Private Vegas (Private 9)

“The Sumaris,” I said. “A car going about ninety the wrong way on I-5 slammed into them. Khezir and Gozan are dead.”

“Oh my God,” Justine said. “So much for diplomatic immunity.”

“You want to say, ‘Jack, come in’?”

She shook her head no.

I tried to read her expression and that’s when I put the wineglasses and the music together. I looked past her and saw someone hauling himself out of the water at the far side of the pool.

He called out to her, “Justine? Is everything okay?”

Cruz hooked a towel around his waist. His long hair dripped water down his chest as he came across the yard toward us. “Jack?”

I grabbed the fence, rattled it hard, and shouted, “What the hell is this, Emilio? What the hell?”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Our gratitude to these top professionals who were so generous with their time and expertise during the writing of this book: Captain Rich Conklin of the Stamford, Connecticut, Police Department; Attorney Philip R. Hoffman of New York City; Dr. Humphrey Germaniuk, medical examiner and coroner of Trumbull County, Ohio; C. Peter Colomello, pilot, of Tillson, New York; and Chuck Hanni, IAAI-CFI, of Youngstown, Ohio.

As always, we are grateful to our excellent researchers, Ingrid Taylar and Lynn Colomello, and to Mary Jordan, who keeps it all together.

NINE NIGHTS.

/> NINE BODIES.

IT’S THE SEASON FOR

MURDER IN MUMBAI.

FOR AN EXCERPT, TURN THE PAGE.

Chapter 1

FOURTEEN MINUTES PER room was all she had.

Whether it was tidy or left smeared with chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and telltale buttmarks on the recliner, fourteen minutes was what she had to clean each room. Start in the bathroom, change the towels, change the bed, clean the cups, dust and vacuum, and then on to the next room.

And though she would never have admitted it to her colleagues at the Marine Bay Plaza, Sunita Kadam took a pride in meeting (and especially beating) that fourteen-minute time limit. In fact, on her housekeeping cart was a stopwatch she carried for that very purpose. She picked it up as she arrived at room number 1121 and knocked smartly—maid’s knock, loud but gentle—then began the stopwatch.

Twenty seconds. No answer. With a deliberate jangle of master keys she let herself in.

“Hello? Housekeeping.”

Again no answer. Good. And what’s more, the room was tidy. Though an evening dress hung from a handle of the closet, the bed looked as if it hadn’t been slept in. Nets at the window billowed beneath a blast of air conditioning, giving the room a clean, aired feel. Six minutes to service this room, thought Sunita. Maybe seven.

Unless, of course, there was a nasty surprise in the bathroom.

From her cart she collected towels and toiletries and went there now, clicking on the light at the same time as she reached for the door handle and pushed.

She came up short. The door would only budge an inch or so. Something on the other side—probably a wet towel that had slipped off a rail—was preventing it from opening.

Inside, the fluorescents struggled, flickering as she pushed the door. With an exasperated sigh she gave it one last shove and there was a splintering sound. Something heavy fell to the floor on the other side and, finally, the lights came on—and Sunita Kadam saw what was inside.

On the tiles lay a woman’s corpse. She wore a white nightshirt and her face was colorless. In contrast, the yellow cotton scarf around her neck was a bright yellow. The marks it had made were a livid red.

Sunita stared at the body. A numbness crept over her. A sense of wanting to run but being rooted to the spot. Later she’d look back and stifle a guilty laugh about this, but her next thought was: How the hell am I going to clean this up in fourteen minutes?

Chapter 2