An Unconventional Murder (6 page)

"I haven't had anything published yet, but I'm getting close," Ashley said, "I'd consider it
an honor to help out."

"What about you?" Cameron asked Royce Fontaine. "Do you write mysteries, too?"

Fontaine responded with a distasteful twitch of his nose. "No, sir, I do not. I write
historical novels. I leave the whodunits to others."

Cameron directed his attention to Upton, brows raised in a silent question. He sensed
that the former cop would understand.

Upton explained between clenched teeth, "Mr. Fontaine and I seldom see eye to eye on
anything, but I'd have to concede he has his talents. This may be a weak endorsement coming
from someone who is only capable of writing whodunits, but Mr. Fontaine is a genius when it
comes to research."

Fontaine's eyes widened. "Why, thank you, Arthur. And I didn't mean any insult. I
merely--"

"Forget it," Upton growled. "We have more important things to think about."

"What about me?" GP purred, her lower lip thrust into a sensuous pout. "Aren't I an asset
to this organization?"

"GP, you've got enough assets to fill a balance sheet," Upton assured her. "I'm sure you
can be of service."

"Thank you, Art," she cooed with a feline smile. "I was beginning to feel
unwanted."

"Not a chance."

Cameron noticed that Rena Oberhaus was scowling during Upton's interchange with GP.
He wondered, was the ex-cop completely oblivious? That wasn't a good sign. He shifted his
attention back to the problem at hand, his brain working furiously, as he weighed his
options.

He had to admit Upton was making sense. There was just too much for one man to
handle alone. But conduct a murder investigation by committee? Ridiculous. He would never
live that down at work, especially once word leaked out that he was the one who brought the
murder weapon into the building in the first place.

And then carelessly let someone steal it.

It made him feel sick all over again, particularly when he thought of the other missing
weapon, the nine-inch stiletto, still floating somewhere around the hotel.

He let out a deep sigh. "All right," he told the group, "for the time being, I'm going to
take you up on your offer. At least, to a very limited extent. But let's make something clear: I'm
in charge of this investigation, and none of you are to do anything--I repeat, anything--without
consulting me first. Agreed?"

The response was an eager chorus of yesses.

"Our first order of business is safety. Yours, mine and, especially, the other people in the
hotel. We don't know whether the murderer is still in the building or not. Given the weather
outside, the odds are that he or she is." He gestured meaningfully toward the dead man in the
corner of the room. "And we know we're dealing with someone who won't hesitate to kill,
especially if he gets backed into a corner. Understood?"

The five authors indicated their agreement.

Feeling a pang of guilt, Cameron decided to give them a more specific warning. "He
could have any type of weapon. A gun or a knife, or anything else. You need to be extremely
careful. If you stumble across anything you even suspect is significant, I want to know about it
immediately. Don't try to be a hero. Tell me about it, and I'll decide what to do. This isn't 'CSI
Miami'
.
" With a glance at Randy Callahan, Cameron added, "And none of you are
Walker, Texas Ranger. Okay?"

"Hell, he's a pipsqueak, anyway," Randy muttered. "Even with all that karate stuff, he'd
get his ass kicked big time if he ever tangled with a real gang of rowdies."

Rena was nodding eagerly. "We understand."

"All right," Cameron said, "I'm going to need a camera."

"What about my cell phone?" Rena said. "It has a built-in camera."

Cameron considered. "That won't work. I'd have to confiscate the phone after I shot the
pictures. Otherwise, there would be chain of custody issues. Also, it probably only holds a dozen
pictures. The best choice would be a digital camera with lots of memory, if you can find
one."

GP volunteered, "I know of at least two cameras we can borrow. I've seen a couple of
people running around, taking pictures. I'm sure they'd be willing to contribute to the cause."

"Perfect," Cameron said. "Although, for the time, being please don't tell them what the
cause is. The fewer people who know about this, the better."

"That makes sense," GP said. She headed toward the door. "I'm on my way." She paused
long enough to address the group. "See? I'm not just another pretty face."

As she glided out of the room, Cameron said, "I'm going to need a list of everyone
attending this convention."

"For what purpose?" Royce Fontaine said with a frown. "I don't see--"

Upton said, "The list might help us identify the dead man."

A flicker of understanding passed between Cameron and Upton as their eyes briefly met.
If they had to stop and explain every step, they'd never get anything done. Cameron noted
approvingly that the writer was behaving first like a cop and only second as a CFWA board
member.

He knew, of course, that there was another reason for the list.

"There's a complete list at the registration table," Rena said. "I'll go get it. I'll also find
something for you to write on."

"While you're at it," Upton told her, "why don't you make up some signs to put on the
door to this room, declaring it off limits? We'll also need to hunt down that facilities manager
and get him to lock the doors."

"I doubt that you can trust that man to handle even so rudimentary a task," Fontaine
said.

"Then we'll supervise him," Upton replied.

Rena said, "We're obviously going to have to find somewhere else to hold the afternoon
sessions. I'll talk to the hotel manager about that." She turned toward Cameron. "What do you
want me to tell him?"

He made a face. "You mean that Jimmy character?"

"No, no, his boss, Mr. Forrest."

"Oh. Tell him the truth. But give him the
Reader's Digest
version. There's been
a murder and I'm going to need his help. I'll be around to talk with him in, say, an hour. And tell
him not to discuss it with anyone for the time being. One more thing, Ms. Oberhaus. I--"

"You can still call me Rena."

Cameron hesitated. It was important to maintain a healthy distance between himself and
the suspects. On the other hand, the more comfortable they felt around him, the more information
they might provide. Given the peculiar circumstances of this case, all the normal rules were out
the window.

"Rena, then. I noticed some convention schedules out on the registration table. Could
you grab one of those for me?"

"Will do. You can count on me." She turned and left the room.

"While we're waiting," Cameron told the remaining board members, "there are a few
general questions I can ask all of you." He led the four men--Upton, Callahan, Wade and
Fontaine--down toward the stage and gestured for them to sit in the front row. "You might as
well get comfortable. This is going to take a while." Perching on the edge of the speaker's table,
he added, "First off, I'll ask again, does anybody know who the dead man is?"

The writers indicated that they did not.

"Come on, haven't any of you seen this man walking around somewhere in the
hotel?"

Upton spoke up. "The convention started yesterday at noon but, being Friday, some of
the attendees couldn't get off work. So it's possible he showed up for the first time this
morning."

"And was immediately murdered?" Cameron said with a skeptical frown.

"Probably not," Upton agreed. "But that's not where I was going with that."

"Arthur, are you assuming the man was participating in the convention?" Royce said. "It
strikes me as possible that--"

"Hell, he was killed in this room," Randy said impatiently. "In my book, that certainly
implies he was here for the convention."

"We don't know the answer to that question," Upton asserted. He turned to Cameron.
"My point is, regardless of whether he first showed up yesterday or this morning, the people most
likely to have seen him coming and going would be the ones running the registration table. I'd
suggest that we start off by talking to them."

"That makes sense," Cameron agreed. "But not we. Me. I'll take care of that. Do any of
you happen to know what events took place in this room this morning?"

Ashley Wade frowned, as though Cameron was asking a trick question. "You mean
aside from the murder?"

"Of course," Cameron said.

"Assuming it even took place in this room," Randy observed. "Now that I think about it,
we don't actually know where that feller was killed, do we?"

"No, we really don't," Cameron agreed. It seemed to him that at least some of the writers
were asking intelligent questions. Others, he suspected--Royce Fontaine for example--were likely
to be more trouble than they were worth.

Upton volunteered, "Royce and I were the first speakers of the day. Although, because of
the snow and the fact that I arrived half an hour late, we didn't get started until 9:45."

"Did either of you notice that man lying on the floor?"

"I'm afraid not," Upton said. "Of course, by the time we got here, the room was just
about full. Royce counted one hundred and one people. Evidently, there was one more that we
didn't know about. Of course, from down here at the bottom of the auditorium, we wouldn't have
been able to see him even if we'd been looking."

"Why would we have been looking for him?" Fontaine said. He turned to Cameron. "We
had no inkling there was anything amiss in this room."

"He knows that, Royce," Upton growled.

"Oh," said Royce, momentarily taken aback. "Detective Cameron, when I arrived this
morning, I attempted to enter this very room. Before I embark upon a speaking engagement, I
invariably make a point of inspecting the site in advance. It permits me to accustom myself to the
surroundings and determine--"

"I understand," Cameron said. "You say you tried to enter the room?"

"That's right. But I found the doors locked."

"A locked room mystery! " Ashley frowned. "Except that this is the real deal."

Cameron stayed focused on Fontaine. "If the door was locked, how did you get in?"

"Arthur and I managed to locate the janitor. That cretin who calls himself the facilities
manager. He claimed he had unlocked the door earlier. However, he quite obviously had not
done so."

"So he had to unlock the doors for you?"

"Actually, he didn't," Upton observed. "He came here with us and we found the doors
unlocked, just as he claimed they would be. By then there were probably fifty people in the
room."

"So, between the time Mr. Fontaine tried to enter the room and the time the two of you
returned with the janitor, the door had somehow become unlocked?"

"So it would seem," Fontaine agreed. "One wonders how many people would have
access to a key."

"Yes, one does wonder," Cameron agreed. "How much time elapsed between your
finding the door locked and your returning to find it unlocked, Mr. Fontaine?"

"I would estimate three quarters of an hour."

Upton raised his brows. "Three quarters of an hour? What on earth were you doing all
that time?"

"Endeavoring to locate someone who could let me into this room. First, I approached the
clerk at the front desk downstairs. He informed me that only the members of the special events
department possess keys to these meeting rooms. When I arrived at their office, I found it locked
and darkened. Evidently they only work Monday through Friday. The hotel manager hadn't
arrived yet, so I directed the desk clerk to contact the janitor. We left several messages on his
pager, with increasing urgency, but he failed to respond."

"And that took forty-five minutes?"

"No, Arthur, it did not," Fontaine snapped. "After a while, I gave up and went upstairs to
my room. I reasoned that if anyone needed me, they knew where to find me."

Upton's lips tightened. "You mean you deliberately--?"

"So what time did you return downstairs, Mr. Fontaine?" Cameron said.

"A little after nine."

"What did you do next, Mr. Fontaine?"

"I encountered Arthur and Ms. Oberhaus, standing together in the hallway. After some
discussion, we set out once again to find the janitor. This time, we were successful. Arthur has
already told you what happened after that. We--"

Cameron noticed that Upton had turned and was staring at the dead body in the back of
the room. "Is something wrong?"

"For a moment, I felt a sensation that something was out of place, like a flash of light
that was trying to attract my attention. But it's gone now. I--"

Rena burst breathlessly into the room, lugging a bulging shopping bag. She began
arraying its contents in tidy rows on the speaker's table: a thick computer printout, several yellow
legal pads, three ball point pens with the
Marquis Hotel
logo printed on them, and a
digital camera in an expensive-looking leather case.

"I hope these are what you need. I got the pens and legal pads from Mr. Forrest. He said
to tell you there's a color printer in the catering office if you need to print any pictures."

Cameron surveyed the items. "These are perfect. Thank you." With a sweep of his arm,
he invited her to take a seat next to the other CFWA members. As she sat, he asked Upton and
Fontaine, "What time did your presentation end?"

"Probably 10:50. Is that about right, Royce?"

"It is. People were already beginning to line up for the next session."

"Which was what?"

"The agent presentation," Upton said. "Three New York agents spoke about the care and
feeding of literary agents
.
"

Fontaine muttered, "I understand that Mr. Zachary Tuck participated as one of the panel
members. Whose damn-fool idea was that?"

"Tuck was one of the speakers? That lowdown piece of..." Callahan interrupted himself
with a self-conscious glance over at Rena and said, "...work..."