The Lisbon Crossing Read Online Free PDF Page A

damn close. You had to wonder why a guy on fifty bucks a day would choose to stay in a place like that, but I suppose he was just trying to make a dime on his expense account. Or maybe Grimes just felt more at home on the seedy side of life.
    The lobby was small and dark, the only light emanating from a twenty-watt lamp standing on the small, curved reception desk. A large arrangement of decomposing white orchids—probably leftovers from next door—languished on a side table, overwhelming the room with a sickly sweet fragrance that didn’t mix too well with the faint aroma of aging cheese that wafted in from outside. The proprietor shuffled out from a back room and greeted us with a blank expression. Pushing seventy, with close-cropped white hair and a mustache to match, he looked at us through dark, weary eyes as he buckled his pants up. His wrinkled white shirt seemed to be several sizes too large.
    “Boa tardes,” he mumbled suspiciously, well aware that we weren’tthere to book a room. Alberto returned the greeting, established that no English was spoken, then explained the reason for my visit. The old guy glanced over at me, shook his head, and muttered something as he headed back to where he came from, probably to complete his siesta.
    “He says he has answered all the question from the police,” Alberto explained.
    I took my wallet out, removed a crisp ten-dollar bill, and placed it on the desk. “Sorry that I don’t have escudos,” I said. “Ask him how he feels about the Yankee dollar?”
    The old man stopped in his tracks and, not waiting for the translation, picked up the note and folded it into his shirt pocket.
    “I’d like to see the room,” I said. He nodded and removed a key from the wall behind him. I didn’t expect to find anything up there—the authorities would’ve been through everything—but I had to get away from the smell of dead orchids and ripe cheese.
    The room wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. It was tidy and cheerful enough once the old man pulled the shutters back. The furnishings consisted of a double bed with a large crucifix hanging over it, a wardrobe, and a set of drawers. There was a sink in the corner and the toilet was just across the hall. Not exactly deluxe, but I’d seen a lot worse.
    I took a look around, checking under the bed, on top of the wardrobe, and inside a few drawers, more for show than anything else. I told Alberto to ask the old guy how much he charged and how many days Grimes had paid for. I thought it might put him on the defensive, and it did. He claimed that the American had settled up daily, but you could tell he was lying, that he’d been paid in advance for a few of the nights that Eddie had spent underwater. I couldn’t have cared less, but I let him know with a look that I was onto him. People who’ve been caught in a lie tend to suddenly get a lot more talkative.
    “Did he have any visitors?” I asked, and a lively dialogue ensued, the two men chattering back and forth like a couple of old ladies at the back fence. I gave them a minute before clearing my throat.
    “Ah, senhor… Desculpe, ” Alberto apologized. “The gentleman tells me some quite interesting facts about your friend.”
    “He wasn’t my friend but go ahead.”
    “It seems he had a big interest in the women.” Alberto gave me a knowing look. “He takes a different one each night.”
    “Hookers?”
    “Yes, senhor. Like that. Hookers. And not the nice ones. The kind of the street.” It was mildly interesting and it explained Grimes’s choice of accommodation, but as much as it amused Alberto, it didn’t help me any.
    “Ask him if he remembers how many bags the American had.”
    Alberto shrugged, wondering why I would want to change the subject to suitcases, but he put the question. After some additional discussion he said, “Just one. The one the police took away.”
    “Did he see the American on the night of the accident?”
    “Sim, Sim,” the old man