The capital, Washington, has two.One is a city of extraordinary beauty, with magnificent buildings, world-class museums, sculptures, and monuments to the giants of the past like Lincoln, Jefferson, Washington... a city with lush green parks, bright flowers, and pleasant air people.
Another Washington is a shelter for the homeless, one of the cities with the highest crime rate in the country, and it is an intricate maze full of mimes and assassinations.
The Monroe Arms is an elegant hotel situated unassumingly not far from the corner of Twenty-seventh and Eleventh streets.It doesn't advertise and caters mostly to regulars.The hotel has been under construction for many years and is funded by Lara Cameron, a young real estate entrepreneur.
The general manager of the hotel, Jeremy Robinson, had just arrived on the night shift and checked at the passenger registration desk, looking very ugly.For the guest list of the suites where the important people live on the upper floors, he once again looked carefully to see if anyone had stayed in the wrong place.
In suite 325, a fading actress rehearses for a play that will be played at the National Theatre.The plot is based on a story in The Washington Post.She wants to make a comeback with this performance.
Above her, in suite 425, lived a well-known arms dealer who frequented Washington.At the passenger registration office, he registered as JL Smith, but his appearance gave the impression that he was from a country in the Middle East.Mr. Smith is very generous when it comes to tips.
Upstairs, in suite 525, lived William Quint.He is a member of Congress and heads the influential drug watchdog committee.
Upstairs in his suite 625 lived a computer software businessman who came to Washington once a month.
Further up is suite 725, which is occupied by Pat Murphy, a lobbyist who travels from country to country.
Jeremy Robinson thought to herself: Looking at the lists, so far so good.He is very familiar with these guests.The problem was that in the top-floor suite 825, he felt incredible.It was the most elegant suite of rooms in the hotel, always reserved for important persons.This room occupies the entire first floor and is particularly beautifully decorated with priceless old paintings and curios.The guest room has a separate elevator, which goes directly to the parking room on the ground floor. Guests can go up and down freely, and can satisfy their desire not to be noticed by others.
What puzzled Jeremy Robinson was the guest's name: Eugene Gantt.Is this a real name or is it someone who likes to read a novel and borrows the alias of the protagonist of the novel?
The day-shift clerk, Carl Gorman, had registered the Mr. Gant, who had gone on vacation a few hours before, and could not find him.Who is this Eugene Gantt?Why give him a special suite?
In suite 325 on the third floor, Mrs. Gisna Barrett is rehearsing a play.She was in her late sixties, with fine features and features, and was adored by audiences and critics alike, from West End theaters to Broadway in Manhattan, when she was a thriving actress.She still has charm to this day, but she is gradually shrouded in misery.
She had just finished reading an article in The Washington Post.The article said that she came to Washington to make a comeback.Humph, comeback!Mrs. Barrett was furious just thinking about it.How dare they treat me like that, I never left, nothing to come back!
But it is true that it has been more than twenty years since she last appeared on stage.But that's all because a big actor needs to play a big role, a talented director, and a stage owner who can understand people's wishes.Today's directors are too young to understand the true meaning of theater.Well-known British stage owners like HM Tennant, Binky Beaumont, and CB Cochrane are gone, and even some reasonable and capable stage owners in the United States, like Helburne, Bellasgow and Gordon Also disappeared.Undoubtedly, the assessment can be made that the theatrical scene today is run by ignorant and rootless upstarts.How glorious the theater was in the past, when the playwrights were full of pen and ink, and their words were shining.Mrs Barrett became a star in a Bernard Shaw play starring Dun Ally.
Why are the critics raving at me like this.Poor George, the last thing he wanted to be called George was Bernard.People thought he had a bitter heart, but his heart was that of a truly romantic Irishman.He used to send me roses.I think he's too shy to do that kind of thing.Maybe he was afraid that I would reject him.
She is now returning to the stage, rehearsing the role of Lady Macbeth - one of the most influential roles.She chose such a role to take the stage, and that was a flawless choice.
Mrs. Barrett placed her chair in front of a windowless, doorless wall so that she could concentrate and not be distracted by the sight outside.She sat down, took a deep breath, and began to enter the character Shakespeare had created.
③
"My God, how could they be so stupid? I've been in this hotel for so many years, you think..."
In the upstairs suite, someone was shouting, and the sound rumbled in through the open window.
In Suite 425, arms dealer JL Smith was furious at the receptionist's service attitude: "...they should know by now that I only order whale roe. Whale roe!" Caviar, yelling: "This is only for peasants!"
"Excuse me, Mr. Smith, I'm going down to the kitchen..."
"No need," JL Smith looked at the diamond-encrusted Rolex watch, "it's too late, I have an important appointment." He stood up and walked towards the door.He's going to his lawyer's office.The previous day he had been indicted by a federal grand jury on fifteen counts of illegally giving gifts to the Secretary of Defense.If he is found guilty, he faces three years in prison and a million-dollar fine.
In Suite 525, Senator William Quint, a member of the prestigious third-generation Washington House, was having a meeting.There were three members present at the meeting, all members of his drug investigation team.
"The drug problem is getting out of control in this city," Quint said. "We've got to get that control back." He asked Dalton Isaac, "What do you think?"
"The problem is with the street guys. The Brentwood street guys are cutting prices for the 14th and Simpusity street guys. That's why there were four murders last month." .”
"This can't go on," Quint said. "It's not good for the office. The Drug Administration and the police chief keep calling me and asking what we're going to do next."
"How did you answer them?"
"Same old thing. Just say we're investigating," he told one of his aides. "Arrange a meeting with the Brentwood gang and make it clear to them that if they want our protection they're going to have to make their price less than someone else's." consistent." He said to another assistant, "How much did we make last month?"
"There are ten million here, and ten million along the coast."
"The price is driving up, and the price in this city is getting higher and higher, which is amazing."
In suite 625, Norman Huff was naked, lying on a bed in the dark, watching pornographic videos broadcast on the hotel's closed-circuit television channel.He was gray-skinned, pot-bellied, and puffy.He moved around and fiddled with his bedmate's breasts.
"Ama, look what they're doing." He said softly because he was at a loss for words, "Do you want me to treat you like that?" He put his arms around her belly, and his eyes were fixed on the screen. There is a woman who is having crazy sex with a man. "Baby, do you see that turns you on? I really can't help it."
He put two fingers between Amma's legs. "I'm ready," he hummed, grabbing the inflated doll girl and rolling over on top of her.The battery-attached doll's pussy opened and closed against him, and he pressed harder and harder.
"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed in surprise, and then moaned with satisfaction, "Brilliant! Wonderful!"
He turned off the battery and lay there panting, feeling wonderful.In the morning he would use Amma again, and then pack it up and put it in the box.
Norman is a salesman who spends most of his time on the road, changing cities every day, and has no partner.He had discovered Amma many years ago, and Amma became the female companion he needed.His companions were running around, stupidly, looking for whores and professional prostitutes, and Norman dismissed them.
Amma would never give him a disease.
Upstairs in suite 725, Pat Murphy's family had just returned from dinner.Twelve-year-old Tim Murphy was standing on the verandah overlooking the garden below. "Daddy, can we climb to the top of the monument tomorrow?" he begged. "Could we please?"
His brother said, "No, I want to go to Smithsonian College."
"It's learning." His father corrected him.
"Whatever it's called, I want to go anyway."
The children are in the capital for the first time, even though their father spends more than half of the year there.Pat Murphy was an accomplished lobbyist, in and out of the homes of some of the biggest names in Washington.
His father once served as the mayor of a small town in Ohio. Pat grew up with a strong interest in politics.As a child, he had a best friend named Joey.They study in the same school, go to summer camp together, and they don't distinguish each other in everything.They are the most sincere and veritable best friends.
But over one holiday their relationship completely changes.At that time, Joey's parents were away, and Joey stayed at Murphy's house.In the middle of the night, Joey went into Pat's bedroom and climbed into his bed.He called softly, "Pat, wake up."
Pat opened his eyes. "What? What's going on?"
"I'm lonely," Joey said, "I need you."
Pat Murphy was baffled. "What do you want me to do?"
"Don't you understand? I love you," he said, kissing Pat on the lips.
Horrified, Pat realizes that Joey is gay.He was extremely disgusted by this and has ignored him since then.
Pat Murphy is very homophobic.They are deformed, yin and yang, and they are people cursed by God.They are seducing innocent children.
Pat's hatred and loathing for this led him to devote his life to the anti-gay movement.He voted for anti-gay candidates and gave speeches about the dangers of homosexuality.
In the past he had come to Washington alone, but this time his wife insisted that he come with her and the children.
"We want to know what life is like for you here," said the wife.Pat finally backed down.
Then he looked at his wife, then at his child, and thought: This is another farewell.How silly of me, how did I make such a mistake?Come on, it's almost over anyway.His family had big plans for tomorrow, but tomorrow no longer existed.Early tomorrow morning, before they woke up, he embarked on a journey to Brazil.
Alan was still waiting for him.
In the 825 special suite, there is complete silence.He said to himself silently: Breathe in, you must breathe in...Slowly, slowly... He was terrified, looking at the slender and naked body of the young girl on the floor, thinking: This is not my fault , she slipped and fell by herself.
Her head fell on the sharp edge of the iron table, split open, and blood gushed from her forehead.He touched her wrist, and her pulse had stopped beating, which was incredible.Just now I was so alive and kicking, now...
I have to get out of here.be quick!He left the body and hurried to dress.This is not just another scandal, this one will shock the world.He thought: They will never come to this apartment to track me down.He got dressed, went into the bathroom, soaked the towel, and wiped down everything he could possibly touch.
He was finally relieved, believing that there would not be any fingerprints left to show that he had been here, so he took a last look around.her wallet!He picked up her purse from the couch and walked to the far end of the room where the secret elevator was located.
He entered the elevator, tried his best to remain calm, and pressed the "G" button. After a while, the elevator door opened, and he entered the garage.With no one around, he headed for his car.At this time, he suddenly thought of something, and hurried back to the elevator, took out his handkerchief, and wiped off the finger marks on the elevator button.He stood in the shadows and looked around again to make sure no one else was around.Finally relieved, he walked to his car, opened the door, sat in the driving seat, quickly started the car, and left the garage.
It was a Filipino maid who found the girl's body, lying sprawled on the ground.
"Oh, my God, it's a young woman!" She crossed herself, and hurried out, calling for help.
Three minutes later, Jeremy Robinson and the hotel security officer, Tom Peters, came to the special suite and looked at the naked female body.
"My God," said Tom, "it's only a girl of sixteen or seventeen." He said to the manager, "We'd better call the police."
"Wait a minute!" said the policeman.newspaper.public opinion.For a moment, Robinson was overwhelmed, wondering if it would be possible to move the woman's body outside the hotel.However, he finally reluctantly said: "Let's call the police."
Tom Peters took his handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped the telephone and dialed.
"What are you doing?" Robinson asked. "This is not a crime scene. This is an accident."
"It's not clear yet, is it?" Peters asked rhetorically.
He dialed the number and said after a while, "Crime Division."
Detective Nick Reese looks like a quick-witted cop in plain clothes.Tall and wiry, with a cleft in his nose from his early boxing days, he worked his way through the ranks of the Washington Metropolitan Police Department: patrol officer, sergeant, second lieutenant.He has been promoted from second-level detective to first-level detective, and has solved more cases in the bureau than anyone else.
Detective Lace stood there quietly, observing the scene carefully.There were five or six people in the suite with him.
"Has anyone ever touched her?" Rhys asked.
Robinson replied tremblingly, "No."
"Who is she?"
"I have no idea."
Reis turned his eyes to the manager of the hotel. "A young woman died in your suite. Don't you know who she is? Doesn't this hotel even have a check-in desk?"
"Of course, detective. But in this case..." he stammered.
"In this case?"
"This room is rented to Eugene Gant."
"Who is Eugene Gant?"
"I have no idea."
Detective Lace grew impatient. "Look, if someone is renting this flat, he's gotta pay for it...cash, credit card--stupid--whatever. Whoever registered Gant, he must have seen Gant. Responsible Who is registered?"
"It's a day shift worker, named Gorman."
"I want to talk to him."
"It--I'm afraid it can't be done."
"Can't do it? Why?"
"He's gone on vacation today."
"Call him."
Robinson sighed. "He didn't say where he was going."
"When does he come back?"
"Two weeks."
"There is something for you to settle, and I don't want to wait two weeks. I want to know something now. Someone has come and gone from this apartment, and someone must have seen it."
"Not necessarily," Robinson said guiltily. "In addition to the regular entrance and exit, the suite also has a secret elevator that leads directly to the garage on the ground floor...I don't know exactly what happened. This—this is obviously An accident. She probably took drugs, overdosed, and walked like this."
Another detective came up to Detective Race and said, "I've checked the closet. Clothes from Cap, shoes from Walders. Nothing."
"Is there nothing identifying her?"
"No. If she had a purse, it wasn't here."
Detective Lace inspected the body again, and then said to the officer standing by:
"Get me some soap, it's wet."
The police officer looked at him in a daze: "What did you say?"
"Wet soap."
"Yes, sir." He hurried away.
Detective Lace knelt down beside the girl's body and looked carefully at the ring on her finger. "Looks like a school commemorative ring."
After a while, the officer returned and handed Reis a bar of wet soap.
Les rubbed the girl's finger with soap, carefully took off the ring, and checked it over and over again. "It's a Denver high school ring with a capital letter PY," he said to his buddy. "Look it up, call that school, find out who it is. We need to find out who she is as soon as possible."
Detective Ed Nelson, who studies fingerprints, came up to Detective Lace and said, "There must be something creepy going on, Nick. We're looking for fingerprints everywhere, but someone took the trouble to put all the All the fingerprints on the handle are gone."
"Therefore, when the girl died, someone else was here. Why didn't he call a doctor? Why did he go to the trouble of removing all traces of finger marks? How could a young girl be in this special expensive suite?" What are you doing?"
He asked Robinson: "How is the rent paid for this house?"
"Our books of account show cash payment, and a footman handed over the cash envelope. The reservation was made by telephone."
The coroner said, "Nick, can the body be removed?"
"Wait a minute. Do you see any signs of violence?"
"Only the forehead is traumatized. Of course, we have to do an autopsy."
"Are there any traces of fighting?"
"No, her limbs are intact."
"Could it be rape?"
"Check it out later."
Detective Lace sighed, and said, "So here we just learn that a girl from a Denver school came to Washington and was mutilated in an expensive hotel. Someone erased all traces of fingerprints and ran away. The whole situation is messed up. I want to know who rented this suite."
He said to the coroner, "Now you can remove the body." He asked Detective Nelson, "Have you checked the fingerprints on the secret elevator?"
"I checked. The elevator goes directly from the suite to the ground floor. There are only two buttons, and they are all wiped clean."
"Has the garage been checked?"
"I also checked. There is nothing unusual."
"Whoever did it, he went out of his way to remove all traces of it. Either it was done by someone with an ex-con or some big shot was joking with the school." He asked Robinson. suite?"
Robinson replied as if squeezing toothpaste: "This is reserved for our most important guests. There is the king, the prime minister..." He stammered, "and...the president."
"Has anyone called from here in the last twenty-four hours?"
"I have no idea."
Detective Reese is getting hotter and hotter. "If you made a phone call, you should have a record, right?"
"Of course there is."
Detective Lace picked up the phone. "Operator, this is Detective Nick Reese. I would like to know: Has there been a call from the Premier Suite in the last twenty-four hours...I'll wait for your call."
He watched as the white-clad coroner draped a veil over the naked woman's body and placed her on a gurney.Rhys thought to himself: Oh my God, she hasn't even stepped through the gates of life yet.He heard the operator say, "Detective Lace?"
"it's me."
"There was a call from that suite yesterday, a local call."
Les took out a pad and pencil. "What's the number? ... 4-5-6-7-0-4-1? ..."
Reis started to write down the number, but stopped suddenly, staring blankly at the notepad.
"Ah, what nonsense!"
"What's the matter?" asked Detective Nelson.
Reis raised his head. "That's the White House phone number."
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