Chapter 5: The Night Desk

I did not sleep, so at two in the morning I took the elevator down to the lobby.

The Lindholm Grand is a different building at night.

The chandelier was dimmed to a gold glow.

The revolving door turned slowly for no one.

A single clerk stood at the front desk, reading a paperback.

Mateo Soto was in the back office behind her, sitting at a metal desk with two monitors.

His paper cup of coffee had stopped steaming.

He looked up and did not seem surprised.

"You didn't come to the night desk for the view," he said.

"Close the door."

He did.

The office was small and smelled like burnt coffee and carpet.

I sat in the chair across from him and put my phone on the desk.

Then I told him what I had decided to tell him.

"I was in the dressing room at three. They didn't see me."

"You heard them," he said.

"I heard enough."

He was silent for a moment.

"What was she to you?" he asked.

"My maid of honor. My best friend of eleven years."

His jaw tightened, just once, and his eyes went to the coffee.

I read it as pity and was grateful for it.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be. I want to know about my father."

"Your father." He turned one of the monitors toward me. "He went into 1408 at 5:05 this evening, alone, and stayed about ten minutes."

He tapped the screen.

"He opened the safe in the dressing room and took out a gray envelope."

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