Git Sync Murder

Chapter 5

5

Dale always found big indoor gardens surreal. The plants were alive, but the narrow channels of dirt between concrete walkways couldn’t possibly be deep enough to sustain a tree without extensive artificial support. The tree roots must be curled around themselves. Each breath tasted of growing things, yes, but also carried a faint, noxious chemical taint that made his brainstem shriek this is not a real place. The trees and shrubs absorbed part of the sound of people talking and the slap of shoes against the pebbled pink concrete floor, but in a real jungle voices wouldn’t echo off the glass ceiling. The walkways and sitting areas sat a couple inches above the dirt so they could easily be swept clean, the maintenance crew’s victory over the jungle illusion. The whole atrium might as well be on a space station in orbit of the moon as in a Detroit hotel.

Bet it’s popular in February, when everything is frozen outside and all anyone has to look at are four walls.

The body lying next to the rock-lined Koi pond added another layer of strangeness. They weren’t just orbiting the moon. They might as well be adrift in some Lovecraftian void beyond Dale’s reality.

A panting man knelt next to the corpse’s head. With an obvious effort, he filled his lungs and bent to resume rescue breathing. A scrawny guy knelt next to him, hands stacked atop the body’s breastbone, leaning in and out to perform desperate CPR. Two sober men in hotel uniforms hovered over them, ready to take over when either faltered.

Dale’s pulse sounded loud in his ears, and he suddenly felt very aware of his own precious breath wheezing out of his lungs. The back of his throat tasted of bright copper.

At least this time, it wasn’t your roommate. Nobody can blame you.

The thought simultaneously embarrassed and infuriated Dale.

Dale wasn’t a medical expert, but those people wouldn’t be doing CPR if the guy was all right. A person was dead, okay, probably dead, and all Dale could think about was himself. He had no right to feel relieved.

A tiny woman balanced on the pool’s rocky edge, staring down at the body. Her hands kept twitching like they wanted to move on their own and she had to constantly pull them back. Another woman stood on the walkway next to the pond, pressing a cell phone against her ear. Even from this far away, Dale could hear her say, “no, he’s not moving. They’re doing the mouth-to-mouth thing and he’s not moving, and Phil keeps leaning on his chest but he just won’t move and you’ve got to send an ambulance right now.” A squat, blocky man paced back and forth next to her, one hand raised in a fist over his heart. He smacked himself in the chest over and over again, face twisted in a grimace.

Next to Dale, Chain said “Come on.”

“Hang on, now.” Dale raised his hands. “I don’t know anything about this.”

“Lilith just wants to talk with you, man.” Chain reached for Dale’s wrist. “She’s under a massive amount of pressure right now, so don’t make it any worse, okay?”

Dale grimaced. He knew exactly what that was like. He dropped his hand to evade Chain’s grip, but let himself be escorted down the ramps towards the Koi pond. His every step felt weighted, as if his cramped sneakers had treads of lead.

The woman standing on the edge of the pond looked up. A flurry of emotions flashed across her face, far too quickly for Dale to interpret, but she almost leapt off the rocks and raced across the manicured brown mulch to intercept Dale. “You must be Dale Whitehead. Thanks for coming down.”

“Sure?”

“So.” The woman waved her hands in front of herself like she was scrabbling at a cliff face, but kept her elbows tucked against her side.

Dale glanced at the prone figure. From three yards away, he didn’t look any better than he had at the entrance. His face looked even more white, with an undertone of blue.

Just like a drowning victim in an Agatha Christie novel.

Had the woman said something? He jerked his attention back to her, trying to concentrate on her face instead of the body.

A sudden burst of crowd noise shattered the atrium’s stillness. The woman looked up. “Chain, can you go up and keep anyone else from coming in here until the police arrive?”

“Or the ambulance,” said the man pacing back and forth.

“Yeah.” Chain whirled and dashed back up the ramp towards the door he’d brought Dale through.

The woman turned back to Dale. “So. Uh, thanks for coming down.” Her name badge had the number 001 and a neatly printed LILITH.

“Sure?” Dale repeated.

“I’m—I’m not sure…” Lilith wiped her forehead. “Any idea what we should do now?”

Dale’s bafflement grew. “Excuse me?”

Lilith waved towards the body. “We called the police, and there’s the hotel staff, but—you’ve actually seen a murder before.”

What, did seeing one murder make him an expert? “I’ve got no idea! I just read mysteries!”

“I’m sorry,” Lilith said. “I just—we were prepared for anything. The concom talked all sorts of stuff through, just not this.”

Dale didn’t know anything about how to solve a murder, but he knew what seeing someone die felt like. “I don’t think anybody is prepared for someone to die. I mean, maybe hospice and stuff, but not like this.”

Lilith shook herself. It wasn’t that cold in here; was she trying to clear her mind? No, an unexpected death would give anyone a chill. She was doing better than he had, the first time he’d seen someone die.

Dale found himself watching the woman rather than risking a glance of the corpse. Her makeup looked immaculate. Her eyeliner heightened the blue of her eyes, and she’d added a shadow of ocher under her brows, fading into her brown skin. Her disciplined hair came to a perfect line just below her ears. Looking normal seemed like a lot of work. Dressing like a Klingon would be sensible at a con like this, but makeup for a day in the office, not so much. Was she trying to impress someone?

No, none of that was relevant right now.

And even without a body lying two steps away, it still wouldn’t be Dale’s business. His brain desperately wanted a puzzle, a normal human puzzle, rather than a body.

“Isn’t there something we should do?” Lilith said.

Dale shrugged. “Just let the police in. And what makes you think he was murdered, anyway?”

“Paul found him floating facedown in the Koi pond,” she said.

“Could he have tripped?”

She shook her head. “Chester hated water. He hated fish. Famous for it.”

Dale’s thoughts crashed to a halt. He took a longer look at the body.

Khaki pants. A checked shirt. Red suspenders, and that white beard.

Not half an hour before, this man had offered to buy him a drink.