by Robin Caroll
“Oh, He did. I called out to Him and He refused to help, refused to answer.” She scooped up the index card with the dead man’s information and walked around the desk. “I need to take this to the police. I’m sure they need it.”
He matched her steps. “I can do that for you.”
“No, it’s my job. Besides, I’d like to get an idea of how long the police will be here. Erika’s been great about keeping the new check-ins to the other floors and other side of the hall, but we’ll need those rooms down the right side of the hall soon enough.”
“I can go with you.” He reached for her office door.
She put her hand on his forearm. “I appreciate that, but I really need to do this myself.”
His expression must have revealed he didn’t care for that idea, for she continued with, “And I really need you to cook up something amazing to wow all the guests tonight. Great food is always a good distraction.”
Dimitri reminded himself this is what he’d wanted, to just be a chef and not an owner. “I’ll come up with something so spectacular the guests will go into a food coma.”
She flashed him the first real smile he’d seen from her in hours. “Thank you, Dimitri.” She pushed open the door and stepped into the hall of offices.
“But remember, if you need me, just call me and I’ll be there.” He took hold of her hand. “I mean that.”
“I know you do.” She leaned in and gave him a sideways hug. The spicy scent of exoticness and sweetness wafted up from her dark hair, teasing his senses more than any spice he used in the kitchen. “And I appreciate you very much.” She stepped out of his embrace before he could return the hug.
Dimitri watched her walk down the corridor with purpose, her dark curls swaying against her back. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his feelings for her to himself.
Wasn’t sure if he wanted to any more.
Seven
Beau
Stabbings were always brutal.
“What do we have?” Beau asked Walt, flipping to a new page in his notebook.
The old coroner stood and took a clipboard from one of the men from his office. “White male, approximately thirty to thirty-five years old, with multiple stab wounds to the chest.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his beaked nose. “Based upon body temp and rigor, I’d set the time of death to be between 11:30 last night and 12:30 this morning.”
Beau took in the scene before him. Blood coated the front of the man’s shirt, as well as the sleeves.
Marcel beat him to the question. “Defensive wounds?”
Walt nodded. “On both hands, but superficial. I can’t say if that’s because our boy here knew his assailant and was surprised and shocked. Clearly an initial stab hit his jugular, so he only had a minute to live, at most.” He shook his head. “He was stabbed eight more times, none of them needed to do the job.”
“You think the assailant knew the victim?” Marcel asked.
“That’s your job to say for certain, my boy, but I know stabbings are usually very personal. Multiple stab wounds, an overkill so to speak, are usually proven to be either a crime of passion—love, hatred, or revenge.”
“What kind of weapon are we looking for?” Beau asked Walt.
“Best guess is a knife. Serrated. Probably about six to eight inches, although none of the stab wounds look to be deeper than four inches or so. I’ll know more when I get him on my table.”
Marcel motioned Nolan over to join them. “Did you find a knife?”
“No, sir. Nothing here at the scene, and we’ve gone over most every inch of this room.”
“Keep your eyes open.” Beau pocketed his notebook. “Looks like the murder happened here.”
Walt agreed. “That’s how I see it. There’s too much blood present for his jugular not to have been severed here.”
Beau walked the paces from the bathroom door to the victim. As was his custom, he started working out the scenario by talking low and to himself. “So the victim is already in the bathroom when the killer comes in. He turns . . .” He took in the direction the bathroom door swung.
“No, he wouldn’t have seen anybody if he was already in the bathroom.” He walked around the space again, careful not to disturb any of the blood on the floor and streaked down the wall by the shower stall. “The assailant was in the bathroom, waiting on the victim.”
He stood still and let that imaginary movie play out in his head. Yes, that worked. He pulled out his notebook and jotted down his thoughts.
If the killer was in the bathroom waiting on the victim, then the victim either let the killer in, or the killer had been inside the room before the victim came back inside.
Definitely needed to find out if the deceased had entertained anyone in his room last night.
“Anything else for us?” Beau asked the group in general.
“I’ll perform the autopsy in the morning and get you my report by afternoon,” Walt said, pulling a body bag from his case and passing it to his assistants.
“Thanks, Walt, I appreciate it.” He looked at the CSU lead techs. “Update?”
Erik still had the digital camera hanging around his neck. “I’ll have the digital proofs e-mailed to you as soon as I get back to the office and upload them.”
“Nolan’s finishing up labeling the samples. I’ve got a couple of good prints. Let’s just hope we get some hits,” said Robert.
“We look forward to the reports.” Beau pocketed his notebook again.
Marcel moved toward the door. “I’ll check with the rooms on either side and across the hall. See if anybody saw or heard anything.”
Beau nodded at his partner, then turned back to the security officer. “Geoff, if you’ll take me to Ms. Fountaine, please, I have some questions for her.”
“No need. I’m right here.”
Adelaide
The scent of death permeated room 219.
At least, that’s what Adelaide called it. She’d tasted blood before, of course, when she bit her tongue—a coppery, metallic taste. The hotel room smelled that way to her . . . brassy, cold, and unyielding.
In that moment, she realized she lived three floors above in a penthouse suite. That little fact didn’t fill her with any warm fuzzies.
She pushed aside her thought train and waited for Beau to join her just inside the entry. “I didn’t think you would be working this case.”
“It’s my jurisdiction.”
She didn’t know why she was surprised Beau would be working the case. It gave her some semblance of comfort. If anybody could solve the case and save her job, it was Beau. She smiled and handed him an index card. “Here’s all the information I have on Mr. Muller.”
“Can we go to your office to talk?”
“Of course.” Mercifully, yes. She knew the body hadn’t been removed yet, and she didn’t know if she could take being there for the event, body covered or not.
“I’ll make sure the videos are up as you requested, Detective,” Geoff said as they passed him as they exited.
“Thank you,” Adelaide and Beau replied in unison. They caught each other’s stare and smiled, despite the circumstances.
She led the way out of the room and toward the elevators. “Mr. Muller was an attendee of the pharmaceutical convention we’ve had in-house this week.”
“The room reservation was in his name?”
She stepped into the elevator as the door opened. “One, please,” she told the attendant before turning her attention back to Beau. “Yes, and the reservation was in the group’s block.”
“What, exactly, does that mean?”
“It means that the group’s planner would know what room he’d been assigned because this group requested a listing of all the rooms in their block.”
The elevator door opened and she led the way toward her office.
“Is that common?” Beau had pulled out a little notebook and pen and was writing as they walked.
“For som
e groups, yes. Especially if their block was full. The planner might review the list to make sure no one outside the group had gotten into the block. They would want that person moved out of the block to make room for one of their registered attendees.” Adelaide opened her office door and motioned Beau in ahead of her.
“Why?” He sat in one of the chairs facing her desk.
She took her seat. “Well, planners negotiate cheaper rates for their block, depending upon how much food and beverage they agree to guarantee, number of meeting rooms . . . stuff like that. So attendees want to be in the group’s block because it can save them a significant amount of money.” She lifted her pen and reached for paper to doodle on.
“Smart.” Beau looked over the index card she’d given him. “Natchitoches, huh?”
“About four hours or so from here.”
He snapped his fingers. “That’s right, you went to Northwestern there, didn’t you?”
“I did.” Her breath went stale. She avoided discussing anything about her college days. She could deflect like a master. “We don’t have any more information on him. I can contact the group’s planner and see about getting Muller’s convention itinerary for you.”
“If it’s not too much trouble. Are they still here?”
Adelaide opened the file she’d already had pulled that sat waiting on her desk. “Shows she should be, since they have a post-convention meeting with Kellie tomorrow morning.”
“Make the call. I need to make a couple of calls too.” He stood and went to the corner of her office, his back to her.
Adelaide dialed the number, wondering what, exactly, to say. It wasn’t as if she’d ever had to make such a call before.
The planner answered on the second ring.
“This is Adelaide Fountaine, general manager of the Darkwater Inn. Do you have a moment for us to speak in person?”
“Is something wrong?”
Wrong? One of your attendees was murdered in his hotel room. Yeah, she’d call that something wrong. Adelaide didn’t even know if she was allowed to tell her one of her attendees had died. Beau hadn’t said, and his back was still to her, phone pressed against his ear. Adelaide cleared her throat. “If you could please gather your attendees’ itineraries, I would appreciate you coming to my office now.”
“What have they done now?”
“Please, just come to my office.”
“Okay. Where is that?”
“Go to the front desk and someone will bring you. See you momentarily.” Adelaide hung up the phone and stared at Beau, who returned to sit in front of her desk. “Now what?”
“The Natchitoches police are on their way to Muller’s home to notify his family. They’ll also do some questioning of Muller’s friends and coworkers there.”
Adelaide’s heart clenched. How horrible. To expect your husband to be coming home today, only to have the police show up and tell you he’s dead. Murdered. She shuddered.
“Addy, are you okay?” Beau’s soft voice was soothing.
She hoped the Natchitoches police sent someone like Beau—kind, gentle, and caring—to tell Kevin Muller’s wife. She exhaled slowly. “I will be.” She rubbed her shoulder. “It’s been a long week.”
“I’m so sorry you’re having to deal with this.” Beau stood and moved behind her. His hands were firm, yet tender as he worked kinks from her neck.
She closed her eyes and let his fingers dig into the knotted muscles.
The intercom buzzed.
Adelaide jumped. Beau gave a final squeeze before moving to the front of her desk and leaning on the corner. She lifted the receiver. “Adelaide.”
“A Ms. Sidney Parsons is at the front desk asking for directions to your office, Ms. Fountaine.”
“Yes. Please bring her back.” She hung up and nodded at Beau. “The planner is here. Her name is Sidney Parsons.” She stood as her office door opened.
The woman who entered had to be close to thirty, but with her pixie haircut could be easily mistaken for much younger. She carried a tablet and rushed right up to the desk. “I’m Sidney Parsons.” She cut her eyes to Beau, then back to Adelaide. “What’s going on?”
Adelaide waved to the chair in front of her desk opposite the corner Beau perched on. “Please sit down.”
Sidney slumped into the chair and waggled the electronic tablet. “I have everything about the group here. Now, if you’ll just tell me what’s going on.”
“Ms. Parsons, I’m Detective Beauregard Savoie with the New Orleans Police Department. I asked Ms. Fountaine to have you join us.”
Sidney let out an exasperated breath and leaned against the back of the chair. “Who in the group has done what now?” She shook her head. “I swear, you let these sales reps get together and they act like silly frat boys.”
Adelaide’s stomach tightened, then turned.
“If they’ve damaged anything—”
Beau interrupted. “What can you tell me about Kevin Muller?”
“Kevin?” The planner gave a quick shake of her head. “Kevin’s one of our best reps in the southern region.”
“As a planner you know this?” Beau asked, his little notebook already open.
She shrugged. “I’m the planner for the group. I work for Arg’s Drugs. I plan all the regional conventions, corporate events, every meeting the company holds.”
“So Kevin is your coworker?” Beau asked.
“In a way. I mean, I work at the company’s home office in Dallas, but I know most all of the movers and shakers.”
“And Kevin is a mover and shaker?”
Sidney glanced at Adelaide, then back to Beau again. “I’m not quite sure I should be giving out personal information. What’s this about?”
“Ms. Parsons, Kevin Muller was found dead in his hotel room this afternoon. This is a police investigation, so I can assure you that you’ll need to answer my questions.” Beau sounded so assertive. Adelaide had never seen him so . . . so in charge. In control.
It was a new side to him that Adelaide suddenly appreciated.
A lot.
“Kevin’s d-d-dead?” Sidney shook her head. “No, that can’t be. I just saw him last night.”
Beau leaned forward. “What time did you see him? Where?”
The woman stood, clutching the tablet to her chest. “I think I’d better check in with my boss before I say anything more.”
Beau stood. “You do that. I’m going to have an officer escort you to the station so we can talk.”
“I’m arrested?” The horror was evident on Sidney’s face.
“For questioning, of course.” He pulled his phone from his hip and spoke briefly, then spoke to Sidney again. “My partner will be here shortly to take you to the station. You can call your boss from there.”
Sidney looked at Adelaide. “Do I need to call a lawyer?”
Beau answered, “Have you done something to need a lawyer?”
“No, of course not.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Beau motioned for Sidney to precede him to the door. “Detective Taton will take you to the station and get you settled. You can go ahead and call your boss and/or your attorney. I’ll be along shortly.” Beau said the last sentence more for his partner’s benefit than Sidney’s.
Adelaide waited until they were gone. “Why are you taking her to the station?”
“It’s my job to question everyone. I picked up on several microexpressions with her. The slight flush to her cheeks when she talked about knowing the victim. The widening of her eyes. Not holding eye contact as I asked when she’d last seen him. She knows him but won’t quite reveal how well she knows him. She admitted seeing him on the night he was murdered, but clammed up when I asked when and where. And she didn’t ask what he died from.”
Adelaide dropped back to her chair. “Wow. You’re good, Beau.”
“It’s my job.” But his smile widened.
Her phone rang. It was her father’s number. “I have to
take this.”
“I’m going to check out the security footage your guy has ready for me, then I’m heading to the station. I’ll have officers guarding the room.” He leaned over and gave her a quick hug, then rushed away.
She put her phone to her ear but couldn’t ignore the warmth his hug gave her. He’d hugged her many times over, but all of a sudden, she took note of how it actually felt.
What was going on with her?
Eight
Beau
Not that the guests would ever know it, but the Darkwater Inn housed quite the security setup. Top of the line, high-tech stuff. Beau couldn’t help but be impressed. He’d ordered uniformed officers to scour the courtyard, Dumpsters, and surrounding areas—looking for anything that might be useful to the investigation.
It bugged Beau that Muller’s guest room had been locked from the inside. When he finished viewing the security footage, he’d inspect that pole up to the balcony himself. Maybe it was possible that it was an easy climb. The balcony door had been, after all, unlocked.
“I’ll fast-forward until there’s movement by his room, okay?” Geoff asked.
Beau nodded and pulled out his notebook. Addy might not realize what a gem she had in the man as her chief security officer. He was thorough and good.
“Okay, here Muller is, leaving his room at 8:14 yesterday morning. He’s wearing the pharmaceutical convention’s name badge.”
Beau jotted the information down in his notes while Geoff fast-forwarded.
Geoff continued reading out the details. “There’s housekeeping, 9:42 yesterday morning, going in to clean the room, just like the data from the door registered.” He fast-forwarded, then paused. “And she’s leaving at . . .” Geoff leaned closer to the monitor. “Video time stamp shows 10:08 a.m.”
Beau hovered his pen over the paper. “Twenty-six minutes. Is that about average time?”
Geoff shrugged. “I’d guess. Sounds about right. Okay to go on?”
Nodding, Beau stared at the monitor.
Geoff fast-forwarded the video of Muller’s door. Many people walked by, some even stopping across the hall or next door, but nothing happened at Muller’s until 4:59 p.m. “He’s going in, by himself.”