The man was on the verge of a major medical breakthrough. He had been divorced for seven years already, had a kid he didn't see enough, loved to read, loved to work, was more or less a homebody. According to Harvey Riker and several of Bruce's friends, Grey rarely traveled and had only been out of the country three times his recent trip to Cancun, Mexico (taking a vacation before suicide?) and twice to Bangkok a few years back, where the clinic kept all confidential blood and lab samples and test results. Max had learned that Harvey and Bruce were paranoid about leaks, sabotage, government interference, that kind of thing hence the decision to have a safehouse way out in Bangkok. Might have seemed like unsubstantiated paranoia at the time but now... Bernstein stopped in mid-thought when he saw it.
His gaze fastened on the left side of the wall by the door, his eyes widening. He slowly crossed the room and examined the chain-lock, which hung from the wall and door in two separate pieces. The steel chain was snapped in two. Max bent forward to get a closer look when a knock on the door made him jump.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Hector Rodriguez," a voice with a Hispanic accent called out.
"Mr. Adams told me you wanted to see me."
Bernstein opened the door.
"Come in."
The slight, dark-skinned man moved into the room. He wore a hotel uniform and a goatee that looked like it had been penciled onto his face.
"Mr. Adams said you have some questions about the suicide?"
"Hector, did anyone notice this before?"
Hector squinted at the chain-lock.
"I don't think so. No one's used this room since the suicide."
"Are broken chain-locks a common occurrence in this place?"
"No, sir, they're not. I'll have it replaced right away."
Bernstein wondered if the lock had been broken when Grey first came into the room. Somehow he doubted it.
"Do you remember Dr. Grey checking in?"
"A little," Hector replied.
"I mean, he jumped out the window a few minutes after he checked in. He couldn't have been in the room for more than five minutes."
"What do you remember about him?"
"He had very blond hair "
"I don't mean looks-wise. I mean, how did he act? How was he behaving?"
"Behaving?"
"Yes. Did he seem depressed, for example?" "No, not de. I'd say nervous was more like it. He was sweating like a pig."
"I see..." Bernstein's hands flew forward.
"Hold it a second.
Did you just say Dr. Grey had blond hair?"
"Very blond."
Max's eyes squinted in bafflement. He opened his file and looked at a recent photograph of Bruce Grey. The man in the photograph had black hair.
"Is this the man who checked in that night?"
Hector stared at the picture for a good ten seconds.
"I can't say for sure. He looked much different. He didn't have a beard and like I said before, his hair was blond."
Bernstein opened the file. He had tried to avoid the police photos because he was not fond of looking at splattered remains, but now he knew that he would have to look. He thumbed through the papers until he arrived at the first glossy photograph.
There was not enough face left to tell if there had ever been a beard, but even through the thick patches of blood, Max could see that the dead man definitely had blond hair. Like Hector said, very blond.
Max closed both the file and his eyes. Why the sudden appearance change? A new hair-do and quick shave for a leap through a window seemed a tad bizarre, to say the least.
"Tell me what Dr. Grey said to you when he checked in."
Hector looked up, trying to remember.
"Nothing special. He just said he wanted a room. I asked, "How many nights, sir?" and he said, "One."
"
"That's it?" "I said, Will that be cash or charge? and he said, "Cash." Then I gave him the key and he took off."
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing."
"You're sure." He thought a moment.
"That was it."
"He didn't have any special requests for his room?"
"No."
"He didn't ask for the room to be on a certain floor?"
Hector shook his head.
"I don't even think he looked at the number on the key until he stepped into the elevator."
Cold fear slid down Bernstein's chest. His finger went back into his mouth, but there was nothing left to chew except skin.
This whole thing was getting messy and complicated, too messy and too complicated. Bruce Grey had not asked for a special room.
He had not asked for a room with a view or a room near an elevator or one