Temple of Lies (a short story inspired by Sahra Pitt's photo)

The body lay at the bottom of the stairs. Right leg bent at an impossible angle, arms outstretched in a comic 'I surrender' salute. His neck was broken, his lips and nose touching the carpet in a caress.
Detective John Howdon looked around the foyer of the Clarrindale Hotel, taking in the surroundings. The uniforms had closed the doors and corralled all of the guests and staff into the ball room. He could hear the soft murmur of their voices carrying across the marble halls. The CCTV only covered the bottom seven steps and had captured the end of the fall. One dead. Forty five suspects. This was going to be a long night.
The body was Francis Temple, entrepreneur, multimillionaire, ex party boy before marrying the beautiful Sally Corby. John had seen his face plastered across the covers of magazines and newspapers for nearly six years. The kid was rich, ruthless and, if the tabloids were to be believed, randy. Thirty two years old.
So, accident or murder?
Kneeling down close to the body, John pulled out latex gloves and pushed his hands in to them although he inspected the body without touching it. Forensics were on their way for that.

The suit was a Hugo Boss tuxedo, white shirt, white bow tie. And a proper bow tie. No clip on for this man. There was a slight tear to the knee of the broken leg. Rough edges, not cut clean. John re-positioned himself to take a closer look. A little blood. A scratch to the broken leg, like a carpet burn. No protruding bones. 

Highly polished Loakes dress shoes, never worn outside by the look of the wear on the soles. No scuffing on them at all.
He had fallen, or been pushed, from the top of the stairway?
A bellboy stood at the doors of the ball room next to a uniform who was taking notes. John called him over. "Name?"

"Terry Black, sir."
"Did you see what happened?"
"I was at the reception desk so I only saw him fall the last few steps."
John nodded. And waited.
"He came down really quickly."
John nodded again.
"Fast, like he'd been pushed or something."

Give people enough silence and they can't help but fill it with noise.
"He'd had a mighty row with his missus just a few minutes before. I heard them as I led Mrs Corby to her room which was next to theirs."
"Mrs Corby?"
"She's Mrs Temple's mum." Terry replied, "I mean mother, sir."
John nodded. "Show me to their rooms."
"Can I help with that, Inspector?"
John turned to face who could only be the manager of the hotel. He looked flustered and very uncomfortable. "Not necessary." John said, smiling politely, "Terry here has agreed to help."
"I must insist, inspector!"
"It's detective, and it is I who insist." John called to his colleague "Constable, please escort the manager to the ball room with his guests. I will talk with him in due course. "

John led Terry up the stairs. "How many rooms here?"
Terry replied, "Forty two in the hotel, but only six rooms up these stairs. These are our suites reserved for our most special guests."
"And were they all booked tonight?"
"Yes Sir." Terry opened a door into the Garden Suite.
John stood at the threshold to the door but didn't enter. "Terry, would you please get Sally Temple and bring her to me here? But give me five minutes to have a look around first." Terry nodded and disappeared back down the grand stair case.
John took a deep breath. Sweet perfume, sticky hair spray and the powdery residue of deodorant filled his nostrils. Not a pleasant combination. The room was huge, easily big enough to swallow his tiny apartment in. It probably cost more for one night here than he paid for his rent in a month. This was how the other half lived. 

Ladies clothes strewn over the end of the bed and on the floor, her suitcase unpacked but rifled through and even her make up filled the vanity unit in the bathroom. John opened the wardrobe to find his clothing perfectly hung. In the small drawer his socks and boxer shorts were arranged perfectly. So a man with apparent OCD married a woman who happily threw hundreds of pounds worth of clothes on the floor. He must have been either very laid back, or constantly frustrated with her.

On the small dining table, his briefcase stood open. This was obviously his area. Neatly stacked paperwork and a laptop positioned perfectly in front on the chair that was tucked neatly beneath the table. John felt as if he were standing in two different worlds that were blending somehow. It left him feeling uneasy.

Mrs Sally Temple entered through the door that he had left open. She was a beautiful woman, poised and confident. Where was the scruffy teenager that had left her clothes all over the floor?

"Detective?" she asked.

"Howden." John replied, leading her to the sofa. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I pushed him down the stairs."

John hadn't expected that.

"I was hoping the bastard would break a leg, not his neck."

"Why did you push him?"

Taking a deep breath, she seemed to relax, "He was screwing my sister."

"You found this out tonight?"

"No. I've know since before we were married. But I confronted him with it tonight. And he denied it. We had a row."

"So you waited until he stood at the top of the stairs and saw your opportunity?"

"No." Sally reached into her bag and took out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, John could see that her hand was shaking. "Tonight is a business do. He recently purchased a small steel firm in Leeds. He promised the workers there miracles, but I knew he was going to sack every one of them and sell the land on to a housing developer. That's the kind of bastard my husband was. We're supposed to be celebrating the sale. So he rented out the whole hotel, filled it with all of his so called friends and investors, and tonight was all about wining and dining and being congratulated. But every one of the people here tonight are afraid of him. When you work for or with Francis Temple, you'll be very rich, but petrified at the same time. He steps on people as much as he makes them money. But he does make some very very wealthy, so they take the chance with him." She flicked ash into an empty glass, "I should say took the chance."

"And where does your sister come in to this?"

"She's downstairs. Getting drunk at the bar like she always does. My sister is an alcoholic, which is why he turned his charms on to me. I was the next best thing. A man like Francis Temple can not have a drunk as a wife."

John frowned.

Smiling, she took a long draw on her cigarette before explaining, "He started seeing my sister for my mother's money. Back before all of this, he was poor. Came from a working class background. Had all of these wonderful ideas, but not the backing to see them through. His millions were made from my mothers initial investment. He had to marry one of us to get to it, though. And because my sister, Helen, is a drunk, he dumped her and made me believe he loved me. I found out that he didn't the night of our wedding. It's been a lie ever since. He buys me whatever I want, and I play the dutiful wife when I have to."

Twenty minutes later, John left the room a little frazzled. Such a cool confident woman, with no remorse, who was really just a scared child. Scared of being alone and penniless.

"Terry, could you open Helen Corby's room for me and..."

"Bring her up to you in five minutes?" Terry smiled, "Yes Sir."

In contrast to her sister's room, Helen Corby's room was tidy. Her case was unpacked, but tidy stacks of clothes sat at the end of the bed. A pair of old blue jeans were draped over the chair at the dining table. Shoes placed together tucked under the end of the bed. A duffle coat hung in the wardrobe, old and well worn. 

"I'm an organised drunk, Detective." she said as she watched him looking around the room. "I know my sister would have told you that I'm an alcoholic. She's embarrassed of me, you see. So embarrassed that she tells everyone straight away to excuse herself from my behaviour before I've misbehaved." She held a glass of honey coloured drink in her hands which she swirled before downing the lot, as if to prove her point. 

"Where were you when Mr Temple died?"

"I was at the top of the stairs." she replied calmly. "I pushed him down them."

"Really?" John asked, intrigued, "And why did you do that?"

"Francis and I dated for five years. University sweethearts, you could have called us. But I started drinking in my final year, and ended up in rehab on more than one occasion. On the fourth occasion,  I came out and he told me that he'd gotten close to Sally. That he always loved me, but that he wanted to marry her as she'd be a better ambassador to have beside him. I should have killed him them, but I was young and still so very much in love. So I let him continue to sweep my sister off her feet, and sleep with me whenever he wanted to. I was too weak to say no. I loved him."

"So what changed tonight?"

"He told me to leave. That Sally knew about us and that it had to stop. Everything suddenly hit home then. He hadn't loved me for years. It was a power thing with Francis. Always had to have the best of everything. And one woman would never be enough for him. In fact, two women weren't. He was shagging his secretary too. She's downstairs, crying hysterically. Saying he was the nicest boss she'd ever worked for."

"Where's her room?" John asked.

"Next door."

"He was such a incredible man." Beverley Harris said between blowing her nose and wiping away tears.

"Were you having an affair with him?" John asked.

She physically gasped. "I don't know what you mean?"

But the damage was done and the tears had suddenly stopped. "What happened?" John asked patiently.

Composing herself took a while. Standing from her chair, she paced the room. "He was an evil man. The business deals and the bribes and backhanders?" She laughed, "He had more enemies than friends, but kept them close. It was like a game to him. Working for him was a nightmare."

"But the affair?"

"It wasn't an affair. The first time it happened would more correctly be called rape. Except I knew what was happening and I didn't stop it. I knew that if I said no to him, not only would I lose my job, but would find it very difficult to get another. I was more of a prostitute to him."

"So why did you stay working for him."

Beverley laughed, "I said I was like his prostitute, Detective, because he was paying me handsomely. I make three times what I would earn with any other company. I'm worth it, because I'm bloody good at my job, but no-one else would start me off on my salary."

"So where were you tonight when he fell?"

"He didn't fall. I pushed him. I saw him standing there and something inside me snapped. So I pushed him."

John sat in the foyer, digesting facts. Terry approached with a small tray of coffee. "You looked like you needed some," he said, placing the tray beside the Detective.

"Who were the other two suites booked to?"

"Mavis Platter, a business woman I think. And the last was Mr Temple's partner, Janice Hurrocks."

"Ok. I'll talk to Mrs Corby first."

Mrs Edna Corby, however, didn't enter her room alone. Janice Hurrocks came with her. "I hope you don't mind, Detective. It's just I'm a little shaken by whats happened and Janice and I are very old friends."

John sighed. He had an idea what was going to happen anyway. Talking to them both together would save time. "Your daughters told me everything. Helen's drinking and continued affair. And Sally's sham of a marriage."

"I feel responsible for that." Mrs Corby said slowly. "When my husband died, the girls were so young. But he'd provided very well for us. I never remarried, as I didn't believe that the girls wanted a replacement father. Perhaps I should have. Neither of them are stable now. Sally is miserable in marriage, and Helen with the drink. I failed them both, Detective."

"I understand you invested heavily in Mr Temple's business?"

"Yes. I gave him the money two months before the wedding, and told him to take it and leave both of my girls alone. I could see what he was doing to them and so I tried to pay him off."

"But he didn't leave?"

"No. I tried to tell Sally, but it never seemed to be the right time. And after the wedding, when she came crying to me, saying that he had never loved her, I didn't have the courage to admit to her that I knew. It was like a game to him, but it frightened me. He had something very good to blackmail me with. And he used it on several occasions."

"To get more money?"

"Yes. But always as a legitimate investment. I've made a hell of a lot of money from it. But I've always kept it separate in the hope that it would go to my grandchildren. As if by skipping a generation will make it feel less dirty!"

"What happened tonight? Were you there?"

Janice placed her hand over Mrs Corby's to quiet her. "If I may cut in, Detective?"

John nodded.

"I've been Francis' partner for eight years now, and got very close to the family. He was a ruthless man in business, but had an exceptional eye for it. He never made a bad investment. Not once. It was safer to be his partner than his enemy, that was for sure. But I always had my suspicions around his marriage to Sally. I knew him when he was with Helen, and it was always a little odd how quickly he moved on, you know?" 

John waited for her to continue.

"Edna and I became friends a long time back, and often talked about his ruthless ways, but I only found out about the blackmail a few months ago."

John couldn't help himself, "Blackmail is a good motive for murder."

Edna Corby leant forward in her chair, and said, "Breaking both of my daughters hearts is a much better motive. He destroyed them both, and paid for it tonight."

"What are you saying?"

Janice cut in again, "Edna, we shouldn't say anything more without our lawyers present."

Mavis Platter was once the owner of a steelworks in Leeds. "I wondered how long it would take you to get to me." she said as she sat before John. "Maybe I should have saved you some time, Detective. I killed the bastard."
John wasn't surprised.
"He's just bought my family's company. One hundred and thirty two years, my family put their blood sweat and tears into building it, and all of the staff were an extension of that family. Last year, my grandson was diagnosed with a rare degenerative disease, that is killing him slowly. We found out that there were new trials available in the US with very promising results. It costs nearly half a million though, and the only way to raise that kind of cash was to sell up. Temple gave us reassurances that there would a minimum of two years orders fulfilled going forward. We wanted to give the staff time to settle with new management or move on. It took him days. Just days."

"For what?"

Janice sighed, "He signed the papers for the company in London on the Monday morning. On Wednesday he closed the site, laid everyone off. The following Monday, the bulldozers leveled the place. One week to destroy a hundred and thirty two years of my family's hard work and put over three hundred men and women out of work. He had made us promises, all the while knowing what was going to happen to the land. The planning permission took two days. What council do you know that grants planning permission in two days? Look in to that. There's a councilor somewhere with a bulging wallet, you mark my words."

"So why are you here tonight?"

"He asked me, to make amends and apologise, he said. So I came so I could kill him. Pushing him down the stairs was far easier than knifing him in his sleep."

John stood watching from the hotel entrance as the six women were loaded in to the back of the police van. They were followed by forensics carrying out the body bag containing Francis Temple. Terry walked up beside him and shrugged, "It's been quite a night, Sir."

"Yup." John replied.

"Which one did it?"

John shrugged. He had no idea.

©2013 Kari Milburn