The Sound of Broken Glass Read Online Free PDF Page B

Coatless, Dusek had begun to shiver.
    â€œLet’s get you inside, then.” Gemma guided the woman into the lobby and Melody and Shara followed.
    The lobby, adorned with a violently patterned carpet in pink and blue, had a slightly scuffed reception desk to one side and a sitting area with a television on the other. Grouped around one of the tables in the sitting area were a woman in a maid’s smock who was sniffing into a handkerchief, a young spotty-faced man in white shirt and black trousers, and a large uniformed constable. They looked as if they might be unlikely participants in a card game, or, considering the pot and cups arrayed on the table, a tea party.
    The constable rose immediately and came towards them. When Gemma had identified herself, he said, “DC Turner, ma’am. Gipsy Hill Station.” He was fair and slightly bovine, but his blue eyes were sharp.
    â€œMs. Dusek is going to stay with you for the moment. I’ll want to speak to the others later as well. Can you send the SOCOs to us when they arrive? And the doctor? Oh, and, Turner, I don’t want any of the guests leaving until we’ve interviewed them.”
    â€œIn hand, ma’am. There’s only a dozen in this whole place, apparently. Not exactly a booming business. Those that have come down, I’ve put in the dining room.”
    Gemma nodded. “Good. And can you see that no one leaves through the fire doors?”
    â€œDone, ma’am,” Turner said, with obvious self-satisfaction that was redeemed by his grin.
    â€œCheeky sod,” Shara muttered.
    Although Gemma would have preferred the scene-of-crime team on hand before she viewed the body, she felt there was little point in interviewing further staff until she knew exactly what they were dealing with. “All right, Turner. We’ll be—”
    â€œThrough reception, down the stairs and to your right. You’ll see the constable on the door.” Turner’s smile had disappeared. “And you’ll be glad if you missed your breakfast.”
    Gemma followed his directions. Any moderately favorable impression she’d had of the hotel vanished as they left the public areas. The stairwell was dim, the walls scuffed and chipped. It smelled of damp, thinly disguised by industrial disinfectant. The basement corridor was no better. Two of the fluorescent light fixtures were out, and the others hummed unpleasantly. The uniformed officer standing at parade rest towards the end of the hall was a welcome sight.
    He was younger than Turner, and she suspected he had drawn the short straw.
    â€œMa’am.” He nodded when she showed her ID, but didn’t meet her eyes.
    The door in front of which he stood guard was closed, but the key was in the lock.
    â€œHas anyone touched this other than the housekeeper?” she asked.
    â€œDC Turner was the first on scene, ma’am, but he used his gloves. I—didn’t go in.”
    â€œRight, then. Good lad.” Gemma pulled a pair of nitrile gloves from her coat pocket and slipped them on. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
    Turning the key, she pushed the door open and stood on the threshold.
    The smell hit her in a wave. Urine, feces, and the unmistakable stench of death. The hotel might be short on guests but was not stinting on its central heating. The room was like an oven, and Gemma felt the sweat prickle beneath the collar of her coat.
    Gray daylight poured in through windows set high up in the room’s outside wall. She blinked as her eyes adjusted, then focused on the room’s double bed, illuminated by a sudden shaft of sunlight like a tableau in a medieval painting.
    â€œBloody hell,” she said.

CHAPTER THREE
    The Crystal Palace was a huge glass and iron structure originally built in 1851 for the Great Exhibition held in London’s Hyde Park. Prince Albert, head of the Society of Arts, had the idea of an exhibition to impress the world