Drainland (Tunnel Island Book 1) by Iain Ryan Read Free Book Online Page B

Romano to the cleaner. “I’ll come back to you in a minute.” She closed the door. At the end of the hallway, the lounge opened up; it was full of people. Romano counted five, all hotel staff by the looks. On the ground, in a clear part of the carpet beside two white couches, were two bodies. Both deceased, blood on their clothes. Romano did not let her eyes linger there for too long. Instead, she took note of the scene around them: two younger women, in neat fitting black pantsuits (cleaners, probably) stood in the kitchen. Across the marble benchtop was an older man, wearing a suit jacket, but not well (security) and standing directly over the bodies were two men in suits (management).
    “Okay, everyone stand right where they are,” said Romano.
    They all looked at her.
    The big man by the bench said, “Constable, I’m—“
    “No,” said Romano. She pointed at the men closest to the bodies. “You two first, who are you?”
    “Simon Reynolds, I’m the shift manager,” said one.
    “Barry Nash, guest services,” said the other.
    “Who was in here first?” said Romano.
    “Linda,” said one of the women.
    “In the bedroom there? Okay, who was next?”
    They all looked at each other.
    “Me, I guess,” said the big man by the bench. “Carl Yates. I do security.”
    “You stay there for me, Carl. Everyone else, I want you to carefully go out into the hallway outside this room and give your details to Constable Denny out there. Watch your feet. I don’t want anyone to touch anything, or drag anything out of here, right? Okay, let’s go. Come on, out.”
    One by one, they walked. The two managers seem to tip-toe around the bodies, as if suddenly realising their presence might interfere with things.
    “Denny?” shouted Romano.
    “Yeah,” he called back.
    “Names, contacts, and full descriptions of how they got in here, when, why, the lot. Write it down.”
    “Yeah, okay,” he said.
    “Write it down,” she repeated.
    “Okay.”
    “And get someone to tell you who checked into this room as well. Names, contact details, the lot.”
    “Yeah, okay.”
    “I can tell you that,” said Carl Yates.
    “In a minute,” she said.
    Romano took a moment to grid the space out in her mind. She checked the carpet between herself and the bodies. It looked clear enough, so she approached. Both of them were on their backs, both were white, a man and a woman, both young. The man had some sort of puncture wound in his head, beside his ear, almost definitely a gunshot, but there was no gore or residue. The woman had a blue tint to her skin, wide pupils—classic overdose symptoms. Beside her head lay the remains of various plastic wrappers and a rubber glove.
    “Yeah, the ambos were here,” said Carl.
    “Where are they now?”
    “They left.”
    “What?”
    Carl shrugged.
    Romano noted it down.
    She tried Chandler on her radio.
    No answer.
    “Okay, Carl, where were they when you first saw them?”
    Carl went to step away from the kitchen.
    “No, don’t move. Just tell me.”
    Carl pointed to the bedroom. The bedroom looked to be the same room, sectioned off by a small cast iron railing and a curtain. Around the bed, the walls were painted a metallic bronze, and there were matching floor-to-ceiling drapes pinned on the gold-trim runner, almost like a hospital suite. The drapes were drawn. Romano went over and looked inside.
    Blood spatter. Sheets caked black. Rot.
    Romano felt her body push a long breath out of her.
    “Okay, time to go, Carl. Thanks for your help. I’m sure someone will be back to have a chat with you today.”
    Carl nodded.
    “Time to go,” she said.
    He walked.
    Romano followed him down the corridor, back to the second bedroom and the cleaner. She crouched down in front of the woman.
    “I’m Detective Constable Laura Romano,” she said, out of habit. “Did you find those people?”
    The woman shifted her stare to Romano but didn’t speak. Her name was embroidered on her