bulletproof vest on it.”
Another pause. Then an even response: “Huh. Any suspects?”
“Not yet.”
“I didn’t kill him, Mels, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“That’s what you’re thinking.”
“Who are these people to you?” she cut in, making little boxes around the names he’d given her to research.
“Just things that have bubbled up.” His voice became distant. “Look, I’m sorry I called you about them. I’ll get the info somewhere else—”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’ll do it and I’ll phone you back.”
After she hung up, she stared into space. Then she rose from her desk chair and went down a couple of cubicles. Leaning over the top of yet another gray partition, she smiled in a fake way that her colleague didn’t know her well enough to spot. “Hey, Eric, what’s up?”
The guy’s eyes shifted away from his computer monitor. “Hey, Carmichael. What can I do you for?”
“I want to know about that murder at the Marriott.”
The reporter smiled, all cat-and-canary. “Anything in specific?”
“The vest.”
“Ah, the vest.” He rifled around the paperwork on his desk. “The vest, the vest…” He pulled a sheet free and spun it to her. “I found this on the Internet.”
Mels frowned as she read the specs. “Five thousand dollars?”
“That’s what they cost before they’re customized. And his was.”
“Who the hell can afford that?”
“Exactly what I’m asking myself.” More rifling. “Big-time security firms are one. U.S. government is another —but not for your Joe Schmo FBI agent, mind you. You’d have to be very high-level.”
“Any VIPs in the hotel?”
“Annnnnd that’s what I looked into last night. Officially, the staff can’t give out names, but I overheard the night manager talking to one of the cops. There’s nobody special under their roof.”
“What about that area downtown?”
“Yeah, I mean, there’re some big businesses around the neighborhood, but they were all closed as it was way after normal business hours. And it defies logic that some dignitary was walking around Caldwell and one of his security team happened to go rogue and get his throat in the way of someone’s knife.”
“When did it happen?”
“’Round eleven o’clock.”
After she’d left and gone to the crime scene. “And no clue on the identity?”
“Not a one. Which brings us to the next hi-how’re-ya.” Eric chewed on the end of a blue Bic. “No fingerprints.”
“At the scene?”
“On the body. He didn’t have any fingerprints—they’d been etched off.”
Mels’s ears started to ring. “Any other identifiers?”
“A tattoo, apparently. I’m trying to get some pics of it as well as the body, but my sources are slow.” His eyes narrowed. “Why all the interest?”
Fancy bulletproof vest. No prints. “What about weapons?”
“None. He must have been stripped.” Eric leaned forward in his chair. “Saaaaay, you’re not trying to sweet- talk Dick into getting you a byline on this, are you?”
“God, no. Just curious.” She turned away. “Thanks for the info. I appreciate it.”
Chapter Twenty-two
When the phone rang about a half hour later, Matthias just stared at the thing. Had to be Mels getting back to him.
Damn it, this was a mess….
After Jim had taken off to go do breakfast or errands or some shit, naturally, the first thing he’d done when he was alone was call Mels and try to find out if that story was true about the father and the son up in Boston. It hadn’t dawned on him that she’d have heard about what went down in the basement, but come on, sloppy thinking much? It was all over the cocksucking news. Even nonreporters who didn’t keep up with that kind of shit knew.
The phone stopped its electronic ringing. But she was going to redial.
God, her voice when they’d spoken. She’d sounded suspicious, and in so many ways that was the best thing for her. Yet it killed him.
When the phone started going off again, he couldn’t stand it. Grabbing his cane, he walked out the door of his room and headed blindly for the elevator. As he took it down, he had no clue where he was going. Maybe breakfast.
Yeah, breakfast.
It was what people did at nine a.m. all over the country.
Annnnnd, of course, the only restaurant that was open for business was the one he’d gotten to know intimately the night before—and as he walked past the colored glass wall, he decided to go off Marriott property to—
“Matthias?”
At the female voice, he pivoted around. It was the nurse from the hospital, the one who’d given him a helping hand, so to speak. Outside of work, she was fresh as a daisy, with her dark hair loose around her shoulders and a pale dress hanging below her knees.
She kind of looked like a bride.
“What are you doing here?” she said as she came over. “I thought you’d be home recovering.”
As people walked by her, they all stared, men with hot speculation in their eyes, women with varying degrees of envy and dislike. Then again, she was stupidly beautiful.
“I’m okay.” He tried not to stare at her. It was like looking into the sun, painful on the eyes. “How about yourself?”
“My mom’s come into town. Or rather, she was supposed to be here by now. Her flight was due in a half hour ago, but it got delayed in Cincinnati because of storms. I’ve been debating whether to wait or go home—we were going to have breakfast. Is that where you’re headed now?”
“Ah, yeah.”
“Well, then, how about we go dutch. I’m starved.”
Her black eyes positively sparkled, to the point where they made him think about the night sky. But it wasn’t enough to make him want to cop a squat in the—
“Okay,” he heard himself say, like some third party had taken over his mouth.
Together, they walked over to the maître d’s stand.
“Two,” Matthias said as the man did a double take at the nurse, and then froze like a deer in the headlights, apparently struck stupid by all the lovely.
“I’d like a window seat,” she said, smiling slowly at the guy. “Perhaps over…”
Not the window he jumped out of, Matthias thought.
“…there.”
Bing-fucking-o.
“Oh, yes, sorry, right away.” The maître d’ got with the program, snagging a couple of leather-bound books and leading the way. “But there are some better views across the room, overlooking the gardens?”
“We don’t want the sun to be too bright.” She put her hand on Matthias’s arm and gave him a little squeeze, as if she wanted him to know she was watching out for his bad eyesight.
