James Church - The Man with the Baltic Stare

It was hard not to look at Lulu. She occupied most of the field of vision. “I don’t like the smell of things.” I also didn’t like the couch. The cushions were made of concrete.

Luís sighed. “All right, I have a few more things to tell you.”

“You mean you have another version to unload?”

“Not entirely. Simply adding a layer of detail may prove to you that there is no need for you to remain in Macau. It really is a click-clack case.”

“Click-clack.”

“Open and shut. File and forget. Up the chimney and out to sea.” He pondered his next move. “We know what happened. We know who did it. The people who viewed the tapes see no crack for the daylight of doubt to enter. All we lack is a confession. Or rather, all we lack is a signature. The confession we have already written.”

“Really? We tend to wait awhile to write it out.”

“The murderer checked into the hotel at six thirty P.M. the ninth of October, a Sunday, under the name of Raoul Penza, having passed through Immigration ninety minutes earlier. He had arrived on the four P.M. ferry from Hong Kong, with a super-class ticket purchased at the ferry terminal earlier in the morning, around ten A.M. On the ferry, he refused the food tray with a gracious nod and dozed.”

“Don’t drown me in extraneous details, Luís. It takes ten minutes to get from the ferry terminal to here, but it took him an hour and a half. Surely, he didn’t have to wait in line that long at Immigration. Perhaps it was even arranged so that he didn’t have to wait in line at all.” I paused; Luís filled the space with nothing but a blank stare. “He stopped somewhere?”

“That is our feeling as well.”

“Meaning you have no idea where.”

“Not yet. I can tell you it was not at one of the large casinos.”

“The boys in the orange coats are sure of that?”

“They are.”

“What about a small casino?”

“There are establishments, and then there are establishments. In any case, to resume, Senhor Penza was definitely downstairs in the lobby at six thirty P.M. He gave his home address as Residencia Julia Calle Six, Number Twenty-four, at Fourteenth Street, Isabelita, Santo Domingo.”

“He wasn’t preregistered?”

“No, he did not have a reservation. May I continue?”

“Claro, sim.”

“You speak Portuguese like a Russian, Inspector.” Luís thumbed through a small notebook. “There is such an address. In fact, there is also a Raoul Penza in Santo Domingo. He is a baker at a place called De la Casa Pain, and he has never applied for a passport. So right away, we know we have a little problem, wouldn’t you agree?”

There it was again-the “little problem.” I wasn’t about to agree to anything. “Not to get off track, but I like to fill in the details as things move along. It saves time later. Who checked him in?”

“The desk clerk was an intelligent young woman, named Lilley Li.” He turned the page of the notebook. “She is observant, good memory, single, witty, and lithe.”

“One of us should propose.”

“One of us should.”

“And what does lithe Lilley remember?”

“Our man wanted a room overlooking the blessed ruins of St. Paul’s. He was not looking for anything ostentatious-a kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom with plenty of hot water, and a balcony. Lilley told him she could satisfy some of his needs.”

“Lilley, darling,” I said, “you should be more careful.”

“She was, actually. She wisely pushed the signal for the Assistant Manager to appear.”

“And he did?”

“When summoned, the self-important Winston Woo brushes off his striped pants, pulls straight his cutaway jacket, slicks back his oily hair, and sallies forth. He greets Senhor Penza with a cold smile.” Again Luís turned the page-not hiding the fact that there were a few observations he did not wish to share as yet. “Young Penza nods to Lilley and says he is sure the hotel will do its best to accommodate his requirements.”

“Not his wishes. His requirements. As if he is used to being obeyed.”

“That is the word Lilley says he used, and Lilley would not lie.”

“I’m not saying the girl lied, Luís. Perhaps she misremembered a detail here, a detail there. Witnesses do that.”

The friendly air around Luís dissipated for a moment. “Not Lilley,” he said in a tone that gave no quarter. “The girl is a bulldog with details.” He flipped through the notebook, skipping over additional characteristics of the bulldog Lilley that I was not to know. “Ah, here! Our fellow signs up for five nights. He is very tired and hopes to rest. He is handsome and composed, does not appear nervous or ill at ease. He is unhurried, smiles at Lilley frequently. He melts her heart.”

“Lilley said that?”

“She didn’t have to, Inspector. I know her heart.” Luís stands and looks out the window for a moment. “Our man asks for a safe-deposit box-a detail you inquired about, I seem to recall. Only then does Senhor Penza turn to Winston, whose smile, Lilley recalls, is fixed on his face like a week-old slice of mango.” Pages turn in the notebook. “Yes, here is what I was looking for. The bell captain, an experienced source that pays attention whenever the Assistant Manager appears, notices that Penza has one suitcase, a Louis Vuitton. I told you it was expensive. More precisely, it was a Pegase 60.”

“Not very big. A 70 would be better for body parts, but it only has two wheels. You told me the body was in a four-wheeler.”

Luís whistled. “You know suitcases?”

“I’ve been around the block,” I said modestly, and shifted back to business. “Our man gets settled. Then what? Goes out for dinner? Gambles? Comes back drunk and collapses on this uncomfortable couch?”

It is clear that Luís is annoyed that I have interrupted his fable. “None of the above. For three nights and three days, he does not leave his room. No movies. No room service. Nothing from the minibar. The DO NOT DISTURB sign is lit the whole time, so no maid service. No visitors.”

“You know that? I mean, no visitors?”

“In this hotel, on this floor, they make it a point to know such things. His door never opened.”

“He must have eaten something. Maybe he brought his own food. You could pack quite a meal in a Pegase 60.”

“He had tea. In fact, he used all of the hotel tea bags along with two bottles of water.”

“You said nothing from the minibar, I thought.”

“These were not the fake Evians from the refrigerator. These were the tap water in the bottles kept on the shelf above the bar. The maid says that when she was finally allowed in on the fourth morning-Thursday-he had gone through all of the towels, even the little ones, but had not even rumpled the bedsheets. No one was ever in the bed as far as she could tell, and she can tell plenty. This maid has been around the block, as you put it.”

“In sum, for three nights, he was a monk. No phone calls?”

“None.”

“Maybe he used a cell phone.”

“Maybe he tied a string to a soup can. Yes, or maybe he stood at the window and used semaphore flags to talk to a long-lost relative. Anything is possible, Inspector, in your world as in mine. But he did not use a cell phone, inegavelmente !” I figured that meant I wasn’t supposed to ask how he knew, so I didn’t. “Moreover, Senhor Penza left instructions with the front desk that he was not to be disturbed. I neglected to tell you that?”

“One of the details you skipped over. You merely mentioned that he said he was tired.”

Luís gave me a charming smile. “There was a message left for him the first night, but they held it at the concierge’s desk until he came back to earth. They wait for the DO NOT DISTURB light to go off before they deliver messages. They don’t even slip them under the door. Some people are sensitive to the sound of paper on marble.”