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organized crime syndicates. Why Damon Ashdown had decided to insert himself in this investigation remained a mystery to me. But I was determined to figure it out, and soon, before things went sideways.
    Ashdown opened the file and handed me the photo of Perry’s passport as he studied the invoice.
    “Do you happen to have this image scanned into your computer?” I asked Dana Doyle. When she nodded, I added, “Would you mind e-mailing it to me?”
    “Not at all.”
    I provided her my e-mail address, and she forwarded the image from her desktop right away. As we waited for her to retrieve the key card to Perry’s room, I sent a message to several private investigators I kept close ties with: Kurt Ostermann in Berlin; my old friend Gustavo in Tampa; Wendy Isles in London, among others. I hoped someone would be able to dig in and identify John Doe before the Guards did.
    Once I’d sent the image, I turned to Ashdown and said, “The Guards interviewed the staff here at the hotel, I presume?”
    Ashdown nodded. “MacAuliffe told me no one observed John Doe anywhere near the bar. No one witnessed him conversing with anyone. In fact, no one other than the clerk who checked him in heard him speak at all.”
    “Accent?”
    “Indistinguishable. The desk clerk took his U.S. passport without questioning whether he was an American. So obviously, John Doe, wherever he actually hailed from, could have passed for a Yank.” He paused a moment, then added, “Of course, given what we know, it may have been an act.”
    “Vehicle?”
    Ashdown pulled a handwritten form from the folder and studied it. “None listed on the hotel registration. Nothing left behind in the car park. Doorman said he saw John Doe jump into the rear of a standing taxi that night round six o’clock.”
    When Dana Doyle returned, we rose from our chairs. She handed Ashdown the key and asked him for a business card. As he reached into his overcoat, I surreptitiously stole a glance at his reflection in the framed photo of the castle.
    In the instant he opened his billfold to retrieve his business card, everything changed.
    I immediately made a decision. Once we viewed the room, the detective and I would be parting ways. That was for damn sure. The only question was, would he give chase?

 
    Chapter 9
    As Ashdown and I headed, unescorted, up to Perry’s room, I wondered how many hotels I’d stayed in over the past twelve years. It seemed impossible to comprehend. How many cases? How many children? How many worried-sick parents had I consoled over the phone? How many kids had I taken to private airports in the dead of night? How many made it back to the States and went on to college? How many later committed crimes or overdosed and died, the victims of the broken or dysfunctional home to which I’d so zealously returned them?
    On the fifth floor we stepped off the elevator and searched for number 506. Outside the door, Ashdown slipped on a pair of latex gloves and handed me another. Then he worked the key card and allowed me to enter.
    The room was spacious and well-appointed. Clean and orderly. The king-size bed was not only made but turned down for the evening of the murder, a mint chocolate in a green foil wrapper placed atop one of the half-dozen pillows.
    “What did the Guards remove from the room?” I asked Ashdown.
    He consulted his notes. “According to MacAuliffe, they found nothing of a personal nature except for his clothes and a few toiletries. His reservation was for a week. But there was a note in the file that he may need to leave early or extend his stay, depending on circumstances beyond his control.”
    “So he was here on some kind of business,” I said. “Alone.”
    Witnesses at the Stalemate on the night of the murder had offered little. No one had noticed the victim until he hit the floor with blood gushing from his throat. No one witnessed an argument. Because of the victim’s positioning and proximity to the restrooms, it was