The Export by J.K. Kelly (read along books txt) 📕

With last night’s entertainment headed home to Montreal, he debated a long walk through the city, perhaps taking the funicular down and re-exploring the lower city that was built at sea level along the river. Instead, and to his surprise, he ordered room service and opted to binge on two seasons of the Netflix series House of Cards on his laptop. If the guard, or anyone else, was at all curious about him, Matt’s best bet was to lay low, at least for the night.

Enjoying the cool air conditioning in his room, something that hadn’t been needed much in summers past in Northern Canada, he eventually fell asleep around three in the morning. Shortly past nine, a loud knock at his door made him jump up from the bed, still in his clothes from the day before. When he opened the door, Leclerc and Mercier were on the other side. Matt tried to rub the sleep from his face and took a few deep breaths to get his brain engaged quicker.

“Guys, what the hell’s the matter?”

Leclerc looked decidedly unhappy.

Mercier said, “Tilton is dead.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The weight of the words hit him like a ton of bricks. He’s dead? It only took another few seconds for Matt to fully regain clarity as Leclerc briefed him on what had occurred.

“A maid found him in a room on the seventh floor,” Leclerc continued. “She was doing the customary ‘housekeeping’ knock, entered, and found his body.”

“I was surprised to hear from others who were in the hallway at the time that she didn’t scream,” offered Mercier. “Apparently, maids discover deceased guests more often than one might expect.”

“You said the seventh floor?” Matt asked to be sure he’d heard correctly, “He wasn’t in his suite? Whose room was he in?”

Leclerc gestured for Matt to follow them.

They took the fire escape stairway down three floors, they acknowledged a man in a blue suit standing guard outside the hotel room. He was a security specialist with the Canadian state department. As they entered, Matt smirked at what he saw.

There, seated against a closet door, the naked body of a dead American official sat – held in place by a red necktie wrapped around his throat and then extended upward to a brass doorknob. The guard at the door pulled it closed behind them, leaving the three men standing awkwardly near the remains.

“Who have you called?” Matt asked as he stepped closer to examine the area surrounding the body.

“Just you and the man at the door,” Mercier answered. “The maid called her supervisor, who came to the room and alerted hotel security, who in turn informed us that a body had been found. We asked them to keep this information to themselves, and they’ve agreed to wait an hour before calling the Quebec police.”

“Well, they’ll need to send their homicide team. This is definitely a murder,” Matt assured them, his eyes never leaving the body and its surroundings.

“Not an accidental death by asphyxiation?” Leclerc queried. “I’ve read about this behavior. I think a few rock stars have gone out this way, yes?”

“Not this guy,” Matt stated firmly. “Someone staged this.”

“How can you be so sure?” Leclerc persisted.

“Because Tilton is…” Matt paused to correct himself, “…was left-handed. You can see the imprint of his watch on his right wrist. Whoever was involved in this placed his right hand on his junk after he died. I doubt Tilton was a switch hitter.” Matt looked at the two Canadians and regarded their lost expressions.

“He would have been using his left hand, not his right, if he really was jacking off,” Matt explained. “From the looks of things, my bet is someone lured him here, got him into some kinky, erotic behavior, maybe did a little dance while he watched and played with himself.”

Leclerc and Mercier looked at each other, and then both checked their watches.

“We don’t have much time until the police arrive,” Leclerc stated. “I understand what you’re saying might have happened here. It makes sense to me.”

“But we need to be sure whether this was a murder or just something that went horribly wrong,” Mercier added.

“The guy’s dead,” Matt said as he looked around the room one last time. “If this was a political act, experience tells me they would have left something on the scene to embarrass him and possibly the United States. Maybe gay or kiddie porn, or something written on the wall. Or his forehead, for that matter. There’s nothing at first glance, none of that. And there are no surveillance cameras in the hallway. So seeing who came and went from this room, and at what time, isn’t possible.”

“True,” Mercier agreed with a worried expression.

Matt gave another quick look around. “I’d leave this to the police. Let them pursue the question of whose room this was, interview the victim’s staffers to see what they know, and then ask the police to say he died of a heart attack to save my government the embarrassment of having him found this way. They’ll be able to put some things together. But, for me, I think I’ve done all I can for you here. The man may have been a pig to some women, but if he was killed for that or his limp stance on climate change, I think the killer needs to be found and prosecuted.”

“I agree,” Leclerc acknowledged, extending his hand to shake Matt’s.

“Oh, and I was never here,” Matt said as the two nodded in agreement.

“I will need our phone back,” Mercier requested, “and the bug.”

Matt rubbed his face again. “Give me a half-hour to get cleaned up, and I’ll be in the lobby bar at 10:30,” he said. “I’m desperate for coffee.”

Mercier gave him a polite smile. “Well, this took an unexpected turn.” He stared at the body propped up against the wall in front of him.

“Expect the unexpected, my friend,” Matt responded. “See you downstairs.”

Where to next, he thought to himself as he climbed the three flights