MASS MURDER (10 page)

Since
there was nothing to learn here, Giorgio turned away and started to leave
,
when a sharp
“
click
”
stopped him.
He paused
. Perhaps s
omeone
had opened
one of the
nearby
doors
. B
ut all doors in close proximity remained closed.
A soft whapping noise directly behind him made him turn back to the window.
The heavy curtain billowed away from the wall now as if a floor heater had been ignited.
Slowly, he reached out to draw
the curtain aside again
. The
hairs on the back of his neck st
ood
on end.
The old-fashioned crank window stood open
now
allowing a crisp breeze to fill the narrow hallway.

Giorgio cautiously craned his neck forward to see below, half expecting someone to su
ddenly appear on the windowsill. B
ut there was no one outside, just a damp pocket of mist hanging in the air just beyond the ledge.
H
e reached down and jiggled the antique hardware, curious as to how the window had popped opened.
The crank moved generously
from side to side
.
Convinced it was just old hardware
Giorgio
shut the window tight
and cast
a final, skeptical glance into the
misty
night before returning t
o Swan
.

“Where’s Olsen’s room?” Giorgio snapped when Swan emerged into the hallway.

“Over here.
Number 18.
You okay?” Swan asked
with a defensive posture
.

“Fine.
Just tired
,
”
he said, on edge.

They crossed the landing into a matching hallway and passed two rooms before stopping at the yellow tape marking off Mallery Olsen’s bedroom.
The hallway
ended with
a supply closet.
Olsen’s bedroom was the last room on the right
,
directly across from a large guest laundry and an alcove with vending machines.
Giorgio noticed the apparent isolation of Olsen’s room and made a note to find out who occupied the only room adjacent to hers.

“Make sure Fong gets up here as soon as he’s done downstairs to d
ust for prints.”

Swan nodded
before
slipping paper booties over his shoes
and handing a pair to Giorgio.
Olsen’s room was similar to the one Swan had just left, Spartan and without personality.
A cheap nightstand and small chest of drawers filled one wall, while a worm-eaten writing desk and straight-backed chair sat under
the
window.
A small bible sat in the corner of the writing desk, along with an inexpensive wooden crucifix.
T
here was one, bell-shaped lamp on the writing desk whi
ch did nothing more than light
the area right around it.
A single upholstery fabric suitcase sat at the foot of the
single bed with t
he same green cheni
lle blanket laid across the end.

“Not much to look at is it?” Giorgio said with some sadness.

“No,” Swan agreed.
“The
rooms are
all basically the same, although a few are a bit larger.
It is a monastery after all
,
and I assume the cost of the conference reflects it.”

Giorgio wandered into the bathroom with its dated black and white mosaic tiled floor and frosted double-hung window.
Olsen’s bag of toiletries sat on the top of the commode’s water tank.
Her toothbrush and toothpaste lay on the chrome shelf above the sink, a small dab of water pooled under the bristles.
The bathroom still held the faint aroma of the White Diamonds spray perfume that sat off to one side.
A plastic cup wrapped in cellophane was placed upsid
e down at the end of the shelf.

As Giorgio looked around he asked Swan, “Anyone report seeing her at any time before the dinner?”

“One of the other agents said she saw Olsen going back upstairs just before six o’clock.”

Giorgio turned to Swan.
“Going
back
up
stairs?
Did the woman say why?”

“Olsen said she was having a drink with a friend an
d would join the banquet later.”

Giorgio’s eyes narrowed.
“A friend?
I wonder if it was someone from the conference.”

Swan shrugged.
“Maybe one of the caterers. Who knows?
Could’ve been anyone.”

“A caterer couldn’t have left his post.
They were working.”

Giorgio wandered back into the bedroom.
The room reminded him of his dormitory room at the police academy, except this room was peaceful.
Here, he could picture a monk sitting at the desk late into the evening with only a
candle to light his studies.
It was that kind of solitary life that had prevented Gio
rgio from entering the seminary −
that and the vow of celibacy.

“So, she was dressed for the dinner but didn’t go.”

“Looks that way,” Swan confirmed.

“Someone changed he
r mind.”

Giorgio moved to the writing desk where a bottle of corked, red wine sat next to another plastic cup.
This one had been used
,
and he bent over to take a sniff.

“It looks as if this is where she had her drink.”
He twisted around.
“But where’s the other cup?
The one in
the bathroom hasn’t been used.”

“M
aybe they didn’t meet in here.”

“Where else would she go?
We’re three miles from the nearest restaurant and she left the cocktail party downstairs and didn’t leave the premises.
No,” he said pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, “I think she came back here to meet her mysterious friend and never left.”
Giorgio used the handker
chief to begin opening drawers.

Swan pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and joined him in a careful search of the room.
Giorgio found nothing but Olsen’s neatly folded clothes and personal belongings in the small chest.
Swan looked into her briefcase and purse and then searched the suitcase.
The room was neat and clean, offering no evidence to i
dentify a guest, or a murderer.

Giorgio put the handkerchief back in his pocket.
“Get Fong up here fast.
I want forensics to check the remaining contents of that glass.”
Swan started to leave as Giorgio glanced at the bed.
“Swan,” he said.
“This woman was incredibly neat, wouldn’t you say?”

“I guess so, yeah,” his colleague shrugged.

Giorgio gestured around him. “Look around the room.
The bed is neatly made.
All her clothes are folded and put away in the drawers.
Even the bathroom is neat as a pin
,
although she’d just gotten ready for a fancy dinner.
Nothing is out of place.”

“So?”

Giorgio pointed to the bed.
“Why is there a pair of pantyhose lying crumpled up in the middle of the bed?”

Swan
followed Giorgio’s gaze
and shrugged again.
“I don’t know.
Women always leave those things lying around.
I know my wife does.”

“Doesn’t it seem out-of-character to leave something so personal out in the open when a guest is expected?” Giorgio pulled a pencil from his pocket and lifted the toe of the nylon foot off the bedspread.
“I have a feeling we may have just found the murder weapon.”

“But you don’t know she was killed up here,” Swan said skeptically.
“If she was killed in this room, the murderer would have had to carry her all the way down the stairs, down a hallway
,
and through the kitchen in order to get her to the supply closet.”

“Maybe there’s a back staircase.
She didn’t look very heavy.
Under the cover of darkness, it could have been done pretty easily, especially for a man.”

“Then you’re eliminating any female suspects?”

“Not necessarily.
I saw a few women downstairs built well enough to accomplish the task.” Giorgio
gave a wicked
smile.

“But how did he get to the back stairs?
The hallway ends right here.”

Giorgio
arched his back, feeling his fatigue. “I don’t
know, but I bet there’s a way.”

“She could have been killed somewhere else,” Swan argued.
“The parking lot for instance.”

“The parking lot is lit.
Plus, the caterers probably parked there.
Too risky.”

“What about out in the garden, then?
She could’ve been killed out there.”

“Her shoes will tell us that
. B
ut something tells me she was strangled right h
ere, with this pair of nylons.”

“Why?”

“The dead woman in the closet is wearing a black cockt
ail dress and black pantyhose.”

Giorgio drew Swan’s attention to the pale c
olored nylons lying on the bed.

Swan lifted his eyebrows. “Oh.”

Chapter Eight

Swan went to help the other officers allowing Giorgio to step outside
for a short break
.
He stretched his arms above his head
, groaning a bit a
s his muscles pulled. A
bank of clouds
had begun
their march across the night sky snuffing out stars one by one
, while a brisk wind stirred up the rich aroma of sage from the bushes near the entrance
.
Giorgio sucked in the tantalizing smell and then
ambled a
long the
gravel path that led him into the center of a large cactus garden.
A
tall, unadorned wooden cross rose out of a round, cement slab.
It was the same kind of religious symbol Giorgio had come to associate with the church
−
rigid, unyielding
,
and solid as a rock.
He stood for a moment lost in thought, until a
tap on the shoulder startled him
.
Giorgio turned to find Swan holdin
g out a steaming cup of coffee.