Casualty Loss
Her scream broke the sound barrier. The maid poked her head in the room, saw the body fall and freaked out. What a set of lungs! Therese wrapped a towel around the phone and called the front desk for help. It didn’t take them long. A team of paramedics stormed room 1811, and examined the body. It wasn’t the first corpse I’d seen. It wasn’t even the first one I’d discovered. Somehow it never gets easier especially when it’s a friend. I liked Ray Levine. He was a decent guy—far better than Masio.
"How did Raymond Levine get in here?" I asked. "It’s weird."
Therese shrugged. "Even better—who murdered him, and where the hell is Masio?"
"That’s just the question I wanted to ask."
A man with a badge and a shopworn Burberry slung over his shoulder pushed his way into the room. He was a fifty-something white guy with receding brown hair and a noticeable paunch. Every fictional detective is trim and brooding. In real life, most look like their last assignment was the donut patrol. This guy fit the mold perfectly. He scowled at us and immediately became surly.
"Which one of you discovered the body?" he growled. "I’m Lieutenant John Joseph Wilson from the Chicago PD. Don’t touch anything and don’t say a word."
Something about this guy really ticked me off. He didn’t scare me one bit.
"How can I answer your question if I don’t say anything?"
"Oh, a smart ass. I see. There’s one on every case." He beckoned to a cadaverous uniformed officer. "Horace, escort these ladies downstairs, please." He pointed to me. "I’ll speak with this one first. Give the maid some water or something. Just keep her quiet."
Wilson was beginning to really irk me. "How come you got here so fast, Lieutenant? We just found the…Mr. Levine…." I just couldn’t call Ray a corpse. I didn’t expect an answer but Wilson surprised me.
"Dumb luck, that’s how I got here. We’re hosting a retirement luncheon on the third floor. The manager buttonholed me right away." He stepped forward and met my eyes. "Does that satisfy you, Miss?"
Jonathon Grey burst into the room, holding his arms out to me. "Are you okay, Grace?"
Wilson sighed. " Great— more drama. Horace, escort this gentleman outside too."
Jonathon stared him down. "I’m here to help Ms. Quinn. My name is Jonathon Grey."
Wilson was unimpressed. "Bully for you. Unless you’re her lawyer, or her husband, Mr. Jonathon Grey, you can wait outside." He stared at me with baleful blue eyes that didn’t miss a trick. "So, is that your name—Grace Quinn?"
"Actually, its Grace Quinn-Fong, Lieutenant."
He shrugged. "Whatever. Now, Miss Quinn-Fong…"
"Actually, it’s Mrs," I said smiling sweetly. "You can call me Grace."
"Did you know the deceased, or do you make a habit of bribing your way into a strange man’s hotel room?" He smirked as he eyed me up and down.
"Of course I knew him, but this isn’t his hotel room. His name is Raymond Levine. The dead guy, I mean. We came here looking for Chester Masio. I thought he was the corpse."
Wilson rubbed his forehead as if it ached. "We need to get out of here while they process the crime scene. Come with me, Mrs. Quinn-Fong. We’re going to have a little talk."
I should have given Wilson that book but somehow it slipped my mind. I stuffed it in my Bottega tote and meekly followed him out the door. A uniformed Chicago cop patrolled the hallway. He nodded to Wilson and remained in front of the door, standing legs apart, arms folded. The holster of his big, ugly gun was unbuckled.
When the elevator door opened, a husky man lumbered smack into us. Therese and I gasped at the fleshy face of Chester Masio.
"Don’t go in there, Chester." Therese stepped in front of him blocking his path.
"What’s going on here?" he barked. " Having a party in my room?"
Wilson gave him that cynical cop stare. "So you’re Chester Masio, huh? I’m Lieutenant Wilson of the Chicago PD. Where have you been, sir?"
Masio curled his lip. "What’s going on? Are these people under arrest?"
Wilson chuckled. "No, but it’s a tempting thought. Horace, settle the ladies in the conference room downstairs and corral the rest of their group. Maybe Mr. Jonathon Grey here will join you. He seems very eager to help."
Without another word, Wilson herded Masio into his hotel room. Levine’s body was still in there.
I hope the old buzzard has a strong heart. Wait a minute. Masio has no heart! Jonathon shot a puzzled look my way. "Who died? Why are the cops here?" Sergeant Horace gave us that eye roll all cops perfect. "No talking, please."
"Now just a minute, Officer. I’ve done nothing wrong. I insist on knowing what happened up there." It wasn’t like Jonathon to be so pushy. He was at Vesuvius level.
"Levine’s dead," I told him. "Murdered."
"With an ice pick," Therese added helpfully.
"What!" Jonathon nearly lost it. "Ray’s dead?"
I considered that note on Masio’s message board. It looked like a woman’s handwriting. The glass in his room had a lipstick stain on it. Unless the old bastard was a cross-dresser that meant only one thing—his lunchtime visitor was female. Most of the women in our group were wearing lipstick, thank heaven. There’s no excuse for poor grooming. The stain on the glass was a deep wine colored hue that was all the rage this year. I’d have to check that out.
Horace led us to a small conference room and gestured toward the chairs. "Have a seat, Ladies," he said. "You can come with me and help with the others, Sir."
Therese and I stayed silent for a moment. The maid sat in the corner sobbing into a sodden hanky.
"Do we need a lawyer?" Therese asked. "I think Wilson might give us trouble."
"Oh pooh," I said. "Let him try." I smiled coyly at her. "Of course, we could always call Max…"
Therese exploded. "Hell no! Patrick’s the law professor. He’d coming running. You know how he loves to save you."
The sound of footsteps ended our debate. John Joseph Wilson flung open the door and beckoned to me. "Come along, Mrs. Quinn-Fong." He pronounced my name with attitude. "Did I get it right?" Wilson asked. "The Department likes us to be politically correct."
"Commendable." I trotted obediently behind him to a secluded table in the lounge.
"I’m thirsty," I said.
Wilson signaled the waitress. "Two waters, please." He slung his Burberry and a leather briefcase on the empty chair.
"Wait a minute. Do you have Pellegrino or Perrier?" She nodded. "I’ll take either. No ice and a lime if you have one." I ignored Wilson’s glare. He was studying my emerald engagement ring.
"So, Mrs. Fong, why are you here with a bunch of half-dead geezers?" He smirked. "I promise I’ll be brief. Wouldn’t want your boyfriend to lead an armed assault."
"Boyfriend!" The man is insufferable. "I’ll have you know I’m a happily married woman with two babies. I’m also a mystery writer. Mr. Gray is my friend. Period."
"Whatever. Now, why were you in that room? You weren’t invited."
Be careful Grace. Try not to lie to him. I took a big sip of my Pellegrino.
"Aren’t you going to read me my Miranda rights or something?"
He laughed in my face. "Do you NEED me to? Sorry to disappoint you, but this isn’t television. For now you’re not a suspect. You have two pretty solid witnesses." Wilson tried the cop stare again. It was fifth rate Raymond Chandler. "What made you think Masio was dead?"
This was truth-telling time.
"Because he’s a malevolent man who loves to destroy people. No one likes him." I shivered. "No one except Raymond Levine. He was devoted to Masio."
Wilson leaned forward. "Who was Masio going after this time?"
"I’m not sure. He bragged about a book called "Secrets." Said it would change lives. I don’t know anything specific though."
Wilson put down his pencil. "You can go. Oh yeah, just one more thing. Why were you in his room? You forgot to answer that."
Wilson was sharper than he looked. I exuded womanly virtue and innocence.
"To stop him. I thought something bad might happen."
He flipped through a folder. "So you write mystery books, huh?" He scowled. "I know your kind, Mrs. husband and two kids-Fong. You’re nosey. This isn’t one of your books. It’s dangerous poking around a murder. DON'T DO IT, or I swear I’ll charge you with obstruction."
He didn’t scare me. My husband’s a lawyer. I stood up straight and faced him. "Whatever, Lieutenant."
