Death of a Showgirl Read Online Free PDF

old boozer called me back.
    ‘They were normal,’ he shrugged grumpily. ‘Just normal. A man and a woman. I see it all the time. Didn’t think there was anything unusual going on.’
    ‘He wasn’t holding on to her? Wasn’t mistreating her?’
    ‘They seemed normal, OK?’ He stared at me and shook his head quickly as if it might help me understand.
    ‘When did you see them together?’
    ‘When he brought her in last night—’
    ‘What time?’
    He shrugged. ‘Ten. Eleven. And when they checked out this morning.’
    ‘And she seemed OK?’
    ‘To be honest, it looked like she had been crying. Didn’t look exactly cheery. But then none of us do in the morning.’
    ‘Did this Mori say where they were going?’
    He shook his head impatiently. ‘Allora?’ He threw his chin in the air expecting his pay-off.
    ‘What does Mori look like?’
    He lowered his eyebrows, losing patience with the interrogation. ‘Ugly. Long hair in a ponytail. Grey hair.’ He shrugged.
    ‘Did he have a car?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘If they want to park round here I have to give them a permit, something saying they’re staying here so they can park in the blue lines.’
    ‘So you gave him the permit?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘Did you have to write the number plate on it?’
    He shook his head. ‘It’s just something they put on a dashboard.’ He reached below the desk and showed me a plastic rectangle announcing that the owner of the vehicle was resident at the Hotel del Fiume.
    ‘Did you see his car?’
    He shook his head, staring at me as if he were pleased he couldn’t help.
    ‘But you took a photocopy of his ID?’
    ‘Sure. That’s the law.’
    ‘Show me.’
    He grunted wearily as he bent down and opened a filing cabinet. He passed over a piece of paper, a photocopy of a page of a passport. I looked at it: Massimo Mori , it said. The mug shot showed a man with thick eyebrows and black holes for eyes. His hair looked short.
    ‘No ponytail here,’ I said.
    ‘Yeah, well, hair grows.’
    ‘Not on you.’
    ‘Have you finished?’
    ‘Do me a copy.’ I passed him back the paper. He switched on a photocopier and ran off a copy. Before handing it over, he stared at me like he deserved something in return.
    ‘Do me a photocopy of the check-in form as well.’
    He trudged back to the desk, got out another piece of paper and ran it through the copier. I held out a twenty without looking at him. I was studying the form: it had his name and address in black and white. The address was somewhere in Viterbo, an hour or so to the north. Via della Salute, number 34‚ it said.
    ‘I’ll give you another twenty for a guided tour.’
    ‘Forget it. I’m going to bed.’
    ‘Fifty.’
    He glared at me with his mouth open. Every feature of his face seemed to sag. His swollen nose looked purple. He looked to the side briefly and then back at me. ‘Not much to see,’ he said.
    ‘Show me Mori’s room.’
    He took a key from a hook on the wall behind him and headed off towards the stairs. ‘No lift,’ he said. ‘No lift so no guests. Nowadays everyone expects a lift. And a beauty spa, and a gym. All we’ve got are beds.’
    ‘No pool?’
    He snorted in derision. ‘It’s more like a pond. Can’t afford to clean it or heat it. It’s still there, but it’s a health hazard.’
    The old man was puffing as he got to the first-floor landing. He thumped a light-switch and threw his hands out like this was all there was. There were cheap reproduction paintings on the walls. The rug itself looked so dirty it could have been a nature reserve.
    ‘Which room was Mori in?’
    He shuffled along the corridor and unlocked a room. There were two double beds inside. A tiny TV was high up in the corner, angled down towards one of the beds. The shutters were down but as I pulled the cord to open them slightly all I could see was a brick wall about a metre the other side of the window.
    ‘Were both beds slept in?’ I asked.
    He