See Jane Die Part 3

"Not much," the man replied, removing his gloves. "You'll have my official finding tomorrow by eight."

"Tomorrow morning? Come on, Pete, this is a homicide. Every minute is critical, you know that. Every minute-"

He held up his hand, stopping her. "I've got several in line in front of her. This time you have to wait your turn, no wheedling."

"Sure, of course." She held up her hands. "I wouldn't want to b.u.t.t in line. Wouldn't want anyone to accuse me of not playing fair. Never mind that this poor woman was murdered by someone she trusted. Never mind that every minute that ticks past makes finding her killer that much more difficult. Never mind that-"

"All right, fine. I'll call you no matter the time. But before you say yes, know that I plan to wake you from a very deep, very peaceful sleep."

Stacy smiled sweetly at him. "You're a doll, Pete. I look forward to it."

THREE.

Monday, October 20, 2003.

12:45 P.M.

Rick Deland, the hotel's general manager, looked shaken. Green around the gills, actually, Stacy decided.

He had every right to. A woman had been murdered in one of his guest rooms. The Dallas police were

swarming the place, pressuring him for the elevator and eighth-floor surveillance tapes, a guest list and the okay to question the people on that list. "La Plaza," he explained carefully, "caters to people accustomed to smooth, silent service. People accustomed to the best money can buy-and the ability to buy it anonymously. If I allowed you access to them, we would be breaking our commitment to provide that level of service. The level of service we pride ourselves in. That's our trademark."

Stacy sized up the dark-haired, fortysomething manager. An average man in an exceptional suit, she decided. He would earn high marks in people skills, diplomacy and table manners. She wondered how much the G.M. of a property like La Plaza earned a year. A h.e.l.l of a lot more than a detective with the DPD, she bet. Even one with ten years' experience under her belt.

He had absolutely no clue who he was up against.

She had never learned the art of taking no for an answer.

"A woman's been murdered, Mr. Deland. A guest in your hotel."

"That's unfortunate, of course. But I don't see-"

"Unfortunate?" she repeated, cutting him off. "Murder is a much more than unfortunate act."

"A poor choice of words." His gaze skittered to Mac, standing behind Stacy, near the door. Finding no

help there, he returned his gaze to hers. "I apologize."

"Talk is cheap, Mr. Deland." She leaned forward. "One of your guests may have seen something,

someone...they may have heard something. We'll never know if we don't ask. Most murders are solved within forty-eight hours of being committed. If they're going to be solved." "That's correct, Mr. Deland," Mac inserted. "After that, with each hour that pa.s.ses, the probability of the case being closed diminishes greatly. Memories fade, trails grow cold."

"Has it occurred to you that a member of your own staff could be the culprit?" Stacy asked.

He looked horrified. "My staff? How could you possibly think...why would you-"

"Access, Mr. Deland. To every part of the hotel. Including the guest rooms."

He shook his head. "We run background checks on every new hire. Drug testing is mandatory. Our

training is stringent. I can all but a.s.sure you, no one on my staff was involved."

Unimpressed, Stacy tried a different tact. "I noticed a tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries and a split of champagne in the room. Delivered by room service?"

"Within minutes of arrival. It's all part of staying at La Plaza. We call it the Plaza Experience."

"But it costs extra?"

"Of course."

"I noticed fresh flowers, as well. Are those part of the Plaza experience?"

"No. She may have ordered them. Or a friend may have had them sent to the hotel."

Stacy and Mac exchanged glances. She recognized the excitement in his gaze. It mirrored hers. Easy.

Neat. Lover has flowers delivered to rendezvous destination. The two fight and he kills her. The flowers lead right back to the lover and the police chalk one up in the "case solved" column. It seemed stupid, but an amazing number of crimes were solved by stupidity on the part of the perpetrator.

"Could you check?"

"Of course. I have Mrs. Vanmeer's bill here." He scanned it. "Here it is, a charge for the flowers." He saw her disappointment. "I'm sorry."

"May I see it?"

"Certainly." He handed it over. "There's a flag by her name."

"A flag? What does that mean?"

"It alerts us that one of our special guests is returning."

"By special, do you mean a repeat customer? Or a high roller?"

"Someone who stays with us occasionally and has made their preferences known, be they for room or

amenities."

"Like smoking or nonsmoking, king or double?" Mac asked.

"Exactly." The man beamed at him. "Frequently we have requests for foam instead of feather pillows, the

minibar stocked with chocolate bars and Perrier water, things like that."

Stacy made notes while he spoke. When he finished, she met his eyes. "What were Mrs. Vanmeer's preferences?" He indicated he would check and picked up the phone and called someone named Martha. He questioned the woman, thanked her and hung up. "Mystery solved. Mrs. Vanmeer requested fresh flowers upon arrival, as well as a split of champagne, preferably White Star, and the dipped strawberries. She also requested a room with an oversize Jacuzzi tub and the removal of the bathroom scale and the lighted cosmetics mirror."

Stacy thought of the plastic-surgery scars Pete had pointed out. Elle Vanmeer had been a woman both obsessed with and insecure over her looks.

"The mirror and scale," Mac murmured. "That's just weird."

"To you, perhaps. However, our goal here at La Plaza is not only to make our guests comfortable, but to pamper them as well."

Stacy glanced at Mac, who rolled his eyes, then looked back at the general manager. "She stayed with you often?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "A couple times a month."

"With her husband?"

"She was divorced, I believe."

"Did she always meet the same man?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't involve myself in my guests' affairs."

"What do you involve yourself in?"

"Pardon me?"

Stacy smiled slightly. "Would you recognize one of her male friends?"

"Me? No. Perhaps one of the staff."

"Or one of the guests."

A flush crept over his tanned cheeks. "I'll allow you access to the tapes. But not the guest list."

"We can subpoena them."

"Go right ahead. Because without one you'll not have it. I catch you hara.s.sing even one of my guests, I'll have your badge."

She narrowed her eyes, furious. "It would be a shame if the press learned the details of the murder. I can see it now. s.e.x Games Turn Deadly at La Plaza. Murderer at Large. I imagine that wouldn't be good for business."

Rick Deland started to his feet. "Are you threatening me? Because if you are-"

"Of course not," Mac inserted, waving him back to his seat. "Detective Killian feels pa.s.sionately about her job. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course. I'm shocked by this whole thing. But my guests had nothing to do with this."

"Rather a bold statement, Mr. Deland. Considering you've already a.s.sured us none of your staff was involved. Who's left? The ghost of Christmas past? Some other phantom?" The man flushed. "I'm sorry you feel the need for sarcasm, Detective Killian. I'm doing what I can, but my first responsibility is to my guests."

"Elle Vanmeer was a guest. Of course, she's dead now. Brutally murdered here in your precious-"

"We appreciate your help," Mac murmured, stepping forward. "We appreciate your allowing us

immediate access to the security tapes." He held his hand out. "If the tapes reveal anyone suspicious, I'm certain we can count on your cooperation?"

The man stood, grasped his hand. "Of course."

"Thank you, Mr. Deland. Those tapes?"

"I'll be right back."