“Hello,” Mark Hansen said calmly when the girl answered his telephone call.
“Good evening. This is housekeeping. How may I help you?” Her voice was peppy and cheerful. She was too much for him to deal with at the moment, especially after the long drive he’d finished within the past couple of hours.
“Yeah, I’m in room one twelve. There’s a dead man in here.”
“Yes, sir,” the girl giggled. “Now, what can I really do for you?”
“No, seriously. I need someone to come to my room and clean up this dead guy.” Mark spoke the last sentence with slow and precise enunciation. Air stirred at the other end of the phone line.
A different person, one older, less perky, came on the telephone. “Hello. Hello, who is this?” they demanded.
Mark maintained his composure, whether from sheer exhaustion or merely a get-the-job-done mentality was unclear even to him. “This is the guest in room one twelve. As I told the young lady, I have a dead man in my closet. I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to send someone here to clean it up.”
“This is the guest in room one twelve. As I told the young lady, I have a dead man in my closet.”
A heavy, uncertain sigh came across the line. “Are you serious? Did you call the police?”
Hansen wearily dropped his upper torso back onto the bed where he sat. He matched the sigh of the other person. His was heavier. “Well, I dialed the front desk. I assumed they’d contact you people. But that was over half an hour ago. No one’s come to the room. Nobody’s returned my call. So I thought I’d at least get the thing cleaned up so I could go to bed. I’ve had a rough day.” He looked at the protruding lower legs of the man slumped on the closet floor. “Not as bad as this fellow’s, apparently, but still long.”
“Please wait there. I’ll send someone.”
“Fine. I’ll wait. But I’m not paying for double occupancy!” With that, Mark reached for the bedside table, drew the telephone toward him, and replaced the receiver without raising his weary body from the bed.
He had just given himself to sleep’s undertow when there came a solid knock on the door. The sound startled the man, who glanced at his watch. Half an hour had passed since his call to housekeeping. Thirty minutes! he thought. This sort of thing must be routine here. They probably delivered fresh towels to another room on the way to mine. More knocking followed. This time, it was more urgent.
Hansen started to yell to them to come in. Then he remembered he had set the security latch and put the chain in place, thinking he’d go straight to bed, ending another dull night on the road. It was before he found his “roommate.” He pushed himself erect and moved around the bed. As he passed, he glimpsed the mirrored sliding closet doors. He looked into the slack, weary features of a bone-tired, roofing supply salesman. Mark chuckled. Bored with a corpse in your room. He smiled weakly.
At the door, the room’s living occupant removed the chain and retracted the security latch simultaneously before throwing it open. His sudden actions startled the person with whom he came face to face. The slight man, dressed in a coat and tie, had been ready to put an access card into the door’s keycard lock. Behind him stood a large, uniformed police officer, sporting sergeant’s stripes.
The civilian introduced himself as Earl Humphries, the hotel manager. Mark moved back into his room. The two men followed. “Hey, thanks for stopping by,” Hansen said casually over his shoulder. “I just figured someone should be told there’s this guy in my closet.” He turned to the manager. “Say, if he’s the previous occupant, can we charge tonight’s stay to his bill?”
The cop muttered his name as “Ingram,” pushed past his companion, and moved to the closet. In doing so, he noticed two soft-sided suitcases on the bed. They had clothing items lying beside them. The officer noted no signs of a struggle or that the room had even had an occupant since its last cleaning. Hansen stood away from the little vignette to allow the wheels of justice to grind forward. The sergeant peered into the confined space. The man in the coat and tie gasped a “dear me” effeminately at the sight of the dead body. He added to the effect by gently putting his hand over his mouth like an old schoolmarm.
The officer noted no signs of a struggle or that the room had even had an occupant since its last cleaning.
The policeman knelt beside the cadaver and checked for a pulse. “He’s dead, all right.” The weary traveler rolled his eyes at the officer’s obvious deduction. When he stood and asked, the manager told Ingram he didn’t recognize the deceased. Likewise, Mark denied knowing the man without looking.
The officer looked at the corpse again before turning back to Mark. “Have you touched anything?”
“No,” he smiled, “I watch television.” He added, after a second, “Well, except for the telephone to call for help, of course.”
“What time did you arrive here?”
“A little after seven. They held my room for a late check-in. But I didn’t find the guy right away.” At the lawman’s questioning glance, he continued, “After I checked in, I came in here and dropped my bags on the bed without doing anything else in here. Then I left to grab a quick bite before coming back to go to bed. I found the body when I returned and started to unpack.”
“Well, how long ago did you find him?”
“Oh, I’d say an hour or so. I–”
The cop passed harsh glares between the guest and the Humphries. “And we’re only now getting the call?”
“Don’t look at me, Officer ….” Without looking, Mark recollected the man’s sergeant’s insignia. “Uh, Sergeant Ingram. I telephoned the registration desk as soon as I found the guy’s body.”
The policeman’s head snapped in the manager’s direction. The man blushed a deep red. “Please, sergeant,” he offered apologetically, “we had an inexperienced young fellow on the registration counter. He’s since told me he thought it was a prank being pulled by someone.”
“Well, the detectives’ll need to talk to the kid when they get here. Keep him close. He’ll–”
“I sent him home,” Earl murmured demurely. When Ingram stiffened, he quickly added, “He’s my sister’s boy, you see. Home from college on spring break. Just helping him out, you know? Thought I could provide him with a little spending money.”
The flustered officer shouted, “Get him back here! Now!” He glanced around again before exclaiming impatiently, “Okay, everybody out! And don’t touch a thing on the way!” As the trio reached the door and Humphries opened it, Ingram told them to wait in the hall. Holding the door open with a large shoe, the burly cop broadcast a radio call on his shoulder unit, apprising someone of the situation and summoning detectives. Afterwards, he joined them. He took Mark’s access card and his driver’s license. The sergeant transmitted a second radio message, giving the pertinent information from the document before returning it. With a threatening forefinger, he looked at Earl. In a hoarse voice, he whispered, “Lock this room, Mr. Humphries, and no one goes in, understood?” The man nodded vigorously. When the finger swung in Hansen’s direction, he also agreed. After the diminutive fellow made sure he had locked up, Ingram leaned in toward the hotel’s manager and spoke low. “The detectives will need a place where they can interview any witnesses, etc.”
The sergeant transmitted a second radio call, giving the pertinent information from the license, before returning it.
“We’re filled up right now, what with spring break, but we have a small conference room used mostly for interviews and staff meetings.”
“I’m sure that’ll work fine. You make certain it’s opened.” As Humphries turned to depart, the cop grabbed his arm. “No guests can check out until the detectives say so. No employees leave here either. I don’t care how long they’ve worked today. Nobody. Get your nephew here now. And tell whoever on the hotel’s staff that may be aware of this to keep their mouths shut! We don’t need any rubberneckers crowdin’ the hall,” he demanded in a low growl, looking around. Earl hurried away. “And have a pot of coffee in the room,” the burly cop called after the man.
The policeman squared up to Hansen. “I’m gonna walk you to the conference room, Mr. Hansen. The detectives will want to talk with you straight off. You gotta cell phone?” When his companion nodded, the sergeant finished, “Don’t make any calls until the detectives give you the okeydokey.” Again, the guest waggled his head in understanding. The pair started down the hall toward the hotel’s lobby, where Ingram located the manager standing by the door to the conference room. Ingram turned Mark over to a newly arrived officer. In parting, the big cop repeated his warning to him not to use his phone.
* * *
Less than a half hour later, Hansen sat at a table in the small, stuffy conference room, toying with an empty Styrofoam coffee cup, stifling a yawn. A uniformed police officer sat next to the room’s only door. Mark was thinking of getting another round of caffeine from the pot on the side table when the door opened suddenly. A fifty-something guy in a tight suit entered. He was a tall, powerfully built individual with broad shoulders, a thick neck, and large ears. Pulling up a chair, he eased out of his coat and hung it over the chair’s back. After pouring himself a coffee, the man sat across from the traveling salesman and introduced himself. “Mr. Hansen?” The detained man nodded, setting his cup aside. “I’m Detective Don Tillman. I understand you located a dead person.”
“If you’re referring to the man in the closet of my room, yeah, I did,” Mark said evenly. “I’m not certain whether anyone else found any other bodies here tonight.” His weariness was catching up with him.
Don had seen this type before: cocky with no reverence for law enforcement or the serious consequences of the job they do. The detective bent over the table towards the man. His short-sleeved dress shirt and tie reminded Hansen of the manager at his big-box store back home. Coarse black hair grew on the detective’s upper arms and showed from under the sleeves. “Sergeant Ingram said you appeared pretty calm about this whole thing. The word he used was ‘unflappable’.
Tillman had seen this type before: cocky with no reverence for law enforcement or the serious consequences of the job they do.
“Unflappable?” Mark responded in surprise.
“That’s the term Ingram used.” Tillman chuckled, “He’s taking night courses at the local college. Seriously, he told me you seemed to take finding a dead body in your room in stride. I assume this doesn’t happen to you every day.”
“Well, not recently, anyway.” The detective gave him a questioning glance. “A tour in Afghanistan gave me chances to come across enough bodies to last a lifetime.” Hansen smiled dimly, unwanted memories trying to reawaken in his head.
Tillman nodded knowingly. “I understand. Desert Storm,” he sighed. The detective sat back in his chair and changed his approach slightly. “We ran a check on you already. Clean as a whistle.” Mark shrugged a response as if to say, “Of course.” Don scanned his notes on a small flip-pad. “So, just for the record, what brings you to our fair city, Mr. Hansen?”
“I’m here on business. Here for the home show this weekend as a regional rep for a roofing manufacturer.”
“That’s good. Ingram figured you might be a hitman who didn’t get away fast enough.”
“Hitman?” Mark scoffed incredulously. “How many professional killers can you recall who murdered their target and then called the police to report the crime?”
“Hey, I said Ingram was going to night classes. I didn’t say he was a Rhodes scholar.” The uniformed officer behind Tillman snorted. When the detective gave him a hard glance, the young cop quieted, shifting uneasily in his chair. Don moved his eyes back to his witness. “Anyway, that brings me to the question of why you didn’t contact 9-1-1 to report the man’s body to the authorities.”
“I tried,” Hansen answered defensively. That exhaustion was pushing his patience further into a frayed state. He took a deep breath. “Have you ever tried to call 9-1-1 from a hotel room? Every time I dialed, I only got clicks on the line. They don’t explain very well that you have to dial another number first. I didn’t know it. I’ve never had to do it before today. You should be able to telephone 9-1-1 direct. There oughta be a law.”
“Some states have such a law. Just not this one yet.” Returning to his notepad, he read something before nodding to Mark, “Go on.”
“So, after two tries at dialing it, I gave up and reached out to the front desk. I understand now that the kid on the counter thought it was a joke. But you can confirm my call. When no one showed up, I got pissed and called housekeeping.”
“If it weren’t for there being a dead man involved, that would’ve been funny.”
“Well, you know how it is,” Hansen shrugged. “I had no idea when he might start putrefying and didn’t want to smell him in the middle of the night.”
Tillman ignored the comment and again checked his notes. “Can you give me an idea of your movements for the past twenty-four hours?”
“Yep. This past weekend’s show in Cincinnati wrapped up the night before last. I worked well into the night, breaking down my exhibition booth and loading the van. This–”
“You don’t have people to do that for you?”
“Sorry, Detective Tillman, but you have my firm confused with a world-wide leader in the roofing business.” Hansen smiled sourly, “Mine is a shoestring budget. I’m the whole enchilada. I unload the company van and set up my display booth ahead of time. During the event, I meet with prospective purchasers who are considering a replacement roof or have to get one. Some of the throng–my best prospects–are the local roofing contractors. Of course, there’s always those who come to the trade fairs only to get out of the house or for the free goodies handed out. There’s no telling how many homes have a half-dozen yardsticks, keychains, plastic letter openers, or some such crap emblazoned with a remodeling company’s name. Simply from wandering around a home show for an hour or two. And the crowd decreases during football season,” Mark grinned.
“Anyway, after the show, I disassemble everything and load up for the next gig. The same as a rock star’s roadie. Except no sex, no drugs, and only a little rock ’n’ roll.” Mark smiled and looked into the unamused face of the detective. He cleared his throat and continued, “The following day, I usually head home for a quick visit with the family. Because this past weekend involved a holiday Monday and the expo carried through it, I had no chance to go home before coming here. Instead, yesterday I made follow-up phone calls from my Cincinnati hotel all day to those folks who seemed genuinely interested in our product and had signed our visitors’ registration. This morning, I checked out of the hotel there and drove the entire day to arrive here for this exhibition. Because I was running later than I’d expected, I called ahead for them to hold my room. My plan was to get a good night’s sleep and make a few more calls tomorrow. Then I was going to the Galleria to set up for this weekend’s event.” Mark picked up his cell phone and gestured with it. “Speaking of home, detective, I need to reach my family before it gets too late.”
“I disassemble everything and load up for the next gig. Just like a rock star’s roadie. Except no sex, no drugs, and only a little rock ’n’ roll.”
“Okay. Just a few more questions, and we’ll take a break for you to call. To clarify, you told Sergeant Ingram you didn’t find the man the first time you were in the room, correct?” Mark nodded his reply. “Can you say whether he was in there then?”
“I have no idea. As I said, I threw my bags on the bed, took a quick leak, and left to get something to eat. I didn’t go near the closet then.”
Tillman checked his notes. “You failed to mention using the bathroom to the sergeant when he asked you what you did when you first arrived in the room. Why’s that, Mr. Hansen?”
Mark was somewhat stunned that such a minor thing seemed so big to the police. “Hey, detective, I use the bathroom the same as the average guy, I guess. Probably no more, no less. It’s kinda like breathing. It just didn’t cross my recollection when the officer asked me.”
“Fair enough,” Don smiled. “Where did you eat and how long did it take?”
“I ate at the Wendy’s on the corner. It’s my wife’s favorite hamburger place. So it’s kind of a habit. Besides, I was too tired to get into the van to search for another eatery. I was there an hour and a half, more or less. The joint was pretty crowded.”
“And then?”
“Then I came back here to unpack, call my family, and go to bed. When I slid the one closet door open, a shoe fell out. My first thought was a poor slob left it behind when they checked out. When I bent over to pick up the shoe, I realized it had a foot in it.”
“What did you do next?”
“I opened the door a little wider and saw the guy lying there. He had his arms stretched out, resting across his upper legs, so I checked his wrist for a pulse. There was none. So I tried to call you folks.”
“You checked his pulse before trying to call us?”
“Yeah, it seemed the least I could do.”
Tillman was trying to weigh the comment. Fact or sarcasm? He let it pass. “And you did nothing else in the room, touched nothing else?” When Mark shook his head in the affirmative, the big detective followed up, “Because you told Ingram you’d only touched the telephone.”
“Well, yes, but now that I think about it, I opened the one closet door. And those things necessary to take a leak. Nothing else.”
“You didn’t go through this guy’s clothes for any identification?”
“No. As I said, I checked for a pulse. That was it. Figuring out who he is … was, is your job.” While Tillman jotted something on his notepad, a question occurred to Hansen. “Have you determined who the guy is?”
“No. He had no identification on him. We’re still looking into it. At this point, we—”
Another plainclothes officer stuck his head in the door. “Can I see you for a second out here, Don?”
“Sure.” Tillman turned to Mark. “Wait here.” Before leaving, the detective paused and said, “Take this break to call your family, Mr. Hansen. But be quick about it. And don’t mention what’s going on at this end. I won’t be long.”
When the door closed, Hansen started dialing his home number. He stopped long enough to ask the uniformed officer whether he could have some privacy. The policeman left the room, telling his charge he’d be just outside.
Mark spent the next several minutes catching up on the family news from the weekend. He did his best to act as if this were simply a normal evening in the existence of a traveling regional representative. Carla had enough to contend with, keeping their small brood in line and maintaining the house while he was away. Then, there was her job as a court reporter in the county courthouse. When they ended the call, he sat for a minute, reflecting on how different he had supposed their life together would be.
Hansen stepped out to let the cop know he’d finished his call. When he opened the door, he saw a familiar face across the crowded lobby. The man’s presence didn’t surprise Mark. Most traveling representatives, working the home-show circuit, clustered at the same hotel from city to city. Hansen nodded. But Al Murdock either didn’t see him or ignored him. Maybe, Mark thought, the word had gotten out concerning the dead guy in my room. Suddenly, I’m a pariah? Deciding he’d not be a victim of such treatment, the roofing rep walked to Murdock and extended his hand, gauging the response. The uniformed officer was close on his heels.
The two men exchanged brief greetings. Murdock’s seemed reserved. His demeanor was a far cry from the open, glad-hander Mark knew him to be. Al was typical of what most people expect a vinyl-siding salesman to be. He leaned in and, in a whisper, confided, “I’ve seen the cops swarming around the place and heard there was a body found in your closet. Tough break.” After a pause, he asked, “You gonna be at the show this weekend?”
Al was typical of what most people expect a vinyl-siding salesman to be.
“I don’t see why not,” he smiled weakly. “A little worse for wear, but I should make it.”
“Is there something I can do for you?” Hansen shook his head. “Too bad about the guy,” Murdock said evenly. “He was a good man.”
Al’s comment caught Mark off guard. Hansen’s face showed his surprise. When he saw his expression, Al turned ashen. But before the roofing rep could respond, the cop standing behind Mark laid a firm hand on his shoulder and told him they needed to return to the conference room.
A few minutes later, Detective Tillman returned. After he took his seat, he looked hard into Mark’s eyes. “Did you recognize the man in your closet, Mr. Hansen?”
The question startled the salesman slightly. “No. I didn’t look at his face closely. And not much light gets into those spaces. Plus, his back was resting against the wall at the end of the closet, where the door was still closed. Fairly dark there.” His defenses reared again. “Why? Should I have?”
The detective leaned across the table, this time to gauge Hansen’s reaction. “We’ve identified the guy. His name was Timothy Beaufort.”
Mark shook his head. “Didn’t know the man.”
“Really?” Tillman’s tone started Mark’s heart rate to increase faintly. Something was in the air. His deployment in a war zone had raised his awareness of the presence of danger. It was a lesson he’d not forgotten. “He was affiliated with the home show as well.”
Mark’s mind raced with the name. “Wait! Tim Beaufort! Yeah, I knew him. He was the guy in charge of assigning places on the showroom floor here. Tim Beaufort. The name simply didn’t register at first. He said his surname differently from the way you did. You articulated it using a long ‘O’ sound. He pronounced it with a long ‘U.’ That was him?” Detective Tillman nodded. “I haven’t seen him since last year. He was an okay fella. I’m sorry he’s dead.” Mark looked into the skeptical eyes of the detective. “What the hell was he doing in my room? That’s a weird coincidence.”
“Is it, Mr. Hansen?” Tillman’s tone was ominous. “We’ve learned you had a pretty nasty argument with Beaufort at the show a year ago. You need to tell me about it.”
Mark chuckled, “It was no big deal, really. Beaufort was in charge of setting the floor plan for the exhibition, as usual. You understand he decided who displayed where. Last year, he put me in a horrible spot. On the right side of me was an outfit that builds water features for yards – fountains, small waterfalls, and such. On my was a happy-go-lucky jerk who had a headset microphone telling everyone how his company’s cookware will end their meal-preparation drudgery.” Tillman’s dull expression compelled Mark to explain further. “Look, I’m a one-man operation. Bathroom breaks during the show are at a premium. So, on the one hand, the constant running water was nerve-racking. On the other, this guy’s booming hyperboles regarding his pots and pans put a kink in being able to talk with people about my products. After the first half-day, I asked Beaufort if I could change my location the following morning. I estimated that even being at the end of the back row of booths would be better. I guess he was tired of trying to please everyone. He became defensive, and our discussion got out of hand. We ended up in a heated argument.” Tillman said nothing. “But if you believe that sort of thing is enough for me to kill a guy over, think again, detective. I’d all but forgotten it.”
“What I think, Mr. Hansen, is you two got into it again over something – possibly where you’re assigned for this year’s show. And this time the confrontation got way out of hand.” Mark was shaking his head vigorously. “You likely didn’t mean to kill him. It just happened. Because there are no apparent injuries, we don’t yet know the cause of death. Perhaps–”
“Understand that I hadn’t seen Beaufort since I got into town. And I haven’t been to the Galleria yet to learn where he’s assigned me. In fact, I haven’t seen anybody connected with the show, except a guy I saw across the lobby while you were out. I was–”
Focused on another development, the detective missed the implication of Mark’s comment. “We found one of your business cards under Beaufort’s body, Mr. Hansen. Can you explain that?”
“My first thought is that’s impossible. But, then again, my cards are out on the booth’s counter for anyone to pick up. They’re probably everywhere. It doesn’t mean a thing!”
“I’ve already considered that. You’re right. It doesn’t necessarily prove anything. But it’s just one more piece of evidence you can’t account for.” The detective rose from his seat. “Wait here. I need to see somebody about something.” He paused at the door, turning slowly and eyeing his suspect. “You’re not under arrest … yet. But you have to stay here. I’ll have more questions. Oh, and you can call your company office or home again if you want to, but don’t mention what’s happened here. We haven’t released any details to the public. And tell no one the dead man’s name. We won’t release his identity until we notify the next of kin.” Saying that, he disappeared through the door.
“It doesn’t necessarily prove anything. But it’s just one more piece of evidence you can’t account for.”
Sitting quietly in the conference room with only the uniformed officer for company, Mark’s mind raced with the predicament in which he found himself. Something wasn’t right. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But the answer to it stayed just out of his mind’s reach.
After a time, the door opened again, and Tillman returned to his chair.
“Nothing new has shown up to help your situation, Mr. Hansen. After interviewing the hotel staff and the registered guests, we’ve started letting them leave. The place is alive with folks here for the home show. We’ll–”
“Wait!” Mark interrupted. Suddenly the elusive notion had flared and revealed itself in his mind. “You said you’ve released no details concerning the death or Beaufort’s identity to the public, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Well, a little while ago, after you left the first time, I saw a guy I know in the lobby like I told you. He’s here for the show, too. I walked over and talked with him.” At this, the detective quickly turned to the uniformed patrolman and gave him a harsh look. The cop, sitting in a chair tilted back against the wall, dropped the chair to the floor and shifted nervously. Tillman’s gaze returned to his suspect. Mark ignored the uncomfortable moment between the two policemen. “Anyway, this guy said he’d heard about the dead man in my closet. In my closet? And he spoke of him as if he knew who it was. He was friends with Tim Beaufort. Where did he get his knowledge of this thing?”
Tillman again looked to the other lawman. The red-faced officer swallowed hard and nodded. “That’s right, detective, I heard the guy. Mr. Hansen’s telling you straight.”
“Well, he didn’t get it from any law enforcement. And he didn’t hear from any hotel staff. Only four of them knew about it, and I’ve had them sequestered by Ingram since the first few minutes this thing came to light. And, despite the news ferrets crawling all over the place, we’ve released nothing for public consumption yet.” Tillman stood abruptly. “Okay, Mr. Hansen, who is this guy?”
“His name is Al Murdock. He’s a vinyl-siding salesman for …. I can’t recall the name of his company. But he’s staying at this hotel.”
“That’s all right. We’ll find him. You stay put, Hansen.” The detective turned to leave, but stopped. He bent over and told the police officer that staying put included him, too.
* * *
Another hour passed while Mark waited for Detective Tillman to return. By this point, the roofing rep had forgotten his need for sleep. Suddenly, the door opened and Don strolled in like an old-west sheriff who’s just captured a notorious gunslinger.
“You can go, Mr. Hansen.”
“Great!” Mark chirped as he stood. He gave the detective a long look. “Wait,” he said as he dropped onto the chair, “tell me what’s going on. What’s changed? I have a right to know after everything I’ve been through tonight.”
Tillman took a seat across from him. “Fair enough. We’ve determined how Beaufort ended up in your closet.” Mark leaned on the table, resting on his elbows, eager to hear the explanation. “First, let me ask you a question. Do you usually get a room on the ground floor of a hotel?”
“Yeah,” Mark nodded. “It’s an old habit. A close friend had a hotel reservation on an upper story and was there when a fire broke out. Too high to jump to safety and trapped by the flames, he died. I’ve always gotten a ground-floor room since his death.”
“Well, this evening, someone was in the parking lot when he saw you through your room’s sliding glass door to the patio. He strolled over to say hello and get you to grab a bite to eat together. He knocked on the door, but you didn’t answer. I figure, by then, you’d tossed your bags and headed out for a burger, like you told me. By the way, Wendy’s security video confirms your visit for the time you said. Thinking you were still there, maybe the bathroom, this guy tried the patio door, which opened. The thing has a broken lock. Do you ever check those things when you check into a hotel?” Hansen shook his head sheepishly. “Anyway, the place was empty. So the guy returned to his car to get whatever it was he was there for to begin with. My guess is his return trip to the car gave you time to leave the hotel and take off to eat. From his vehicle, our man walked into the lobby where he ran into Beaufort. Beaufort was there to see another of the home shows participants. Being the friendly sort, Murdock invited Beaufort to his room for a drink.
“During the visit, an argument erupted. We don’t have any notion what it was over and he won’t say. Hell, who knows? It could be the perp was being stuck in a similar location at the show to what you had last year. It doesn’t matter. While they argued, Beaufort had a heart attack and died. The ME made a preliminary finding the cause of death was cardiac arrest. Our man panicked. His room was also on the ground floor, only a few doors from yours, Mr. Hansen. By this time, it was getting dark. He recalled the bitter disagreement you and Beaufort had. So he sneaked over and found your lodgings still empty. He went back to his place and stripped the dead man of his identification. Don’t ask me why,” Tillman shrugged. “Possibly to slow the investigation. Then, propping Beaufort up as if he were only drunk, he ‘walked’ him to your room, entered through the sliding glass door, dropped him in the closet, and left.” The detective shrugged and finished his narrative, “He was trying to check out to go to another hotel when you saw him in the lobby. Unfortunately for him, we’d locked the place down by then.”
While they argued, Beaufort had a heart attack and died.
“My God! I can’t believe it!” After a pause, Mark asked, “It was Al Murdock then?”
Tillman stretched his long frame. “Yeah, it was. After you told me what he’d said, I found him still trying to check out. When I confronted him, he spilled his guts.” The detective grinned, “Some people don’t have what it takes to be a criminal.” Don glanced over his shoulder at the uniformed officer sitting by the door and laughed. “So, you’re forgiven for leaving the room earlier.” Turning to Hansen, he continued, “Funny thing is, I can only charge Murdock with abandonment of a body. It’s a felony, but only carries a one-to-three-year sentence. And, under the circumstances, I’m not even sure the district attorney will pursue it. The irony is we were looking at you for a murder and a probable life sentence.” Both men stood. Tillman extended his hand. As Mark shook it firmly, the detective said, “Stay safe. And next time check the lock on the sliding door.” ©