Balancing Act

A section of the pavement outside the Regency Hotel was still cordoned off when I got there. The tower Hamlets council workmen were probably too busy drinking tea to powerwash the blood stains away. I stood and stared at the marks where my twin sister Sally had hit the ground.

******

It took me 24 hours to get over my initial shock after being informed of her death. Two policewomen had called at my flat at dawn the previous day to break the news face to face.

Yes, I'm Mark Turner, Sally's brother. Yes, I'm her next to Kin. Our parents died in a car crash five years ago.

There's been a terrible accident they said.

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Fell from an 8th floor Juliet balcony after finishing work last night they said. Probably leaned out too far to look at something on the street below they said.

As far as could they could tell, she'd been alone. No witnesses. Or, maybe not an accident, they hinted. Was she happy? Was there any reason she might have taken her own life? Was there a boyfriend, or a girlfriend? Any history of depression?

Sally was more than happy I told them. She loved her job as a barista in the Regency's coffee bar. She had a truck load of boyfriends. None of them serious. Sal was what polite people would call a 'liberated' young woman. She played the field and lived life to the full. Yes, we were very close. I would have known of any problems in her life. We told each other everything. I didn't tell them some of her exploits made my hair curl.

I was too heart broken to think clearly that first day but the next morning I woke up from a couple of hours of troubled sleep sure of one thing. My sister's death was no accident or suicide. Sal worked on the ground floor of the hotel and had no reason to be on the top floor. If she had ventured up to the 8th floor there was no way she'd have leaned over a balcony voluntarily. My twin wasn't scared of much but the one thing that really terrified her was heights.

*****

I'd been to the Regency coffee bar a few times for a chat with Sally when I'd had business in that part of the city. Although it sounded grand, in reality it was a run-down building on an uninspiring side street in an unfashionable area of London. Many of the rooms were let to asylum seekers or used by the council as emergency accommodation. Battered wives mainly, Sal had whispered to me. The coffee bar was popular with office workers though, as was the licensed bar next to it. The rumour amongst the staff was that the two bars were the only things keeping the hotel from going under.

I'd phoned ahead and told the owner I wanted to see where my sister had fallen from. He was reluctant to agree until I threatened to put my request via the police and come with a uniformed officer. That changed his mind. I suspected that some of his shadier clientele were not on the friendliest terms with the local constabulary.

The girl behind the reception desk called the manager when I explained why I was there and a good looking young guy in a Savile Row suit quickly appeared. He was a lot friendlier than the faceless owner. He said how sorry he was about Sally. She'd been a valued member of his team he said as we went up in the lift. She would be sadly missed. No, he had no idea why she'd gone up to the top floor after her shift. It was a complete mystery. She must have filched a key while the night receptionist's back was turned.

As he led me down the narrow corridor towards the fateful room he brushed past a chambermaid without a word. I said excuse me as I squeezed past her trolley and noticed she was young and attractive. She nodded shyly and flashed a hint of a worried smile. She watched a us as we opened the last door my sister ever walked through.

The room was a mixture of beige and bleak. It looked like it hadn't been redecorated since the 70's. The manager stood and watched me as I circled the cramped floor space once and then opened the french windows. The balcony was only about a foot in depth. The railing was waist-high. I could imagine it would be easy to fall over. I looked down at the toy cars and a scattering of miniature people in the street below. It made me dizzy. There was no way Sal would have gone near it. I'd seen enough. I thanked my chaperone and left him to lock up. As I passed the chambermaid she grabbed my sleeve.

"Must talk," she said in broken english. "Coffee bar. In thirty minutes... My lunch break."

****

She told me her name was Agnesa and she was Albanian. She wouldn't say any more in the hotel so we went to a nearby pub and found a quiet corner. Then Agnesa told me she knew what had happened to my sister.... And why. But she wanted something in return for the information.

"I friend of Sally," she said. "She want to help me. Now she can help me. I need Sally birth certificate and social security card."

I was taken aback.

"Why do you need them?"

"To make new identity. In name of Sally Turner. She not need anymore,"

"You're in Britain illegally?"

"Yes, but with documents I start new life. Get real job. Then marry man I love and he come here. Everything legal."

I thought about it while I finished my drink. The police had given me all Sally's personal belongings including the key to her flat. I was sure I could get the documents, and Agnesa seemed like a nice enough young woman. She deserved the chance of a new life with her fiancée. Sally would surely have approved. And it was a common enough name. There were probably hundreds of Sally Turner's in Britain. But it seemed a complicated way of becoming a legal immigrant.

"Can't your boyfriend apply to come and work in britain? Doesn't he have a skill?"

Agnesa lowered her eyes.

"Lorik has criminal record. He not allowed to come unless married to british subject. Lawyer explain me everything."

So that was it. In return for the information I wanted I would be bringing a convicted criminal into the country. Did I want that on my conscience?

A double whisky later my conscience had taken a back seat and I promised to give Agnesa Sal's documents. We shook hands on my promise and then she told me what I was desperate to know.

******

My sister and the manager of the Regency had been seeing each other for a couple of weeks before her death. I wasn't surprised. He was just her type. On the day she died Sally had mentioned to Agnesa that she was staying in the hotel that night. The manager had offered her they key to an empty room. My sister had chuckled roguishly and said she was expecting a late-night visitor. Agnesa also revealed that the manager was the hotel owner's son. But it was what she told me next that had me seething.

As a cleaner, Agnesa had access to every part of the building, even the manager's private office. The morning after my sister's fall she had seen something on his desk that she didn't fully understand. But she knew it was important.

It was a life insurance policy for the sum of £100,000 and the name on the policy was Sally Turner. I'd heard on this before. Dead peasant's insurance. Many big corporations routinely took out insurance policies on essential members of staff to cover any financial loss if they passed away unexpectedly. But there was no law to stop small businesses from doing the same. It didn't take a genius to work out what the owner of the Regency and his son were up to.

I asked Agnesa if any other employees of the hotel had met with an unfortunate accident recently. Sure enough, six months earlier one of the kitchen assistants had been killed in a hit and run. The car and driver had never been traced. Agnesa had to get back to work so I told her I'd leave an envelope with the documents she needed at the hotel reception that evening. I was sure I had enough leads to go to the police, but the more I thought about my beautiful vivacious twin sister the angrier I became. Downing another couple of drinks did nothing to dispel my rancour and I sat there growing increasingly enraged. At last, I made a decision and called the Regency. I booked a room for one night.. and specified the top floor.

*****

Sally's flat was a short tube ride from the hotel. It took me a couple of hours to find the papers for Agnesa. Then I powered up my sister's loptop, typed out a statement detailing everything I'd found out, and emailed it to the Metropolitan Police. They could deal with the hotel's owner.

Back at the Regency I picked up the key from reception and went up to my room. It wasn't the same one I'd been in before but was just as dull and overlooked the same street. I checked the time. Still only six p.m. He would still be here. I picked up the bedside phone and dialled reception.

"I want to see the manager!" I yelled. "I have never been so disgusted in my life! I want the manager to come to my room immediately and see for himself! If he's not here in five minutes I'm calling the police!"

The panicked girl on the other end practically screamed for the manager to come quickly. I heard his voice demanding to know what was wrong. The phone was slammed down.

My decision had been made. If I was going to let one criminal enter the country I would get rif of another. At least I could redress the balance. I opened the french windows wide and looked out. The street below was practically deserted.

I sat on the bed and waited for the manager to come through the door.

Author's Note :

When Sally Turner falls to her death her twin brother is sure it was no accident. Uncovering the truth presents him with a dilemma he can only resolve by redressing the balance.