“I was talking to him on the phone. He was in the mountains outside Los Alamos, and there was a crash and his phone went dead.”
“Have you tried to contact him since then?”
“Yes, his phone doesn’t respond. The recording says it’s out of range. I did contact the local police, and they said they’d send out a car to investigate.”
“I’m very sorry, but you can’t be sure he’s dead. Even if he was in an accident, it might have been minor.”
“No, it couldn’t have...”
How to describe to him the horrible silence that preceded the crash and Scott almost calmly telling her goodbye? She blinked back tears and shook her head.
Romax waited for her to regain her composure before speaking. “I’m sure everything will turn out all right Ms. Maxwell. Now if you can continue?”
She nodded and picked up where she had left off.
When Caitlin finished, Romax closed his notebook and sat back. He watched her for a few moments before speaking.
“Ms. Maxwell, let me be frank with you. While I’m not dismissing your story, Capt. Ferguson tells me there’s no evidence to support your claim of an intruder in your room. And, since nothing was taken, there’s no real proof that anyone was there. Now, it’s probably just a matter of you having been confused by the shock of your husband’s accident. You got off the wrong floor, went into what you thought was your room, and had a scuffle with someone who thought you were an intruder.”
“Someone who chased and then shot at me?”
“The imagination does strange things. You being in shock and all, I’m not surprised that you think this person shot at you.”
“You sonofabitch.” She looked between him and Ferguson, who sat calmly watching the proceedings from behind her desk. “The two of you discussed this before you even listened to me. That’s why you had to leave the room. You had to make sure he was agreeable to your side of the story before I saw him.”
Ferguson leaned forward across her desk. “Look Ms. Maxwell. We’ve reassigned you to a room on the concierge floor. There’s around-the-clock surveillance there. If anyone leaves or enters a room, it’s recorded, and there’s a video record of the hallways. I can assure you that you won’t be bothered.”
Caitlin looked away from Ferguson, met Romax’s eyes, and stared into them. There was something there, something that didn’t fit. An instant later, it was gone, and his face had the rehearsed calmness of a disbelieving policeman again.
“Oh? Well, assure me that I just happened into someone else’s room by mistake and that they couldn’t really have fired at me with a silenced pistol.”
Ferguson’s eyes had the tired look of someone dealing with a troublesome child.
“Never mind, just give me the damn key. I’ll be out of here in the morning.”
Ferguson slid another of the slender electronic keys across her desk. “Ms. Maxwell, the management wants you to know that we don’t doubt your sincerity even if there isn’t any evidence to support your claim. Pacific Rim Suite’s guarantees its guests’ satisfaction and your stay here will be at no charge.”
“I would rather have your support.”
For once Ferguson appeared embarrassed. “Well, umm –”
“Then fuck you and your guests’ satisfaction, Captain Ferguson.” Caitlin stood and picked up the key. There were no markings on it to indicate her new room number.
“Thirty-four thirty-four. Your things have already been transferred.”
“Thank you.” She paused to eye Romax again. “I’m sorry to have taken up your valuable time, Detective.”
Romax’s voice stopped her before she reached the door. “Your purse.”
She turned. He held her purse at arm’s length toward her. Caitlin went back and took it with a muttered, “Thank you.”
Opening the door, Caitlin walked quickly past the receptionist in the outer office. Her heels clicked loudly against the tile floor of the gleaming white corridor. She reached the pair of elevator doors, pressed the only button there, and a few seconds later the nearer door opened.
The trip from the subbasement was long and uninterrupted. The doors opened silently, and Caitlin stepped hesitantly into the hallway.
A burly man in a dark blue suit bearing a hotel nametag greeted her. “Good evening, Ms. Maxwell.”
She nodded at him and then eyed him carefully. She didn’t remember seeing him before, but he recognized her. He was about six feet tall and looked like a Secret Service agent on a protection detail. His hair was neatly trimmed and his suit tailored for a comfortable fit. Caitlin noticed a slight bulge beneath his left arm as he moved.
She looked for the normal markers on the wall. There were none.
“Your room is this way, Ms. Maxwell.” The guard motioned to her right.
Caitlin nodded and took a couple of steps past him. Pausing, she turned and looked at the nearest door. There were no numbers on it.
“How–”
“Your key will indicate your room when you get in front of the door. It’s about eight doors down on the right.”
“Thank you.”
She walked slowly down the hall. Although the hall was brightly lit, Caitlin found herself nervously eyeing each door she passed as if one of them would suddenly open and her attacker would step out.
Twice she stopped and turned back to face the guard. Each time she saw him standing in the same position, watching her.
At the seventh door, one end of her key began to glow. The closer she got to the door, the brighter it got. Caitlin slipped the key into its slot. Taking a deep breath, Caitlin pushed the door open to reveal a dark room. She fumbled for the light switch, missed it, and said, “Lights.”
The lights went on immediately. Standing in the doorway, she swept the room with her gaze before stepping inside. She left the door open
