“Tear-away stripper costume,” said Andreas, which earned him intrigued looks from both women. “Don’t worry about it. Where’d he head?”
“We lost him after that. We’ll have to comb through the remaining footage. But I can tell you where he was fourteen days later. There were two more recently accessed clips. Filmed this week, in Floridsdorf, early on Sunday the twenty-ninth,” said Sarah, stepping back to let them watch.
In the first clip, filmed at three a.m., the Third Man was being roughly escorted through Floridsdorf Station, his elbow gripped by a man with his eyes concealed under a cap, whose free hand was tucked under the Third Man’s open jacket, likely pressing a gun to his side.
They entered the storage warehouse.
The second clip showed the man in the cap leaving, an hour later, alone. Which supported the M.E.’s initial finding that the Third Man died between three and four. And supported Andreas’s hope that Sterling had an alibi. Because he was with her then, at the Hotel Orient.
For a moment Andreas was grateful for David Goldfinch’s spy cameras. Even if they violated laws and threatened to cost the city its dignity, they’d provided Sterling an alibi, one that wouldn’t cost him his badge.
He and Beate eyed each other.
“You call Sterling. I’ll get the chief to drop the charges,” he said.
“Not yet,” said Beate. “Let her sweat until she finds the last suspect.”
— 43 —Dreiundvierzig
Sterling and Mr. K stared into the hidden closet in Room 6, towards the hole at the top. Whether it was an air duct, or something more sinister, they’d soon find out. Well, since neither Sterling’s generous curves nor Mr. K’s gargantuan muscles could fit through, Fernando would soon find out. Served him right for eating so many salads.
Mr. K grabbed Fernando by the hips and hoisted him up so his torso was in the hole and his bum and legs hung down.
“It’s bigger on the inside,” he cried, voice echoing. “Must be a crawl space. I think it goes across the lobby.” He wiggled his feet. “A little help, please.”
Sterling climbed into the closet. She spanked him, then she and Mr. K each grabbed one leg and pushed him in. His feet slipped out of sight, and as the glow of his flashlight disappeared, his muttering quieted. Sterling and Mr. K followed the thumping overhead as he moved out of Room 6, past the kitchen and elevator, and into the lobby.
Fernando knocked three times, alerting them to his location. Sterling snagged a broom from the kitchen, and Mr. K held it upand tapped the ceiling with the handle to assure him they were there. Every ten seconds or so, a dull triple knock sounded above them, and they followed his trail.
A bang preceded muffled words she vaguely recognized as a string of Spanish curses.
“I might have to give him a raise after this,” said Mr. K.
Fernando mumbled something unintelligible from the ceiling. Likely some version ofYou better fucking believe it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The clanging overhead reminded her of noises the Hotel made each autumn when they first switched on the heating.
She recalled the strange telephone ringing in the lobby closet on the night of the murders. When she’d searched Hedy’s coat for a stray mobile and heard the old pay phone, revived, ringingbehindthe wall. Fernando’s thumping moved towards Room 5.
She wondered if the Third Man had entered it this way, crawling through walls like a rat. But Fernando’s trail veered around the corner, skipping past Room 5, towards Room 4, the Kaisersuite. Frau Thursday’s regular haunt.
Sterling unlocked it and followed Mr. K in, his broomstick taps shaking the chandelier. There were two doors at the end of the foyer. The left led to the bathroom, whose antique vanity shared a wall with the bathroom of Room 5. On the night of the murders, if Frau Thursday had stood there fixing her makeup, she’d have been staring right where Hedy collapsed and died and been none the wiser.
But Fernando’s knocking traveled away from the bath, into the bedroom.
A canopy bed nestled in an alcove in the back corner, draped in crimson curtains. Beside it was a white fireplace under a large gold mirror. An ornate antique couch sat across the room. Fernando’s thunking stayed over the couch. His voice came through a vent,adopting a tinny echo. “There’s something in here. Oh, I see a light! I think it’s the end of the—”
An ominous rustling came from overhead. A hairline crack fractured across the ceiling.
“Stop!” she shouted.
“I found something,” cried Fernando, not listening. The crack widened, as did Sterling’s eyes.
Mr. K’s voice boomed: “Go. Back.”
“Huh?” cried Fernando.
