“Hey yourself.” Cassie smiled.
I wasn’t nervous. I just wasn’t sure how to phrase things. But before I could speak, I heard a noise and saw a woman pushing a maid’s cart in our direction.
“Did you knock?” Cassie asked, her head tilted toward Richie’s door.
“Yes,” I said. “And I called. Nothing.”
Cassie pulled out her badge and flashed the maid. “Do us a favor, will ya? Open this door?”
The woman swiped her passkey, and I swung Richie’s door ajar. Holding it open, I glanced inside. The place looked empty.
“Agent Brancato?” I hollered.
“Richie?” Cassie’s voice followed mine.
That’s when we saw it.
A drop of blood on the wood floor, just inches from the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Cassie and I pulled our weapons.
“Richie!” I hollered.
I studied the hotel room as I stepped inside. It was suite-style. The primary area held a kitchenette, living room, and desk. There were no suitcases in the room. No items on the desk or below it.
“Richie?” Cassie repeated, her voice steady.
It took four seconds to check the space. “Clear,” I called out to Cassie.
I moved left, toward the closed door to the bedroom, while Cassie rechecked the rest of the room. She opened a small cabinet, but it held only a fold-out ironing board.
I stepped closer to the bedroom, and Cassie crossed the space, approaching from the opposite side. “Armed federal agents,” she called, “looking for Richie Brancato.”
I pushed the door open with my left foot, my Glock raised at eye level. But the only thing inside was Richie’s body. He was laid out on the floor in a pair of boxers and nothing else, a white hotel towel spread across his chest.
I kicked the door all the way open, and Cassie rounded the opposite corner with her weapon out, both of us confirming at a glance that the space was empty. I tucked my Glock away and crouched near Richie on the floor.
“Jesus,” Cassie said from behind me, double-checking the bathroom and moving back into the primary area before bolting the door so no one could approach us from the rear.
I was on the ground beside Richie, feeling for a pulse on the radial side of his wrist. It was weak at best, and his skin was clammy and cold to the touch.
“Nine-one-one?” Cassie said, her voice spiking.
“We’ll get him there faster ourselves,” I said. “Get the car.”
Cassie ran out the door, and I prepared myself to lift Richie up. But before I did, I turned and scanned the space, knowing that after we left, I might not have another chance to inspect a clean crime scene.
Out in the main room was the desk where Richie would have kept his workbag, computer, and papers. There was nothing there. I scanned back to the floor by the entryway and found the drop of blood I’d first seen. Nearby were a couple more sprinkles, but not more than a quarter ounce in all.
I looked back to Richie, noticing a smear of shaving cream in his right sideburn. Beyond his body, a small pool of water lay on the floor, outside the bathroom door.
I imagined the rookie, emerging from the shower, then shaving. Maybe hearing someone inside his room.
And opening the door to find what? A person going through his workbag? El Médico, specifically?
I’d seen enough of the space. I turned to him.
