked around the desk and, out of habit, sat down in his executive’s chair.
I walked over to the little tea and coffee station he’d set up for himself, even though he could have anything brought up from the kitchen at any time. “I need all the lists related to the parking and car situation at the Pearl Gala.”
“Why? Planning to stalk Aliza Malik?”
I held out a mug to him in silent question, and he nodded. I pulled two tea bags from the box. “No, I’m not interested in her. I just want to know who parked in the car park that night and who was dropped off.”
“Why?”
I filled the kettle in the small bathroom adjoining Henry’s office. “Can’t you just give me the lists? They’re hardly state secrets.”
“Not until you’ve told me what you want them for.”
I switched the kettle on and turned to Henry as the water began to boil. He was leaning back in his chair, watching me suspiciously. “Does it matter?”
Henry narrowed his eyes. “As weird as you’re acting? Yeah.”