Page 20 of The Bridesmaid
‘This isstorage?’ Ortiz enters ahead of me. The room is vast. Several times larger than my apartment. It’s decorated in a similar style to the rest of the hotel but is mostly empty, besides a few stacked gold chairs and tables.
‘Wedding parties often have extensive needs,’ says Mr Cohen. ‘We’ve had clients fly in two hundred full-sized Harrods hampers from London, to give as wedding favors. Those items can take up quite considerable space.’
‘It’s cold in here, right?’ I shiver. My eyes flick up to an airconditioner on the wall. ‘Jeez! It’s been set to 50 degrees. I didn’t even know AC could go that low.’
I walk deeper into the room. My eyes land on darker patches on the carpet. I see Ortiz follow my gaze.
Ortiz turns to the hotel manager. ‘Who had access to this room?’
‘It was reserved for the bridesmaids.’
‘Could someone else have gotten in? Staff, or—’
Mr Cohen shakes his head emphatically. ‘We take VIP security requests extremely seriously. There were security cameras and a twenty-four hour guard on this entire area.’
Ortiz glances at Mark Li, who is temporarily distracted by a message on his phone.
Her eyes slide to Fitzwilliam’s and she lowers her voice.
‘If Miss Stone is right, it rules out Leopold Kensington,’ she says. ‘Do you happen to know which bridesmaids visited this room?’
‘All of them had access,’ he says. ‘Apart from the bride. You could check the security camera footage to be wholly certain.’
‘We will,’ says Ortiz. ‘And we need to seal this room,’ she adds. ‘Police only. No civilians.’
Fitzwilliam nods, glancing at Mark. ‘What about her?’ He shoots me an undisguised look of hostility.
Ortiz hesitates. ‘She can stay,’ she decides.
Mr Cohen and Mark leave. As the door shuts behind them, the atmosphere shifts.
‘You smell it too, right?’ I ask her quietly, as the door closes behind them.
She gives a short, tight nod. Ortiz’s been on enough crime scenes to smell blood in the air.
Fitzwilliam is walking to the back of the room, where a clutch of golden chairs are stacked. He stops, then hunches down low,fixing his full attention on something out of view.
‘Look at this,’ he says. ‘What is a pile of steel poles doing in the corner?’
I cross the thick carpet to take in what he’s found.
A large pile of fifty or so long poles, with connecting screw-on segments lie untidily on the floor.
‘They’re scaffold poles,’ I say. ‘Maybe someone was building a stage or display of some kind.’
Fitzwilliam points. ‘Does that look like blood to you?’
I look closer, zeroing in where he’s pointing. A thick, two-foot-long sturdy steel pole.
Fitzwilliam lifts his face to Ortiz. ‘I think we’ve found our murder weapon.’
Chapter Seventeen
ADRIANNA
I don’t know how long I’ve been sat in my closet with a pile of press images, when my phone starts ringing in my lap.
‘Hello?’ I catch sight of myself in the long mirror. My deep blue eyes are bloodshot. I dab carefully at where my mascara has bled. Run a hand through the thick wave of the chestnut hair.
