Death in the Priomrose Hotel – Chapter 3

I took the elevator back up to room 607 to wait for the detective amidst the grinding and metallic scraping of the ancient machinery. Vanessa stayed with Madeline and the rest of the tour group in the speakeasy. Madeline’s demure personality had a soothing effect on the other tour members allowing Vanessa to take it upon herself to ask the other three couples for their names and addresses. She dutifully made a note of each name and address in the spiral notebook she always carried in her purse.
Mossville town police detective Tom Forsythe arrived eventually and asked for my ID. I showed him my D.C. drivers license, PI license and my concealed carry permit.
Tom Forsythe was a tall man in his early thirties, a little over six feet tall, with an erect carriage, and shoulders like a college linebacker. He wore his dark, curly hair in a stylish cut. I could see how women would swoon all over him. He was also one very skeptical cop.
“Are you carrying now?” He asked.
“No,” I replied. I had My Marine Corp 1911 .45 pistol locked in the hidden waterproofed steel storage box I had welded to the frame under my Jeep, but he didn’t need to know that. When I left the Corps, I accidentally on purpose forgot to turn in the .45. Every year the Marines keep sending me a letter asking about what happened to the .45 and every year I run the letter through the shredder. When they send a real live Marine, in his dress blue uniform, I may give the pistol back, maybe. But until then…
“The plans for this building were in the county offices because of the demolition work to start Monday morning,” Tom Forsythe said. “I just checked them out. The plans don’t show a sub-basement or an elevator in room 607.”
I led him to the closet and pointed towards the heavy steel hinged door. Tom Forsythe stared at the closed door. I opened the door and he looked through the scissor gate into the elevator. I slid the scissors gate back allowing full entrance into the car. He stuck his head past the gate twisting his neck from side to side like an owl with a stiff neck and looked around. I led him into the elevator. The detective became apprehensive as he stepped into the confined space of the elevator with a possible murderer at what might be a crime scene. If I hadn’t just seen his badge and ID, I would be anxious as well stepping in a small confined space with a large possible killer.


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