Murder at the Kinnen Hotel (2 page)

Adamat stopped by the desk and showed his credentials to the concierge, who revealed that Ricard Tumblar had leased the smallest suite on the second floor of the building for a two-week period. Adamat refused an escort and took the main staircase in the grand hall up to the second floor.

The situation was being handled far more discretely than the one at the Brezé townhome but, then again, this was a place of business. A single bag boy stood outside room 211, hands held behind his back, opening the door for Adamat when he showed his papers again.

The suite was a three-room affair with a bedroom, sitting room, and bath complete with running water. A single constable Adamat didn’t recognize stood at the side of a distraught-looking Ricard in the sitting room, while the door to the bedroom was closed.

Ricard surged to his feet at the sight of him. “Adamat?”

“Detective constable,” Adamat introduced himself to the policeman. “Captain Hewi has given me the lead on the investigation.” He ignored Ricard and opened the door to the bedroom.

There was a four-post bed, the curtains pulled back, as well as a mirror and vanity and a pair of chairs by a breakfast table. The two windows faced east, bathing the room in bright white mid-morning light. The room smelled heavily of whiskey.

A Deliv woman with chocolate skin lay face-up on the bed, her nudity covered partially by a sheet. She was young and quite striking, with gentle features, the perfect skin of her face only disrupted by the congealed blood around the bullet wound just above her temple. The white linen beneath her was soaked a deep crimson. The bed, Adamat noted absently, would be a total loss for the hotel.

He poked his head into the sitting room. “Constable … ?”

“Jain,” the man replied.

“I see. Constable Jain, would you come here please?”

Jain glanced meaningfully at Ricard.

“He’s a local businessman,” Adamat said. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“Adamat,” Ricard said. “I didn’t know you were …”

Adamat held up a finger to silence Ricard, and then stepped to the side so Jain could enter the bedroom.

“When was the body discovered?” Adamat asked.

“About two and a half hours ago. There was a gunshot from the room, and the concierge forced the door to find Mr. Tumblar holding a pistol in one hand and shaking the body with the other. The concierge had to wrestle the pistol from Mr. Tumblar’s hands. They summoned the police immediately.”

“Where is the pistol now?”

“The concierge has it.”

“Good. When did you arrive?

“Two hours ago.”

“And you’re the only constable here?”

“My partner went out for an early lunch, sir.”

“From a crime scene? Wonderful.” Adamat sighed, then looked around the room once more, searching for the small details. He crossed the room to the window, feeling the cold breeze through a crack about an inch wide. “Was the window open when you arrived?”

“It was.”

“And the blinds?”

“They were open as well.”

“Did the maid do that?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I see.” Adamat tapped his chin for a moment. “The bed curtains were like that?”

Jain said, “Also open upon arrival.”

“Do me a favor and ask the concierge if he opened either the bed curtains or the blinds after getting the gun away from Mr. Tumblar. Ask if he or any of the other staff opened the window after the body was discovered. Oh, and bring me the pistol.”

“Of course. But begging your pardon, I don’t think anyone climbed in or out through that window. There’s still snow on the sill outside.”

“Good observation,” Adamat said, though he’d already made note of it.

Jain headed out into the hall to find the concierge, and Adamat finally steeled himself to approach Ricard in the sitting room.

Ricard Tumblar was only a few months younger than Adamat himself. He had short, curly brown hair and a prominent forehead that suggested had already started to go bald. Despite that, Adamat knew that women found Ricard’s full features handsome. He had an easy, genuine charm that had gained him dozens of investors and allies even at such a young age, and a natural mind for business that Adamat had seen first-hand during their first semester together at the university.

They stared at each other for several long moments. Ricard was wearing a rumpled evening suit, likely what he’d been in last night, and Adamat could smell the alcohol on his breath and clothes.

Ricard swallowed visibly and cleared his throat. “Hello, Adamat.”

“Ricard.”

“It’s been what, six months?”

“A year,” Adamat corrected.

“Right.” Ricard stared at his shoes. “Wish our meeting was under better circumstances.”

“You know I work just down the street, right?”

“Well, I figured after the thing with Cora maybe you wouldn’t want to see me for a while.”

You were right about that
, Adamat thought to himself. “That’s not important.” He waved to the bedroom. “What happened?”

Ricard ran fingers through his thinning hair and stared through the door at the bed. His features contracted, his mouth tightening, and Adamat thought he might begin to weep. He seemed to gain control of himself. “I don’t … I don’t really know. I was out raising funds for a new venture last night. The last thing I remember was Melany half-carrying me up the stairs. I was awoken by a pistol shot. I rolled over to find her like … “

Ricard choked back a sob and cleared his throat.

“You keep a pistol in the room?” Adamat asked.

Ricard nodded.

“Where?”

“The drawer of the vanity.”

Adamat went to the vanity and opened the drawer to find a wooden pistol case. The pistol was missing, as well as one of the eight prepared powder charges.

“The pistol was in your hand when you awoke?”

“Beside me on the bed. I picked it up … I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

“Have you fought?” Adamat asked.

“With Melany?”

“Yes.”

“Lover’s quarrels. Nothing serious. I was thinking about asking her to marry me.”

You’re always thinking about asking someone to marry you.
Adamat grimaced and stepped back into the sitting room to find that Constable Jain had returned. “Well?” Adamat asked the constable.

“The concierge said that the window and the bed and window curtains were all open when he came in this morning,” Jain said. “The bag boys that helped him subdue Mr. Tumblar agree.”

“And the pistol?”

Jain handed it over. It was a fine, smoothbore flintlock with engraving on the stock and silverwork around the mechanism. It was a weapon meant to impress one’s friends rather than intimidate one’s enemies.

“Thank you,” Adamat said.

“What do you think happened, sir?”

Adamat glanced at Ricard and hoped that, had the possible suspect been a nobleman, Jain would have the sense not to ask such a question in their presence.

“It
appears
,” Adamat said, “that Mr. Tumblar awoke in an inebriated fog and shot his mistress.”

“I would never!” Ricard protested.

“Be quiet, Ricard,” Adamat said, feeling a twitch of annoyance. Ricard had always gotten away with everything. The women he bedded, the money he gained and lost on risky ventures. Adamat had always known something about his charmed lifestyle would catch up to him eventually.

But, it seemed, it had yet to do so.

“I said it
appears
that way,” Adamat said. “Run to the precinct building and tell Captain Hewi that I’ll need four more men to help me with searches and interviews.”

“Should I tell her we have a suspect?” Jain eyeballed Ricard.

“No. Not yet.”

“Sir?”

“Whatever happened here, Ricard Tumblar didn’t kill his mistress.”

Jain’s eyes went wide. “How can you be sure?”

Adamat handed the pistol back to Jain. “Ricard, have you told many people about your prowess with a pistol?”

“I may have boasted about it from time to time,” Ricard said.

Adamat cocked an eyebrow at Ricard.

“Okay,” Ricard admitted, “I mention it fairly often.”

“Now,” Adamat said, “Constable Jain, observe the pan of the pistol closely. Now the barrel. When would you say it was last fired?”

Jain lowered the pistol uncertainly. “I don’t have a lot of experience with firearms, sir. I can’t be certain.”

“I would bet my pension,” Adamat said, taking the pistol from Jain and rubbing his thumb in the pan. It was polished, with no traces of gunpowder or even firing residue, “that it hasn’t been fired since the gunsmith tested it. I think that Mr. Tumblar has been framed.”

“But sir,” Jain protested, “a shot went off in here! The whole hotel heard it, and the door was locked from the inside when the concierge arrived. I could still smell the sulfur of the shot when I came in.”

Adamat tapped the butt of the pistol against one palm. “That’s the problem.”

“Captain Hewi will want to hear something.”

“Tell her,” Adamat said slowly, “that Ricard Tumblar’s mistress was murdered by a powder mage.”

Later that day, Adamat took the short ride to the precinct building to recall everything he knew about powder mages.

It wasn’t much, to be honest. Powder mages commanded one of the three primary methods of sorcery. Theirs depended on the use of common black powder to make them stronger and faster, and to increase their senses well beyond those of a normal human. They could detonate powder at a small distance and even use it to manipulate bullets in flight.

Powder mages were also very rare. Most royal cabals of Privileged sorcerers saw powder magery as a threat to their power and so openly sought to suppress them. It wasn’t illegal to be a powder mage in Adro, as it was in many neighboring countries, but it certainly made life more difficult.

Adamat had only ever heard of a single powder mage with any public influence, but General Tamas was on campaign with the Adran army in the far east and would be no help at all on this matter.

He arrived at the precinct building at about six o’clock, having spent the day interviewing hotel employees and guests, as well as working his way through the surrounding neighborhood.

He slipped in through the back, hoping that Captain Hewi was still in her office, only to find Lieutenant Dorry and three of his constables lounging in the main recreation area just inside the back door.

Dorry saw him immediately and got to his feet, tossing aside a handful of playing cards. “Detective constable,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at his companions with a sly smile. “I understand you’ve allowed the prime suspect of a murder investigation to leave the scene.”

“Mr. Tumblar isn’t a suspect. And how did your investigation go today, lieutenant?” Adamat asked. “Did you beat a confession out of an innocent cook yet?”

“Oh, she confessed,” Dorry said. “Just like I told you she would.” He gave a self-satisfied smile. “The beating was just for a little extra fun.”

Adamat returned his smile, putting every ounce of disgust he could behind it. “How civilized.” He stepped around Dorry and headed for the hall to Captain Hewi’s office.

“The captain is furious,” Dorry said. “She doesn’t even want to see your face after what you pulled this morning. And now the thing with this Ricard Tumblar murder. I’ll be surprised if you last the week. You’ll be lucky if they demote you to constable and ship you back to the Twelfth.”

Adamat bristled, but he wouldn’t give Dorry the satisfaction of seeing him angry.

“A powder mage?” Dorry called after him. “Is that the best you can come up with? You’ll have the whole precinct chasing a ghost next!”

“More original than the cook,” Adamat said over his shoulder.

“You’ll have to find a job as one after my report to the commissioner!”

Adamat rounded the corner and went to the captain’s door, knocking once before entering.

Hewi looked up from a report on her desk and eyed Adamat as if she’d swallowed something sour. “A powder mage? Really?”

“Funny,” Adamat said, pointing down the hall as he shut the door. “Lieutenant Dorry just asked a similar question.” He watched Hewi’s face; no sign of amusement was forthcoming. “Sorry, captain, that was in poor taste.”

“Don’t get me started on that idiot Dorry,” Hewi said. “I’ve just read a report from our mortician that claims Dorry flagrantly robs the unclaimed corpses of murder victims. It appears the mortician has filed seven such reports over the last three years with my predecessor and I can’t do a damn thing about it because of the commissioner.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just do your job. Now sit down and tell me about your investigation.”

Adamat reviewed his initial impression of the hotel room and his interview with Ricard, all the way up till he found that the pistol had never been fired.

“Well,” Hewi said, “I can see how you’d assume foul play after that. Did you do a full search of the room?”

“The room and the road beneath his window. There was no other weapon to be found.”

“Could he have had an accomplice?” Hewi asked. “Someone to catch a discarded pistol and spirit it away?”

“Ricard can be daft at times, but he’s a smart man. If he wanted to kill his mistress he could have done it a hundred ways that wouldn’t have implicated him.”

“So you think someone set him up?”

“I’m convinced of it,” Adamat said.

“Give me your theory.”

“The first part of my theory,” Adamat said, “is that a powder mage entered Ricard’s room sometime yesterday and planted a sufficient enough amount of black powder to sound like a pistol shot when set off. They entered his room again in the middle of the night to put the gun beside him in the bed. This morning they proceeded to a rooftop a quarter mile away, where they took a shot with a rifle, killing the poor girl. It would have been an easy shot with their sorcery. They then returned to the hotel where they set off the hidden powder charge with their sorcery in order to alert the staff.”

“That’s … quite a story,” Hewi said. Her expression was halfway between bemused and entirely annoyed. “Do you have anything to back this theory up, beyond the unfired pistol?”