Chapter 39 - Call the Cops

Image by Kevin Grief from Unsplash

Gary's hand twitched, the scarf slipped and floated towards the floor, where it landed in a confused jumble. He looked up and faced a pair of green flashing eyes.

Good, Ike had regained her composure. Not good, she was flaming with fury. Even worse, he was caught in the cross-hairs of her wrath.

"So, not only has that bastard used my scarf to off the poor girl, he now wants to pin the murder on me?"

How would she know about the scarf was a murder weapon? The thought shot into Gay's brain as if fired by a gun. Was that Ike's real reason for overreacting earlier?

Gary watched Ike stomping around like an enraged bull, shouting obscenities when before she had been too weak to mop. Was it because somebody had planted the murder weapon in her room? Or because she had been found out?

The other part of him, the one that had allowed the blasted woman to get closer, had grown fond of her, flung itself in the path of the surge of suspicion and disbelief washing over him.

No need for her to mention that sad piece of overstretched fabric. If she had been guilty, it would have been more logical to close the handbag and keep mum about it.

The suspicious self would not let go. Could Ike have been afraid of an avenger coming after her and that was why she mentioned the scarf?

Cut the melodrama!

His better self stood no chance; the flood just kept coming, it rose all around him in a cold wave that pressed on his heart.

"Cherie . . ." Brigitte said.

"Don't chérie me, you're just as bad as him,"Ike snapped.

Brigitte recoiled as if bitten by a dog.

Boris, the only canine in the room, didn't bite. Panting at the side of his mistress, he wore a look of utter confusion on his furry face.

Jon chose that moment to return to the room, water slopping in the bucket.

"What's up now? For a moment I thought somebody had snuffed it."

Somebody had, and they were fighting the fallout.

Ike whirled around, stomped across the floor, only at the last moment avoiding the wet spot. She kneeled down and reached for the mangled scarf.

Gary struggled for words. When he finally found them, he was surprised at the icy calm in his voice. "Careful. Don't touch it. We must hand this thing over to the police. They might be able to trace the DNA."

Ike rose and balled her hands into fists. He could see her body going rigid with the effort to keep herself under control. "Sure. Of course. Don't you realise mine will be on there? Do you want to see me in jail? Just say so and place the call."

That comment was as irrational as it was unfair. It was either typical Ike—or the cunning of a murderess. Once the word was out, it grew like that evil stain, preening itself in the wide open spaces of Gary's mind.

Ike, a killer?

Ridiculous.

What if not? The suspicious part of Gary  laughed a fat, braying laugh, a sound full of spite that grew in volume at the same time as the doubt inside grew in size.

The other part hadn't given up yet. Ike was no killer. He knew her too well for that.

You've known her no more than a month.

The internal debate whirled faster, black and white and white and black and back again until his head was spinning in a vortex.

The phrase "innocent until proven guilty" popped up in his mind, and Gary grabbed it like he would have hugged a tree-trunk in a raging stream.

Do you really believe she is capable of killing somebody?

He did not. Except for Ben perhaps, but then he deserved it.

The torrent slowed. He was overreacting. They both were. All the recent stress was getting at them.

Plus, Ike had no motive.

No way. He wouldn't go there. To even consider the why was to allow the if and he was too much on shaky ground for that.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Ike asked

"Like what?"

"As if I were a pinned moth."

Gary massaged his aching scalp. "I apologise for any transgressions, real or perceived."

Her eyes flashed.

"May I finish? If you're right with your assumptions about that attacker—"

"Of course, I am!"

Sure, women always were. Perhaps not this time. "If you're right, then somebody has planted this scarf in your room while the door was open. If DNA can be traced on silk, and I have no idea whether it does, then we would have ourselves some evidence. Yours will obviously be on there as you have worn the darn thing. That doesn't make you a killer. But it might help to find the person who is."

"Assuming, he hasn't worn gloves," Brigitte said and handed over the cup to Ike.

"Sorry, I flipped," she said in a small voice.

Brigitte nodded. "Anybody would." The simple fact she didn't reach out and touch the other woman told him how thin the ice was. Brigitte was a generous person. She hid a warm heart under all that prickly protective armour put in place to protect the scars. Not the ones she showed on her arms, the ones that ran deeper, cut into her soul. Brigitte was also a proud person. Ike's remark would have hurt.

Or perhaps, she too was suspicious.

He pushed the thought aside. "If the guy, and let's assume it's a guy, wore gloves, we can forget it. But we don't know that. Fact is, we have what we believe is the murder weapon in the room with us. Before I call that hotel and Ike moves, I'll talk to Adrian. See what he says. Perhaps, he can talk the locals into giving you protection, and you don't have to change hotels at all."

A bitter laugh. "Because I'll be in a cell !"

"Blimey," Jon said. "Did somebody really use that rag to off somebody?"

The comment reminded Gary that he needed to book a flight back home. Urgently.

But killers and cops came first.

Ike had dropped onto her bed and was sipping the tea with an expression that reminded Gary very much of Jon in his sulkier moods. He thumbed Adrian's number.

"Man, you owe me at least two bottles of something really expensive," the familiar voice rasped into his ear. "What's up now?"

"The cloth used to strangle the young guide has just turned up. In Ike's handbag. She left the room open and somebody sneaked in."

Silence settled and grew, like an invisible cloud.

"She found it?" Adrian said, eventually. "And told you about it?"

"Yes. On both counts."

On the bed, Ike was avoiding his eyes. Gary decided it was better to leave the room, did so and nearly bumped into the maid's trolley as it trundled past the door.

Adrian spoke again. "Could be, the visitor earlier left a little gift. Could be she kept it there the whole time. Unlikely though."

Hope soared. "You think so?"

"Why would she show it to you? Makes no sense whatsoever. I mean, I can't exactly exonerate your colleague just like that, but the fact she mentions it at all would indicate she's either a super-dozy killer—or she's innocent. Seems to be somebody has indeed planted the blasted thing. Happens when people leave their rooms unlocked and their suitcase hanging around. Never a good idea. "

"Handbag. That's where she found it."

"Wherever." Gary heard a metallic clatter and a muffled curse. Adrian must have been overbalancing on the waste paper basket again.

"Can DNA be traced on silk?"

"Sure. Is that what the fabric is made of? Cotton and silk are both good. Polyester not so much. But I bet you the chicken and mayonnaise sandwich that's smiling at me from my desk, you won't find anything implicating a murderer. You'll get the victim's DNA, which is good, means we can establish if that thing really is the murder weapon. We'll get your colleague's DNA because the scarf was hers. But that'll be it. Dirty little trick to play on somebody."

"You're surprisingly lenient. I must admit I had some doubts at first. And I know Ike much better than you do."

A throaty laugh that ended in a cough. "Man, one of these days those fags will kill me. Well, I haven't crossed her off my list. If I were the investigating officer, I would be very suspicious and give her a good grilling. But any self-respecting murder does not let the tools of his trade hanging around.

"That somebody does so smacks of an attempt to finger your partner for the murder. Of course, if you get a gullible cop or one who's keen on closing the case, you might actually succeed. Not sure our Italian friend falls into those categories. This changes things. You'll need to contact the local boys in blue. They need to pick up that shawl thingy. It's evidence."

"Not sure Ike will be too keen on calling that copper. She doesn't have his number anyway."

"I bet you my sandwich she isn't. But such is life. Just think about it. If she isn't the killer, then somebody rather nasty is after her. Things can't wait until I manage to get through to that bloke.

"As to numbers, just google and ring the switchboard. Normally, I would say you could go there, but I don't like the idea of you traipsing all across Rome with the evidence. You might get mugged. Plus, it might be exactly what that chap is waiting for. The killer, I mean."

"Adrian, this worries me."

"Does it really? Well, here's the news, I never worry. I act."

"What if we don't reach that detective?"

A gusty sigh made his earlobes flutter. "Okay, if you don't, it's Plan B. Or, rather, a rinse and repeat version of Plan A. Shift your colleague to a safe place. Bag that scarf. Ziploc bag will do. Try not to touch it. Leave a message with the cops where you are and what's going on. I will do my best to get things moving from my side. And now I need to eat something before the next blasted meeting."

The phone went dead.

Gary stared at the hotel door. Yes, he was relieved Adrian had not liked Ike as the killer. No, he was not looking forward to sharing the outcome of his discussion with his partner.

Do let me know if you have questions or comments on my novel. Constructive suggestions and feedback are always welcome! And thank you for reading. In doing so, you give my writing a purpose.