First to Die

Chapter 9

AS THE ELEVATOR CAME TO A STOP, Cindy held her breath. Her heart was pumping like a turbine. She was on 30. She was in. She was really doing this. The doors had opened to a remote corner of the floor. She thanked God there wasn't a cop waiting in front of them. She heard a buzz of activity coming from the other end of the hall. All she had to do was follow the noise. As she hurried down the hallway, the voices grew louder. Two men in yellow jackets bearing "CSU" in large black letters walked past her. At the end of a hall, a group of cops and investigators stood in front of an open double doorway marked "Mandarin Suite." She wasn't only inside; she was right in the fucking middle of it. Cindy made her way toward the double doors. The cops weren't even looking in her direction; they were letting in police staff who had come from the main elevators. She had made it all the way. The Mandarin Suite. She could see inside. It was huge, opulent, with lavish decor. Roses were everywhere. Then her heart almost stopped. She thought she might be sick. The groom, in a bloodstained tuxedo shirt, lay there on the floor. Cindy's legs buckled. She had never seen a murder victim before. She wanted to lean forward, to let her eyes memorize every detail, but her body wouldn't move. "Who the hell are you?" a brusque voice suddenly demanded. A large, angry cop was staring directly at her face. All of a sudden, she was grabbed and pushed hard against the wall. It hurt. In a panic, Cindy pointed to her bag and her wallet, in which a photo press credential was displayed. The angry cop began leafing through her IDs and credit cards as if they were junk mail. "Jesus." The thick-necked patrolman scowled with a face like a slobbering Doberman. "She's a reporter." "How in hell did you get up here?" his partner came over and demanded. "Get her the hell out," Doberman barked to him. "And keep the ID. She won't get within a mile of a police briefing for the next year." His partner dragged her by the arm to the main elevator bank. Over her shoulder, Cindy got a final glimpse of the dead man's legs splayed near the door. It was awful, terrifying, and sad. She was shaking. "Show this reporter the front door," he instructed a third cop manning the elevator. He flicked her press ID as if it were a playing card. "Hope losing this was worth the ride up." As the doors closed, a voice yelled, "Hold it." i "Rough in there, Inspector?" the cop accompanying* Cindy inquired. "Yeah," the woman said, not even turning her head. The word inspector went off like a flash in Cindy's mind. Cindy couldn't believe it. The scene must be beyond awful for an inspector to be that upset. As the elevator descended, she rode the entire thirty floors just blinking her eyes and looking straight ahead. When the doors opened to the lobby, the inspector rushed off. "You see the front door," the cop said to Cindy. "Go through it. Don't come back." As soon as the elevator doors had closed, she spun around and scanned the vast lobby for a sight of the detective. She caught a flash of her going into the ladies' room. Cindy hurriedly followed her in. Just the two of them in there. The detective stood in front of a mirror. She looked close to six feet tall, slender and impressive. To Cindy's amazement, it was clear she had been crying. Jesus, Jesus. She was back on the inside again. What had the inspector seen to get her so upset? "You okay?" Cindy finally inquired in a soft voice. The detective tensed up when she realized she wasn't alone. But she had this look on her face, as if she were on the verge of letting it all out. "You're that reporter, aren't you? You're the one who got upstairs." Cindy nodded. 3A tall woman in a powder blue T-shirt and brocade vest with a badge fastened to her waist stepped in. The cop was nice looking, with sandy blond hair, but she was clearly upset. She let out a deep sigh as the doors closed. "So how did you make it all the way up there?" "I don't know. Luck, maybe." The detective pulled out a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. "Well, I'm afraid your luck's over, if you're looking for something from me." "I didn't mean that," Cindy said. "You sure you're all right?" The cop turned around. Her eyes shouted, I've got nothing to say to you, but they lied. It was as if she needed to do exactly that, talk to someone, more than anything in the world. It was one of those strange moments when Cindy knew there was something under the surface. If the roles just shifted, and she had the chance, the two of them might even become friends. Cindy reached into her pocket, pulled out a card, and placed it on the sink counter in front of the detective. "If you ever want to talk…" The color came back into the inspector's pretty face. She hesitated, then gave Cindy the slimmest, faintest edge of a smile. Cindy smiled in return. "As long as I'm here…" She went up to the sink and took out her makeup kit, catching the policewoman's eye in the mirror. "Nice vest," she said.