Suicide Blondes
an excerpt

1.

“The deceased is one Richard J. Millio, DOA, age 37; cause of death is apparently suicide.”
“Oh, man.” I moaned. “I just ate breakfast.”
Jumpers are a horrible thing to see.
“Which window did he fall out of?” I asked through the nausea.
They don’t always end quickly. Or cleanly.
“Not sure yet, but I think James’s inside talking to the front desk lady,” the coroner, Mike Carver, said. “He probably rented a room just to jump out of it.”
“Really? You should have my job, Mikey. I’ll trade you.”
He unfolded a large black body bag from out of his case. “Today, I might take you up on that. After I scoop this guy up, I gotta go back and do an autopsy on the guy who was hit by that subway train.”
“Wasn’t that guy in pieces?”
Mike nodded. “Didn’t even find ‘em all. I don’t know what they think I‘m gonna be able to tell them about it.” He spread out the bag on the ground.
“I’m gonna go in and talk to the clerk, okay?” I really didn’t want to help move this guy. “You have fun with that, Mike. Tell Carrie I said hi.”
“Will do.”
The Starry Night Hotel was a new, plush hotel that had only been in business for about a year. It was expensive and a hot spot for rich young people because of the nightclubs that were all within walking distance. The lobby was full of cushioned armchairs and large plants. The theme seemed to be blue and gold.
There was a small knot of people around the desk, all talking at once. My six foot eleven inches tall partner, James Hitchcock, towered over everyone, looking extremely annoyed.
“There you are! What the hell took you so long?”
“Hey, Jimmy. How’s it going?” He glared down at me, and I smiled up at him. Then I turned to the small gang of disgruntled hotel employees, and clapped my hands for some attention. “Hi, everyone! I’m Detective Alice Bettney, senior investigator on this case, and I need you all to stop harassing my partner so I can speak to the manager, please! So if you would all calm down, it’ll all go a little quicker.”
A short, nervous looking man in a severe blue suit and gold striped tie stepped forward. “I’m the manager, Detective. You don’t have to insult my employees. It’s just that we’ve never had this happen before.”
“Understandable, Mr. …?”
“Marble, ma’am. John Marble.”
“Okay, Mr. Marble. If we could find a place to talk?”
“My office?”
“That would be fine.” I turned and yanked on my partner’s sleeve, and beckoned him to lean closer so I didn’t have to yell up at him. “I’m going to interview the manager, could you track down some surveillance tapes so we can look them over?” He nodded, and I turned back to the manager. “Lead the way, sir.”
He led me down a hall and into a small, neat room. A desk and a filing cabinet took up most of the space, with two chairs that were a little too big shoved in as an afterthought. I slid into a chair and smiled warmly at the manager, who seemed to have made it behind his desk in an instant with no effort. He didn’t look happy. I took out my notebook and tried to ignore it.