by Robin Caroll
“If you’d like me to walk the scene with you, detectives . . .”
He would have to worry about Addy later. Beau nodded and reached for the two boxes at the uniformed officer’s feet. “Yes, thank you.” He and Marcel automatically slipped on a pair of latex gloves and disposable shoe covers, and Beau handed the same to Geoff. He was determined not to have one of his crime scenes contaminated. Not if he could help it.
“No one enters without gloves and covers, got that?” Beau asked the officer.
“Yes, sir. They won’t.”
Beau took note of the CSU personnel already working in the bedroom: Nolan, Robert, and Erik—all very good at their jobs. They were detail-driven and very thorough. Beau respected all three of them.
Just what this scene needed.
Clicks of the camera were backdrop noises to the flash as Erik moved around the bedroom taking a multitude of photos. Nothing would be missed. Nolan and Robert talked among themselves as they inspected the bed linens.
Beau ignored them and the men beside him, his concentration on the scene. He continued to make meticulous notes of his impressions.
“You said the night latch was engaged?” Marcel asked Geoff, standing just inside the doorway.
This was the second floor. Beau made a note to be sure and check the balcony.
“Yes. We had to use the tool to open the door after Ms. Fountaine used the master electronic key.”
Beau inspected the doorjamb. No scratches or dings. “Are the tools only sold to hotels, or can any Joe off the street buy one?”
Geoff shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Beau pointed his pen at the door’s key reader. “I’m sure you have a lock interrogation system. Has that been checked?”
“No, sir. I figured you’d want to be here for that.” Geoff lifted his radio from his utility belt. “Hixson, bring the audit trail reader to room 219.”
While they waited, Beau flipped through his notes. “Mr. Aubois, I noticed the security cameras outside the elevators and there.” He pointed to the one visible from the hotel room door. “What is your recording policy?”
Geoff glanced at the camera. “They’re digital, of course. They record an hour, then download it to our system. After twenty-four hours, the system compiles the footage and archives it into our storage. We hold a week’s worth of recordings for every camera on-site. The older weeks are archived in the hotel’s private cloud.”
Beau nodded. “After I finish here, I’ll need to see the video of that camera and the ones by the elevator for the last twenty-four hours.”
Another security officer joined them. He handed Geoff an electronic gadget.
“How much data is stored on the lock?” Marcel asked.
“The audit trail will keep the most recent two hundred and fifty-ish transactions and will store them for about ten years.” Geoff pushed a button. “Housekeeping department’s key opened the door yesterday at 9:42 a.m. Guest’s key opened the door yesterday at 4:59 p.m. Guest’s key opened the door yesterday at 10:14 p.m. Housekeeping department’s key opened the electronic lock at 11:19 a.m. this morning.”
He glanced up at the detectives. “That’s when they discovered the night latch was engaged. The next electronic transaction was management’s key opening at 3:18 p.m. today, which is when we came back and I opened the night latch.”
“Do you happen to know if the vacuums are bagged or canister?” Marcel asked.
Geoff shook his head. “You’ll need to ask housekeeping.”
Beau kept writing. “We’ll need to speak to the housekeepers from yesterday and today, as well as”—he exhaled slowly—“management.”
“Of course.” Geoff punched more on the gadget, then unplugged it and handed it back to the other hotel security guard. “Print out the report I just created and have it ready for the detective before he leaves. Also, pull the video recordings from cameras 200, 201, and 211 from 0800 yesterday through 1700 today, and have them set up in the viewing room. Go ahead and make copies for the detective to take with him.”
“Yes, sir.” The younger security officer rushed off to do Geoff’s bidding.
“Thanks for getting me everything so quickly.” It was nice to not have to get warrants and demand to get what he needed to solve a case.
“No problem. It’s my job.”
Beau moved into room 219, recording a detailed inventory of the closet’s contents, complete with brand, sizes, and condition. He checked the carpet leading into the bedroom: no visible stains or issues. In the bedroom, he nodded at the curtains covering the windows and balcony door. “Were those closed when you entered the room?”
Geoff stared at the windows and nodded. “I guess so. We didn’t touch them.”
Beau eased the curtains back, revealing the balcony door. The door was shut but wasn’t locked. He motioned to Robert, the latent prints CSU expert. “Please dust the inside and outside of this door for prints.”
“You got it, Detective.” Robert reached for his case.
Pulling back the curtain all the way, Beau peered out the window down into the hotel’s private courtyard. Little lights draped from the trees and wound around the poles in the center of the wrought-iron tables. No guests seemed to be in the area. Pity, because it was quite nice. Beau looked at Geoff. “Not much of a balcony.”
The hotel’s security chief flashed a smile, revealing a row of very white, if not perfectly straight, teeth. “It’s meant more for ambiance than functionality.”
“Fire escape?” Marcel asked.
“A pole.” Geoff shrugged. “Mr. Pampalon said if there was really a fire, people would get out faster using a pole rather than stairs.”
“I guess he has a point.” No rushing out of the room and into a hall of chaos that fires usually brought to a public place. Actually, it was rather clever of the man.
“Hey, Beau.”
He turned and smiled as he recognized the voice. “Hey, Walt. How’s it going?”
The old coroner with bushy eyebrows and in a perpetual hunch let out a groan. “I’m not retired to some beachfront cottage, so that tells you something.” Two younger men wearing jackets with the coroner’s office logo emblazed on the back followed him.
Beau laughed. “Me, too, my friend. Me too.”
Walter Kelly lifted his case. “Body in the bathroom, I hear.”
Beau nodded. “We haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“Then I’ll try to get some preliminary details for you.” Walt wove around the techs to the bathroom, his two employees following him.
Beau continued his initial examination of the room. He spied the empty drinking glass at the chair’s side table. He turned to Robert. “Has this glass already been dusted for prints?”
“Yes, sir.”
He lifted it and sniffed. Whew. “Does this room have a wet bar?” he asked Geoff. It looked like one of the standard rooms, definitely not one of the suites.
“Not in here.”
Beau held up the glass.
“Looks like one from the hotel bar.”
He set the glass back down and made a note to talk to the bar’s crew from last night to see if anyone remembered the vic.
“We’re ready to bag the laptop, Detective.” Nolan was in charge of collecting evidence. His team wouldn’t miss much.
Marcel moved around the bed. “Find anything in the bed?”
One of Nolan’s team nodded. “We took some samples of what looks like might produce some DNA and trace evidence results.”
“I’m assuming the victim’s reservation was for one?” he asked Geoff.
“According to what I know, yes. Kevin Muller was the only name on the reservation. His home address is listed in Natchitoches, Louisiana. Ms. Fountaine will get the full information for you, I’m sure.”
Poor Addy. She’d looked beyond stressed last night, and now this.
Beau made a note to check on the vic being seen with someone he might have brought back to his r
oom.
After noting the contents of all the drawers in the armoire and bedside table, Beau made a final turn in the bedroom to make sure he didn’t miss anything, then headed into the bathroom.
Time to meet the dead man.
Adelaide
“Ms. Fountaine, this is Allison Williams from WDSU. I’m following up on a report of a murder in the Darkwater Inn. Would you care to comment?”
How did she know already?
“We have no comment at this time.” Adelaide pinched the bridge of her nose and rested her elbows on her desk.
“So you can only verify there has been a murder?”
Sneaky woman. “No comment.”
“Come on, Ms. Fountaine, we know that homicide detectives have been dispatched to the hotel, as well as the coroner.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Williams. The Darkwater Inn has no comment at this time.” Adelaide ended the call and pinched the pressure point harder.
The intercom buzzed again, then her assistant spoke. “Fox 8 on the line for you this time, Ms. Fountaine.”
“Vicky, please tell them, and whatever other news outlet or reporter calls, that the Darkwater Inn has no comment at this time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Just what she needed—the news to report a murder at the Darkwater before Mr. Pampalon was informed. She’d be out of a job so fast it’d make her head spin.
She lifted the intercom and buzzed the kitchen. She needed to speak with Dimitri. Now.
Six
Adelaide
“I still think you should be the one calling.” Adelaide tossed a hard stare across her desk to Dimitri. She pressed the buttons on the phone sitting between them.
“You’re the general manager, so by all rights, you should be calling.” Dimitri leaned back in his chair.
“And you’re an owner, lest you keep forgetting that.” She punched the last two buttons with more force than necessary.
“I try.”
She ignored his smirk and set the call to speaker. Dimitri might not take his position at the Darkwater seriously, but his father sure did.
“Yes?” Claude Pampalon’s voice was as smooth as Dimitri’s roux but had just as much bite as the Cajun spiced sauce thickener.
“Mr. Pampalon, it’s Adelaide Fountaine.” She drew in a breath. The hotel’s owner wasn’t one to mince words. “We’ve had an incident here at the Darkwater.”
“What kind of incident?”
She swallowed. “A guest has been murdered in one of the rooms. The police are here now.”
“Murdered?”
“Yes, sir. The guest missed checkout, so I authorized security to—”
“Where is my son, Ms. Fountaine?”
Dimitri moved the edge of his chair and leaned closer to the phone’s speaker. “I’m right here, Father.”
“Explain to me how this happened.” Claude’s voice lost all its smoothness.
“As Adelaide was trying to explain, Adelaide, Geoff, and I entered the guest’s room after numerous attempts to reach him with no response. We found his body in the bathroom. We immediately called the police and are assisting with their investigation as they request.”
Adelaide bit her bottom lip as a litany of profanity came over the line.
“Father, no one, not even you, could prevent this. Adelaide is handling the situation with professionalism while keeping the other guests as unaware as possible.”
“What are you doing, Dimitri?”
“My job, Father. Learning the inner workings of the hotel business and assisting Adelaide where needed.” Dimitri’s face streaked deep red patches.
“You are a Pampalon. You are my son. I expect you to take charge in my absence.” Claude’s roar rattled the phone’s speaker.
“I am acting as I should. Assisting the hotel’s general manager and complying with police requests.” Dimitri stood and paced the short span of Adelaide’s desk. “Things are as under control now as they would be if you were here.”
“I doubt that. While Ms. Fountaine is very qualified, which is why she has the position in the first place, she is not a Pampalon. You are.”
Dimitri snatched up the receiver. “We are doing everything you would, Father. This call was merely a courtesy to keep you informed.”
Adelaide sat straight in her chair, her stomach churning. She hated being caught in the middle of this never-ending disagreement between father and son. If only Claude could see how much Dimitri loved cooking and creating sublime dishes. He had no desire to take over as the hotel CEO from his father. He wanted to stay here, yes, as chef, but not as owner. Claude wouldn’t understand that. Probably wouldn’t even try, which was why Dimitri was so hesitant to even broach the subject with his father. Claude never asked Dimitri what he wanted—he assigned his son the task of learning the hotel from the bottom up. Housekeeping, maintenance, front desk, bellboy, attendant, sales, and kitchen staff.
“Yes, sir. But that’s really not necessary—” The heat from Dimitri’s face traveled down his neck. “Yes, sir.” He hung up the phone and plopped down into a chair.
“What did he say?” Adelaide was almost afraid to ask.
He shook his head. “My father is one of the most frustrating men I have ever met in my entire life.”
Her stomach knotted again. “What did he say?”
He looked at the floor, not meeting her stare.
“Dimitri?”
Slowly, his gaze met hers. “He said he’d be back Monday or Tuesday. He said if the case isn’t wrapped up by then, we could both find new jobs.”
Oh, mercy. This was worse than she imagined. “H-He’ll fire us?”
Dimitri shook his head and reached across her desk to grab her hand. “Hey, I’m his son. He isn’t going to fire us. He’s just doing what he does, roaring and snarling and making threats. He doesn’t mean it.”
“You’re his son. I’m not. He made that perfectly clear.” She was going to lose her job! She loved the Darkwater. Loved being general manager. This is what she went to Northwestern State University to become. Even though she’d almost lost herself there.
Dimitri moved around the desk and pulled her to standing. With a finger under her chin, he lifted her head until she met his stare through her pooling eyes. “You aren’t going to be fired, Adelaide. I won’t allow it.”
“But your father—” Claude Pampalon got his way. Always.
“Shh.” He planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. “It will all be fine, don’t worry. Just do your job.” He let her go. “Besides, I bet the police will have everything wrapped up well before Father returns.”
She could only hope.
Dimitri
His father could be the most arrogant, narcissistic, royal pain that ever walked the face of the earth. That was a fact.
That truth caused all the color to drain from Adelaide’s face.
He couldn’t stand it. Dimitri squeezed her hand. “It won’t come to that. He just hadn’t expected this. It was a knee-jerk reaction.” Jerk being the key word.
“How can you be so sure? Your father doesn’t make idle threats.” She let go of his hand and sank back into her chair, but the tinges of color started to return to her face.
“He was just taken aback. He’ll cool off and then accept that it couldn’t be helped. His wrath is highly overrated.”
“Really? Then why don’t you tell him you don’t want to take over the hotel?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
Dimitri forced himself not to take her jab personally. She had to be caught in a tornado of emotions. “That’s not the issue here, Adelaide.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Everything seems to be exploding at the same time.”
“I understand.” Dimitri sat on the edge of her desk beside her. “I have faith that everything will work out. That the police will solve the murder and arrest the person responsible. That everything will be resolved well before Father gets home.”
“Faith?” She shook her head. “Okay. You go ahead and believe that.”
There it was again—that animosity whenever he mentioned God, Jesus, or faith. “What is it with you and religion?”
“Let’s just be clear that I don’t believe all the Bible stories I was taught in Sunday school. I’ve grown up and know better.”
He needed to tread very carefully. “Adelaide, what happened to you?” It had to be something horrible. He knew her mother died when she was very young. He lowered his voice. “Did you lose someone?”
“Of course I’ve lost someone. You don’t survive nearly three decades in this life without losing someone along the way. That’s expected. That’s life.”
So it wasn’t losing her mom. “So, what was so unexpected that turned you away from your faith?” He held his breath and waited on her reaction. He’d gotten bits and pieces out of her over the last four to five months as they worked closer together. Sometimes she would tell him just enough to let him know that she believed in God but had chosen not to follow Him. She’d lowered her wall enough for him to know she was angry with God, or herself, or a mix of faith and reality. Other times, she’d rattle off a flippant remark and change the subject or leave. Today she seemed different.
It’d definitely been a rough day already, and her defenses were down. After seeing a dead man, whose wouldn’t be?
“Adelaide?” he all but whispered, afraid to spook her into one of her usual responses.
Tears had welled in those dark-as-night eyes of hers as she stared at him. “There was a time in my life that I believed everything the Bible says. About faith. About His good plans for me. About His never forsaking me.”
Dimitri didn’t move, didn’t speak. He did nothing but listen.
“One day, when I needed His presence and protection more than ever before, He wasn’t there. He left me at the lowest part of my life.” She swiped at the tears that had escaped her eyes. “A kind and loving God doesn’t do that to His children.” She let out a breath and stood.
Dimitri eased off the desk. “Adelaide, I don’t know what happened, but God never leaves us. It might feel like it, but He doesn’t.”
