15th Affair Read Free Page A

blonde hairs on a pillowcase. There’s no wallet, no suitcase, no papers, no clothes, no shoes.”
    “Perfect score,” said Conklin.
    Clapper went on. “This gentleman checked in under the name Gregory Wang. He used a credit card with that name and the charge went through, but there is no Gregory Wang at the address on the card or anywhere.
    “Also notable, the room has been thoroughly wiped down. No prints old or new. Entry was by a key card that was traced to a Maria Silva in housekeeping. Ms. Silva is now off duty, not answering her phone. A patrol car has gone to her address.”
    “What about
his
prints?” Conklin asked, indicating the victim.
    “We ran the victim’s prints and came up with nothing. He’s not in the system, has never been in the military, or taught grade school, or been arrested. And wait. There’s more,” said Clapper. “There’s a whole other crime scene right next door. Can’t be a coincidence, but right now, I don’t see the connection.”

CHAPTER 5
     
    DR. CLAIRE WASHBURN , chief medical examiner and my best friend, was waiting for the three of us in the room next door to the murder room. She held up her bloody gloves to show me why she wasn’t going to give me a hug.
    “Take a good fast look,” she said. “I’m ready to remove these bodies.”
    Bodies? Multiple?
    This room was smaller but looked in every other way identical to the one we’d just left. Same color scheme, same made-up bed, and same view of the city.
    But twice the number of victims.
    There were two bodies lying on the pale blue carpet, a young black man and a young white woman; both looked to be in their twenties.
    Both were clothed in what you might call middle-of-the-road casual. Girl wearing a pastel plaid cotton shirt and jeans, her red hair fanned out around her head, a look of surprise on her face. Boy wearing black cords and a T-shirt under a blue V-neck sweater. Running shoes.
    It looked to me like the male victim had been sitting at the desk, the female in a chair near a coffee table. From the way their bodies had fallen, I thought they’d jumped up when they heard an intruder and had been gunned down, all the shots going into the trunks of their bodies and the chairs they’d been sitting in.
    Their blood was spattered on the walls and furnishings, but I saw no spent brass.
    I asked Claire, “How long ago did this happen?”
    “An hour, maybe.”
    “Any ID?”
    “Nothing in this room but those kids and the clothes they’re wearing.”
    Clapper said, “I ran their prints and got nothing. Their registration info is bogus. Same wiped-down surfaces. I’d venture to say this room is cleaner now than it has ever been.”
    As Claire and her techs wrapped the two unidentified decedents in sheets and zipped them into body bags, I noticed cords and battery chargers on the floor behind the desk.
    I said to my colleagues, “Look at that. These kids had laptops. As I understand it, high-end surveillance equipment is Web-connected. You can activate audio and video plants with an app.”
    “You think the victims were PIs?” Conklin asked.
    “If so, there should be microcameras in the murder room.”
    Clapper said, “I’m on it.”
    He left to check and returned a few minutes later with three small bugs: one he’d pulled from a light socket above the bathroom mirror, the second from the desk lamp, and the third from the air duct.
    “And just to be totally consistent, no prints on them,” said Clapper.
    I called Lieutenant Jackson Brady and brought him up to speed. Then I texted Joe, saying I might be pulling an all-nighter. After that, I called Mrs. Rose, a sweetheart of a grandma, who lives in the apartment across the hall from ours and had become our daughter’s nanny.
    “Can you stay late?” I asked her. “I think dinner might be in the fridge.”
    “I cooked that chicken for
you
,” she said, laughing.
    “With spaetzle?”
    “Of course.”
    I promised Mrs. Rose that I’d give her a