The Raven Master. Diana Whitney
Five seconds ticked by. “Mr. Lugo?” she tried again. “Are you there?”
No light came on.
“Door’s paper-thin,” she noted. “Unless he sleeps with earplugs, I’d say he’s— Oh, God, you’re not. A credit card?”
Seconds later, Marlowe opened the door to an expanse of black, the smell of must and Rambo playing on a very old TV.
He located a tippy floor lamp. The low-watt bulb cast a long shadow over a pair of twin beds, an open bottle of Bordeaux and an unzipped suitcase.
Darcy swung in a slow circle. “Well, this is really icky. Even on the lam, Janet Leigh wouldn’t have showered in a motel room that had splotchy walls and vermin in the once green carpet.”
“There’s a reason he chose this place,” Marlowe told her. He switched on a second lamp.
It didn’t help, only made it possible for Darcy to step over the more suspect stains.
Her eyes landed on the desk behind him. “Laptop.”
With a gleam in his eyes, Marlowe opened it, leaving Darcy to search the bathroom.
Palms braced on either side of the computer, he scanned the screen. “There’s something here.”
“Mr. Lugo?” she called at the bathroom door. Reaching for the knob, she paused, then shrugged and went for it. “Mr. Lugo?”
The first thing she saw was a dirty window with just enough light trickling through to reveal yet another empty room. Still, she felt strangely deflated as she lifted the hair from her overheated neck. Whatever the man’s program might be, his absence wouldn’t help them uncover it.
“What’s on his computer?” she called back.
“Looks like an unsent e-mail.”
Humor speared through her when she spied the drawn shower curtain. “Bet it’s filthy,” she murmured. But she gave the thin plastic a tug anyway.
And felt her mind freeze.
The faucet wasn’t running, but there was water in the tub.
“Looks like Lugo was working on a report for his client,” Marlowe said from the other room.
The sound of his voice fractured her temporary paralysis. With her eyes on the bathtub, she backed toward the door. “Unless he brought someone with him, he won’t be finishing it.” The words wanted to stick, but she forced them out. “Lugo’s dead, Marlowe. He’s got a bullet hole the size of a quarter in the middle of his forehead.”
Chapter Three
Darcy had seen death before in the Amazon rain forest. And all things considered, the circumstances had been much more grisly. But she hadn’t expected Lugo to be there when she’d opened the curtain.
“Drink this, Darcy.”
She felt something cold in her hand and, looking down, saw a bottle of mineral water.
“Thanks.” From her perch on the bed, she regarded Marlowe, then the now-closed bathroom door. “I’m okay. Shocked, but not in shock. It’s just…” The memory repeated in garish neon. “He’s fully dressed, Marlowe. Shirt, pants, tie. And yet the only visible blood relates to the bathtub. So he was what? Running a bath when the killer came in? Killer forced him into the tub?”
“It’s as good a theory as any. You’re sure you didn’t recognize him?”
“Positive. Believe me, I got a very good look at his face.”
Crouched in front of her, Marlowe trapped her chin so he could bring her gaze in line with his. “I called a friend of mine, Darcy. He knows Lugo hired me to find you. His name’s Val Reade.”
A single brow winged up. “Reade, as in the detective who punched an elderly woman in a bar brawl?”
“There’s a story attached to it, but yeah, that’s him.”
Another man’s face superimposed itself over Lugo’s. Light brown hair, a little curly, wholesome features. A faint smile appeared. “I was one of the reporters who cornered your friend after his disciplinary hearing. Wrong place, right time. Elaine needed two filler pages before deadline.”
“Did you write the article?”
“I started to. I had another piece to do about a political scandal in Alabama, so Elaine filled in the missing pieces.” The smile grew. “She’s not as diplomatic as me when it comes to matters of dubious police behavior.” A sigh rose when she looked at the bathroom door. “Frankie wasn’t big on murdering people.”
“Frankie’s not in control now, Darcy.” Marlowe ran his thumb over her jaw. “Are you okay here if I go back to the desk?”
“Marlowe, I’m an army brat. I’ve heard and seen true horror. This is—” she searched for a fitting word “—tidy by comparison.” Standing with him, she sipped her water. “Tell me, do all P.I.s erase rules like this?” When he merely glanced at her en route to Lugo’s computer, she took another drink. “Figured that.”
As he tapped the keys, she circled the room, letting her mind return to the attack at her house. She wanted to lay the blame at Vince Maco’s feet, but it was possible he’d hired someone to attack her so he could deal with Lugo.
She caught the distant wail of sirens and moved to the window. “You’ve got about ninety seconds before your ex-cronies arrive, Marlowe.”
“Let me know when you see the lights.”
The word accomplice sprang to mind, but she blocked it and rested a shoulder against the window frame. “Are you plucking out any clues as that information whizzes past?”
“Only the e-mail he didn’t send. Recipient unknown, text incomplete.”
“Sounds like he was interrupted. Or he thought the tub might be full and he went to check on the water level. What does it say?”
“That the target’s been located and the end is imminent.”
“Efficient, ominous, and more personal than he knew.” She thought for a moment while she watched the horizon. “It also shows he was doing his job, so why kill him? Vince is nasty, but as far as I know, he follows Daddy’s instructions.”
“As far as you know. Three years might change a person’s attitude.”
“I see headlights. Three sets, and another vehicle approaching from the opposite direction.”
The tapping continued. With each click, Darcy pictured Lugo’s face. With each click, the face came closer, grew clearer.
Pushing on her temples, she turned from the window. “The rules you’re ignoring are going to get you arrested in a minute.”
A man’s voice reached them from outside. “M, it’s Val.”
One last series of taps as gravel crunched in the unpaved lot, and suddenly he was behind her.
Val Reade strode in ahead of six uniformed officers. His eyes flicked from Darcy to Marlowe, then back again in mild suspicion. “Why do I recognize you?”
“Disciplinary hearing, three months ago. I was one of the people firing questions at you.”
His expression cleared. “Thank God. I was afraid I might have hit on you.”
“And been rejected?”
“It’s been known to happen on rare occasions.” His almost twinkling eyes moved to the man behind her. “Still in the tub?”
“Just as Darcy found him.”
Val motioned to the uniforms. “How hot was the water?”
“Room