Read Online Frenzy by John Lutz - Free Book Online Page A

a look at him. She—Andria Bell—stepped back right away and let him in.”
    â€œDid you see a weapon?”
    â€œNo, but he could have had one shielded from view by his body, the way he was standing.”
    â€œClose your eyes and look at him going into the room again,” Harold said, closing his own eyes. “See it in your imagination. Smell it. Hotels have a certain smell. Breathe it in. Be there. Look around again. You might see something you didn’t notice before.”
    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.
    â€œAnything?” Harold asked.
    â€œNo,” Duke said. “Sorry.”
    â€œKeep your eyes shut. Go through it again. There’s the knocking.” Harold rapped a mahogany end table with his knuckles. “Now you walk to the door.”
    Sal was about to put an end to this nonsense, when Duke said. “Scar.”
    â€œStar?” Sal asked.
    Harold looked at Sal and silently mouthed Scar.
    Sal looked bewildered.
    â€œOdd how I’d forgotten that,” Duke said. “The 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€œLike a knife scar?” Sal asked.
    â€œNo, no. Slightly reddened, slick skin. More like a burn.”
    â€œLike he was in an accident and got burned?” Harold asked.
    Duke shrugged. “I’d assume it was an accident.”
    â€œLike a car accident. Or a plane,” Harold said.
    Duke nodded. “Could be, I guess.”
    â€œDid he walk with a limp?” Harold asked.
    â€œLimp?”
    â€œA slight one.”
    Duke thought. “I couldn’t say he didn’t.”
    â€œAfter you saw this, when you knew the knocking wasn’t on your door, what did you do?” Sal was hoping Duke might also recall that he’d 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.
    â€œWhat did you do?” Sal repeated.
    Harold chimed in, “These are routine questions.”
    â€œI did like I was thinking about,” Duke said. “Went down to the bar. Had a scotch. Ate enough pretzels and nuts that I didn’t feel like having supper. I didn’t see anybody from Color View, so I talked for a while with Bonnie the Barista. They call her that because she’s responsible for coffee as well as booze.”
    â€œIt’s crept into the language,” Harold said.
    â€œThen 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 o’clock, 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.”
    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. “Who won the paint drying contest?”
    Duke seemed surprised that he’d be asked, but he answered without hesitation. “Guys from Minnesota. They always win. It’s cold there and the paint’s blended to set up fast.”
    â€œDoesn’t seem fair,” Harold said.
    â€œLike life,” 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 didn’t enter into