“I had a quick word with the chief,” he said.
Evidently, he didn’t care to discuss the notes. She played along. “I recognized him. He was a guest a few times last fall.”
“Precisely, and not with his wife. She gave birth to their third child in October. I asked how the baby was, suggested we get the kids together soon.”
“Subtle. Was it enough to scare him?”
“Not enough to drop the arrest, only to stall it. He said that in the rush to arrest you some paperwork wasmisplaced.”
“How long until it’sreplaced?”
“You have three days to clear your name. Listen, Little Spoon, I’ve called in most of my favors. If they arrest you again, there’s nothing I can do, not unless we find the real culprit.” He shook the notes pinched in his fingers. “Two clients reached out to me after receiving these. Nightingale is waging war on the Hotel Orient. Do you know who’s behind it?”
No. But she knew Harry had their sugar cubes. And that she’d been hanging out with Verena in clubs like Utopia Six. She said none of that, only “I’m working on it.”
“Work faster. I need to know who they are so I can take care of them.”
He didn’t mean giving them five-star treatment. She decided against mentioning Harry or Verena, not until she was sure.
Mr. K tucked the notes away. “Detective Wolke asked me to give you a message.”
She snarled, “I don’t want to hear it.”
“He wanted to thank you for the other night at the Hotel,” he said with the tone of a parent who’d already found the stain hidden on the flipped-over couch cushion. “What were you doing then?”
She mentally retraced her steps on that night, when she’d babysat a deeply drunk Andreas.
“You told me to get close to him, so I did,” she said, looking up at Mr. K, whose face had gone cold.
“From now on, keep your distance,” he said. “Stop talking to them. Let them complete interrogations. There’s only one guest remaining on your list.”
The limo stopped outside the Hotel Orient.
She attempted to thank Mr. K but was unable to think of what to say. He smoothed her hair, then reached past her to open the limo door.
“Fernando’s waiting inside. I’ll stop by later. Get to work.”
Sterling and Fernando barely had a moment to embrace before she dragged him into Room 6. She felt for the panel concealed in the wall and pressed the seam. It sprang open, revealing a deep closet inside. Big enough for a man to hide in.
Given the abandoned bottle of Almdudler and the black footprints from men’s shoes, one had at some point. Shoe scuffs climbedhalfway up the back wall towards an opening at the top that led into a dark tunnel.
“That’s not on the blueprints,” she said. “We need to find out where it leads.”
“No way,” said Fernando, anticipating her next sentence.
She slapped his butt. “Sorry, sweet pea, but there’s no chance my hips will fit through there.”
— 42 —Zweiundvierzig
Andreas had called the Hotel so many times, it bordered on a section 107 violation—persistent persecution. At last, Fernando answered.
“Let me talk to her. Don’t hang up.”
Fernando hung up.
Andreas slammed the desk.
“Fine, if she doesn’t want an alibi, that’s not my problem!”
