Episode 3 : The Threefold Death

Chapter Three – CSI

One of the CIS techs lifted the napkin off the face of the deceased and placed it in an evidence bag held open by the other tech.
“If you guys can expedite an id, I’ll get out of your hair sooner rather than later,” Lincoln said. Once the forensic guys had arrived, he was happy to let them do their thing. He also wanted to know if the deceased man was a guest of the hotel or not.
He doubted they could get a facial id, but still hoped for one because they were quicker. He was almost sure the face was too distorted though; the lips were bloated and blue and the man’s swollen tongue was protruding from between them. The eyes bulged, and Lincoln wondered how long it would have taken for them to be plucked out and eaten by a raven, if the body hadn’t been discovered.
“Facial id usually doesn’t work at this stage,” said Sam, the CIS forensic lead, who was standing beside him. “His prints will do the trick though, if they’re in the database.”
Lincoln had met Sam before on other cases, over other bodies. She was competent and thorough and he was amused by her black humor. He watched as one of the techs went to a pelican box and retrieved a fingerprint scanner. His gloved hands took the cold, mottled right hand of the deceased and pressed the fingertips to the illuminated green glass of the reader.
Beep. Beep.
“We’ll do the left hand later, that should do it for id. Just a moment,” the tech said.
They all stood still and waited as the machine connected to the giant national database and then returned results.
“Looks like we have a match,” said the tech. “Name was Jude Ronald Rothburg. His prints were on file for the Global Entry program. Match is solid.”
“Jude Rothburg,” Lincoln repeated. “Zee?” He merely had to mention his partner’s name.
“On it,” she replied, for his ears only. Zee would check with the hotel to see if he was a guest, and then have them restrict access to his room until Lincoln could get there if he was. She’d also look up his address, next of kin, and highlight any other relevant details such as criminal records, affiliations.
“Someone really wanted Mr. Rothburg dead,” said Sam. She was marking the visible injuries on the outline of a body on her tablet.
“And I’d wager that missive under his glute probably isn’t a suicide note either,” Lincoln said, hinting.
“Okay, let’s get that document out from under him, I’m pretty sure he’s done with it,” said Sam. “Our intrepid detective here has his eye on it.”
After the CSI techs had retrieved the letter and placed it in a transparent evidence bag, they placed it on a small folding table they’d brought so Lincoln could have a look.
The written characters looked like something out of a fantasy movie. He knew they weren’t Arabic or Devanagari, whose script he recognized, but the shapes had a flow and style of cursive English characters, but they just weren’t. There were twelve short lines, centered on the page and written, it seemed, by hand with a wide-tipped pen of the type that was meant for decorative calligraphy. The paper looked rustic, as if it were hand-made, perhaps pressed in some weekday evening crafting course for people who romanticized doing things the old-fashioned way. It was a large sheet of paper though, and had clean-cut edges. Blood had soaked into the bottom left corner.
“Hey Zee,” Lincoln said quietly, “translate please.” Lincoln watched through his glasses as Zeno analyzed the text, highlighting it and trying to fit it into the lexicon of known languages
“It’s a fictional language perhaps, or a code. Leave it with me for a bit, I’ll work on it.” Zee said to him. “Mr. Rothburg was a hotel guest by the way, and I’ve spoken to the manager, Fritz Leidermann. He’s secured the room and will meet you in the main lobby at your convenience.”
“Okay, got it. You can let him know I’m on my way momentarily.”

Lincoln left the letter where it was and turned back to Sam and her team. One of them was putting plastic bags over the hands of the deceased Jude Rothburg, while the other was taking the vomit from the ground and putting it into a sample container.
“Affirmative on guest status,” he told them, tilting his head towards the Lodge. “I’m going to go up there and do a preliminary and tape it off.” Lincoln told them.
Sam looked at him. “We’ll be here for a while. I’ll let you know when we’re finished.”
“Alright, we’ll reconnect in a bit. Let me know if you find anything else I should know about right away.”

Lincoln walked the perimeter of the small area once more before he left. He went over to the stairway that went down and looked over the edge of the bank again. He could see the ocean, just thirty feet down or so, and the beginnings of a trail that led along the bank. He made a mental note to come back and walk it later. He turned back and headed up the steps, the way he’d come in. At the top, recessed in the shrubbery, he noticed a small shed through the trees on his left-hand side. He had missed it before, due to the angles and his being focused on getting down to where the body was, but now he walked over now to take a look. There was a simple padlock hanging open on the painted door, so Lincoln took a solitary fingertip and gingerly pulled the door open to peek inside. It creaked as old garden shed doors often do, but there was nothing out of the ordinary inside, just a few gardening tools and some fishing gear. It would all have to be catalogued by Sam and her team. Satisfied for now, he pushed the door back to its slightly ajar position.
He looked around. There was an obvious path in the duff that led around the shed, so Lincoln followed it. Some surplus split rails for the fencing and a pile of paving stones were the only rewards for his curiosity. There were no more trails leading off into the woods. Lincoln retreated the way he’d come and left the grotto enclosure, stopping to speak to the two officers outside the scene perimeter about the outbuilding.
“No civilian access for the shed of course,” Lincoln said, “if someone needs a rake or a shovel, they’ll have to find one somewhere else for today.”
“You got it,” replied the young cop, eager to do his duty. The older one just nodded.
“Do you mind if I abscond with the rest of that roll of scene-tape?” Lincoln asked.
“Help yourself,” said the senior man. This was kind of him, the sharing of supplies
Lincoln went to the table and doffed his blue booties and gloves, placing them in the trash. He picked up another set of each and put them in his pocket along with the small roll of tape that was left. Then he set off for the dead man’s room.

Chapter Four – Room 305

As Lincoln approached the main doors of the Finn Island Lodge, they swung open as they did for every guest. Hi glasses, still streaming, transitioned quickly from tinted to clear as he entered the building. In a straight line from the front door was the reception desk, and Lincoln made for that. He could see two employees there, a middle-aged man and a young woman, and they weren’t busy with guests. He greeted them before they could greet him, taking charge of the interaction. They had name tags: Jack and Penny.
“Good morning you two, I’m DAIS agent Lincoln. I thought I should let you know what’s going on, if you haven’t already heard.” Lincoln said.
“Of course we have, word travels fast.” Penny said, tapping the little two-way radio on a charger. “Is there really a body?” She asked, silently mouthing the last word.
Lincoln spoke in a low voice. “There is, and he was one of your guests.”
Penny’s eyes got wide. It was clear she thought this was very exciting, like something from TV.
“Are you sure? What was his name?” Asked Jack.
Again in a low voice, Lincoln answered. “Mr. Jude Rothburg.”
Jack turned to the front desk terminal and typed, pulling up the guest folio with a photo of Mr. Rothburg. He turned the screen towards Lincoln.
“This man?” Jack said in a hushed, low voice. Lincoln nodded his confirmation. Penny looked over at the screen, and Lincoln saw a flash of recognition on her face, but she said nothing. Lincoln paused for another moment to see what would happen, nothing did. Jack and Penny stood there in shock, until Jack realized something.
“I will call Mr. Leidermann,” he said, picking up the phone. He spoke quietly and then hung up.
“Did this guest stand out to you in any way?” Lincoln finally asked.
The two of them looked at each other, Jack gave Penny a slight nod, Penny took a breath.
“He only checked in yesterday. I guess he was a little…inappropriate,” she said. “As in, weird and flirty. It was like he thought he was at the hedonism resort or something.”
“That might be taking it a little far, but yes,” said Jack.
“I see. It sounds awkward.”
“It happens.“ She sighed. “Men are away at conferences and all that. I can handle it, and Jack was here.”
“Anything else come to mind?”
“Well, there was that whole thing with the rest of his group and their dinner, but I think everything went just fine.” Penny said, looking at Jack. “At least, we didn’t hear anything went wrong.”
“What was the whole thing, as you say, with the dinner?” Lincoln enquired.
“Oh it was nothing really, a couple of the people in the party didn’t seem to know each other when they checked in. I guess it was just an assumption on my part.”
“I see. So, did Mr. Rothburg check in yesterday as well? Were the two of you on duty here?”
“He did, and we were,” Jack answered. “Noon until eight.”
“How did he die, do you know?” Penny asked in a whisper. “Was there a gun?”
“Penny!” Jack admonished quietly, in a way that said ‘be professional’.
“I’m afraid I can’t release any details at this time. I’m sure you understand.” Lincoln said.
“She reads a lot of true crime novels,” said Jack, by way of an apology.
“I see. Well in that case Miss,” Lincoln leaned in conspiratorially, “you’ll understand that the man’s room is now a crime scene. Also, I’ll want to take a statement from both of you whenever it’s convenient today.”
They both nodded, that wouldn’t be a problem.
It was then that a very polished gentleman appeared from the stairwell and joined them by the desk. He wore a well tailored navy suit, with a tie to match, and a crisp white shirt that shared fabric with a crisp white pocket square. Swept back silver hair was held perfectly in place around a tanned, lean face. He extended his hand towards Lincoln.
“Hello Mr. Lincoln. I am Fritz Leidermann, general manager of Finn Island Lodge.”
The two men shook hands.
“I trust my partner brought you up to speed on what’s happening over in the grotto?” Lincoln said.
“Yes, she did. She said you’d be needing access to the room, room 305. We have locked it out as she requested, no one has been inside, and housekeeping wasn’t going to service the room anyways. You shall have our full cooperation,” Leidermann replied.
“So I have your consent, that of the hotel, to enter the room? If possible, I’d like to examine it right away.”
“You have my permission, and as I said, the hotel’s full cooperation. If you like, I will take you there myself, immediately.” Fritz turned, gesturing towards the stairs.
“Just one quick thing,” said Lincoln, turning to address Penny. “Miss, you said a few moments ago that couple of people in the dinner party didn’t know each other.” Penny nodded in assent to this, Lincoln continued. “Are they also guests of the hotel?”
“Yes they are,” she answered. “Another two nights, same as Mr. Rothburg.”
“Would you be so kind as to tell me their names? I’d like to speak with them.”
“Of course,” said Penny, clicking her mouse. “They’re Warren Driscoll in 307, and Diva Charleson, room 315.”