A Crime to Remember (5)

Chapter 5- The Guilty

Marco was sitting at his desk, going through the witness testimonies. Mr Ole. Alibi. Christopher Johnson. “I saw Mr Ole go into the dining room, handed him an envelope, and saw him later go back upstairs.” Maid saw Mr Ole walk past into his room, and later found the body. Ok, Ole checks out. Mrs Loureiro.

“Mascarenhas.” He turned round to face his boss. “Come into my office please.”

He walked into the office and closed the door behind him. In the room was also Castro looking quite pleased with himself.

“Sit down, Mascarenhas.” The once soft female voice now sounded stern and harsh. They both sat down while Castro remained standing, arms crossed, on his boss’ right.

“Where were you two days ago?” Marco looked from his boss to Castro, puzzled. “Well, I woke up, had breakfast and a shower. Fed my cat, then left for work. Got stuck in Second Circular traffic-“

“Right.” Castro’s eyes gleamed with bliss. “And do you have any witnesses? An alibi? Think your cat can speak for you?”

“What? What is this? Am I- I’m a suspect now?” He started laughing but then noticed his boss’ ice-cold stare. “I’m a suspect? You’re jokin’! What the f***?”

“Please, Mr Mascarenhas, conduct yourself with a little decorum if you please.”

“Oh come on, boss-“

Castro was close to a doting dog when his owner returns after a long trip away. The words raced out of his mouth. “We found evidence that you were familiar with the victim and spent time with her within the two weeks previous to the murder.”

Marco rose to his feet. “WHAT? IS THIS SOME SORT OF JOKE?” Now his boss got up. “MR MASCARENHAS CONTAIN YOURSELF PLEASE! IT IS NOT A JOKE. IT IS NOT A LAUGHING MATTER.” She cleared her throat, gestured for Marco to sit back down and ordered Castro to proceed.

“A closer look at one of the pictures taken by Mr Ole’s friend, at his request, has revealed that it is you, sir, that is reflected in the shop window. Next to Mrs Ole.”

For a second Marco could see Castro’s mouth curl into a smile, but it dissolved as soon as their boss glanced towards him.

“It can’t be! I don’t know the woman. I swear. I’ll take an oath. I have never met the woman in my life. I mean, before she was a corpse. It cannot be me in that picture! I’ve never seen-“

“Mr Mascarenhas save your breath. Unfortunately we do not yet have sufficient evidence to detain you for the murder of Mrs Ole. However, as your boss, I do have the power to suspend you from your duties in this company. I suggest you do not stray far and certainly do NOT consider leaving the country. You may go.”
His boss’ face was distorted into a harsh, cold look while Castro’s seemed to be beaming with pride. As he turned toward the exit he heard his colleague’s voice. “See ya ‘round, Marcus.”  

A Crime to Remember (4)

Chapter 4- Ginger Ale Afternoon

The next day Marco went to work with the name Loureiro still ringing in his mind. When he got out of the lift on the seventh floor, after he laid his briefcase on his desk, he walked up to the coffee machine, poured two espressos and made his way to Silvia’s desk. She was sitting, in one of her usual black business suits, with a red shirt and a red leather hair band over her brown velvet hair. “Espresso?” She looked up from the paperwork on her desk and smiled. “Sure. Thanks” She drank a sip of the coffee, set the cup on the desk and went back to work. “You’re welcome.”

Mascarenhas was about to walk back to his desk when: “Sorry to be a pain but, do you know anyone by the name Clara Loureiro?” She looked up at him with a kind smile and said: “Sure. She’s my grandma. Why?” She noticed that his expression changed to worried. “Oh, nothing. She was at the Wonderland Hotel?”

“Yes, she’s been there since last week. She went with my-“ Silvia gave an incredulous chuckle. “She’s not a suspect?” Marco blushed. He did not want to worry Silvia, and certainly did not want to anger her. He had been preparing himself to ask her out and this was the perfect opportunity, after all they had a topic of conversation now. “No, I mean, the body was found in the room where she was staying, so I just thought she might have seen something. I know she left yesterday morning, probably around the time of the murder. I only asked because of the name, but you were saying she was there with somebody?” Suddenly her face changed. Her rosy cheeks became red and her eyes faced the papers on her desk. “No, I- she was there by herself. What I was gonna say was that she went on a holiday. Her house is being refurbished, so she took the opportunity to use some money she had left over to treat herself.” She looked at him expectantly. He searched her face. “I see. Well, I’m sure she had nothing to do with the murder.” She looked into his eyes and said: “You can bet on that.”

He looked at his watch. It was quarter past six in the afternoon. Most of his colleagues had left. Silvia and a few others had stayed behind. Marco walked past the lift to get a coffee. I was wonderin’ if- No, that’s not right. How would you like to go for a- Oh, for God’s sake, just-

“Marco? I was just wonderin’ if you have anything to do this evening?” The shock of the question made him spill his drink. “Sorry, did I startle you?”

For a moment he forgot how to speak and simply shook his head and nodded. He set his drink down on the nearest empty desk and checked to see if he had gotten his brown suit dirty. “No, I- I mean, I don’t have any plans. Why? Did you want to-“

“Well, yes. Would you like to go out for a drink or something? We could go to the Bairro Alto or the Docas.” His heart began to beat faster, just as a teenager’s. “The Docas sound good.” She smiled and said: “Good.”

He parked his Ford in a car park near the Docas. A drug addict was already standing in his spot, signalling him with his left arm to park there. As Marco and Silvia exited the car the man approached them holding out his right hand. “Sorry mate. We don’t have any change right now. When we get back we’ll give you some money, alright?” They walked towards the river. The guy followed them for a while, constantly asking them for “Only a cent. Come on.” and then returned to the car park.

The Docas was a line of bars that was set on the dock, by the river. Every five steps a new song could be heard emanating from the bars on their right. “Just hope when we come back he hasn’t keyed my car, or worse.” Silence. He noticed that she had stopped and asked: “You wan’ to go and have a drink in this one? A ginger ale or something?”

She looked at him as if waking up from a dream. “Hm? Oh, no. I was just thinking of- Never mind, it’s nothing. So, which do you wan’ to visit?”

“We can just stay out here. It’s not cold out. Aside from the smell coming from the Tejo it’s not bad.” She giggled. “Sure. We can talk.”

“We can. I’ll start. So you have a grandma.” Her laugh drowned in the loudness of the Gangnam Style song being played in the bar behind them. “Yes, I do.”

“Anymore family members?”

“Well, there’s my brother, Salvador. He looks a bit intimidating, I mean, he looks sort of dark, he has bushy eyebrows, bad teeth, wrinkles and a ponytail. But he’s a good guy really. He loves grandma a lot. He’s always looking after her. Then there’s Nelson, our cousin, he’s the only one left who will still talk to us.”

Marco raised his right eyebrow. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess my uncles never really liked my parents, so they don’t want to mix with us.” They were both leaning on the handrail, looking out into the river.

“So, what happened to your parents?”

“They died when I was younger. My dad was ill, but he didn’t want to get cured, said it wasn’t natural. After he went it was only a matter of months before my mum went too. Grandma took us in and raised us.”

“That’s why you’re so protective of her.” She turned around and rested her elbows on the handrail. “Pretty much. What about you?”

“No family. Just a cat, and even he sometimes sneaks out of my apartment for weeks.”

“Where do you live?” He thought for a moment, embarrassed. “Damaia. It’s not the best neighbourhood, but it’s better than Buraca.” They both laughed. Silvia gave Marco a little nudge with her elbow. “It’s not that bad.” She smiled. He began to lean in towards her. Suddenly someone shouted “woohoo”, and Silvia moved away from him. After a minute’s silence she finally broke the ice. “So, you wan’ to go in for that ginger ale?”

A Crime to Remember (3)

Chapter 3- The Organ Donor

Marco walked into the hotel room. Outside, through the open window, he saw the view into the Tejo River. Despite the breeze, the stink of blood was all he could smell. Local police and forensics surrounded the area, while outside the media waited like vultures.

The forensics team had the corpse in a bag, ready to go, and were zipping it up. He asked to examine the body before they took it away. The woman must have been in her thirties, dark brown hair with red highlights, tanned skin, Italian nose, and dimpled cheeks. In the middle of her forehead she had a whole the size of an acorn with a stream of blood running down the side onto her hair. A guy whom they called by the name of Grissom unzipped the rest of the bag, and showed Marco the remaining wounds. Certain areas of the girl’s body had been cut up with a knife. The forensic expert gave his opinion: “The cuts look like they were done surgically. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. The knife used was found near the body. We’re having the body checked for any missing organs.” They zipped the bag up again and walked out of the room.

Marco followed them out of the room into the corridor where he saw two men talking in a corner near the lift. One of them was wearing a brown business suit, while the other wore jeans and a black shirt. The one in the brown suit had black hair and green eyes, with and aquiline nose. He was taller than the other, who had a strong jawline, a large forehead and an overall disconsolate look across his face. He had his hands in his jeans’ pockets. Marco made his way towards the men. The one in the brown suit spoke first. “Marcus, good of you to join us. This is Mr Ole, he is the victim’s husband.” The widower gave Marco a nod of acknowledgement. “Mr Ole, I am Marco Mascarenhas. I’m here to investigate the murder of your wife along with Mr Castro. Could I ask you a few questions?”

Ole raised his head for the first time and threw Marco a suspecting look. “Don’t worry, Marcus. I’ve already asked Mr Ole all we need to.”

“Yes, but I would like to ask interrogate him myself.”

“Interrogate me, am I a suspect?” He turned to Marco.

“No, sir, not at all. This is just standard procedure. Would you mind?”

“I suppose not.”

“Marcus, really.”

“It’s Marco! Very well, Mr Ole, would you please join me downstairs?” Marco pressed the button to call for the lift.

“Wait. They have taken my wife’s body. When can I have it back? I need to give her a proper burial.”

“Soon, Mr Ole, as soon as they can. Shall we go down to the hotel restaurant? Should be more comfortable. Castro, why don’t you go get a doughnut or something?”

Marco entered the lift and saw Castro’s reflection throw him a furious look in the mirror around the walls. Mr Ole followed him. He pressed the ground floor button and the doors closed.

The two men sat at a table close to the buffet. A waiter came by with a pot of coffee, which they both accepted.

“So Mr Ole, tell me what happened.”

“My wife and I ar- were having problems lately, so we decided to take a few days off work and come to Portugal. We’re from London, and we both hav- had, had jobs that kept us rather busy, so we needed to take a break, be with each other. She had to come to Lisbon for work so I decided to follow her once she was done working and make a holiday of it.” As Ole took a moment to stop himself from tearing up, Marco noticed that the whole time his right hand had not left his pocket. Now he seemed to be nervously moving his hand.

“Mr Ole, I hope you don’t think me indiscreet but is there something in your pocket?”

“No.”

“Mr Ole, may I remind you that I am an investigator and while I appreciate that every family needs their privacy, there has been a murder. Every bit of information is crucial to-“

“No, well, yes, but it’s not of great importance now. I asked a friend of mine, a detective, if he would…if he would follow my wife around.”

“Did you suspect something?”

“I didn’t know for sure. She was just behaving differently, more distant than usual. I know a guy from around here so I called him up and asked him to follow her around whilst she was here. Once I got here I met up with him and he said he had nothing.”

“I see. But you weren’t so sure?”

“I don’t know. Her behaviour hadn’t changed from when we were in London, she was still agitated, and so I asked him to continue his investigation. To be honest I haven’t picked up the courage to open the envelope.” He removed it from his pocket and passed it to Marco who held a napkin and then accepted it. “Mr Ole, are you certain that you wouldn’t like to open it yourself first?”

“No. I couldn’t. I can’t. It’s too much, after all this. Please, open it. If it’s useful evidence take it, otherwise throw it out. Now that my wife has passed there’s no point in my ruining her image.”

Marco used a bread knife that was on the table to tear open the envelope. Using the napkin as protection, so as not to leave fingerprints, he clasped a handful of pictures.

In these pictures was a couple holding hands in front of a Zara in the Pombaline Lower Town. In one of the pictures the woman was standing sideways, holding on to the man’s arm and leaning towards his face, and by her figure he could tell it was Mrs Ole. The man was difficult to identify in any of the photos. He was always photographed from his back. He looked up at the widower’s face. If he seemed depressed before, at this point his expression was verging on suicidal with a slight twitch of anger.

“Mr Ole, I’m gonna have to take these in to have a closer look at them. Would you like to take a look at them before I put them away? See for yourself?” The man shook his head with an air of disgust. “At this point it is possible that the man in these pictures will become a suspect.”

“Good.” His face switched between anger, disgust and disappointment, but all the while he looked crestfallen.

“Is there anything else I should know before I go Mr Ole?”

“When I found her she wasn’t in our room.”

“Is there anyone she knew in the hotel? Anyone she got to know while you were here?”

“Not that I know of. Not anymore anyway.”

“Do you know whose room it was?”

The man stared at Marco with a look of anger and disbelief. “No. Why don’t you ask reception? Now, if you don’t mind, I need to start making arrangements for my wife’s funeral.” Ole shook Marco’s hand and left. “Of course, Mr Ole.”

Marco approached the reception and, seeing that there was no one about, rang the bell. A young man stood in front of him. “Hello, sir. I’m Christopher Johnson, how may I help you?”

“Detective Mascarenhas. Who was in room Eighty Eight?”

Christopher began typing something into his computer and when he stopped, read: “That would be a Mrs Loureiro.” The name shot like an arrow. “Mrs Loureiro?”

“Indeed, sir. A Mrs Clara Loureiro, but she checked out this morning. I could give you a number?”

To be continued...

A Crime to Remember (2)

Chapter 2- Traffic, Jam and the Doughnuts

“I’m on the Second Circular, of course I’m goin’ to be late. He can wait. Just tell him I’m on my way.”

He hung up the mobile and threw it on the empty seat next to him. Every other second the beeping sound of a horn was heard here and there. He was surrounded by a sea of vehicles, nothing out of the ordinary in the busiest motorway known to man. Not a single car moved. Around him drivers and passengers chatted, singed, put on make-up, picked their noses, screamed at the traffic. The sun was rising and people were too busy in their travels to notice life around them. A pigeon flew past his windscreen and he absent-mindedly followed it. He was stationed between ‘The Cathedral’, one of the best-known Portuguese football stadiums, and the Colombo Shopping Centre.

He saw the billboard ahead and noticed that next to the already familiar face of some actress were the words 'BECAUSE SHE IS WORTH IT'. The thought crossed his mind as quickly as the pigeon, I know! In his mind's eye he could see her face. Smiling. Beautiful.

The BMW in front of him began to move forward. His old Ford Cortina was reflected in the car’s back windscreen. He wondered whether he still had time to turn around toward the Shopping Centre to buy her a gift. What excuse can I use? Her birthday's not for another three months. The BMW stopped again.

He looked around for a road to turn, but he was in the far left lane surrounded by a sea of cars. I'll just get her something from the cafe.

Fifteen minutes went by before the traffic started to clear. Finally!

He walked into the lift. The ground floor was practically empty, aside from Jenna, the receptionist. As soon as he walked into the four by four look alike space he could smell the perspiration stench spread by some of his colleagues. He pressed the number seven and stepped back to hold the handrail. He felt something stick to his finger. Damn it, Jones! Every time. This is not a f***ing bin or chewing gum wrapper!

"Hold the door. Hold the door! Hold the DOOR! Thanks. Mornin' Mascarenhas."

Her voice resounded sweet as condensed milk. The scent of Anais-Anais almost wiped out the previous stink. "Mornin' Silvia. You just came in?" She chuckled as the lift doors closed. "No, I've been here since eight. I'm guessing you did though?"

Mascarenhas looked at his shoes. Would you like a doughnut? No. I know you like doughnuts so I bought these… Too needy. I couldn't eat all of these by myself so I could share with… Oh, for cryin' out loud! Just say it!

"Doughnuts!"

"Sorry?" 

He felt his cheeks burn like hot water on cold skin. "I, err, I have dough-doughnuts. I mean, would you like some doughnuts?"

"Sure. What are they? Plain?"

"Jam. Strawberry." He opened the box and watched as her soft hand reached for the sugar covered doughnuts and carried it to her mouth. She looked beautiful. Her shinny chestnut hair fell like a feather over her shoulders, almost covering her rosy cheeks. Her eyes were the same brilliant colour as her hair, her nose was cute and small, and her half full lips were of a soft pink, which was now smeared in red. He handed her a tissue, which she took with a smile.

"Hmm. These are good. Where'd you get them?" A female voice said in a monotone "Floor Seven." The doors opened and the smell of sweat and perfume mixed in with that of coffee, and the heat emanating from the machines made Mascarenhas feel as if he was exiting an airplane into the Dominican Republic. People and machines joined together to create a noise that was enough to drive anyone insane.

"The bakery around the corner. You want them all?"

"You're kidding, right? I couldn't. I would have to feed them to my cat. Mornin' everyone. Later M ‘n’ M."

"But- wait-"

"Hey, Marco!" Behind Mascarenhas was a man in his thirties who, short height aside, looked like a movie star. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, with a strong long bridge nose and a thin mouth. "Hey Teller. How's it goin'?" 

"The boss wants to see you in her office. I smell new case…and doughnuts. I hate to ask but I haven't eaten anything this morning. Could I just-?"

"Yeah, yeah, here Teller. Take them home."

"Wow, thanks Marc-"

The floor was packed with desks on both sides. Men and women in suits walked from one place to another, busy as ants, moving from a desk to another desk to the coffee machine to the printer and back to their desks. Marco Mascarenhas walked through a corridor in the middle of the desks. At the end he could see large glass walls with a metal door in the middle. He knocked on the door and heard a voice from within. “Come in.” He opened the door and entered. Inside, sitting at her desk, was a middle-aged woman with blonde short hair, glasses with maroon frames at the end of her pointy nose. She wore a light pink shirt and diamond stud earrings. “You’re late.” He walked a few steps further and stopped behind the spare chair. “Second Circular, boss, you know how it is.”

“Yes, well, sit. There’s a new case. Apparently a young girl in her twenties was murdered at the Wonderland Hotel.”

Mascarenhas, sat in the chair opposite the woman, raised his eyebrows. “That’s one of the best hotels in Lisbon. There’s practically an employee for each guest. How did it happen?”

“Well, that’s your job, isn’t it? It’s what I pay you for. To find out how it happened. What, why, who.” The tone of her voice was constantly calm and soft, and her mouth always had a smile to offer. “Castro is at the scene already.”

He moved in his seat. “Castro?”

He saw her mouth twitch. “Yes, you’re working with him. Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all. I just thought-“

“Well, I did think about pairing him up with Silvia Loureiro when they came in earlier, but I thought there might be a conflict of interests. If you know what I mean?”

Another twitch. “Oh? I don’t know of anything.”

She rose from her chair. Her skirt was maroon and on her chair was a jacket of the same colour. “I assumed since they arrived together…”

He saw her searching his face for a reaction. He shrugged his shoulders. “Did they?”

“Yes, well.” She walked behind and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I figured you might want to get in the action. After all it has been a while. I thought you might want an opportunity to impress me.”

“Impress you, ma’am?”

“Professionally, of course. Now, off you go.” She removed her hand and he got up and walked towards the door. “And Mascarenhas, next time bring me a doughnut.” She pointed at the security camera, winked and turned to sit back down.

To be continued...

A Crime to Remember

Chapter 1- The Breakfast Club

The distant sound of endless chatter grew louder. As he walked into the dining room the smell of eggs freshly scrambled filled his nose, mixed with other fried foods and coffee aroma. 

"…Ole, sir. MISTER OLE!"

He heard a voice calling out behind him and turned around. "Yes?" The boy standing in front of him was average looking. Brown hair and eyes, in his twenties, with a few left overs from a bad case of teenage acne, dressed in a dark red uniform with a silver name tag that read in black letters:

'STAFF MEMBER

CHRISTOPHER JOHNSON'

"Mr. Ole, sir, this was handed to me earlier by a gentleman. It's for you, sir. He told me to hand it to you personally. He didn't give a name. He said only that you'd know what it's about."

"Thank you, erm Christopher."

"You're welcome, sir."

Ole searched for an available table and sat on the far corner of the room, on a red velvet chair. A minute passed before he looked at the white envelope that had just been handed to him. It had written on it the name Mr. C. Ole. He started to rip open the envelope but stopped, his heart pounding. Ole put it on the table and checked his watch- 9:30. On the table, were two white plates, bowls and napkins with HOTEL WONDERLAND written in elegant red letters. He looked around, observing the crowded room, trying to calm down. He had not expected to hear from him so soon.

The couple closest to him was discussing some play they had seen the night before, disagreeing over which moment had been the most climatic, the fight or the ending itself. 

A few tables away an old woman poured red tea from a pink thermos into a white porcelain cup and buttered bread with butter from a tiny Flora pack. 

At the table in front of her two men argued about something that he could not make out, although it seemed to keep the old lady interested, as she would now and then stare at them. The man facing the lady had blonde hair, green eyes and freckles on his face, while of the other he could only see his brown hair.

"Excuse me? Do you mind if I take this chair?"

"Hm?"- A little girl, about ten, stood in front of him, long sunshine yellow hair, cute, thin pointy nose, in an orange summer dress imprinted with yellow flowers. "Oh, no, sorry, sweeti-, I mean, I'm waiting for someone."

"Ok, sorry."

"No problem."

Here and there men and women had left their coats, blazers or handbags on chairs before getting up to collect their food. Ole checked for the time- 9:35- before looking towards the buffet. From his seat he could see a woman standing at the buffet whose yellow dress stood out in the dark greens and reds of the room. She was whispering something in the ear of the woman in a business suit next to her whilst pouring herself some coffee. Her companion, who wore strong makeup, smiled as she picked out small pieces of fruit from a fruit salad bowl. He noticed that the teenage boy standing at the edge of the buffet stopped staring at the woman in the yellow dress when the glass of orange juice he was pouring himself overflowed onto his trainers.

He was about to see if the woman had noticed when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. One of the two men that had been arguing at the table was now standing up. Red freckled face, fists clenched, shouting at his companion.

"You know what you did. You think I don't know? You think she wouldn't tell me?"

"If you know so much then why are we here?"- At this point the brown haired man also stood up. His voice was less deep and threatening than the other's but he sounded nonetheless confident.

"Because of her! She asked me to meet you here, didn't she? You think I'd be here if she hadn't begged."

"Oh she begged now, did she? She probably thought you'd understand, but you're such a closed minded…"- Then he looked around. He had eyebrows the same colour as his hair above his brown eyes, and a long nose. After taking a look around the room he made a head motion to his rival indicating that he wanted to take the argument outside.

Ole's mind drifted back to the envelope. He stared at it, curiosity and fear eating away at his mind. What fresh hell did it contain? What had he found out? A crash of porcelain echoed through his ears, breaking his thoughts. His eyes travelled the room to find the source. The teenage boy was on the floor picking up the broken pieces of a plate, with a red handprint freshly planted on his face. A few feet away were the woman in the yellow dress and her friend, both with a turned up nose.

Once the nervous silence had given way to the previous joyous chatter and clinking of tableware Ole glanced at his watch- 9:44- and then towards the dining room entrance. Where is she? She should have come down by now. It was then he noticed that the old woman had left. Instead on the seat opposite hers now sat a man with dark, deep eyes, bushy eyebrows, a dirty cream tan colour and some wrinkles across his face. His dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. As he examined the man's appearance he caught his eyes. For a few seconds they stared at each other, until Ole felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up, and he looked down at the white cloth covering his table.

For the fourth time Ole uncovered his wrist- 9:48. He made sure that he could see no one walking in through the main door and got up. He picked up the envelope from the table and, scanning the buffet area one last time, left the room.

Walking past the reception he felt the cold breeze from the main door and turned his face for protection, spotting Christopher behind the counter. "Hey, Christopher, has my wife come down yet?"

"Not that I know of, Mr. Ole. Would you like me to call your room?"

"No, that's alright. I'll head up there now." He gently folded the envelope and inserted it into his jeans’ pocket.

Ole exited the lift and walked down the corridor. A maid was knocking on the door to room Eighty Eight. "Room cleaning. Hello?" The smell of cleaning products emanated from her cart, he remembered the smell from when he had first entered his own hotel room. He stopped in front of room 94 and in taking the key out of his coat pocket, dropped it onto the red coloured carpet. He noticed that a few steps away from him was a patch of darker red. He picked up the key and unlocked the door. The room was dark.

"Vic?" He left the door open behind him so as to let the light from the corridor into the room. It was not enough. He did not want to switch on the light in case a migraine had struck her again, so he stepped further into the room and moved the curtains slightly before he turned to look at the bed. "Vic, are you…Vic? VIC?” No sign of her. He walked towards the bathroom. Nothing. “Vic?” His heart raced now. He walked in large steps to the doorway; he looked out into the corridor, left and right. He stepped out and walked towards the lift and pressed the button.

“Arrrgggghhhh!”

He turned around. “Someone please!” The screams were coming from room Eighty Eight. He looked at the number above the lift: five. Three floors to go. “Somebody hel-” Other guests from that floor were starting to emerge from their rooms. Some were just spying out into the corridor still somewhat sleepy. A man walked into the room. Ole followed. Looking into the room he saw the cleaning lady lying on the floor, a hotel guest kneeling next to her. “She fainted.” The opened window allowed for a cold breeze to float around the room. He walked further in and saw a foot behind the bed. The foot was in a red stiletto that looked worn out after six years’ constant use. He stubbed his foot on the foot of the bed and fell over. He pulled himself up to his elbows and crawled towards her. “Vic.”

To be continued...