The Mammoth Book of Perfect Crimes and Impossible Mysteries Part 34

"What do you remember about this trunk?"

"Well, the bellman complained that it was pretty heavy."

"I want to talk with that bellman."

The bell captain had a poor memory. He couldn't describe John Doom, but he recalled one thing clearly: "That trunk was very heavy going up, and a lot lighter coming down."

Murex asked, "What color were Doom's eyes?"

"Grayish."

"Not greenish?"

"No, grayish."

"Thank you."

Murex and Knuckles conferred. Murex growled, "Doom's eyes were green as seawater."

"If it was Doom who checked in," countered Knuckles.

"My money says that it wasn't."

"Your money's no good in court, Ray."

"Here's how I see it. The victim was delivered to the hotel in that steamer trunk. Bellman takes the trunk up to the hotel room, after which the unknown person who checked in under Doom's name removes the victim from the trunk, lays him out on the bed, calls for the trunk to be removed, then exits quietly."

"You think he was dead going in?"

"Exact time of death will establish that. But where was he for four days that he didn't eat, and didn't decompose if he was already dead?"

"And what really killed him, and how?" said Knuckles.

"I don't buy death by remote viewing," Murex muttered.

"Let's talk to the ME then."

The Medical Examiner was busy trisecting a human liver. He didn't even look up from his work. "Heart failure. Your DOA expired of natural causes on or about last Friday, the 21st."

"Are you sure?" Murex pressed.

"I'm never sure. But I am positive. A contributing factor appears to be malnourishment and dehydration."

"Could he have been scared to death?" asked Knuckles.

"There's no known medical test for that. But yes. Could have. It's within the realm of possibility. But heart failure is what I will certify."

"Anything else?"

"Under three fingernails I found gray deposits. Paint chips."

Murex and Knuckles examined these under a microscope.

"Looks like sc.r.a.pings," decided Murex.

Knuckles nodded. "Yeah. Probably from his gray room."

"Except for one thing. These sc.r.a.pings are slate gray. Doom's gray room was battles.h.i.+p gray. A lighter shade."

"Good catch."

On the drive up to New Hamps.h.i.+re the next morning, Bob Knuckles was saying, "The guy dies of a heart attack while doing his thing in a gray room. Whoever has charge of the gray room in question needed to cover it up for some reason. So he transports DOA Doom to the Plaza and stages it to look like the death happened there."

Behind the wheel, Murex growled. "It doesn't fit."

"Sure it fits. What do you mean, it doesn't fit?"

"What are you covering up? Heart attacks happen."

"So do lawsuits. Guy doesn't want to be sued for negligence by the fatality's relatives."

"Trade a lawsuit for criminal mischief and felony transport of a body across state lines? I'll take the lawsuit any day. It was staged. The date of the tape was Monday, not last Friday."

"If you're going to stage a death by remote viewing, why use a TIRV folder?" Knuckles countered.

"Because you're not TIRV. You're a rival RV school. Kill two birds with one stone. Dispose of inconvenient body and screw compet.i.tion."

"Makes more sense to just dispose of the body, and hope for no traceback."

"I don't see it," Murex insisted.

They were silent for a while. Fresh snowflakes were blowing in the backwash of vehicles ahead. Winter was settling in. After a time, Knuckles spoke. "Try this: it's a murder."

"Murder how?"

"Let's say RV works like they say. No, follow me on this. Victim Doom wants to RV a really hot target. Perpetrator has a reason to want him off the planet. Maybe he knows Doom has a weak ticker. Figures one good scare might just might flatline him."

"Okay. It's plausible so far as to motivation."

"Good. So he drops him into the scariest place possible."

"Which is?"

"h.e.l.l."

"h.e.l.l!"

"Hear me out now," Knuckles said. "What did Doom describe on that first tape? Going down into the Earth and finding himself in a giant barbecue pit with blazing eyes looking up at him. What would that be except h.e.l.l?"

"I don't believe it."

"Listen to it again." Knuckles replayed the tape.

"5688 7854 January 23.5688 7854. My perceptions of the target are . . ."

Murex suddenly pulled over. "Wait a minute. Stop! Give me that."

Ray Murex popped out the ca.s.sette and inserted one taken from John Doom's apartment. He let it play for two full minutes.

"Sound like the same guy to you?" Murex asked.

"Not even remotely," Knuckles returned.

"Ouch."

They checked other tapes. All the voices matched. Except for the tape found on the body of John Doom.

"Scratch the theory he died doing what he loved best," Knuckles muttered as Murex got the car back into northbound traffic.

"Suddenly I like Trey Grandmaison," said Murex.

"Doesn't fit."

"What do you mean, doesn't fit?"

"Whoever staged Doom's death scene wouldn't use TIRV paraphernalia if he was connected to TIRV."

"I still like him. He bears a general resemblance to the mystery man who checked into room 314. And he has gray eyes. Let's see how he takes our showing up unexpectedly."

"You still carrying his business card?"

"Yeah."

Knuckles grinned. "Then maybe he'll be expecting you."

"I've been expecting you," said Trey Grandmaison at the door.

Murex kept his voice flat. "You have?"

"Well, either you were going to solve it, or return for more information. Either way, I expected another visit."

"I'm Bob Knuckles. We'd like to know more about RV."

"I'm on my way to teach a cla.s.s. But follow me."

Grandmaison led them to the barn.

"What is the purpose of a gray room?" asked Knuckles.

"That started in the unit Stargate. We needed a quiet sealed environment in which to do our work. Gray is a neutral color that won't influence the viewer's imagination."

"Uh-huh," said Murex.

Knuckles said, "We think John Doom died in a gray room. Could we see yours?"

"Not much to see. But come on."

The gray room was a flat hue from floor to ceiling. Behind a drop ceiling hung a battery of indirect lights. A gray blanket covered a floor mattress. It was very cold.

Murex asked, "No heat?"

"Ceiling lights will warm it up enough. Most sessions last less than 50 minutes. And I've had survival training. Cold doesn't bother me."

"What would you call this shade of gray?"

"Slate."

"Doom had a room like this. But it was lighter in color."

Grandmaison c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "He had a gray room? Then what was he doing RVing in a hotel?"

"That's what we'd like to know. Where were you over the weekend, Mr Grandmaison?"

Grandmaison didn't blink. "I returned from teaching an Advanced Applications cla.s.s in Richmond, Virginia on Sunday morning."

"How long were you there?"

"All week. Cla.s.s started that Monday morning."

"Witnesses?"

"Over 60 people took my AARV cla.s.s. I can give you their contact information."

"We may or may not need it," Murex said glumly.

Knuckles scratched at the inner door. Gray paint flaked off. "Ever lock yourself in by accident?"

"Impossible. There's no exterior lock."

Knuckles looked. "You're right. My mistake."

"Where was Mrs Grandmaison last week?" asked Murex.

A vein in Trey Grandmaison's forehead began throbbing. "With me. She a.s.sists me on the road. Is there anything else? I have to begin my ERV cla.s.s."

Knuckles asked, "Would you mind if we observe? I'm kinda curious about this RV stuff."

"Happy to. Come on."