The black cab ground to a halt outside the hotel, the rain pelting off the roof like bullets in a firefight.
"Six fifty, love," the cabbie wheezed, the tobacco stench on his breath wafting into Paula's face. She huffed as she dug the change out of her pocket – five pound coins, a twenty and three tens.
"Keep the change," she muttered, as she grabbed her handbag and exited the cab, preparing to face the typhoon outside.
She slammed the door to her hotel room shut, flicking the lock shut the moment she was in. The last five minutes had been one long blur of wetness, hurrying down corridors and shivering from the cold. Now she had found her sanctuary, she peeled off the sodden overcoat, and draped it over the chair next to her, before wiping away the plastered hair from her face and flicking the light switch on.
A quiet hum filled the room for a brief second as she turned on the laptop, a towel around her hair. Without a second thought, she opened her emails, scanning past the spam messages.
ALAN SMITHEE:
AC clear
Paula frowned as she read this email; Alan wasn't to contact her after they'd made the deal. Clearing her head of the thoughts, she clicked the 'delete' button, sending the text into oblivion.
As she continued with her work, the bathroom door opened silently, only leaving the space of a few gaps. Slowly, a figure crept out, their black apparel blending into the darkness of the bathroom, concealing their appearance.
Paula picked up the phone on her desk, still fixated on the computer screen.
"Hello, room service? Could you send me an extra pillow, please? Thank you," she asked within a single breath, before slamming the phone back on the receiver. Seizing their opportunity, the figure lunged forward, grabbing Paula by the throat and pulling her backwards, sending the chair flying away and Paula crashing onto the floor, with an almighty thud.
There was a knock at the door.
"Miss Manister? Room service!" rang the voice from outside. "Can I come in?". Before Paula could answer, the figure tightened it's grip, cutting off the air completely – rather than a frenzied cry for help, a mere choked groan came out.
However, this was enough for the maid. She swiped her key card through the lock and swung the door open, just in time to see the figure produce a short, ugly blade, and plunge it into Paula's chest, causing a spurt of blood to come flying out, running down her blouse, onto the floor, across the walls – even a few drops reached the roof.
The maid let out a worried gasp of air, silenced by her hand covering her mouth. The figure grabbed the knife and replaced in their pocket, before charging at the maid. She could see everything now – the black mask covering their face, the jumpsuit clinging to their body, the piercing eyes gazing into her soul. It stormed past her, taking off down the corridor.
A few seconds past; what should she do? Finally, after what seemed like years of hesitation, the maid grabbed the door handle and pulled the door shut, not taking her eyes off of the bloody corpse for a millisecond. The lock clicked shut, sealing the room tight.
Two minutes later, DI Olivia Jones was marching down the corridor, followed by the maid and the hotel manager.
"It was just down here…" the maid stammered "I was dropping off her spare pillows, and I saw it! The corpse, the killer, the dagger, everything!"
"Yes, alright, calm down," the manager chided, producing the door key from his pocket. "I'm everything will be sorted out,"
"Is this it?" Olivia asked, stopping outside room 237.
"Yes. Mr Manister's room. 237," the maid replied, putting the key card into the slot.
"Okay, then. Go on, open her up," Olivia said, snapping on the white lab gloves. The lock beeped, the green light shined and the door lock was released.
Olivia at that moment saw everything – the blood patch, drying up slightly on the cream carpet; the musty smell hanging in the room; the chair still toppled over, laying ajar on the floor next to the desk..