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walked into the main room.
    Rio followed Charlie to the bed and peered down at one of its pillows, which was stained a deep colour.
    ‘I take it this is blood?’ Rio asked.
    ‘What we have is low-velocity blood splatter.’ Charlie pointed to the different-sized circular drops of blood staining the blue duvet cover. ‘It’s almost as if whoever was on this bed was lying down with blood dripping from them. They were definitely injured when they were lying down.’ Charlie pointed to the pillow and the pool of blood on it. ‘Can you see how the bloodstain is on the side of the pillow; this would suggest they had a head injury—’
    ‘But I thought you said that the victim was likely killed in the bath,’ Rio cut in.
    Charlie stared at her. ‘I’m not sure this blood belongs to the victim.’
    ‘You think this is the killer’s blood?’ Before Charlie could answer, Rio straightened and answered her own question. ‘So we’ve got a killer out there who’s in need of medical attention.’ Rio swung to the door and shouted. ‘Martin . . .’
    As soon as an excited Jamie Martin appeared in the doorway, Rio fired out, ‘We need to check hospitals. Walk-in clinics—’
    But the younger officer didn’t let her finish. ‘DI, the manager has got something I think you’ll want to see.’

eleven
    The man got out of the Mercedes. Further down the street he could see the police coming and going behind their tape as they investigated the murder in the hotel that was all over the airwaves. He kept his head slightly down and to one side to shield his face and walked into the other hotel that Mac had left earlier. He ran his thumbs down the inside of the lapels of his jacket as he entered. The place was quiet except for a woman at reception. Her back was to him as she watched an old-style portable telly, her elbows pushing out to the side in a strange motion.
    As if sensing his approach she swivelled round in her chair. That’s when he saw the dark shades covering her eyes and the knitting in her hands.
    ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, placing her knitting in her lap.
    ‘I’m looking for a man who registered here, maybe last night or in the last couple of hours.’
    That bought a slight smile to her ageing face. ‘We get lots of men coming in and out of here.’
    ‘But you don’t look overrun with customers to me, so you must remember him.’
    She settled her hands over her knitting. ‘You have the sound of someone on official business.’
    ‘Don’t worry about my business; just tell me what I need to know.’
    Her head tilted to the side. ‘But it is my business.’
    His voice hardened. ‘I could jump over the counter and find out for myself, but that wouldn’t be very civilised, would it?’
    Silence. Her head straightened as she pointed at the register. ‘Last name in the book.’
    He flipped the register to face him. Read: ‘Room twenty-six. Mr Jones Smith.’
    ‘Some people just don’t want to be found,’ she told him smoothly.
    He looked back at her. ‘What did he look like?’
    ‘Well if I knew that, I would tell you.’ She pulled off her sunglasses and revealed her cloudy, milky eyes. They stared straight through him. She was blind.
    ‘How come you were watching the television?’
    The smile pulled back onto her face. ‘I do still have a pair of ears. I can hear the telly. I can also hear that you’re a desperate man.’
    He let her smart remark go over his head, instead saying, ‘Can I check out room twenty-six?’
    ‘No point, love, he’s long gone. But if you see him, tell him he owes me for trashing the . . .’
    He didn’t hear her finish as he walked out of the hotel back into the morning light.
    When he got back into his car, he took out his mobile.
    ‘It looks like he was there this morning but he’s left. Is his phone back on? . . . No, I didn’t think it would be for now. Stick to that screen – I want to know the minute he resurfaces. We might have a problem.’ He