She threw her bag on the bed and Ethan turned on the television, flicking through every news channel he could find. She grabbed fresh clothes and closed the door of the bathroom. Inside, she washed her hands, filled the bath, added some soap and dropped in her yoga pants and top. Death had a smell that clung to clothing. After she had taken a shower she offered Ethan a chance to wash up, which he seemed grateful for.
A news break caught her attention. A newsreader with perfect hair announced, ‘In breaking news, we have unconfirmed reports that Pete Janson, the New Jersey Bombers’ star quarterback, has been rushed to hospital after apparently collapsing at his hotel tonight. There is no word yet from the hospital or a spokesman for the Bombers. We will, of course, keep you updated as news comes to light.’
Ethan caught the last few moments. ‘We couldn’t keep a lid on it for long, but they’ll be outside our rooms any minute. We’d better go.’
T
hey sat on bar stools around a small drinks table. Ethan had a Scotch and soda, while Anya opted for mineral water. She did not want to be alcohol-affected when they spoke to the police.
Gavin Rosseter had notified them. Janson was pronounced dead on arrival.
‘I can’t believe he’s gone.’ Ethan stared at his glass. ‘When you saw him on the field, he was so … fit and healthy. Just like Keller.’
In death, he was like Keller. Both died alone, with people nearby they could have called. Then again, each was engaging in a high-risk behaviour. She thought about the drugs that were in the unlabelled containers in Janson’s bathroom.
Anya asked, ‘Do you think it was an accident?’
‘I can’t imagine anyone being able to hold him down and strangle him. You saw the size of the guy.’
‘Unless he was drugged. We don’t know who the woman in the room was and the timing’s pretty coincidental, don’t you think?’
Ethan took a gulp. ‘You would have needed horse tranquillisers. That guy could down two bottles of Scotch with a case of beer chasers.’
Anya could imagine, given his weight and mass. But why elite athletes drank to excess always amazed her. It countered so much of their training and fitness. ‘Labwork will tell us what was near the sink and in his system.’
Ethan ran his finger around the rim of his glass. ‘Do you think he killed himself?’
Anya could not ignore the possibility of suicide, but there was something else to consider.
‘It could have been an accident. Auto-erotic asphyxia would explain him being naked, but in the cases I’ve seen, there is usually paraphernalia about, like pornography within reach, and they usually have some kind of release mechanism connected up if they’re alone. If it’s with a partner, it’s erotic asphyxia. The one asphyxiated is totally dependent on the person they’re with to release the noose in time.’
‘That’s a lot of trust.’
Bilson and his colleague appeared and Ethan waved them over. The bartender immediately suggested they could talk more privately in the restaurant section next door. Presumably, the presence of two uniforms unsettled some of the patrons. They moved to a table with white linen, set for the following night’s dinner.
‘This shouldn’t take long,’ Officer Bilson said. ‘This here is Eduardo Rodriguez,’ he indicated his partner. ‘The detectives took the wife to the hospital. She was pretty hysterical.’
He took a breath and exhaled with a slight wheeze. He had a ruddy complexion and broken capillaries over his nose and cheeks. ‘I’m afraid your friend didn’t make it. Obviously, we’re considering the possibility of suicide. Did Janson suffer from depression?’
Anya was slightly surprised. ‘What about auto-erotic asphyxiation?’
Rodriguez’s eyes widened. ‘Which is?’
Anya couldn’t believe she had to explain this to a police officer, but she obliged. ‘The people who practise it seem to think that by cutting off the blood supply to the brain during
climax, the lack of oxygen gives them a heightened sexual experience. The idea is to rig a mechanism by which they can release the ligature before blacking out. Unfortunately, sometimes they black out before they can release it. It’s very high risk and thought to be the cause of a number of male teenage deaths that are deemed suicide.’
The young officer gave her a look of doubt. ‘And you know this because?’
‘I’m a forensic pathologist and sexual assault expert.’
‘Oh.’ Rodriguez rubbed a pimple on his chin. ‘How long do these characters strangle themselves for?’
‘Some people do it apparently from beginning to orgasm and after, while others report the lack of oxygen gives them a euphoric feeling, so strangle themselves at the beginning of arousal then release the tie, then tighten it again at the peak of orgasm. They think the rush of oxygenated blood to the brain is what enhances the whole sense of pleasure.’
She paused as the barman brought them all water and asked them to call if they needed anything.
‘I saw a fellow years back,’ Bilson recalled, ‘a pharmaceutical salesmen, I think he was. He died with a tie around his neck, only he was dressed like a woman. Skirt, panties, fishnets, the whole lot. Pathologist back then said it was an accidental death caused by misadventure. That’s what they called it.’
Anya spoke more softly. ‘Exactly. People who commit suicide expect their body to be found and they’re not usually naked or dressed in a way they wouldn’t want to be seen by loved ones. Besides, with all the pills in his bathroom, Janson didn’t need to hang himself.’ She sipped on her water.
Ethan spoke next. ‘There’s often a note with suicides. We didn’t see evidence of one.’
Bilson pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and sneezed into it. ‘These days people can text or email suicide notes. We’ll see if he had a computer. There weren’t any pills when we went over the scene.’
Anya shot him a confused look. ‘There were two unlabelled
vials of tablets. They were by the bathroom sink.’ She remembered Jim Horan going in there and throwing up. He couldn’t have missed them. Something clicked. ‘Horan could have flushed them down the toilet.’
‘The man who was comforting the wife. Who’s he officially?’
Ethan clenched his jaw. ‘A lawyer turned agent; the worst kind. He could have been protecting his client’s reputation.’
‘Were they close?’ Rodriguez asked.
‘About as close as a cobra and mongoose can get. Janson’s reputation meant money to Horan. Surely the elephant in the room is the condom. Bit odd, don’t you think, for someone to pop on a condom just to kill himself? Even Janson would have known that a pair of trousers had more dignity.’
‘Maybe once he was naked,’ the younger officer suggested, ‘he got natural … urges.’
Bilson coughed and his partner went quiet.
Ethan curled his lip. ‘Most men I know don’t use protection to raise their own flagpole, even after one of the good doctor’s lectures.’
‘Were there any calls to or from his room, or his phone?’ Anya asked.
‘I’ll check,’ Bilson said. ‘You said these people rig a mechanism to get themselves out of it. What would we be looking for?’
Anya thought of a number of cases she had performed postmortems on. Some were teenage boys who probably thought they had tied slipknots in the scarf. Others used plastic bags to cover their faces and kept a knife nearby to cut loose when they climaxed. Another method was to use a mud bath. Apparently, the weight of the mud compressed the chest and made breathing difficult.
‘It can be anything from a bow, like how kids tie shoelaces, to something more complicated, like a hook attached to another string that can release the tie. Really experienced men can carry little kits with tools and hooks in them.’
A number of the players filtered through to the bar. The barman must have closed it for their exclusive use.
‘We better go talk to some more players before they drown their sorrows,’ Bilson said, hauling himself from the chair.
‘We’ll have another look at the room later. It’s sealed so no one will interfere with it for now. Thanks for your time. If we have any other questions …’
Ethan pulled out a card. ‘I’m assisting Doctor Crichton, so you can reach either of us on this number.’
The officers moved towards the bar, which was strangely quiet.
‘See the older cop’s badge?’ Ethan finished his drink. ‘It’s a dupe.’
‘Do you mean a fake?’ Anya felt the heat rise in her face. ‘Please don’t tell me I just said all that to a journalist in disguise.’
He slid out of the booth. ‘No, he’s the real thing. It’s just some of the older cops use fake badges. He probably comes from a family of police and the badge is handed down to each generation. The dupes are slightly smaller. The real one’s gonna be locked in a safe somewhere.’
Anya raised her eyebrows, wondering why he mentioned it.
‘Just wanted you to know I’m still paying attention. Let’s have another look at that room before NYPD’s finest get there. Are you with me?’
Anya didn’t hesitate.
W
ith the players downstairs and a uniform outside Janson’s door, Ethan let himself into the room two doors down, which belonged to another team member. The officer barely acknowledged them.
Once inside, Ethan removed two pairs of latex gloves from his pocket. Anya wondered if he always carried spare gloves, or whether it was something he did while working with footballers.
‘Don’t think I ever want to get inside your head,’ Anya quipped.
‘After the lesson you gave us tonight, I was thinking the same thing about you.’
Ethan removed a skeleton key and unlocked the interconnecting door, then the one connecting Dorafino’s and Janson’s rooms.
After fifteen minutes of silent searching they hadn’t found anything that helped answer their questions.
Ethan checked the messages using the room phone. Terri had called twice, the first time saying she was on her way over to talk about the questions Ethan and Anya had been asking. The second one was angrier, reminding him that she’d left two messages on his cell and was in no mood to be messed around.
However, Vince had heard her leave, without entering the
room, which ruled her out of direct involvement in the death. That left the ‘company’ Dorafino had mentioned.
Anya checked the wardrobe and looked for any holes that might have been made inside. She looked behind a print above the bedhead. If he’d done this regularly, it was possible he made holes where no one else would find them. The paint was intact.
‘These places are made of concrete for fire safety reasons.’ Ethan looked behind the dresser and under the bed. ‘He would have needed a drill to make a dent in any of it.’
‘And no one saw anything like a small toolkit.’
‘Just as no one saw the pills in the bathroom.’ Anya moved inside, careful not to disturb anything. Horan had made a mess of the place, with towels strewn all over.
‘Is it worth looking inside the S-bend?’ Ethan asked.
‘They would have dissolved by now anyway, and I have the image on my phone. Toxicology will find out whatever he had in his system.’
‘Glad you said that. Plumbing is not one of my specialties.’
Inside the bin in the bathroom, Ethan found a number of pieces of paper, some with phone numbers on them. He photographed each with his phone.
Just then Anya thought she heard someone in the corridor. She froze, her pulse racing. How would they explain to the police what they were doing? Ethan held a finger over his lips and quietly removed his gloves. She did the same and tried to think up an excuse for being in the room again. Would they believe a lost contact lens? It sounded ridiculous even to her. She hoped Ethan was a much better liar.
Two male voices became louder before they heard the sound of an electronic key in a door but it was the door to the adjoining room.
Ethan stepped quickly and quietly from the bathroom and returned with two glasses. Anya thought he was joking, but he held the glass to his left ear, against the wall, frowning in concentration. Anya did the same with her right ear. The muffled conversation suddenly became a lot clearer.
‘What the hell are we going to do now? The police are already asking questions. Pete was supposed to fix everything.’
‘Man up! We’re not going to
do
anything. We stick to exactly what we said in the police statements. That is it!’
‘What if I can’t remember exactly —’
Something thumped the wall. Anya started, and the glass slipped from her hand. It hit her shoulder, then bounced forward into her left hand, narrowly missing the wall. She breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Do you realise what’s at stake? If we stick together, the police have got nothing. I got rid of any evidence, so we’re good if we all keep to the plan.’
There was a pause and the same voice spoke again, this time more calmly. ‘How about you treat it like the playbook and that way you’ll memorise it.’
‘Do you even care? Pete is
dead
.’
‘Of course I do. But you sleep with dogs long enough you get eaten by fleas. Right now we’d better get back downstairs before anyone misses us. Get changed into something you can talk to the press in, and get it together!’
The door clunked and the voices faded.
Anya breathed out and felt perspiration on the back of her neck.
‘Let’s go,’ Ethan said. ‘If there was anything else here, chances are Horan or the wife took it. We’d better go back to the bar and prove who was in that room.’ They reversed their entry path and Ethan made sure to lock the adjoining doors.
They headed for the lift and as they rounded the corner, came face to face with Buffet. Anya felt guilty about what they had just done.
‘Knew if you were worth your salt you would have gone back to that room,’ Buffet said, puffing on his pipe. ‘We need to talk.’
If he were aware of the no-smoking signs, he didn’t care. Nor did the policeman guarding Janson’s room.
They headed to the lifts in silence, and rode to the thirty-third
floor where they entered a set of double doors that led to a suite. Anya began to feel nervous. Buffet wasn’t about to thank them for finding Janson, not when the media had found out so soon afterwards.