a look at him. SheâAndria Bellâstepped back right away and let him in.â
âDid you see a weapon?â
âNo, but he could have had one shielded from view by his body, the way he was standing.â
âClose your eyes and look at him going into the room again,â Harold said, closing his own eyes. âSee it in your imagination. Smell it. Hotels have a certain smell. Breathe it in. Be there. Look around again. You might see something you didnât notice before.â
Sal wished Harold would shut up. His role in the interview was supposed to be simple. He was supposed to keep the conversation flowing from Duke, and to pretend he was taking notes. Maybe even take some notes.
âAnything?â Harold asked.
âNo,â Duke said. âSorry.â
âKeep your eyes shut. Go through it again. Thereâs the knocking.â Harold rapped a mahogany end table with his knuckles. âNow you walk to the door.â
Sal was about to put an end to this nonsense, when Duke said. âScar.â
âStar?â Sal asked.
Harold looked at Sal and silently mouthed Scar.
Sal looked bewildered.
âOdd how Iâd forgotten that,â Duke said. âThe look I got of the man, sort of a quarter view from behind, gave me a glance at the side of his face when he stepped across the threshold. Just before the door shut. There was a kind of curved scar on his right cheek.â
âLike a knife scar?â Sal asked.
âNo, no. Slightly reddened, slick skin. More like a burn.â
âLike he was in an accident and got burned?â Harold asked.
Duke shrugged. âIâd assume it was an accident.â
âLike a car accident. Or a plane,â Harold said.
Duke nodded. âCould be, I guess.â
âDid he walk with a limp?â Harold asked.
âLimp?â
âA slight one.â
Duke thought. âI couldnât say he didnât.â
âAfter you saw this, when you knew the knocking wasnât on your door, what did you do?â Sal was hoping Duke might also recall that heâd heard screaming, or some other indication of the hell that was going on across the hall.
But the horror was suffered in silence or near silence.
âWhat did you do?â Sal repeated.
Harold chimed in, âThese are routine questions.â
âI did like I was thinking about,â Duke said. âWent down to the bar. Had a scotch. Ate enough pretzels and nuts that I didnât feel like having supper. I didnât see anybody from Color View, so I talked for a while with Bonnie the Barista. They call her that because sheâs responsible for coffee as well as booze.â
âItâs crept into the language,â Harold said.
âThen I went to one of the ballrooms where the paint setup contest was going on. Watched that for a while. Met up with some Color View guys from Milwaukee and went back to the bar with them. We drank and talked till about eleven oâclock, I guess. Then I came up to my room and went to bed. I woke up this morning, went down to breakfast, and heard about Andria. Made me sick. I came back upstairs and heard somebody knocking on a door. This time it was my door. It was you guys. Not you two personally, but the police.â
Sal thought this was a logical place to stop the interview. He thanked Craig Duke, and he and Harold moved toward the door.
Harold turned. âWho won the paint drying contest?â
Duke seemed surprised that heâd be asked, but he answered without hesitation. âGuys from Minnesota. They always win. Itâs cold there and the paintâs blended to set up fast.â
âDoesnât seem fair,â Harold said.
âLike life,â Duke said. He made a head motion toward the door and the suite across the hall. Meaning, that was where it always ended. Sooner or later, in one way or another, death had its way with us, and fair didnât enter into
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