Gladyss of the Hunt Read Free Page A

“About ten minutes ago, the guy at the desk was going to sendsomeone up with a chair. I’ll remind him on my way out.”
    I thanked him and he was gone.
    When one of the techs finally exited the room, I peeked inside as the other guy was carefully putting away his tools and chemicals and asked if they’d found anything.
    â€œYeah, a sperm archive of every man born in the last century. I don’t think they ever changed the sheets.” He nodded toward the body. “No sign our killer had sex with this one, though.”
    â€œHow old was the victim?” I asked.
    â€œEarly twenties,” he read from his report. “Blonde hair. Several identifying tattoos that could have been done in prison.”
    The maid, an older black woman in a torn wool sweater, appeared at the end of the hallway. She was pushing a broom cart out of one room, heading toward another.
    â€œExcuse me!” I called, walking over to her. “Are you the one who found the body?”
    â€œHell yeah, and I’ll never forget it. Never saw no one with no head before.” She spoke with a faded island dialect. “And some policeman took my fingerprints, but I was telling them, I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
    â€œThey’ll just be elimination prints, to make sure we can rule you out. Did anyone interview you?”
    â€œYeah, some guy with a bushy mustache.” That was Hernandez. “Oh, and the cop who was just here. He took my name and the name of a tenant who’s lived down the hall a long time.”
    â€œDid you ever see the victim before, when she was alive?” I inquired. I wasn’t supposed to question anyone, but I was alone and I had time to kill.
    â€œYeah, I told the other officer. She came here from time to time.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œYeah. I remembered her ’cause she tipped me once, when the room was a real mess.”
    â€œHow’d you know it was her?”
    â€œThe cop let me look at her face,” she said. “I remembered her tattoo.”
    â€œWhat tattoo?”
    â€œShe had a tiny tear drop near her eye.” I had noticed it.
    â€œSo when was the last time you saw her?”
    â€œA month or so ago, I guess. I don’t really remember. The old desk clerk, Sam, he used to have deals with some of the girls.”
    â€œWhat kind of deals?”
    â€œHe’d give the girls a room, just for an hour or so. After a guest checked out, but before I’d clean them. He died a while back, before the big sweep. Maybe the new guy does it now.”
    â€œWould you recognize any of the johns who were with her in the past?”
    â€œMaybe, if I saw them, but I didn’t know her regulars.”
    â€œDoes this place have any exits other than the one through the lobby?”
    â€œThe fire escape out front,” she replied.
    Some detective, a young guy in a Gucci knock-off, came in with a uniform cop named Ray. I sensed they were only there for a little sightseeing.
    I thanked the cleaning lady, and followed them into the room. The sightseers fell silent when they saw the vic, so I asked them to watch the scene a minute while I dashed out.
    I thought there was at least a chance the killer had left some trace behind, on his way to and from the room. Flicking on my Maglite, I pointed it at the floor as I headed down the hallway. Stopping myself, I paused, closed my eyes, and took some quick shallow breaths—a technique I had recently learned that was designed to heighten my awareness. After a moment my heartbeat quickened. I knew I was ready.
    I continued to the staircase and looked down all the way to the lobby—nada. I went back up. On the half landing, just above the murder scene, I spotted a double A battery in the corner. Let it be relevant to the case, I thought as I bent over. Almost through sheer force of will, it became a tube of lipstick. When I rolled it up, and saw the color was bright orange, I