Онлайн книга Dead Men's s Boots

But the susurrus of fright and cruelty was everywhere: it was like trying to echolocate in the midst of a ticker-tape parade. I gave up, let myself out and closed the door again. The lock had an automatic catch, and Juliet had taken the key with her when she left, so that was it as far as examining the crime scene went: there was no way I could get back in.

The desk clerk, Merrill, had his back to me as I approached the desk again, because he was putting some keys back in the pigeon-holes – including number seventeen, I noticed.

I waited until he realised I was there and turned to face me.

‘Can I talk to Joseph Onugeta?’ I asked. ‘I just wanted to check a couple of details in the statement he gave.’

‘He’s not in today,’ Merrill said.

‘I thought he was in every day.’ ‘He called in sick.’

‘Well, is it okay if I come by and talk to him tomorrow?’

‘It’s okay with me, yes. His shift starts at six.’

I chanced my arm. ‘Did a woman check in here on her own on the day of the murder?’ I asked.

Merrill looked surprised: for a moment I thought I’d insulted his professional standards.

‘We cater to couples,’ he said shortly.

‘Yeah,’ I agreed, ‘I know that. I was just wondering if—’

‘There wasn’t any woman in that room. I don’t care what Joseph says he heard.’

I felt the weight of words not yet spoken.

‘But?’ I prompted.

Merrill stared at me for a moment or two in silence. ‘A man came in by himself,’ he admitted at last. ‘I was in the back room there, and I saw him walk straight past the desk.

I thought maybe he was a cab driver and he’d come to pick someone up. But then he walked out again about ten minutes later and he was still by himself, so if he was a driver he came to the wrong place.’

‘When was this?’ I asked. ‘Before Barnard and Hunter arrived, or after?’

‘I think after,’ he said. ‘But it must have been before we went up and opened the room, because after that we had the police here and they closed the place down for the whole of the rest of the day.’

‘What did this guy look like?’

Merrill thought for a moment.

‘Pretty old,’ he said. ‘That’s all I remember. I didn’t get to see him up close.’

I threw a few more questions at him, but he wasn’t throwing anything very much back. He wasn’t kidding about his mind going blank: I could probably have got more circumstantial detail out of a six-year-old. Then again, everyone’s got their own way of dealing with stress, and Merrill looked like the kind of man who stressed easy.