The Red Hotel (Sissy Sawyer Mysteries) by Graham Masterton Page A
Authors: Graham Masterton
Ads: Link
stains at some crime location or another, and they’ve turned out to be totally innocent. Look at these here. My partner here mentioned red-eye gravy, and it’s perfectly possible that these here stains in this stairwell are just that. Red-eye gravy is made with ham grease and coffee, isn’t it, and that could give you this reddish-brown coloration.’
Everett said, ‘You don’t seriously believe that this
is
gravy, do you?’
Detective Garrity’s jaws continued to chew gum. He looked at Everett with eyes as black and hooded as a turtle. ‘No, sir. To be truthful to you, I don’t seriously believe that this is gravy.’
Two crime-scene specialists arrived, one tall African-American woman and one short, bullish-looking white man with rimless spectacles and a blue shaven head. They unpacked their kits, taking out Sangur strips for the rug and BlueStar Forensic liquid for the polished wooden floor that surrounded it, to see if there were any blood spatters that might have been washed or wiped away.
The African-American woman moistened a Sangur strip, which was like a large cotton bud, so that it turned pale yellow. She wiped it against the stain on the rug, and almost immediately it turned a bright greenish-blue. She held it up without a word, so the two detectives could see it.
‘Probable for blood,’ said Detective Garrity, flatly.
The bullish-looking CSI turned to Everett and said, ‘Maybe you can give us some elbow room now, sir, so that we can check out the rest of the room.’ The way he said it, it didn’t sound like a request.
‘Sure,’ said Everett. He had plenty of work to be catching up with downstairs, even though he hardly felt like carrying on as if it was business as usual. Luther was waiting for him outside in the corridor.
‘Well?’
‘Worst case scenario. They believe that it’s blood.’
‘We need to work out how we’re going to present this, Mr Everett, sir. I mean, like, media-wise.’
‘I don’t have any idea. “Copious bloodstains have been discovered on the seventh story – but don’t panic! We haven’t found any corpses yet! So far as we know, nobody has actually been murdered at The Red Hotel, so we trust that you all enjoy your stay with us – sweet dreams!”’
They went back down to the ground floor. In the elevator, a pretty young brunette in a tight turquoise T-shirt kept smiling at Everett and batting her eyelashes, but Everett found it impossible to give her anything in return but a quick, sick grin. Jesus, if somebody
had
been killed, right here in The Red Hotel, he could be ruined.
He returned to his office and slid back the glass partition. ‘Bella, how about a
very
strong cup of coffee?’ In fact, he could have used a double Jack Daniel’s, straight up, but he wanted to try and stay clear-headed.
‘Oh, boss – you’re back!’ said Bella, brightly. ‘Your sister just called you! I told her you were tied up. She gave me her number . . . someplace in Connecticut, she said. She didn’t leave a message but she asked if you could call her back asap.’
‘OK, fine. Thanks. Do you want to get back to her for me?’
He sat down at his desk. His press officer, Olivia Melancon, had left him her latest media release, with a color photograph of himself and his partner, Stanley Tierney, and the mayor of Baton Rouge, George Dolan, all standing in front of The Red Hotel beaming with pride and holding up their thumbs. Her headline proclaimed:
THE FUTURE IS RED – New Lease Of Life For BR’s Bijou Hotel
.
The future is red
,
he thought. Well done, Olivia. You don’t know just
how
red. Red bloodstains and red balance sheet, both.
His phone warbled. He picked it up and it was T-Yon.
T-Yon said, ‘Thanks, Bella,’ and then, ‘Everett? It’s me. Everett – is everything OK?’
‘Where are you? Bella said you were someplace in Connecticut.’
‘Allen’s Corners, it’s just outside of New Milford. We came here to see Billy’s aunt
Everett said, ‘You don’t seriously believe that this
is
gravy, do you?’
Detective Garrity’s jaws continued to chew gum. He looked at Everett with eyes as black and hooded as a turtle. ‘No, sir. To be truthful to you, I don’t seriously believe that this is gravy.’
Two crime-scene specialists arrived, one tall African-American woman and one short, bullish-looking white man with rimless spectacles and a blue shaven head. They unpacked their kits, taking out Sangur strips for the rug and BlueStar Forensic liquid for the polished wooden floor that surrounded it, to see if there were any blood spatters that might have been washed or wiped away.
The African-American woman moistened a Sangur strip, which was like a large cotton bud, so that it turned pale yellow. She wiped it against the stain on the rug, and almost immediately it turned a bright greenish-blue. She held it up without a word, so the two detectives could see it.
‘Probable for blood,’ said Detective Garrity, flatly.
The bullish-looking CSI turned to Everett and said, ‘Maybe you can give us some elbow room now, sir, so that we can check out the rest of the room.’ The way he said it, it didn’t sound like a request.
‘Sure,’ said Everett. He had plenty of work to be catching up with downstairs, even though he hardly felt like carrying on as if it was business as usual. Luther was waiting for him outside in the corridor.
‘Well?’
‘Worst case scenario. They believe that it’s blood.’
‘We need to work out how we’re going to present this, Mr Everett, sir. I mean, like, media-wise.’
‘I don’t have any idea. “Copious bloodstains have been discovered on the seventh story – but don’t panic! We haven’t found any corpses yet! So far as we know, nobody has actually been murdered at The Red Hotel, so we trust that you all enjoy your stay with us – sweet dreams!”’
They went back down to the ground floor. In the elevator, a pretty young brunette in a tight turquoise T-shirt kept smiling at Everett and batting her eyelashes, but Everett found it impossible to give her anything in return but a quick, sick grin. Jesus, if somebody
had
been killed, right here in The Red Hotel, he could be ruined.
He returned to his office and slid back the glass partition. ‘Bella, how about a
very
strong cup of coffee?’ In fact, he could have used a double Jack Daniel’s, straight up, but he wanted to try and stay clear-headed.
‘Oh, boss – you’re back!’ said Bella, brightly. ‘Your sister just called you! I told her you were tied up. She gave me her number . . . someplace in Connecticut, she said. She didn’t leave a message but she asked if you could call her back asap.’
‘OK, fine. Thanks. Do you want to get back to her for me?’
He sat down at his desk. His press officer, Olivia Melancon, had left him her latest media release, with a color photograph of himself and his partner, Stanley Tierney, and the mayor of Baton Rouge, George Dolan, all standing in front of The Red Hotel beaming with pride and holding up their thumbs. Her headline proclaimed:
THE FUTURE IS RED – New Lease Of Life For BR’s Bijou Hotel
.
The future is red
,
he thought. Well done, Olivia. You don’t know just
how
red. Red bloodstains and red balance sheet, both.
His phone warbled. He picked it up and it was T-Yon.
T-Yon said, ‘Thanks, Bella,’ and then, ‘Everett? It’s me. Everett – is everything OK?’
‘Where are you? Bella said you were someplace in Connecticut.’
‘Allen’s Corners, it’s just outside of New Milford. We came here to see Billy’s aunt
Similar Books
