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dollar a night establishment. Sadly, it was going to take a lot more than a good cleaning crew to get the place back to business after this. Sprawled out on the floor of the kitchen, in front of the opened refrigerator was their victim. He was about six-feet, maybe two-hundred pounds and change. He was dressed in what appeared to be one of the resort’s robes which, once upon a time, was a crisp white. It wasn’t fair to say that he was lying face down because he no longer had a face, or a head for that matter. Nine of his ten pints of blood were now pooled outward a good four feet around the body, dammed up against the baseboards of the kitchen island and back cabinets. There was cast off blood all over the ceiling along with small bits of what Lou was sure would turn out to be brain matter. It was everywhere, except inside the refrigerator. The door had been opened after the bludgeoning.
    “That’s gonna screw with time of death.” Lou made the statement as an observation, not a joke. “Any idea when the coroner will be here?”
    “They said another hour.” One of the other deputies spoke. “I kept non-essential personal at a good distance. Not sure how far to set a perimeter though and management is having a fit.”
    “I’ll handle management.” Dillon didn’t even give Lou a second to think about it.
    “Get the name of that asshat that gave us the bum’s rush out front.” Lou requested as Dillon headed for the back patio. Lou could see the manager ranting on his cell phone through the glass door.
    “Do we know who we have here?” Lou asked as she checked the deputy’s name tag. “Russell, is it?”
    “That’s right, Russell, ma’am.” The deputy reached around the corner and pulled an evidence bag from the credenza, inside was an open wallet. “I found this on top of the suitcase in the bedroom. Based on my approximation of the victim’s height and weight, I am pretty sure it’s his. Name on the Driver’s License is Gerald Griffen. He has a few business cards with the same name for LMT Talent Management in Studio City.”
    Gerald Griffen had been the unlucky recipient of what appeared to be a good old fashioned bashing in of the brains. A bloody chunk of wood laying several feet away appeared to be the tool for the job. It looked to Lou like a fence post, unfinished, fairly new aside from the blood and tissue caked on the end, but most important it was innocuous. Readily available at any hardware store on the planet and used on at least a million fences from here to Oregon. It could only have been more generic if it were a two-by-four.
    “Doesn’t this place have maid service or housekeeping?” Lou asked.
    “That’s who found him, ma’am.” Russell continued “He was supposed to have checked out this morning. He checked in on Friday morning and requested no one, not even housekeeping disturb him through the weekend. The computer charged his bill automatically at 5 p.m. and flagged it for service. The maid called nine-one-one herself, otherwise I don’t know if this management yahoo would have called it in until after their big shindig tonight.”
    “What the hell is going on?” Lou asked as she looked out to see how Dillon was doing with the manager.
    “Some wrap party for some big production.” Russell shook his head. “They won’t even tell me what or who, but someone shelled out a lot of cash because half the crew is supposed to be staying in these bungalows. That’s why Mr. Fancy-pants out there is freaking out.”
    Lou snickered. “Well he’s about to freak out a lot more when we tell him this place is closed for business for a while. Are there guests upstairs?”
    “No ma’am. No one has been upstairs since last week.” Russell checked his notes. “Most of the bungalows are empty. Only the two at the far end had guests, and they both checked in Friday night and checked out this morning. The manager said he’d get their contact info but honestly, I think he’s full