'Have we called her yet?'
Sue shook her head. 'Waiting for you, Frank.'
'Right… '
' Anyway, like I said, the room's been ransacked. Some stuff gone.
Watch, cash, probably his wedding band-I noticed a ring mark on his finger. But not his credit cards or ID. Still, there're no papers, datebook, address book or other businessman's stuff. And his clothes have been sliced up, like someone's been looking inside the linings. The lining of his suitcase's been slit open, too.'
'Doesn't go with taking a guy's watch and money,' Aaron said.
Sue nodded. 'There's more. Last night Dietz was observed picking up a young, well-dressed redhead in the hotel lounge. They talked a while, had a couple drinks. The waiter remembers them leaving together a little before midnight. That's the last time anyone saw him alive.'
A small group was milling outside the door to room 1664. Sue introduced Janek to the hotel night manager. His name was Blinken, he spoke with a soft German accent and he was trying hard to act stoical, perhaps the way they'd taught him at hotel-management school in Lucerne.
The minute Janek walked in he felt a rush. Homicide investigations were his specialty. An assistant med examiner, Lois Rappaport, famous for her crooked mouth and wry attitude, was examining the body on the bed. A four-man Crime Scene team plus Sue Burke's partner, Ray Galindez, were conducting an evidence search in various parts of the room.
He greeted everybody then stood back, trying to focus on the scene. He felt at once that there was something wrong with it. He asked himself what it was. Then Lois Rappaport broke his concentration.
'Take a look,' she said, pointing to Dietz's chest, Janek walked over to the bed and peered down. There were red ink markings on the flesh.
'What is this?' Aaron asked.
Rappaport shrugged.
Sue craned forward. 'Think maybe one of those voodoo jobs, Frank?'
Ray Galindez joined them. He was in his late twenties, a tall, very lean good-looking man of Puerto Rican descent, with a serious demeanor, dusty skin and an elegant pencil line mustache.
'Maybe Arabic?' Ray suggested.
Janek shook his head. 'Shoot me a Polaroid, will you, Ray?'
Ray nodded. He and his wife, Grecia, were about to have their first child. Ever since Grecia had become pregnant, Ray had seemed to wear a special glow.
Janek turned back to the room. 'I better phone the wife.'
Aaron, perhaps out of sympathy for his exhaustion, offered to take on that unpleasant task. Janek thanked him. One of the Crime Scene detectives showed Janek a pair of empty miniature vodka bottles and a pair of fruit- juice cans in the waste basket. Janek shrugged. Mr.
Blinken approached. He wanted to know whether Janek wanted him to close off the floor and move the guests to other rooms. Janek told him closing the whole floor wasn't necessary, but it would be a good idea to evacuate the nearest rooms. Ray handed him a Polaroid of the markings on Dietz's chest. Then Janek asked Sue to join him downstairs-he wanted to interview the lounge waiter.
On the way down he examined himself in the elevator mirror. His suit was wrinkled, his hair was mussed and his face did not show a proper sportsman's Caribbean tan. He recalled the Polaroid of himself in Violetta's folder. Again he felt a flash of anger at the memory.
The lounge was empty except for one man sitting by himself. The waiter and the bartender were the only staff. The waiter, who had slicked-back hair and a watery left eye, tried to be helpful, but he was anxious to go home. Janek asked him to describe the way Dietz and the redhead had acted. The waiter stifled a yawn.
'They were getting… you know, friendly. He seemed to be interested in her and she seemed the same. Sort of.' 'What do you mean?' Sue asked.
The waiter shrugged. 'I think she was making him work for it. Anyway, when I brought him the bill I overheard something made me think they were going up to his room to get a little… friendlier.'
'Describe the girl,' Janek said.
'Young, well built, pretty.'
'That could be anybody.' 'I know.' The waiter paused. 'There was definitely something about her.
'What?'
'Not sure. Just something. She had… moves, know what I mean?'
Moves: That could mean anything. Janek needed a face.
'I want you to work with a police artist. There's one on duty.
Detective Burke'll escort you. Then she'll drive you home.' The waiter whistled. 'Tonight?'
'A man's been killed. You saw him leave with a woman. She may know something or be involved.'
'Sure,' the waiter said.
Janek left him with Sue. On his way to the elevators he was intercepted by Aaron, who had just gotten off the phone with Mrs. Dietz.
'She took it pretty well, considering,' Aaron reported 'At least she didn't go hysterical on me. I asked if there' was anything I could do for her. She said someone in the family would be in touch.' He paused.
'The way she snapped up the phone I got the feeling she was expecting something. But, of course, not this.'
'What do you think she was expecting?' Aaron squinted. 'Maybe some kind of news. She told me Dietz came East to meet with an executive recruiter. He hasn't been happy where he's been working. Maybe she expected to hear he'd landed a job. Thing is-on the phone I couldn't really tell what her reaction was.'
On their way back up to the sixteenth floor, Janek pulled out the Polaroid of the chest markings and held it up to the elevator mirror.
The markings spelled out a sentence.
Aaron read it aloud. ' ' couldn't get it up.' Jesus!' He looked at Janek. 'How'd you do that?'
'It's written in mirror-reverse.'
'What does it mean?'
'I don't know. But it's interesting, isn't it?'
Back in Dietz's room, Janek asked Lois Rappaport what she thought. She showed him a plastic envelope. There was a spent bullet inside.
'Twenty-two. I found it under his head. He's probably been dead twenty-four hours. I may have something more for you tomorrow.'
'Like what?' Janek asked.
'I'll let you know.'
'You got a feeling about something?'
She showed him her crooked smile, then ordered her assistants to carry out the body.
Janek stayed in 1664 another twenty minutes, talking to the Crime Scene investigators. They had collected a vast number of assorted fingerprints, fibers and hairs-not surprising in a hotel bedroom. Janek asked Ray to get a list of women currently registered in the hotel, and a second list of women who had checked out within the past twenty-four hours. Then he asked Aaron to drive him home.
There was a three-person TV news crew waiting in the lobby, led by a tired young female correspondent he recognized, a Chinese-American named Meg Chang. When she spotted Janek she sprang to life and crossed toward him, trailed by her cameraman.
'Hi, Lieutenant!' Janek nodded. 'We hear a businessman was shot. Can you tell us anything?'
She tried to stick her microphone in his face. Janek gently pushed it away.
'Check with me tomorrow, Meg. I got nothing now.'
He and Aaron walked out the door. The air was cool. A breeze was coming off the harbor. The stark towers of Battery Park City and the domes of the World Financial Center loomed like monoliths.
Following West Street on their way uptown, Janek asked Aaron if he'd taken a look at the Savoy lounge. Aaron shook his head.
'It's not the kind of place you'd drop in for the evening-unless you were staying at the hotel. Not many people live around here. It's not like your neighborhood watering hole.'
