I went over to the railing and leaned on it, waiting for it to be time for Elaine’s panel and enjoying the comparatively smoke-free air. Out here I could hear the drone of planes taking off and landing at N.A.S. North Island, and a couple of them went over with a great roar that actually shook the hotel. It, as well as the del Coronado, had been built before the base and now was right in the flight path. I wondered how the guests managed to get any sleep with the patrol planes coming and going at all hours, and decided to ask Wolf about it.
A couple of minutes later, I noticed a commotion down in the lobby. I had almost decided it was Japanese tourists rioting to see who would be first to get his picture taken with the rental-car counter, when I noticed that a lot of people were hurrying outside to the formal gardens.
Because I am a very curious person and anything was better than killing time up here, I went around to the stairs and started down. A few of the other conventioneers fell in behind me, and I had the absurd feeling that we were participating in an impromptu field trip. In a line, like little ducks following their mother, we crossed the lobby and went through the big French doors to the garden.
A good-sized crowd was gathered there, tourist types and some conventioneers, including a guy in a slouch hat and trench coat who looked like someone the hotel might have hired to publicize the convention. I spotted Wolf, standing to one side with Victor Ibarcena, the assistant manager. They both looked nervous and upset.
Next to me, a young woman in a bikini said, “My God, what a horrible thing. Did you see it?”
“No,” a man wearing a convention badge said. “I was in the lobby. Jesus.”
“Could you hear her scream? She must have screamed.”
“I didn’t hear anything. Couldn’t. Right about the time it must have happened, those bombers — or whatever they are — went over.”
What had happened? I thought. Who had — or hadn’t — screamed? I scanned the garden and saw an open area everyone seemed to be avoiding, close to the foot of the east tower. On the cobblestone path lay a bundle of pink splashed with red...
I stopped moving and the person behind me banged into me. My hand went to my mouth and cut off a gasp. Feeling a rush of apprehension, I started forward again.
It was Elaine, lying there on her side, her arms spread out and her legs askew. Inside the pretty pink dress, her body looked broken and bloody. Lifeless. And her head...
Sickened, I looked up at the east tower. She must have fallen from up there, I thought, to do that much physical damage.
Quickly I started through the crowd toward Wolf, pushing around clumps of people who were conversing in low murmurs. He had his back to me and was staring at the ground. I grabbed his elbow. “Wolf, for God’s sake, what happened?”
He looked around, his face stricken. “I don’t know. She fell from up there.”
“By accident?”
“I don’t know.”
Lloyd Beddoes came hurrying through the crowd and took Ibarcena by the arm, turning him away. They conferred for a time. The voices of the people around us rose as a couple of uniformed deputies entered. Beddoes went over and spoke to them, and then they took charge. I had no more chance to talk to Wolf, not then.
A little while later, three white-coated men hurried out from the hotel lobby. County coroner’s men. They would be followed by lab technicians and homicide investigators from the San Diego County Sheriff Department. Since we were outside the city proper, the sheriff would have jurisdiction. And his homicide men came out on all violent deaths.
This was the kind of scene I’d witnessed many times — far too many, even for a person in my profession. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I lowered my eyelids, forcing the tears back. Who was I crying for, anyway? Elaine? We hadn’t been close friends, not really. Maybe I was crying for myself. Poor Sharon; she has to go through this again.
I got myself under control and caught Wolf’s eye; he looked at me with an understanding expression. Then his gaze moved toward the lobby door, and mine followed, to a brown-haired man in a matching brown suit. Instantly I knew he was a detective; he had that look about him. Wary, braced for anything — they all get it after they’ve seen enough death. They’re expecting the worst, and most often they find it.
The plainclothesman joined the coroner’s men by Elaine’s body. He looked around, spoke with them for a time, then went to where Beddoes was standing a few yards away. They talked and then joined Wolf and Ibarcena. I inched closer, heard the brown-haired man introduce himself as Lieutenant Tom Knowles of the San Diego County Sheriffs Department.
“Which one of you found the body?” Knowles asked.
Wolf said, “I did,” and introduced himself.
“Will you describe what happened, please.”
“I was walking in the gardens, back there.” He motioned behind him. “And I happened to glance up at the tower. There was movement up there, but I didn’t see anybody. Then she came flying over the railing. She must have died as soon as she hit those cobblestones.”
Knowles nodded. “You say she came flying over the railing. She wasn’t standing at it, then.”
“No. She must have been back behind the archway. She came out pretty fast, as if she’d taken a run at the railing...”
As he spoke, Wolf looked up at the tower, and my eyes followed his gaze. Beyond the curving archways was a shadowy area, where shafts of light played. Involuntarily I shivered, thinking that this was the east tower, the one that was supposed to be haunted.
“Was she alone up there?” Knowles asked Wolf.
“Well...” Wolf paused, his eyes still on the tower. A slight frown passed across his face. “I think so.”
“You think so?”
“I thought I saw movement after she fell, but I can’t be sure. And I didn’t see anyone.”
Lloyd Beddoes, his face pale and beads of sweat standing out on his forehead, spoke for the first time. “Surely, Lieutenant, you don’t think Ms. Picard was pushed from the tower.”
Knowles turned to him. “I don’t think anything yet, Mr. Beddoes. I take it you were acquainted with Elaine Picard.”
“She was our chief of security.”
“I see. Do you have any idea what Ms. Picard might have been doing in the tower?”
Beddoes glanced at Ibarcena, who shrugged. “None whatsoever. We had just completed a meeting in my office, and Ms. Picard was due to moderate a panel for the convention, in one of the meeting rooms off the mezzanine. When I last saw her, she was getting ready to go up there.”
“The private investigators’ convention?”
“Yes. The panel was on hotel security.”
Knowles looked around the garden; his eyes rested on the man in the trench coat and slouch hat, and the corner of his mouth twitched derisively. He controlled it and turned his bland gray eyes back to Beddoes.
“Where in the hotel can you gain access to that tower?”
“There’s a stairway to each tower in each corner of the mezzanine.”
“And they’re left open?”
“Yes. The guests use them for looking at the view, picture-taking.”
“Was there any official reason for Ms. Picard to have gone up there? A security problem, for instance?”
“None that I know of. Perhaps something came up after I last spoke with her.”
Knowles nodded as if he were filing that away in some mental folder. “Getting back to this meeting you had with Ms. Picard, how did she seem? Was she in good spirits?”
“She was...” Beddoes hesitated and glanced at Ibarcena again. “Lieutenant, are you implying that she killed herself?”
“I’m not implying anything,” Knowles said patiently. “Please answer the question.”