Next he checked the side pockets of Charlie’s trousers, finding a handkerchief, the entry ticket for the York, a silver Cross pen, and nothing more. That left the rear pockets. Sam wasn’t sure he could bear the idea of trying to roll the big man over in all this blood. The mere thought of rooting beneath the body made him gag. His fingertips were bloody, so he wiped them clean on the base of Charlie’s trousers. Then, carefully avoiding the pool of blood, he got down on his knees and poked his right hand beneath Charlie until he felt the bulge of a wallet in the right rear pocket.
No BlackBerry or phone there, either. But there was something tucked behind the wallet. Sam withdrew a thin datebook with a black vinyl cover and alphabetized tabs, the old-fashioned kind that no one carried anymore. Fortunately, it was clean. It was the closet thing to what Nanette had wanted him to look for, so Sam slipped it into his own lapel pocket for safekeeping. Then he stood, checked for bloodstains on his clothes, and slumped back into the chair. His stomach was heaving like a ship at sea.
That was when he heard the police. He wondered if the woman in blue sequins was with them. He hadn’t seen her since she hurried off to phone for help.
The first three cops shouldered noisily through the door. At first glance they looked as multinational as the York’s selection of prostitutes. The tall one in front was almost certainly Sudanese, and Sam was guessing the second was Egyptian from his noble Pharaonic face. Bringing up the rear was a possible local. All three wore khaki uniforms with berets.
The Egyptian took one look at the scene and flew into a rage. He grabbed Sam’s shirtfront, pulled him up from the chair, and shoved him against the desk.
“Why you do it?” he shouted. “Why you do it, huh?”
The Sudanese quickly restored order, prying them apart with a surprisingly gentle manner. He offered a few words of incomprehensible Arabic, presumably an apology on behalf of his colleague. The third one, who Sam would later learn was Jordanian, was already taking notes as he scanned the room.
A fourth cop entered, and the atmosphere changed immediately. He was older, early thirties perhaps. Unlike the others he was clean-shaven, and his uniform was lettuce green. He must have outranked them, because they stepped aside to offer clear access to both Charlie and Sam.
“Are you the witness?” he asked. He spoke English with a British accent.
“No. I’m his friend. And colleague. The woman who reported it might have seen it, but I don’t know where she’s gone. I did see two men running from the room. They were big guys, foreigners. Maybe Russian, but I’m not sure.”
The words came out in a rush, an outburst of dammed-up nerves, rage, sorrow, and probably some guilt as well. Jolly, reckless Charlie, dead on the floor in a mess of his own fluids, all of it happening while Sam stood in the bar, willfully ignorant, his phone switched off. He collapsed back into the chair. The officer placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I am Lieutenant Assad,” he said gently. “I know this has been a shock. Why don’t we go across the hall, where we can talk quietly.”
Sam nodded, temporarily emptied of words and emotions. Mostly what he wanted to do was take a long, hot shower, then collapse on a clean bed in a silent room. But at least now he could leave behind this horrible scene, although it felt like another act of abandonment. Another failure in a night filled with them.
“Lead the way,” he said.
The other office was almost identical, minus the body. Desk, chair, computer, printer, filing cabinet. Sam wondered anew why Charlie and the woman had gone there.
“Better?” Lieutenant Assad asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“My condolences for the loss of your friend.” He opened a small notebook and clicked a pen. “But the first thing I must ask you is what you were doing in the York Club?”
“Charlie was looking for a woman,” Sam said, deciding to be blunt about it.
“A particular woman? Or just any woman?”
“I don’t know. Whoever she was, he found her in a hurry. She’s the one who went for help. Where is she, anyway? I’d like to talk to her.”
“Sometime later, perhaps. When did you first realize he was in trouble?”
“About half an hour later. They’d just announced closing time, and the woman came running out to get me. Her dress was torn, and she looked scared, told me to hurry. Then we heard shots, or I guess they were shots. The two big guys came running out of the room, and that’s where we found him.”
“They were big? Tall, you mean?”
“Stocky, like weight lifters. But not that tall.”
“Describe them. Their faces, what they were wearing.”
Sam did so. The lieutenant nodded as he wrote it all down.
“Your friend, was he carrying a cell phone, or a BlackBerry?”
Sam looked down at his feet.
“No. Or if he was, somebody took them. I checked.” Assad raised his eyebrows. Maybe Sam shouldn’t have mentioned that. He supposed he had better keep Nanette’s name out of this.
“Did you find anything else?”
“A handkerchief. A pen. His wallet. I left them in his pockets.” He decided not to mention the datebook, and immediately wondered if it was the right move.
“I’m surprised you had the stomach for it.”
