The Alibi Read Free

the department who were fearless enough
    to try chitchatting with him soon discovered that such
    attempts were futile. His bearing discouraged comradeship.
    Even his natty appearance was as effective
    as concertina wire when it came to approachability.
    When the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor,
    Smilow experienced a thrill he recognized. He had
    visited countless murder scenes, some rather tame
    and unspectacular, others remarkably grisly. Some
    were forgettable and routine. Others he would remember
    forever, either because of the imaginative
    flair of the killer, the strange surroundings in which
    the body had been discovered, the bizarre method of
    execution, the uniqueness of the weapon, or the age
    and circumstance of the victim.
    But his first visit to a crime scene never failed to
    give him a rush of adrenaline, which he refused to be
    ashamed of. This was what he had been born to do.
    He relished his work.
    When he stepped out of the elevator, the conversation
    among the plainclothes officers in the hallway
    subsided. Respectfully, or fearfully, they stepped
    aside for him as he made his way to the open door of
    the hotel suite where a man had died today.
    He made note of the room number, then peered inside.
    He was glad to see that the seven officers comprising
    the Crime Scene Unit were already there,
    going about their various duties.
    Satisfied that they were doing a thorough job, he
    turned back to the three detectives who'd been dis-
    patched by the Criminal Investigation Division. One
    who'd been smoking a cigarette hastily crushed it out
    in a smoking stand. Smilow treated him to a cold, unblinking
    stare. "I hope that sand didn't contain a crucial
    piece of evidence, Collins."
    The detective stuffed his hands into his pockets
    like a third-grader who'd been reprimanded for not
    washing after using the rest room.
    "Listen up," Smilow said, addressing the group at
    large. He never raised his voice. He never had to. "I
    will not tolerate a single mistake. If there's any contamination
    of this crime scene, if there's the slightest
    breach of proper procedure, if the merest speck of evidence
    is overlooked or compromised by someone's
    carelessness, the offender's ass will be shredded. By
    me. Personally."
    He made eye contact with each man. Then he said,
    "Okay, let's go." As they filed into the room they
    pulled on plastic gloves. Each man had a specific
    task; each went to it, treading lightly, touching nothing
    that they weren't supposed to.
    Smilow approached the two officers who had been
    first on the scene. Without preamble, he asked, "Did
    you touch him?"
    "No, sir."
    "Touch anything?"
    "No, sir."
    "The doorknob?"
    "The door was standing open when we got here.
    The maid who found him had left it open. The hotel
    security guard might have touched it. We asked, he
    said no, but. . ." He raised his shoulders in a shrug.
    "Telephone?" Smilow asked.
    "No, sir. I used my cellular. But again, the security
    guy might have used it before we got here."
    "Who have you talked to so far?"
    "Only him. He's the one who called us."
    "And what did he say?"
    "That a chambermaid found the body." He indicated
    the corpse. "Just like this. Face down, two gunshot
    wounds in his back beneath the left shoulder
    blade."
    "Have you questioned the maid?"
    "Tried. She's carryin' on so bad we didn't get
    much out of her. Besides, she's foreign. Don't know
    where she's from," the cop replied to Smilow's inquiring
    raised eyebrow. "Can't tell by the accent. She
    just keeps saying over and over, 'Dead man,' and
    boo-hooing into her hankie. Scared her shitless."
    "Did you feel for a pulse?"
    The officer glanced at his partner, who spoke for
    the first time. "I did. Just to make sure he was dead."
    "So you did touch him."
    "Well, yeah. But only for that."
    "I take it you didn't feel one."
    "A pulse?" The cop shook his head. "No. He was
    dead. No doubt."
    Up to this point, Smilow had ignored the body.
    Now he moved toward it. "Anybody