The maid looked at her. “You have ID?”
Devin didn’t even have shoes—there were certainly no pockets in her nightgown.
“I don’t. I—I swear this is my room. I went to...to tell my friend something and forgot to take a key. Please, can you help me?”
Devin had a horrible picture of having to go down to the lobby in her nightshirt with her hair...
Messed up as it could only be after a night of sex. No, she would buck up, go back to Rocky’s room and ask him to help her.
She didn’t have to. The maid evidently decided she looked honest and took pity on her.
“You bring me ID, please, to the door when I let you in,” the woman said nervously. “This, it is against the rules.”
“Thank you, thank you, I understand. I’ll get my ID right away,” Devin promised.
The maid let her in. She rushed to get her purse and ran back to hand her identification to the maid. “And my key—see, my key. And my name. And...thank you.”
The maid smiled at her and nodded.
Devin thought that she would be leaving the woman a very nice tip when she checked out.
Once the maid was gone, Devin locked the door, sighed and hurried into the bathroom, grabbing clean clothes on the way, to hop into the shower. She hurried, seeing as the day was already half-over, drying her hair and dressing as quickly as she could. The minute she left the bathroom she stopped and stood dead still.
On the table, along with the room service menu, was a medallion attached to a silver chain.
A pentagram.
She didn’t touch it, only stared, wondering in horror if someone had put it there during the night or while she was with Rocky, and she just hadn’t noticed it till now...
Or if someone had come in and left it while she was in the shower.
*
Rocky called the station and found out that Brent Corbin had spent what had remained of the night before in lockup, still denying that he had even seen Barbara Benton at the bar, much less murdered her.
He was just hanging up when he heard a fierce pounding at his door. He hurried and looked through the peephole. It was Devin, and she looked as upset as she’d been last night. The minute he opened it, she burst into the room. She’d showered and dressed, and he couldn’t help but appreciate how nice she looked in jeans and a light sweater. What struck him most, though, was that her eyes were huge.
“Someone was in my room!” she gasped.
“What?” he demanded.
“Come on.” Without waiting for an answer, she rushed back into the hall.
Rocky followed quickly, letting his door lock behind him, glad his wallet was in his pocket and his Glock was in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket.
Devin unlocked her door and hurried the few feet to the table. Then she pointed. “This was here when I got out of the shower.”
Rocky stared at the pentagram necklace, then turned to her. “Where did it come from?”
“I sure as hell don’t know!”
“When?”
“I—I don’t know that, either. I didn’t even glance at the table when I...when I went to your room this morning or when I came back a little while ago. I went straight in to take a shower, then saw it when I got out. I don’t know if it was here before or if someone was in here when I was showering. Rocky, the killer might have been in here with me!”
He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. “We’ll find out,” he said harshly. “I’ll pull every piece of video this place has—we’ll find who did this.”
She was shaking. “My house...my room. Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he promised.
“But at least this means it’s not Brent, right?”
“It certainly improves his odds. Meanwhile, hopefully we can trace this.” As he spoke, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He called Sam first, then Jack Grail, hanging the do not disturb sign on her door while he talked.
He was supposed to be on his way to the station to take another crack at Brent Corbin, but that could wait.
Taking Devin by the hand, he headed down the hall to the elevator.
“Where are we going? What are we doing?”
“Jack and Sam are on the way to meet us. We’re going to get the hotel surveillance footage and go through it. He pointed to the camera lens aimed discreetly at the elevator. “Most hotels this size have cameras in their elevators and hallways. Not because crooks leave things in the guests’ rooms, of course, but because they take them, and because there are cases of rape and murder in even the best hotels.”
At the desk he showed the clerk his badge and, flustered, she went to retrieve the manager. He was a small man named Mr. Hogan, who listened gravely, nodding the whole while.
After that Mr. Hogan led them to a back office where there was a bank of cameras, several for each of the hotel’s five floors. An elderly security guard was at the desk watching the screens. There were, the manager assured them, always two security guards on duty. One roamed the hotel while the other watched the office.