Chapter 5 #5
“Indeed. Apparently he has the world’s largest dong ever.” Ginny’s tone was dry. “Or at least, the largest Monica has ever had the privilege of sheathing.”
“That is way more information than I need to know.”
“How do you think I feel? I had to wade through hours of that shit.”
I reached across and patted her leg. “Two shakes for you, my friend.”
“I think we’ve reached a bottle of decent bubbles stage.”
“Chandon Brut it is.”
“Excellent.” She flicked on a blinker, waited for several cars to pass, then joined the queue into the cute coffee drive-through. “Anyways, the conversations got cagier the closer they got to the hens celebration, but if she has run off with someone, he has to be our first suspect.”
We placed our coffee order and collected it around the other side. I took several appreciative sips before saying, “He apparently works at the National Witch Library, so I’ll give them a call—”
“No need, because he arrived up here a day after Monica. We’re heading to his hotel room now.”
“You ran a trace?”
“Well, Jack did rather than me, but yes.”
“And you checked that he’s still there?”
“I have indeed.”
“You are brilliant.”
“I do get the occasional flashes.”
“Which is always better than hot flushes, occasional or not.”
She snorted. “Good god, don’t start wishing that on either of us. We’re too young for that shit yet.”
“Mom started menopause in her early forties.”
“Mine did not, so you can stop putting that thought out there in the world, thereby jinxing me.”
I grinned, drank some more coffee, and then told her about the USB conversation and it subsequently disintegrating.
“Are we thinking Luke is the male involved?”
“Given the comment about fucking, I’d lay odds on the fact. Did you happen to do a background on him?”
“Yeah. He has no full brothers but does have a half brother—Stephan—who was the result of an affair his father, Marshall, never acknowledged or supported.”
“Which might account for the revenge statement, except for the fact the woman implied it was Luke seeking revenge, not Stephan, though he was mentioned in the recording.” I paused to drink more coffee. “Did his mother never run DNA or go to the courts for support?”
“The mother didn’t need to—her family was well-to-do anyway—but she died under mysterious circumstances when the child was five, and he subsequently went into the system.”
“Her immediate family didn’t take him? That’s a little weird, isn’t it?”
“Everything about this case is weird, is it not?” She made a face. “I’ve asked for them to be interviewed, and we’re in the process of tracing him, but the child protection records seem to have been lost.”
“Convenient.”
“These things are not unknown when it comes to government departments and unwanted witch offspring.”
“Has the brother got a surname?”
She nodded. “Stephan Cartwright.”
“Meaning his mom wasn’t a witch?”
“No. A psychic of some kind, from what I can gather. Details are scant. We’re running a trace on him, but so far have come up with squat.
” She pulled up in front of the Novotel, then reached across to grab the Society’s parking slip from the glove compartment and shoved it onto the dash.
“Luke’s room number is five-oh-nine. I’ve already arranged to grab the keys. ”
“You are efficiency itself this morning.”
“Hmmm” was all she said to that. We climbed out of the car, and I followed her into the foyer. Once she’d showed her ID and collected the key, we headed for the elevators and up to the fifth floor. We found his room easily enough, and rang the doorbell. There was no answer.
Ginny tried again, then swiped the card through the slot, tugged on some gloves, and pressed the door open. “Mr. Marlowe? Are you here?”
No answer beyond silence. The air, however, told a different story. It stank. Absolutely stank. Sewage farms probably smelled sweeter by comparison.
“Whoa,” Ginny said, stepping back sharply. “I don’t suppose you’ve air filters in your bag of tricks, do you?”
“Unfortunately, no.” I flicked the “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging off the door. “That smell does explain this.”
“What it doesn’t explain is why the scent of shit is strong, or why there’s no hint of death and decay woven through it.” She waved a hand through the door. “You’re lead investigator—you get the honor of leading.”
“Thanks. You can check the bathroom for that.”
“That smell isn’t coming from the bathroom.”
No, it was coming from the main bedroom area, but we nevertheless needed to make sure there were no surprises waiting for us aside from whatever—whoever—that atrocious scent belonged to.
While she went into the bathroom, I checked the wardrobe opposite, but it only contained a few hangers, a safe, an iron, and some spare blankets.
I swept a hand underneath the latter but didn’t find anything.
Ginny came back out of the bathroom and declared it empty of anything aside from the usual hotel toiletries.
We moved on into the main portion of the room.
And found, lying on the bed in a puddle of his own shit and piss, a man.
One who was naked and trussed up tighter than a turkey at Christmas.