It was a difficult time to visit the Dragonfly. The staff was clearly shaken by the news of the concierge’s murder, but, as one of those small hotels with a casual air but impeccable couth, they soldiered on without letting their high-end guests know anything was amiss. Though nobody could miss the accumulation of expensive flower arrangements filling the area around the concierge desk, no doubt from devoted travelers who mourned Derek Snow.
The manager and night manager, who got called in early for the interview, met Heat and Rook in the bamboo-paneled lounge, which had not yet opened. Both had been on duty during the weeks Reed Wakefield stayed there, up to his death. They confirmed what Lauren had conveyed in her synopsis, and it jibed with what Heat, Rook, and most New Yorkers knew about the tragedy. The actor checked in alone, spent most of the time in his room, leaving only occasionally, like when housekeeping needed to service it, or at night. He came and went alone because it was clear that was what he wanted. He was polite but kept to himself. The only complaint he made was to insist housekeeping re-close his drapes and leave the lights off in his room when they were finished.
The night of his death Wakefield did not go out, nor did he have any visitors. When he didn’t answer his door the next day—he had specified 11:30 to 12:30 for his service—the housekeeper let herself in and discovered his body in the bed. She mistakenly assumed he was sleeping and left quietly, but then became concerned, and two hours later was when they discovered that he was dead.
“What was his relationship like with Derek Snow?” When the two managers reacted, Nikki said, “I’m sorry. I know this is a difficult time, but these questions need to be asked.”
“I understand,” said the manager. “The fact is, Derek was quite popular with all our guests. He was so well suited to the job and had a passion for it. He was naturally friendly, discreet, and masterful at bookings for theater or impossible restaurants.”
Nikki asked again, “And was he also popular with Reed Wakefield?”
The night manager, a thin young man with pale skin and a British accent, said, “Truth be told, I don’t think Mr. Wakefield availed himself extensively of Derek’s services during his stay. That’s not to say they didn’t pass the greetings of the day, but that might be the extent of it.”
“Did Soleil Gray ever visit him?” asked Heat.
“Mr. Wakefield?” The manager looked at the night man, and both shook no.
“Not during that period, as far as we recall,” said the night manager.
“Did Soleil Gray ever come to this hotel at all?”
“Oh, yes,” said the manager. “She was a frequent visitor to this lounge in particular and for certain parties, as well as being a guest of the hotel from time to time.”
“Even though she could almost walk here from her apartment?” said Rook.
“Mr. Rook, the Dragonfly is a destination experience for travelers no matter how far they come.” The manager smiled. That wasn’t the first time he had said that. Probably not the first time that day.
Heat asked, “What was her relationship like with Derek Snow?”
“Same as everyone’s, I suppose,” said the manager. He turned to the night manager. “Colin?”
“Absolutely. Quite. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
His certainty and exuberance seemed a little heavy-handed for Nikki’s taste. So she just went for it. “Were they lovers?”
“No, of course not,” said the manager. “That would be a breach of policy. Why do you ask that?”
Nikki directed herself to the night manager. “Because you are hiding something.” She paused for effect and watched pink splotches surface on his cheeks. “What is it, then, did they fight? Deal in drugs? Arrange cockfights in her room? You can tell me here, or you can tell me Uptown in a more official setting.”
The manager looked at his colleague, whose scalp was showing beads of perspiration through his thinning blond hair. “Colin?”
Colin hesitated and said, “We had a bit of . . . an incident . . . involving Miss Gray. You have to understand crossing this line of discretion is very difficult for me.”