A Will to Die A Cliff Knowles Mystery by Russell Atkinson The Cliff Knowles Mysteries Held for Ransom Cached Out Fatal Dose Death Row Gut Shot Behead Me A Will to Die Copyright © Russell Atkinson 2017 A WILL TO DIE 3 Chapter 1 She could hear a noise but couldn’t identify it. A motor of some kind, a low hum, she thought. The air conditioner, probably. She tried to think but her brain wouldn’t form complete thoughts. She opened her eyes but couldn’t see anything at first. She wasn’t sure her eyes were even open. There was a whitish haze. Was that The Light? Was she alive? Then she realized what she was seeing. It was the condensation of her breath on the plastic bag. She closed her eyes again. Sooo sleepy. She almost smiled at the thought. Wait … why is there a plastic bag? It was her last thought. • • • Tuesday Eva Sanchez was on her way to work when the call came. She diverted to the address she had been given. It was a low-end hotel in the Core-Columbia District right across from the Aladdin Bail Bonds office. She’d been to that office as a patrol officer on multiple occasions to pick up bail jumpers Aladdin had caught up with. She had also been to the hotel a few times on calls for drugs, fighting, and domestic disturbances. “Morning, detective. Third floor,” the uniform standing on the front sidewalk said. Sanchez nodded acknowledgment and looked around before entering. She saw from their van that the evidence team was already there, but since most of them were standing around drinking coffee in Styrofoam cups, she knew the body had not yet been removed. She entered the lobby where two uniforms were already talking to the desk clerk, apparently getting some records. Both nodded to Sanchez as she walked straight to the elevators. On the third floor a small gaggle of patrol officers in the hallway made the location of the crime scene obvious. There was also a gurney with an empty body bag on it standing by outside the room. Two of the officers, one male, one female, were talking to a stout, middle-aged Mexican woman with heavily- tattooed arms. “Here’s the detective now,” the male officer said to the woman. Then, turning to her, he said, “Detective Sanchez, this is Rosa Morales, the manager.” Sanchez nodded but did not extend her hand. “Mrs. Morales, I’ll be with you shortly. Please wait out here. I need to see inside first.” She entered the hotel 4 A WILL TO DIE room before Morales could respond. The senior officer, who looked like an aging surfer, followed close behind. Inside, the stench told her the death wasn’t within the last few hours. Harold Potter, the medical examiner, stood by the bed waiting for her. Potter, tall, thin, and balding, was, since J.K. Rowling’s series became such a hit, forever correcting people who called him Harry. “Morning, Harold, what do we have?” “Eva. White female, forty years old. Apparent suicide. It looks like another Gatekeepers. Probably took place early yesterday. I’ve taken temperature readings and will give you a better idea after I’ve done the math. No obvious signs of trauma, although there are some faint bruises on her right upper arm.” Sanchez bent over the woman on the bed. The victim’s hair was black, but it had been dyed some time ago, judging by the brownish roots. A plastic bag, the filmy transparent kind you find in a produce department, was lying on the bed next to her. Sanchez pulled out a notebook and began to jot things down. “We have a name?” “Denise Knowles,” the officer behind her said. “She’s been here since Sunday night according to the manager. Her purse is on the table there, but we haven’t examined it yet. We were waiting for you. There could be other ID there.” He handed her a photocopy of a hotel registration card and a driver’s license. The license confirmed the age and name, but had an El Cajon address. The registration card was bare bones, just name, driver’s license number, and a telephone number, no employment or relatives listed. The box was checked indicating only one resident. Sanchez leaned over the plastic bag and sniffed. From the outside she couldn’t smell any odor from the bag, what with the decomposition smell overpowering everything else. She snapped on some rubber gloves. “Who removed the bag?” “I did,” Potter replied. “I let the photographer take a photo with the bag in situ first. The manager said she didn’t touch it.” Instinctively Sanchez glanced over at Potter’s hands, but of course he was wearing gloves. He would never contaminate fingerprint evidence. She carefully opened the bag and thrust her nose right into the opening. There was still no chemical odor. “Liquor?” she asked without looking at either of the men. “None found,” the officer said. “Applesauce? Phenobarbital?” The inquiry was spurred by Sanchez’s knowledge that the Gatekeepers preferred suicide method was ingestion of heavy doses of barbiturates and liquor before placing the plastic bag over the head. Sometimes the drugs were mixed with applesauce to make them palatable. “Nothing obvious on the table or anything. The evidence team hasn’t been through yet.” “Anyone else seen coming or going from the room?” A WILL TO DIE 5 “Not according to the manager. Due to renovations down the hall there was only one other room rented on this floor. An elderly Japanese couple checked in Monday. We’re still canvassing, but so far no one saw or heard anything. The manager discovered the body this morning after the Japanese couple complained of the smell coming from the room; they got moved to the second floor.” “Cameras?” “There are no cameras on the floor, but there’s one in the lobby, one in the elevator, one over the side alley door, and one on the landing of the stairwell on the second floor. We’ve taken the tapes for review.” She pulled out her phone, looked in her contacts list, and made a call. She’d have to let Rob Martin of the sheriff’s office know. One of the two previous Gatekeepers suicides had been on the grounds of Greenwood Memorial Park, which was county territory. The police and sheriff’s office had coordinated on the second one. Her contact then had been promoted to Undersheriff and he’d introduced her to his replacement, Rob Martin. She assumed Martin would be assigned to this one. The sheriff had no jurisdiction over this case, since it happened in the city, but it was now part of a related string of three deaths and Rob would have to know. After a brief conversation on the phone, she learned he was tied up in court. She’d fill him in later. There wasn’t much to see in these Gatekeepers suicides anyway. She pulled off her gloves as she exited the room. 6 A WILL TO DIE Chapter 2 The chocolate éclair looked so tempting through the window that Cliff’s mouth began to water. He should have walked on the other side of the street. He knew that bakery was there, right en route from the gym back to the office, so why should he torment himself by walking right by it? He was not a believer in the idea that you had to confront your temptations head on; it was better to avoid them. He had managed with difficulty to get his weight down to two hundred pounds after Tommy was born, a late-in-life blessing from the gods or Mother Nature, and he was determined to keep it there. He walked on, making a mental note to cross to the other side next time, even if it took a bit longer. “You got a call from a detective in San Diego,” Maeva said as he entered the office. A pert redhead who’d dropped out of Stanford Law School, she had earned her private investigator license two years earlier under Cliff’s tutelage. She was hoping Cliff would take her in as a partner eventually. Since Tommy had been born, Cliff had cut back on his hours and she was doing more work than he was now, or putting in more hours, anyway. Still, it was his business and he was the rainmaker, the former FBI agent, and she wasn’t expecting anything on that front soon. “Did he say what he wanted?” “No, just said you should call. The number’s on your desk.” He continued into his office, leaving the door open. He had done a bit of consulting work for law enforcement in his early days after retiring from the FBI, but not lately with all the more profitable corporate and law firm work. So he was curious why the detective had called, especially since San Diego was over four hundred miles away. “And there’s an e-mail you’ll want to see,” Maeva called after him as he sat behind his desk. He could tell from the hesitation in her voice that it wasn’t good news. He pressed the Shift key on his keyboard to kill the screen saver and his home screen came to life. There was an email from his CPA. It said there was a discrepancy in his business records that he needed to discuss. He’d already requested an extension on his income taxes and he knew the return had to be filed within the next few days.