Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [116]
“I’m sorry,” Melincamp said, “but it’s all a blank. Look, I’ve stayed here in Washington because I wanted to be of help in solving Charise’s murder. But now it’s time for me to get back to Toronto and my work. I don’t want to miss my plane, so unless you have a reason for me to stay, I have to go
“You’re free to go, Mr. Melincamp,” Johnson said. “Is something bothering you? You seem uptight
“No, I’m fine. Excuse me.” He grabbed the luggage.
“We might have to contact you again with follow-up questions
“Good. That will be fine. I wish you both well in solving this horrific thing that’s happened to Charise
They followed him outside, where he looked for a taxi.
“Where’s your other client, the piano player?” Willie asked.
“At Takoma Park, naturally, rehearsing the chorus for tonight’s opening of Tosca. The director wants some last-minute changes
A cab turned the corner and headed for them. Portelain and Johnson watched Melincamp toss his luggage in the backseat and climb in beside it. He waved as the driver pulled away.
“Waste of time,” Willie grumbled.
“Most of what we do is a waste of time, Willie. But this wasn’t. The guy’s a nervous wreck
“Those artsy types always are” was Willie’s take on it.
Her cell phone rang. It was Carl Berry. “Where are you?” he asked, his voice tinny through the small speakerphone.
“At Warren’s apartment, talking to Melincamp. He’s on his way back to Toronto, just got in a cab
“Yeah, well, you might as well head back here. We’re on call. Oh, Sylvia, Ray Pawkins came through with a couple of tickets for the opera tonight
“That’s great. Thanks
“Thank him when you see him
“Well?” Willie asked after she’d clicked off.
“Well what?”
“The man says Pawkins got you a couple a tickets. That means two. How about it, you take your favorite partner along? I’ve never been to an opera
Sylvia knew what was coming. She didn’t have a date that night; her latest romantic interest was out of town on government business.
“Sure, Willie, we’ll go to the opera together
His white teeth glowed against the contrasting blackness of his round face. “Damn,” he said, “now I’ll have to stay awake. I saw an opera once on TV. Can’t remember what it was, but I know I fell asleep before the first act was over. And those suckers can be long, real long
“I’ll keep you awake, Willie,” she said as they got in their green, unmarked MPD car. “And if you do fall asleep, and snore, I’ll shoot you dead right there in the theater
He insisted on stopping on their way back to headquarters for a take-out sandwich from Subway, which he started to eat during the ride. They parked in the lot reserved for MPD vehicles, then entered the station through a rear door as two detectives were exiting.
“What’s up, man?” Willie asked one of them.
“Homicide over on 16th, Northwest. Hotel Rouge
“Hotel Rouge?” Willie and Sylvia said in concert.
“That’s what the dispatcher said
“Let’s go, Willie,” Sylvia said, leading him and his half-eaten sandwich back to their car.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Willie and Sylvia arrived with the two detectives who’d originally caught the case. Two uniforms, who’d been waved down in their car by the doorman, were already at the scene, one standing guard just inside the door to the room, the other in the hallway keeping the curious away.
The four detectives stood in the middle of the room now, their eyes registering initial impressions. Zöe Baltsa’s lifeless body was slumped on the floor at the foot of the king-sized bed, her back against it, her legs akimbo in front of her. Her head flopped to one side; drying blood seeped from the downward corner of her mouth onto the red carpeting. She wore yellow Capri pants and a fuzzy gold sleeveless shirt. She was barefoot.
Because Willie was the senior detective, he took charge of the crime scene. “You were the first in here?” he asked one of the cops in uniform.
“Right. A chambermaid discovered the body and notified the desk. We were driving by. A doorman—maybe he’s a bellhop—hailed us
“Nobody’s been in here since