The Laid Plans

Detective Reese stood there quietly studying the scene. In the suite with him were half a dozen men. "Has anyone touched her?"

Robinson shuddered. "No."

"Who is she?"

"I don’t know."

Reese turned to look at the hotel manager. "A young girl is found dead in your Imperial Suite, and you don’t have any idea who she is? Doesn’t this hotel have a guest register?"

"Of course, Detective, but in this case – " He hesitated.

"In this case…?"

"The suite is registered to a Eugene Gant."

"Who’s Eugene Gant?"

"I have no idea."

Detective Reese was getting impatient. "Look. If someone booked this suite, he had to have paid for it…cash, credit card – sheep – whatever. Whoever checked this Gant in must have gotten a look at him. Who checked him in?"

"Our day clerk, Gorman."

"I want to talk to him."

"I – I’m afraid that’s impossible."

"Oh? Why?"

"He left on his vacation today."

"Call him."

Robinson sighed. "He didn’t say where he was going."

"When will he be back?"

"In two weeks."

"I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m not planning to wait two weeks. I want some information now. Somebody must have seen someone entering or leaving this suite."

"Not necessarily," Robinson said apologetically. "Besides the regular exit, this suite has a private elevator that goes directly to the basement garage… I don’t know what the fuss is all about. It – it was obviously an accident. She was probably on drugs and took an overdose and tripped and fell."

Another detective approached Detective Reese. "I checked the closets. Her dress is from the Gap, shoes from the Wild Pair. No help there."

"There’s nothing to identify her at all?"

"No. If she had a purse, it’s gone."

Detective Reese studied the body again. He turned to a police officer standing there. "Get me some soap. Wet it."

The police officer was staring at him. "I’m sorry?"

"Wet soap."

"Yes, sir." He hurried off.

Detective Reese knelt down beside the body of the girl and studied the ring on her finger. "It looks like a school ring."

A minute later, the police officer returned and handed Reese a bar of wet soap.

Reese gently rubbed the soap along the girl’s finger and carefully removed the ring. He turned it from side to side, examining it. "It’s a class ring from Denver High. There are initials on it, P.Y." He turned to his partner. "Check it out. Call the school and find out who she is. Let’s get an ID on her as fast as we can."

Detective Ed Nelson, one of the fingerprint men, came up to Detective Reese. "Something damned weird is going on, Nick. We’re picking up prints all over the place, and yet someone took the trouble to wipe the fingerprints off all the doorknobs."

"So someone was here with her when she died. Why didn’t he call a doctor? Why did he bother wiping out his fingerprints? And what the hell is a young kid doing in an expensive suite like this?"

He turned to Robinson. "How was this suite paid for?"

"Our records show that it was paid for in cash. A messenger delivered the envelope. The reservation was made over the phone."

The coroner spoke up. "Can we move the body now, Nick?"

"Just hold it a minute. Did you find any marks of violence?"

"Only the trauma to the forehead. But of course we’ll do an autopsy."

"Any track marks?"

"No. Her arms and legs are clean."

"Does it look like she’s been raped?"

"We’ll have to check that out."

Detective Reese sighed. "So what we have here is a schoolgirl from Denver who comes to Washington and gets herself killed in one of the most expensive hotels in the city. Someone wipes out his fingerprints and disappears. The whole thing stinks. I want to know who rented this suite."

He turned to the coroner. "You can take her out now." He looked at Detective Nelson. "Did you check the fingerprints in the private elevator?"

"Yes. The elevator goes from this suite directly to the basement. There are only two buttons. Both buttons have been wiped clean."

"You checked the garage?"

"Right. Nothing unusual down there."

"Whoever did this went to a hell of a lot of trouble to cover his tracks. He’s either someone with a record, or a VIP who’s been playing games out of school." He turned to Robinson. "Who usually rents this suite?"

Robinson said reluctantly, "It’s reserved for our most important guests. Kings, prime ministers…" He hesitated. "…Presidents."

"Have any telephone calls been placed from this phone in the last twenty-four hours?"

"I don’t know."

Detective Reese was getting irritated. "But you would have a record if there was?"

"Of course."

Detective Reese picked up the telephone. "Operator, this is Detective Nick Reese. I want to know if any calls were made from the Imperial Suite within the last twenty-four hours….I’ll wait."

He watched as the white-coated coroner’s men covered the naked girl with a sheet and placed her on a gurney. Jesus Christ, Reese thought. She hadn’t even begun to live yet.

He heard the operator’s voice. "Detective Reese?"

"Yes."

"There was one call placed from the suite yesterday. It was a local call."

Reese took out a notepad and pencil. "What was the number?…Four-five-six-seven-zero-four-one?…" Reese started to write the numbers down, then suddenly stopped. He was staring at the notepad. "Oh, shit!"