Death in the Primrose Hotel – Chapter 3 cont’d……..

The sound of the sledge hammers striking the brick wall reverberated around the close confines of the tunnel making the noise seem even louder than normal. The demolition guys thought to bring ear and dust protectors for themselves but nobody thought about us already in the tunnel. On top of the noise, the brick and mortar dust turned the cramped space at the end of the tunnel into a dense cloud of fine brick particles and mortar dust choking the air in the immediate area and clogging our noses and throats. Tom Forsythe was right. The false wall was only the thickness of one brick and fell away easily from the sledge hammer blows.
The laborers moved the debris to the side revealing an old, partially rotted, poorly constructed wood door with wood “Z” strapping to strengthen the door but the years took their toll. It was as if the pealing paint and a nail or two that held the door together. A few strokes with their picks and the wood door collapsed into a pile of kindling. Tom Forsythe and I both stepped beyond the door, turned and examined the door side of the partially demolished wall.
“You’re right. This wall was built from the this side,” Tom Forsythe said.
“I think that whoever put the hole in the skeleton’s skull entered the speakeasy through here, brought the victim with him and shot him in the speakeasy or brought the already dead corpse in and dumped the body behind the bar and then escaped back out through the tunnel to the old dress shop,” Tom Forsythe said.
“And hastily threw up this brick wall on his way out,” I said.
“Makes sense,” Tom Forsythe said.
We now knew how the body ended up in speakeasy and that’s all we know. What we didn’t know was when, by whom and why the body was dumped. Tom Forsythe and I continued into the basement of the old dress shop, looked at the dust covered bolts of cloth and spools of thread on the wooden shelves that lined the stone basement walls. It was hard to determine the original color of the dust covered material and thread because they were covered under a blanket of grayish beige in the darkened basement. I wiped my hand across a dust covered bolt of cloth revealing a Granny Apple green fabric which would have looked fabulous with Vanessa’s red hair.


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