"Laura, why don't we-"
"You stay here by the door," Laura told him. "I'm going to check the bathroom -"
"Laura-" Remington said, then realized she was no longer beside him. He heard a noise near the door and suddenly found himself the recipient of a strong left handed punch in the stomach that left him slightly dazed. Knowing that Laura was in the other room, he shook off the effects and retaliated with a right that connected with his assailant's chin.
He grabbed the man's shirt as he felt his own grabbed- then froze as the bath room light came on, revealing his assailant's identity. "Murphy?"
"Steele. What the hell are you doing in my room?" he asked, not releasing Remington.
"We came here to find out why you weren't at dinner," Laura told him, coming forward to pull them apart. "Where were you?"
"I was in Hank Jordan's room, talking to the coroner," he told Laura, frowning at the "I told you so" look Remington sent Laura. He rubbed his chin. "He's trying to narrow the time of death and I was helping him. How did you two get in here? And how come the lights aren't on?"
"The switch is out," Laura said. "And the door was open."
Murphy sat down on the bed. "Something strange is going on here, Laura," He said, then paused. "What on earth?" He had put his hand on the bed, and now he brought it into the light to reveal a deadly looking dagger, the blade shiny with wetness.
Remington leaned closer. "It looks like -"
"Blood," Laura finished. "But whose blood? And why put it here?"
"There's been another murder," Murphy realized.
"I think we need to call everyone together," Remington suggested, and then find out who's missing."
Murphy looked up at him. "That's a very good idea, Mr. Steele. What about this?" he asked.
"Put it back on the bed," Laura told him. "Your fingerprints are already all over it, but maybe the killer left some of his as well. Just lock the door when we leave -"
"That didn't keep him out before," Murphy pointed out.
"We shouldn't be gone very long. And as soon as we find out what's happened, and who the victim is, we'll call the police and tell them about the knife."
Murphy returned the knife to where he'd found it, then followed Laura and Remington out of the room, making certain it was locked behind them.
Murphy tried to pull his arm away from Sybil's grip. "As you can see, Syb, we're both fine. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to be going."
Laura gave her old friend a grateful smile as they moved away, leaving Sybil to turn toward the elevator. "Thanks."
"She's a parasite," he said. "Wonder sometimes what I ever saw in her."
Remington's eyebrow rose in surprise. "You and - Miss Blaylock, Murphy?"
"Something I prefer to forget," Murphy said as they entered the assembly room.
"A youthful indiscretion," Remington mused. "I quite understand," he said, smiling at Murphy's long suffering sigh. They had asked the front desk to call everyone who had signed in to attend the conference, and were gratified that the room looked full.
"What's going on, Mr. Steele?" Wynn Davis asked.
"There's a possibility that there's been another murder," Steele announced. As there was a gasp from those assembled, he lifted his hands for silence. "I want all of you to look around, see if anyone you think should be here isn't. Do you have the list of attendees, Mr. Davis?"
"Right here," Wynn said, his eyes scanning the crowded room.
"Excellent. The best way to accomplish this is to simply ask everyone to speak up when your name is called." He nodded toward Laura, who began to call out names, omitting Hank Jordan's. "Lee Thompson?"
"I'm here, Laura," the man called back, the familiar laughter in his voice drawing Remington's gaze for a long moment. He was a small man, older than Laura and Murphy, Remington realized, then concentrated on the other names that Laura called and the responses.
He was about to decide that this hadn't been a good idea after all when she called another name. "Ray Carlton."
The room was quiet. "When was the last time anyone saw Mr. Carlton?" Remington asked.
"I saw him just after we were questioned by the police about Hank Jordan's murder," someone said. "He said he was going to have dinner in his room."
"What room is Mr. Carlton registered in, Laura?" Remington asked.
"245," she told him. Remington turned and left the room, with the others following. He went to the desk clerk.
"Yes, Mr. Steele?" the man asked, clearly uncomfortable with so many people around the desk.
"When you called and paged everyone connected with the conference, did you ring Room 245?" Remington asked the man.
"Yes, sir." He picked up the log sheet. "It's right here. There was no answer. And no response to the page for him."
"Call the police, please." He looked at Laura and Murphy. "Shall we?"
It took both elevators to get them all to the second floor. This time, the door wasn't locked, it opened much as Murphy's had done earlier. The lights were on, but there was no sign of the room's occupant. Until Laura opened the sliding glass door onto the balcony and bit back a scream. She refused to scream like a hysterical female in front of all of these detectives. "Remington- Murphy -" Both men came quickly. Ray Carlton's body was in a chair, his head bent to his chest. There was blood everywhere.
Remington wanted to take Laura into his arms, but knew she wouldn't let him. So he concentrated on the body of the dead man. Lifting the man's head slightly, he winced. "His jugular vein was severed. Bled to death in a matter of minutes."
Murphy nodded in reluctant agreement as Lt. Craig came through the crowd of detectives. "Another one?" he asked, sighing heavily. "All right, everyone out - " He fixed Remington and Laura with a look. "Except for you two -"
"I thought Murphy should stay as well, Lieutenant," Laura said quickly. "He might have some information about the case."
Craig nodded. "Micheals, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
Craig looked over the scene, then told the officer with him, "Dust for prints, although we probably won't find anything that will help."
"Yes, sir."
"Why can't you people just call us instead of barging into a crime scene? Don't you realize - Never mind. I guess none of you had ever met Ray Carlton before this conference?"
All three shook their heads. "I only spoke to him one time since I arrived," Murphy said.
"No sign of a murder weapon, Lieutenant," the officer said.
"Because I think it's in my room," Murphy told him.
"Your room, Mr. Micheals?" He turned to the officer. "Let the coroner in when he arrives, Pete. No one else. Understood?"
"Got it. Where will you be?"
"Room -?" he looked at Murphy.
"225," Murphy supplied.
Craig picked it up with a handkerchief. "Guess your prints are on it, right?"
"The room was dark when I picked it up, Lieutenant. How was I supposed to know that it had been used to commit a murder?"
"You're right. "I'll question everyone again - check alibis. Where were you this evening, Mr. Micheals?"
"I spent most of it with the coroner in Hank Jordan's room, talking to him about time of death. He can verify it."
"Mr. and Mrs. Steele?"
"We called Los Angeles and then went down to dinner," Remington told the detective.
"Alright. I've half a mind to shut down this conference."
"But if you do that, the killer will go home and you'll probably never find out who it is," Laura reminded him.
"Yeah, I know. That's the only thing stopping me. After I question everyone separately, I want everyone connected to the conference gathered downstairs."
It was an hour later that the private detectives gathered once again in the conference room, this time to listen as Lt. Craig laid out a few ground rules. "Two people have been killed, and I am forced to admit that I don't have any leads as to who was responsible. I need all of you to try and remember if either of the victims knew each other before this conference - if any of you know ANYthing that might help find out who killed these men." After several minutes, Craig had to admit defeat. "All right. Now, I can't tell you what to do, but I can ask that you watch your backs. Thanks." He met Murphy, Laura and Remington as the others filed out. "The coroner has confirmed that the knife in your room was probably the murder weapon. Mr. Carlton's throat was cut from behind, by someone left handed."
Murphy and Laura looked at each other. "We're both left handed, Lieutenant."
"I'd noticed. But I've already eliminated both of you as suspects."
"Thanks for that, anyway," Murphy said. "So, we're looking for someone who's left handed. Should be easy enough to find out which of the others are southpaws."
"I was hoping you would volunteer, Mr. Micheals."
"What am I supposed to do? Go up and ask 'Are you left-handed'?"
"I'm sure between yourself and Mr. and Mrs. Steele, you'll come up with something. And please, if you even suspect that the killer's struck again, call me BEFORE you go barging into the room, okay?"
"You think the killer will strike again, Lieutenant?" Remington asked.
"Don't know. I didn't expect ONE corpse, much less TWO, Mr. Steele. I'm not counting anything out. I have to go. I'll be by tomorrow. And if you find anything -"
"We'll call, Lt. Craig," Remington assured him.
They spent an hour arranging breakfast for the entire group in the conference room before Murphy went back to his room and the Steeles retired to theirs.
"So much for an early evening," Remington sighed, removing his jacket and tie.
Laura sat beside him on the bed. "This weekend isn't going exactly as we'd planned, is it?"
"No, it's not," he agreed, putting his arm around her. "Next time, Laura, we're going to Catalina for the week-end. Or even Acapulco."
"Won't matter," Laura sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "No matter where we go, we always seem to find a mystery to solve."
"Then we'll just lock the bedroom door and refuse to answer the telephone," he suggested. "How does that sound, Mrs. Steele?"
"Wonderful, Mr. Steele," Laura sighed, lifting her face for his kiss. "Absolutely wonderful."