"Dr. Panzella) Dr. Panzella, this is the manager." No reply.
Please, God, nothing nasty, Gerry thought as Heinrich fitted the key into the lock. Please.
As soon as he heard the latch click, Gerry pushed past him and barged inside.
"Wait here." The lights were on. A half-eaten burger and fries swam in spilled cola on a rolling cart by the rumpled, empty bed.
"Gin? " He stepped into the bathroom. An iron fist slammed into his chest at the sight of the bloody razor blade by the sink. He stepped closer and the red in the tub caught his eye. He groaned. The porcelain was splattered up and down with blood.
Christ, what happened here?
He put a hand out and leaned against the wall for support as he dragged his gaze from the tub back to the sink counter. The bloody razor, and bottles of alcohol and peroxide as well, and a needle and thread . .
.
a bloody needle.
First some fantasy about the president having surgery, now . . .
this.
Whatever it was.
"Aw, Gin, " he whispered. "Gin, Gin, what have you done? " He stepped back into the other room and found Heinrich standing there, looking bewildered.
'"Is something wrong? Is she here? " Gerry brushed past him and checked the closet. Empty. A glance at the bed told him there wasn't room to hide under the box spring.
'"She's gone. ' He propelled Heinrich out into the hall.
I ' "Look. I want this room sealed. No one, no one, is to go in there.
Not housekeeping, not room service, not you, not anybody. Is that cl ear? " '"But why? " '"For the moment I'm treating it as a crime scene. So if that room is disturbed in the least, I'll have you up on charges of obstruction of justice and accessory after the fact. Do we understand each other? " '"Yes. Yes, certainly. ' Heinrich pulled the DO NOT DISTURB sign from inside the door and hung it on the outside knob. Then he closed the door and rattled it to make sure it was locked.
'"I'll leave word that 552 is off-limits until further notice. " "Good." Yeah, good. Fine. Heinrich knew what he had to do. But what was Gerry's next move? He was worried sick. What had she done to herself in that bathroom? And where was she now?
He had to find her. And soon. If it wasn't already too late.
Something's wrong.
Duncan was baffled and disappointed when Canney returned to the lobby without Gin, but then he noticed his grave expression and agitated manner and knew he hadn't found what he'd expected in Gin's room. Or had he found more than he'd expected?
Duncan wished he had a key to that room. What had Canney seen up there?
Just one look was all he asked.
"Any questions? " he heard Canney say to the manager. "You've got her description and you've got my card. Any one sees her, you call me right away. Clear? " The manager nodded and mumbled something that Duncan missed. It wasn't important. What mattered was that Gin wasn't here. She'd left without checking out. And Canney didn't expect her back soon, otherwise he'd be hanging around.
He watched Canney's departure, but stayed behind the fern a while longer, giving the agent plenty of time to reach his car. And giving himself time to plan his next move.
Gin was proving damnably unpredictable. He felt his nerves fraying with every passing hour that she remained out of reach. He wondered how much more of this he could take. . When had she rented the room?
How long had she been there? And where the hell was she now? Back in her apartment?
Duncan sighed. Where else could he look? He'd go back to Adams Morgan and check it out. If she wasn't there, he could see nothing else to do but go home and wait.
If he didn't find her soon, he'd have to change his plans for tomorrow.
And he did not want to do that.
J THURSDAY NIGHT GINA STUCK HER HEAD OUT THE WINDOW OF THE CAB and glanced nervously up and down Connecticut Avenue.
"Shouldn't it be here by now? " The cabby leaned against the fender by the open hood of his vehicle and puffed on a little cigar.
"I call in. He be along any minute. Any minute. You wait." She withdrew into the interior. She didn't want to stand out on the street in plain view. That was why she'd asked the driver to call her another cab. But maybe she should have risked hailing one. Dozens of cabs had passed. She'd be well on her way to Oliver's by now if she'd grabbed one.
But that call back at the hotel . . . her heart was still racing from the fright it had given her. She'd knocked over her Coke and nearly choked on a french fry when the phone had started ringing.
Maybe it had been an accident, a misdial, someone calling 533 or 432, and maybe it hadn't. Maybe it had been Duncan, God, she didn't want to think that. Or maybe it had been Gerry.
Maybe she'd never know.
Whatever its origin, the sudden jangle of the phone had completely unnerved her. She'd stared at it in horror for a few pounding heartbeats, thinking someone had found her, someone knew she was there, and then she'd bolted. No precautions, no stealth. She hadn't even waited for an elevatorX taking the stairs instead and limping through the lobby for the street.
In retrospect, now, she realized how foolish that had been. But she'd had to get out, right then, not a second later. The hotel that had been her refuge all afternoon suddenly had become a trap.
Fortunately the lobby had been empty. That had been her good luck.
Her bad luck had been picking a taxi that would gasp and die a couple of blocks from the hotel.
"He comes now, " said her driver.
Gin craned her neck and saw another Diamond cab pull up behind hers.
She jumped out, waved her thanks to her driver, and hopped into the newcomer. She gave the driver Oliver's address and was jounced back into her seat as the cab lurched ahead. She winced with the stab of pain from her left leg.
Okay. She was on her way again. No more mishaps. Really, what were the odds of having two cabs in a row break down? Astronomical. She allowed herself to relax and began rehearsing how she'd break the news to Oliver.
As the cab pulled to a stop at Dupont Circle, Gin glanced out the window to her right. A cold tingle spread across her shoulders as a black hood with a familiar three-armed ornament slid into view. She caught her breath and froze keeping The cab's rear post between herself and the other car.
Just a black Mercedes, she told herself. Thousands of them in the District.
The Mercedes inched ahead, anxious for the green. The windshield came into view, then the steering wheel and the hands gripping it. A man's hands. And then the driver himself.
Gin gasped and pressed herself back into the seat.
Duncan.
Keep calm, keep calm, he can't see you.
But he was here, not half a dozen feet away. Had he been downtown all this while? My God, she could have run into him outside the hotel.
That must have been him on the phone. But he hadn't been in the lobby.
Maybe he'd been calling all the hotels downtown asking for Gin Panzella's room. But then why was he heading away from the Tremont instead of toward it? This made no sense, no sense at all, She huddled there begging the light to turn green. When it finally did, the cab and the Mercedes entered the circle together. But halfway around, Duncan's car turned off onto Connecticut while her cab stayed on until P Street.
Gin slumped in the seat. Safe. But where was he going? Connecticut wouldn't take him home. That was the way to . . .
. . . my plate.
As the cab turned off P and took Wisconsin uphill toward Bethesda, Gin considered her options. Her original plan had been to call Oliver from her room before heading uptown. But she'd fled before making that call.
Maybe that would work to her advantage. Maybe it was better to drop in on him cold. What if he spoke to Duncan between her call and her arrival? She shuddered. Better, safer, to knock on Oliver's door and wing it from there.