Zack glared at the clerk. “Look pal, she needs a room because someone, probably a hotel employee, murdered her colleague in her room. They might have been after her. Give her the damn key and she’ll deduct it from her settlement. That work for ya?”
“No need to get testy with our clerks, Mr.?” A well dressed older man interceded.
“Detective. Burnham. Who are you and why can’t you just give this lady another room?” He felt a pull at his jacket and looked down into Mo’s exhausted face.
“He’s the owner,” she croaked hoarsely. “Mr. Whitney.”
“It is our intention to see to Ms. Whitman’s every need, Detective. Mr. Coleman, please put Ms. Whitman in the presidential suite and override the billing. P West, Mr. Coleman. Cancel all bookings for it for the time being.” He turned to Mo,” I can’t tell you how deeply sorry I am. I understand she was a very close friend. Please let us know if there’s anything you need.” He pulled a card from his jacket pocket. “This is my private line and my home number in the city. You call me, anytime, day or night, if you need anything at all. Mr. Coleman, Ms. Whitman is my guest.” He turned to Zack. “You were with the mayor last night.” The clerk handed Mo a card key which Zack gently took from her. Mr. Whitney laid a hand in comfort on her arm. Zack looked at Mr. Whitney’s lined face. His automatic assessment interrupted by Mo turning toward him with dull eyes. Shock.
“He sent me out. Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruffle Mr.Coleman’s feathers. Let me get her settled in. Thanks a lot.” She literally had to lean on him as he took her arm and relieved her of her pocketbook.
“Thank you Mr. Whitney.” Mo barely got the words out. A lot of angry guests were glaring at the door which had been locked. No one was allowed to leave the hotel. More angry guests had been herded into the various conference rooms. “There’s Roddy.” She said pointing into a large room where police were questioning guests. “Roddy!”
He gently pulled her forward, “You can talk to him later.” Still she tried to go toward Roddy, weakly waving a hand to get the manager’s attention. “They won’t let you in there. Come on before Al changes his mind and takes you down to the station for an all nighter.”
“But…” He lead her away just in time. As he steered her toward the west wing elevators an east wing elevator popped open. Glancing over his shoulder Zack saw the stretcher bearing the body bag containing Ling Wong rolled into the lobby. Keeping her moving he hit the button and blocked her view. He keyed the elevator for the presidential suite breathing a sigh of relief she didn’t see it. “I need to get some things, all my things are…”
“Sorry, Ms. Whitman, there’s no way to get anything out of your room tonight. The forensic people will be in there for hours and I’m afraid going through your things is going to be part of it. I’m real sorry about your friend. I remember seeing her at the party. She seemed real sweet. Had a lot of real nice things to say about you.” He watched as she tried to blink back tears. She opened her mouth, trying to say something but the knot in her throat rendered her speechless. The elevator opened directly into the suite. She stood gaping fearfully until he gave her a gentle nudge. “No one knows you’re here, Ms. Whitman.” She still hesitated. “I’ll take a look around, you wait here.” She stayed in the elevator until he returned. “Its all clear, you’re safe here Ms. Whitman.” He guided her into the living room and over to the sofa where she sat staring blankly. He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water and took a glass from the bar. He poured one and set it on the coffee table before her. He twisted the cap off the other and chugged half the bottle.”
“Thank you for your trouble, Detective Burnham. I’m sure this isn’t part of your job. I guess I’ll take a shower. Maybe I should take a shower.” She looked confused as if she didn’t know the next step. What did people do when…?
“Maybe a bath would help you relax. Have you eaten? I could call you up some room service.”
“I couldn’t eat. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t call anyone, they took my cellphone. Oh, there’s a phone in here. Should I call someone, her mother?” The last was almost squeaked out.
“The police will take care of that. Is there some family or a friend you’d like to come? Someone close?” He sat in the chair next to the sofa. “Can I call someone for you?”
“All my friends are with the show. Your friend Al told me not to talk to any of them until after I talk with him tomorrow. Your friend…he’s kind of an ass isn’t he?” Suddenly she downed the glass of water. “Bet there’s something harder in that cabinet.”
“He’s not my friend; he is just doing his job. I’m not sure liquor’s what you need.”
She scooted around the other side of the coffee table and yanked the cabinet open. Inside was a computerized miniature dispenser. She eyed it and pressed the vodka button. Then she looked in the fridge and eyed the bottle of seven-up thoughtfully. Ick, she thought. “Better than nothing.” She sat back down and opened both bottles while Zack watched. She mixed the vodka with a small amount of seven-up, chugged down one drink and poured another. “Don’t worry Detective Burnham, I’m not driving.” She said without a glance.
“Maybe you shouldn’t…” Too late. The second one was gone. Zack scratched his stubble and watched her lean back and close her eyes. He studied her face. It was an interesting face. A little odd actually. With her head leaned back her eyes appeared even more slanted. Her face was thin but flared at the cheekbones. He didn’t remember ever seeing cheekbones like hers. Her nose was small with a slight curve at the bridge. A light scattering of freckles played across it. Her mouth was small but full. Her lips a little pale. He remembered how they’d looked just last night. Very red in contrast to the pale rose they were now. He remembered her smile and the sound of her laugh. He gazed at her sad face and thought she might not truly laugh again for a long time. He looked at the long braid winding over her shoulder and chest almost to her waist. It was straight and glossy though disheveled. Her neck was long and thin. He could see the vibration of her pulse point. The little notch at the base of her throat. Was she falling asleep? That would be best. He wondered if he should try to get her to the bed. He’d just decided he would leave her there and get a blanket when his phone rang.
“Yes, Your Honor?” The mayor’s voice made him hold the phone away from his ear as he walked into the bedroom.
“How’s Ms. Whitman holding up? Damn shame. Show’s canceled ‘til Wednesday at the earliest. Whitney’ll take care of her. Look, you stay on her tonight. That’s an order.”
Zack didn’t have time to affirm that order when he was disconnected. He walked out of the bedroom and saw she was lying down from the waist up but her long legs hung off the sofa. He went back into the bedroom and yanked the bedspread off the bed. He dumped it on the coffee table and picked her legs up and put them on the sofa. Carefully he pulled off the little flats she wore and covered her with the spread. He didn’t know what to do then. He should move his car. Fuck it. He settled into the chair and ignoring his rumbling stomach, tried to sleep.
Ray sat on the trashcan with his back to the wall. At first Zack thought he was playing one of his jokes. He was made up like a harlequin. His eyes were wide, his lips blood red. There was some kind of mark on his face, dead center of his cheek. He got closer and thought he heard a laugh. He heard a clang and looked up to see the fire escape above vibrate with an unseen person’s movement. He turned back to Ray and saw him still there with a frozen look of shocked humor. His mouth had been stopped mid smile or laugh and had set with a hideous grin. The harlequin mouth dripped blood on both sides. The hole in his face was small and clean. The blood on the wall behind his partner’s head spread outward like a preening peacock’s tail. Then the mayor came diving in on a trapeze. “You’re finished, Burnham, finished.” Tyler grabbed hold of the fire escape then was suddenly Monica Whitman. You did it, Detective. It’s all your fault. All your fault, Burnham, Burnham…”
>
Mo patted his shoulder. “Mr. Burnham. Detective!” He jerked awake. “You were having a nightmare, I think.”
It took him a second. In his disorientation he reached out running a hand down the thick dark braid. Then it came to him and he yanked his hand back. “Sorry. I thought…”
“I’m supposed to be having the nightmares.” She pressed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to move into the bedroom. Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa?”
“Yeah, what time…” He pulled his phone out and saw it was one-thirty. “I’m sorry I woke you up, I don’t usually have nightmares, I don’t think.’
“Nightmares happen. Thank you for staying. Goodnight.” She closed the door to the bedroom. He heard the lock click. Zack stretched out on the sofa and thought about the dream for a long time.
“How well did you know Ling Wong?” Detective Graver examined the odd little man with red rimmed eyes. The clown makeup was not the kind of make up your kid would see at a birthday party. It was disturbing. Scary. The silly orange wig only exemplified the creepiness of the clown.
“Year and a half maybe. Nice kid. Did her job.” Trollie shook his head. “Sucks.”
“You have any personal interest in the girl?” The detective peered into the clown’s eyes.
“Nah. Not my type.” Trollie leaned back, relaxed. “I think she was seeing Linc Harris. I’m not saying for sure but they were friendly. I heard Ling was a very friendly girl, if you know what I mean.”
“Did you try to get friendly with her?” This guy was giving Graver bad vibes.
“Thought about it. Easy pickings and all that. Too young and like I said, not my type. Goth bullshit kind of a turn off.
Yeah, bet she was crying over that. “Where were you between eleven thirty and two?” Graver tapped his pen on the pad. Sleaze.
“I went into the city after the show last night. Kinda hooked up with a friend. I went back to her place. Didn’t get back ‘til eleven or so this morning. I went straight to the coliseum. Thought I’d shower there and get in some practice. But I was…hung over. One of the great things about being with this show is that people recognize me. With my makeup, of course. Free drinks are a blessing or a curse depending on the time of day. I kicked back in the dressing room, men’s dressing room. Reuben Goldstein, a juggler, came in around four. Woke me up. We chatted a few minutes then the terrible twins, Juan and Jesus Alehandras came in. They said it sounded like something was going on at the hotel. Goldstein always brings his car. So we all jumped in and came over here to see what the hell was going on. Had to practically call the cops to get back in here.” Trollie wanted a cigarette. A little hair o’ the dog wouldn’t hurt either. How long was this shit gonna go on?
“Can your friend verify your whereabouts last night?” Graver was thinking about a smoke too.
“Yeah, but she’s probably working her corner on West Grand. It’s today you’re interested in, isn’t it? Ran into a maintenance guy on my way in. There’s a lot of maintenance guys at Greendale. Take your pick.”
“Don’t worry we’ll find him. How ‘bout you wash off the makeup and let us get a look at you?”
“Gonna hafta get a warrant. This is my legal appearance in Canada. Trademarked. Wouldn’t want to violate any treaties. But just to show I’m being cooperative I’ll tell the home office they can show you a picture of me if you’ll sign an agreement to keep my real appearance from the press. It’s a trade secret, you know.”
“Oui, yes, I had a little argument with Mo Whitmahn. She is the jealous kind. You see I broke up with her and she was furious. I don’t say she would hurt somebody. That’s ridiculous! Mo and Ling close friends. She would never hurt Ling.” Claude threw his hair back with a toss of his head.
“Again, where were you late this morning, early this afternoon?” Simmons was ready to come unglued with the French buffoon.
“I tell you! With a new paramour. But I am a gentleman. Not that she is…, you know. A gentleman does not kiss and tell. Who wants to hurt Ling? There are crazy people in the world.”
“Mr. Mojonnier.” Al Simpson had stepped quietly into the room. “Unless you want to spend the night down at the station where we know how to get answers, you’d better tell us where you were at the time of Ling Wong’s murder? And who you were with?” He pressed his hand firmly on Claude’s shoulder while leaning his face close, giving him a terrifying smile as he gave this friendly advice.
“In my room! All day. All night too. With the masseuse. Yes, they have a masseuse for the principals. What’s her name? Ah, yes! Chreestal. Yes, Mc something. She tell you she have a good time with Claude!” Al and Simmons looked at each other. It took all kinds.
Misha sat with arms crossed. He wore a black muscle shirt and jeans. His sandy blonde hair was cut short and combed neatly. “Yes.” His accent was slight but discernable as Russian or close to it. “I was in the hotel. I was at the gym around one. Roddy says I’m getting fat in the middle. Henri Jardin was there. Roddy told him the same thing. This morning I had breakfast in my room. I took a shower. A maid came in and I let her clean while I took the shower. She left; it must have been between twelve and twelve thirty. I’m a little unsure of the time. After she left I went to the gym. My heart wasn’t in it. I guess I had a little too much to drink at Mr. Whitney’s party. Mind?” Misha didn’t wait for a response and lit a cigarette. He had paper cup of water he pulled close to use as an ashtray. Graver had another flash of craving. Screw it. He lit one up too, disregarding the laws concerning smoking in hotels.
“Did you get along with Ling Wong?” Graver flicked ash into the cup.
“Sure, everybody did, nice girl.” Misha stretched out his legs. “How is Mo, Ms. Whitman? She and Ling were close. Have you seen her?”
“Ms. Whitman is fine. Anybody else see you?”
“In my room, the maid. At the gym, sure. Besides Henry there were a couple other guests. I didn’t know them.” Misha exhaled as he spoke. He was relaxed stretching his long legs out in front of him. I ran into Linc Harris at the gym. He’s with the show. He was in a hurry to take a shower.”
“He had been working out?” Graver inhaled deeply, inwardly sighing with relief.
“No, he complained the ceiling in his shower was too low, so he came to the gym. He had his bathrobe on over his sweats. But I know he gets cold in the air conditioning. He complains about it all the time.”
“I don’t know what happened to them. I told you already. I got out of the shower and they were gone.” Linc put his head in his hands. His tone was sad and tired. Not angry. Why was he down at the station? Why weren’t they looking for Ling’s killer?
“You were in the room with her this morning.” Al sat with a hip on the edge of the table. “Monica Whitman said you were obsessed with Ms. Wong.” He leaned in close. “Sometimes they sure can be a tease can’t they?” He gave a knowing chuckle.
Linc glared at him. “You can shut up about Ling. She wasn’t that way. She just liked to pretend she was. I know what you’re up too. Trying to get me worked up. Set me off. Mo didn’t say that. She wouldn’t say I was obsessed. She knows I love Ling.”
“But your running clothes just disappeared from the locker room. And you’re conveniently all nice and clean. We’re gonna test that shower and if those clothes are in the hotel, we’re gonna find ‘em. Did you feel better after you crushed that girl’s skull?”
The veins at Linc’s temples throbbed. He took a deep breath. He tried to center himself and prayed for patience. “I love Ling,” he said quietly. He closed his eyes and the tears rolled. His center shattered causing his shoulders to vibrate. He hugged his lanky torso and rocked.
“Dammit, Burnham, you could be pushing a pencil behind a desk or holding my dick when I piss. I want you to stay out there and keep an eye on what’s going on and stay on the acrobat.” The mayor puffed hard into the phone.
“She’s a trapeze artist, Your Honor.” Burnham rolled his eyes. He had escorted Mo to t
he police station and after dropping her, was parking the car. Rain pounded on the windshield. The sky was dark, dark enough to make the streetlights stay on at ten in the morning. An ominous Midwestern storm front that could bring tornadoes was brewing. He wanted to do exactly as the mayor said but he complained instead. It would be just like Tyler to yank him back to the city if he thought he wanted to stay on the girl.
“Well right now she’s news and I don’t need her to turn into bad news for me. You stay on her. Get a room, keep me informed.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Tyler had already hung up. Well at least he didn’t have to deal with that windbag all day. So many cops vied for the honor. My ass. He wanted to get back to work and if he couldn’t, there were worse things than keeping an eye on a beautiful woman. A huge clash of thunder rolled over. The rain crashed down. He had given Mo his umbrella. Well shit, here goes.
“You gonna stand there and drip on my floor?” The red cheeked desk sergeant asked irritably.
“You provide towels, bathrobes, maybe a blow dryer?” Zack tried wiping his feet on the ineffectually thin mat at the entry. He was drenched and still dripping despite his efforts.
“Al told me to expect a smartass from the city, they’re in interrogation. You can go back, but not in the room. Tyler got pull but this is still our town.” The sergeant pushed his glasses up and went back to paperwork.
“Understood, sergeant.” He got a snort in response. Harve was watching through the one way glass as Al talked to Mo. She was much cooler today. More in control. She was answering questions unruffled despite the detective’s efforts to shake her calm. “Thanks for letting me bring her in. I think it made it easier for her. So are you really still trying to get her to confess? You can’t believe she did it.” They both watched Mo as Harve answered.
Fly With Fire Page 5