“I didn’t see the blood at first,” she said pointing to the ugly blotches on the carpet. “The ring was hidden completely until they moved his body. When I saw it, I didn’t stop to consider how gross it would be to walk through there. The footprints could be mine.” The stairs took a turn at the landing, and more stairsteps led to the floor below where the ballroom is located. There were several footprints—small ones—so Kathleen could be correct that she’d made them.
“He’s also fortunate the stairs are set up the way they are. Even with carpet, tumbling down an entire flight of steps would have been more dangerous,” I added.
“We shouldn’t venture farther down the steps since the police haven’t checked out the area yet, although the EMTs and half a dozen people must have been on these stairs since he fell. Not just you, Kathleen,” Jack said as he shut the door. The Security Associate was already back with a sign printed on plain paper.
“That was quick!” I said.
“Thanks. I spread the word, and Security Associates on the other floors are posting the same signs. I’ve been told to stay here until the police arrive. Not that I’ve seen a soul around until you all showed up.”
Jack and I scanned the area around us. We’d come up in the same elevator we’d used to get to the ballroom from the ground floor. When we’d disembarked, we’d found ourselves in a large reception area ringed by meeting rooms. The space included a registration table, information booth, exhibits for various dance studios, and other dance competitions being held in the U.S. and in other parts of the world. Small clusters of comfortable seating offered places for guests to meet, drink coffee or another of the beverages provided, and mingle. We were at the far end of the space now, in a secluded alcove leading to the stairwell and a pair of elevators.
“The U.S. chapter of the World Ballroom Dance Association reserved this entire floor,” Kathleen explained. “They needed lots of rooms for presentations, panels and roundtable discussions, membership meetings, and other gatherings like that. Movable walls make the spaces flexible.” I nodded.
“How many members do they have?” I asked.
“Thousands, but only about twelve hundred are in attendance here. The Security Associate is right that there’s not much action now, but it’s been busy all day.”
“Given his celebrity, Kevin would have been recognizable to the attendees. Was there anyone around who might have noticed him use these stairs?” Jack asked.
“That’s a good question. Most people come and go using the elevator that goes all the way to the main floor. Staff use the elevators at this end of the floor, but they’re slow. I used the stairs a few times today coming up here from the backstage area we’re using to manage the event. I never ran into anyone until I found that poor man. There were people milling about in the reception area, but I can’t remember who any of them were.” Kathleen sighed. “I’m sorry, but my mind fizzled when I saw Kevin Whitley lying in a heap at the bottom of the steps. It’s not just what that meant to the evening’s program, but he’s a genuinely nice person. At first, I…I thought he was dead. Sorry,” she said as she struggled to compose herself.
I reached out and put a hand on Kathleen’s arm, suddenly aware of what a wretched day this had been for her. A tough one for anyone, but beyond belief for the twenty-something events coordinator trying to find her footing in a corporation with a quirky organizational culture, to say the least. That someone was assaulting celebrity guests went well past quirky.
“You’re holding up well, Kathleen. Thanks for helping us get a better understanding of what’s gone on here.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “If someone had been sitting at the registration desk, they could probably have seen the door to the stairwell from there.”
It was easy enough to check that out. I dashed over to the low table with a couple of chairs set up behind it. I sat down in the closest one, and I had a pretty good view of the doorway. Then I moved to one seat over, and my view was blocked by a large potted ficus tree.
“Well?” Jack asked as he stopped pacing and stood close to the door as though he was about to use it.
“From the first chair, yes,” I said as I rejoined them. “From the second chair, no—unless I really stretched to see around the tree. When you found Kevin, did you come back up here to call 911?”
“Yes! I saw him move, so I knew he was alive. He was bleeding so I knew he needed more help than I could give him. I ran up here to call 911, afraid that I couldn’t get good reception in the stairwell. Now that I think about it, the next thing I did after that was run to the information booth to inform someone there about what was going on. No one was there, so I spoke to the person seated at the registration table. I asked if they had anyone on hand who handled first aid for the dancers in attendance and told her there’d been an accident. She didn’t know who to call for first aid, but she called security, and offered to redirect guests to the elevators at the other end of the hall until security could get here. Funny how it’s suddenly so clear to me.”
“Memory works that way more often than you might realize. Did you recognize her?” Jack asked.
“Yes. She must have been there most of the day because I saw her this morning before we all went to Arcadia Park and she was still there when I went to her to get help. She was an older woman with grayish blond hair and glasses.” Then Kathleen looked at us and smiled. “Bettie something—ending with an ‘ie’ not a ‘y.’ It was on her name tag. There was a little heart instead of a dot over the ‘i’ where she’d written her name. When she told me not to worry, she smiled and had a dimple—like that funny woman on the Golden Girls show—Betty White.”
“You’re right about your memory kicking in!” I exclaimed. “With that much information, someone ought to be able to identify her in two seconds flat.”
“If someone with the World Ballroom Dance Association can help find Bettie, she’ll know who else was working today. The police will want to question anyone who worked at the registration table or the information booth, even though there’s no clear line of sight to the booth from here.”
“Good luck getting them to cooperate—even if you flash your police badge! Katrina mentioned the hassles she had with the organizers of the Dance Competition when she wanted Charlotte Chantel and Kevin Whitley to perform their tango tonight. Several representatives from the Dance Association leadership are members of the organizing committee. Everyone on that committee is rule-oriented, but Judy Johnson and Glenda Hislop are something else.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Judy Johnson, the WBDA Treasurer, is an accountant by trade, so she has a real ‘by the numbers’ attitude and is terrified of stepping out of line. Glenda Hislop, the Membership Coordinator, is self-important, rude, and nasty. She made a couple of snide remarks about Charlotte Chantel—kind of middle-aged ‘mean girl’ stuff with cracks about Charlotte’s age and weight. Not that Glenda’s that much younger. As an ex-model, she is reed-thin, though. Anyway, like I said, good luck.”
“Your advice is duly noted,” Jack said. He’d obviously written down the names Kathleen mentioned. He appeared to be distracted and continued to walk back and forth from where we stood in the little alcove to the open area beyond. I tagged along after him.
“Someone standing around in the reception area could have seen Kevin turn down this little corridor, even if they didn’t see him take the stairs. Given the ring Kathleen found, I wonder if a woman was with him, and someone noticed her.” Jack nodded as he considered my point.
“If someone intended to harm him, they could have used these elevators to come and go without being observed,” Jack said. The two elevators sat opposite the stairs. The short corridor in this alcove ended at a half-wall with the space above it open so you could see directly into the floor below.
“As in pushing him down the stairs?” Kathleen’s eyes widened as she asked another question. “Is that why the police have been called—it’s not an accident?” I wasn’t
sure what to say. The Security Associate sitting nearby must have thought she was asking him.
“It’s always best to err on the side of taking too many precautions and call in the police right away. Besides, I heard the doctor who attended him say something about a hit on the head; so that probably had something to do with it, too.”
“Is that true?” She asked.
“Nothing is certain yet,” I replied. “We’re not jumping to any conclusions until the police have done their jobs.”
“Now I understand why you want to know if anyone saw someone with Kevin or following him around. You should speak to Katrina about contacting the WBDA leadership. She’s had to negotiate with them more often than I have. Maybe she’s got a few tips about how to approach them or can suggest someone else for you to contact. Katrina has also mentioned Collin Richards a couple of times, and he seems to have been more helpful. In fact, I thought I saw him at Versailles Veranda, but he wasn’t in on the photo op session later, so I must have been wrong.”
“Thanks,” Jack grunted as he wandered off, perhaps to check for other ways people might get on or off this floor. I walked away from the Security Associate so we could speak more privately. There was something she wasn’t telling us about Collin Richards.
“Did Collin Richards have anything to do with a quick discussion you had with Katrina on your way to our table at lunchtime? She had an odd reaction to something you said.” Kathleen paused and appeared a little apprehensive. Maybe it was her youth, but she looked like a kid who’d just been caught sneaking in past her curfew.
“Uh, no. You saw that?” I smiled, hoping to ease the tension that had gripped her.
“I’m not trying to put you on the spot. If it didn’t have anything to do with Madame Chantel or anyone involved with tonight’s event, you don’t have to say more. It also struck me as odd, though, that Katrina and Charlotte weren’t on friendlier terms given their common interest in dance. They must have been old acquaintances even if they weren’t friends. I don’t remember much more than a polite greeting—if that—do you?”
“This is making me very uncomfortable,” Kathleen responded, dropping her voice. Then she checked to see how far away we were from the Security Associate. I moved closer to the half-wall overlooking the Ballroom Level below us and Kathleen followed.
“Katrina’s sort of my boss—sometimes, anyway. Not like Stacy who’s always my boss. Oh, heck, it can’t be a secret that she and Charlotte Chantel didn’t get along. They had a shouting match during rehearsal this morning. Katrina wanted to skip the photo op at lunchtime, but Max insisted that she join the party. When I thought I saw Collin Richards, I thought she was going to use that as a reason to take off and join him. I leaned in and reminded her it would be over soon, and that she’d keep Max happy if she hung in there a little longer.”
“Thanks for explaining it to me. I caught the eye rolling when Katrina responded to you. From what you’re saying, that was about Max. He does have a way of making that happen—even after you’ve worked with him for decades.” Kathleen relaxed, and a smile flitted across her face. “What was the shouting about this morning between Katrina and Charlotte?”
“It appeared to be a matter of creative differences. Katrina kept interrupting their dance. She stopped the music, and then chewed them out about not being where they were supposed to be at that point in the dance. When Charlotte Chantel went into a snit, it seemed like a diva’s artistic temperament rearing its ugly head. Like Max,” Kathleen whispered. “When the shouting died down and the dancing began again, I overheard these women from makeup and wardrobe saying something like ‘All that yelling won’t get that old man to back off one bit, will it?’ Then the other one said, ‘Men like him don’t ever learn,’ and they laughed. Their tango was awesome, so maybe there was something personal going on. I hope I don’t sound like a jerk, but would two women in their sixties really go at it over an old guy like Kevin Whitley?”
“I’m not sixty yet, but I wouldn’t take kindly to a woman of any age putting the moves on Jack right in front of me.” An image of Carolyn Chambers appeared before me. The friend of a friend, she’d thrown herself at Jack, and I’d come up with a few pointedly catty remarks to get her to back off. “I hope I wouldn’t resort to shouting, but I’m not above displaying a bit of inartistic temperament in such a situation.”
“I don’t like it if I go out with a guy and he’s checking out the other women in the room. It hasn’t happened to me yet, but if I’d met the love of my life, I could imagine using a few choice words to tell some skank to get lost.” Kathleen shrugged.
“From what you’re saying, it sounds as if Kevin and Katrina are involved romantically.”
“They didn’t come right out and say it, but that’s what I thought they were implying. You should ask Katrina. When I told her Kevin was injured, she was upset, but she didn’t run to check on him. I bet that’s what you’d do if you heard Jack had an accident.” Kathleen shrugged again. “Max had just arrived so maybe she didn’t want to desert her post even in an emergency. Or maybe she was still ticked off at Kevin if the shouting match with Charlotte was about something going on between the two of them.” Kathleen suddenly frowned, and wariness appeared in her eyes.
“Why don’t you just ask Charlotte Chantel about all of this? ‘Indisposed’ doesn’t happen to mean she’s had an unfortunate accident too, does it?”
It was my turn to feel like a cornered disobedient kid. I searched for an answer that wouldn’t be a lie. I really wanted to have a conversation with Katrina before it was general knowledge that the woman who may have been her romantic rival was dead and may have been murdered. Of course, if she was the murderer, she’d know that already. Still, I played coy with Kathleen.
“No. She didn’t have an accident.” That was the truth, so I had no trouble making eye contact with Kathleen. There wasn’t anything accidental about Charlotte Chantel’s death. Kathleen didn’t appear to be completely convinced, but a peel of laughter from below distracted us. That also reminded me that the gala would be moving into full swing soon and Jack and I needed to get back there. From our vantage point, we could see people were arriving in large numbers, and a happy buzz bubbled up. I spotted more Security Associates in maroon blazers, like those worn by hotel security, mingling with the crowd.
“Security seems to be on the job. Where are the police?” I asked.
“Speak of the devil,” Kathleen muttered as Jack and Detective Spencer came around the corner and stopped near the door leading to the stairwell.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she said as she spotted me.
“I thought you had at least another hour to go in Charlotte Chantel’s suite,” I said before I could stop myself. Kathleen glanced sideways at me without saying anything.
Me and my big mouth! I thought as I chastised myself.
“My partner’s still there. He can handle it until folks from forensics and the ME’s office wrap up their work. I’ve got a bit of news for you already if you’d like to hear it.” Kathleen glared at me.
“Don’t look at me like that! I didn’t lie,” I said. “I told you she didn’t have an accident. I’m right about that, aren’t I, Detective?”
“You are. The woman from the ME’s office found what appears to be a tiny puncture wound on Madame Chantel’s neck.”
“How tiny?” I asked.
“As in ‘tip of a needle tiny,’ is my guess,” Jack replied before the detective could respond.
“Good guess—give the man a gold star!” She sounded a little loopy. I arched an eyebrow wondering if Detective Spencer had helped herself to a nip of the bourbon in the bottle sitting on the bar in Charlotte’s suite. Maybe she was just wound up about having to start another investigation. She must have hoped to head home soon or at least get back to her office to do the paperwork associated with what had most likely become a murder investigation. Jack has told me that time spent at the scene of a crime is only the tip of an enormous i
ceberg—most of the work goes on elsewhere. “Sorry, that came out a little odd, didn’t it? It’s been a long day, and it’s not over yet.” The harried, middle-aged detective tried to smile. It didn’t work.
“When you say needle, are you talking about drugs? Did she kill herself?” Kathleen asked with the owllike expression on her face again. “Is that why you were being dodgy with me, Georgie?” Everyone was staring at me.
“I was trying to be discreet, not dodgy, but it doesn’t sound like suicide to me.”
“I agree. Given the location of the puncture wound, I doubt she injected herself. Whatever it was went directly into her carotid artery. It’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to her heart from there, so cardiac arrest doesn’t seem out of the question. Please continue to be dodgy—all of you—since this is just speculation until the autopsy is complete. They’ll search for other injection sites during the autopsy, but there aren’t any obvious ones on the exposed areas of her body. Carol Ripley says her godmother wasn’t on any prescription drugs or medications of any kind—legal or illegal. We won’t know what drugs are in her system until we get the results of a tox screen. That’ll take a few days at least.”
“She hadn’t been dead long. Can’t they pick up something from her urine or blood?” Jack asked.
“That’s possible. The investigator from the ME’s office collected samples at the scene and swabbed the area around the injection site. It’s not far from where the forensic investigator found those whiskers. That’s what made the woman from the ME’s office look close enough to spot the tiny puncture mark even before the body was in the morgue.” Kathleen made a little sound of surprise at the mention of whiskers. She didn’t say anything when Detective Spencer frowned at her. “I said keep it under wraps for now, remember? The ME has a decent toxicology lab, so they’ll screen right away for the most commonly used and abused drugs. Don’t get your hopes up that they’ll nab what was in that needle quickly, though.”
A Tango Before Dying Page 7