Chapter Text
Detective Maximoff was in a comfortable place in his life.
He had a good job with the NYPD, even if his father would prefer him to be higher in rank by now, and he had a roof over his head and his future all planned out. When it came to it, he'd earn himself the rank of Lieutenant, and then Captain, and then he'd see where the job took him from there. Easy. He was a good cop – he did everything by the book, didn't stray into darker territories or do anything to put a smudge on his reputation, and he got the job done as fast as possible, and he did it well.
He had everything planned out, and he was comfortable.
But then he met Remy LeBeau.
--
Pietro stepped out of the elevator onto the floor of the station that housed Homicide, idly fiddling with his tie as he strode past the line of desks manned by other detectives. A group of them were huddled around the desk parallel with his own, murmuring amongst themselves and sending the odd glance in the direction of the office directly ahead.
Ah, yes. The new Lieutenant, of course. Lieutenant Summers had been transferred to another division a week ago – and Pietro wasn't sad to see the back of him, if he was honest – and their Captain had been filling in whilst a replacement was found. Today would be the new Lieutenant's first day on the job, and like a bunch of schoolgirls, the detectives were whispering about him in a little huddle.
"Don't you all have work to do?" He commented casually as he slipped out of his coat and draped it over the back of his chair. They turned to acknowledge his arrival, and Detective Lee hopped down off her desk, the sound of gum snapping in her mouth as she did so. Jubilation – though she preferred to be called Jubilee – was one of the youngest detectives in Homicide, but she was damn good at her job.
"Five seconds in and you're already jumping down our throats." She teased, giving him a swift elbow to the ribs. Jubilee was also one of the few other detectives that he actually enjoyed the company of. "Aren't you curious?"
"Not really." Pietro shrugged, sweeping his fingers through his hair, annoyed that a few strands were already breaking free of the gel he'd used to slick them back. "He's just another cop. No big deal."
"Yeah, but he's from New Orleans." Jubilee perched on the corner of his desk as he sat down, and booted up his computer. The emphasis she put on 'New Orleans' made Pietro roll his eyes. "And he's got a great name. LeBeau." She flashed a bright grin, and then went back to chewing her gum. "I bet he's hot."
"You haven't seen him yet?" Pietro raised an eyebrow at that. It was considered polite to introduce yourself to your new team on arrival.
"Well, no, duh." Jubilee rolled her eyes now. "He's not here yet." Pietro frowned, and then checked the time – which earned him another roll of Jubilee's eyes. "It's barely five minutes past start of shift."
"It's his first day here. He should have been here early." Pietro pointed out.
"He could be with the Captain." Jubilee shrugged. "What does it matter, anyway? We don't have any major cases on the go."
"It matters." Pietro sighed. He was about to make another comment when the elevator pinged to signal a new arrival to the floor, and Jubilee sent him a look that clearly said 'I bet that's him now'. All eyes turned to the elevator, and even Pietro couldn't resist straightening up in his chair so he could see.
The man who stepped out wasn't familiar, but neither did he look like a cop. His hair was shaggy and untidy, sticking up in all sorts of directions, and the long brown trench coat he wore had clearly seen better days. His shirt was rumpled and unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and he clearly hadn't shaved in a few days. Add to that the sunglasses perched on his nose, and Pietro was already unimpressed.
Captain Howlett stepped out with him, equally as untidy but in an oddly groomed way, and cleared his throat to get the attention of any cop who wasn't already watching them.
"Alright, boys an' girls." Logan began, putting a hand on the newcomer's shoulder – he stood a head taller than Logan, so he had to reach up to do so. "This here is Lieutenant Remy LeBeau. Play nice with him." Logan gave Remy a nod, clapped him gently on the shoulder a couple of times, and then peeled away to hide away in his own office. Typical Logan.
Pietro sat back in his seat as a few of the detectives moved forward to introduce themselves to their new Lieutenant, and studied him. He moved with surprising grace as he shook hands and accepted the welcome of the other cops, and then he slipped through to stand before them all in front of his office.
"T'anks fo' de warm welcome, mes amis." He grinned, charming and attractive, and Pietro suppressed a groan. Cajun. "Remy's sure dat we'll all be friends in no time. De door is always open fo' you all, no matter what. Alt'ough, if it's closed, den dat means Remy's busy, so best knock firs'." He gave them a lazy salute, and then turned on his heel and disappeared into his office. Jubilee, still perched on his desk, let out a low whistle.
"Well, damn. He's a hottie." Pietro scoffed at that, bringing up his latest case file so he could finish writing his report. It had been a straightforward case – an argument that led to blows, one of them slipped, and suddenly the other guy has a dead body on his hands and suspicious circumstances. He had, at least, been intelligent enough not to try and cover anything up. Pietro reckoned he'd be going down for manslaughter after it had been ruled accidental death at his hands. Pretty basic stuff. "Oh come on, I know you're like Mr Straight but even you can admit it, right? He's gorgeous."
"I'm working, Jubilee." He muttered, pointedly keeping his eyes on the screen. With another roll of her eyes, Jubilee hopped down off his desk and moved to her own, and Pietro felt himself relax a little. The truth was, he wasn't 'Mr Straight' as Jubilee had put it, and there had been part of him that had paid special attention to the new Lieutenant. Not that he'd ever act on it, though. Even if he wasn't pretty much still in the closet about his attraction to men, LeBeau was his boss and he already had enough shit from Cortez about getting a fast track through the force without adding to it.
He shifted, his gaze lifting to the open door of the Lieutenant's office, just as he heard a phone ring. That smooth, Cajun voice answered, and Pietro forced himself to focus back on his report. That accent was going to piss him off, he just knew it. Damn Southern cops. When Remy stepped back out of his office a moment later, Pietro knew what the call had been – a new case, a fresh homicide.
"Alrigh', we got a hot one down in Upper East Side." His gaze swept over the detectives manning the various desks, and then landed on Pietro. "You. Uh…?"
"Maximoff." Pietro offered up. "Detective."
"Righ'. Yo' wit' Remy." He started heading for the elevator even as Pietro began to object.
"But I've got-,"
"Now, Detective." Pietro stared after him for a moment, knowing he was being watched by his colleagues, and he sighed and pushed up from his desk impatiently, snagging his coat before he strode briskly to catch up with him. He slipped into the elevator moments before the doors started to close, and resisted the urge to scowl at his Lieutenant. "So, Maximoff, you got a first name?"
"Pietro." He told him somewhat reluctantly. Still, if he wanted to stick to his career plan, he didn't need to be on negative terms with his superior.
"An' how long have you been on de force, Pietro?" Pietro turned his eyes to the display, watching the numbers change as the elevator descended – distracting himself from thinking too much about the way his name had just rolled off Remy's tongue, and the way his accent made it sound almost exotic.
"About five years." The doors pinged open, and Pietro stepped gratefully out into a space that was considerably less confining than the elevator. "Went to the Academy straight from college, and then from there into the NYPD." He felt Remy's eyes on him, and turned just in time to catch the appreciative look. He hurriedly turned his gaze away, one hand coming up to tug at his collar. Had the temperature increased, or had Remy made him feel like that with just one look?
"So yo' what… twenty-six?"
"That's right." He hesitated as they stepped down into the department's garage – he assumed Remy would want to drive his own vehicle over a black-and-white, and he had no idea what the Lieutenant would even drive.
"Always wanted to be a cop, eh?" Remy fished some keys out of his coat pocket and tossed them into the air, catching them with a flick of his wrist.
"Runs in the family." Pietro felt himself stiffen, and tried to think of a way to change the subject. The last thing he wanted to do was reveal that he was the son of the Police Commissioner to his new superior on the very first day. If he knew, he might wonder at how quickly he'd made detective, and then he might start giving out cases to other detectives and it would throw his entire career plan out of the window.
He followed Remy to a sleek, shiny black two-seater sports car, and he groaned. This was not a cop car. This was the exact opposite of a cop car. But it was beautiful, and Pietro hated that he was a little impressed. He slid into the passenger seat, trying not to let it show that he was impressed, and that he really wanted to admire the car. No. He had to be all business.
"Right den." Remy started the engine, and Pietro had to fight to hold back the grin as it roared to life with a beautiful sound. "So, dis is what we got," he went on as he manoeuvred out of the garage and onto the street, "one victim, male, as yet unidentified, found in a hotel room by de housekeeper when she went in to change de towels, an' what have you."
"Cause of death, other than apparent homicide?" It was much easier to converse with him when it concerned work.
"De hotel manager called it in, said it looked like somebody had strangled him." Remy turned at some lights, taking the corner a little faster than Pietro would have liked. "But here's de t'ing – it's not de guy who's been stayin' in de room." He braked hard when another set of lights changed at the last minute, and Pietro actually threw out a hand to brace against the dash as his stomach twisted with the sudden movement.
"That explains the lack of identification. Any sign of the guy holding the room?" He closed his eyes as Remy tore across the intersection as soon as the lights changed – he liked speed, loved to drive fast when he could, but not like this.
"Not yet. We'll ask more on dat when we get dere." Which, given Remy's driving, wouldn't take them all that long. "Do you know Officer Drake or Officer Allerdyce?"
"A little." Pietro nodded. "Were they first on scene?"
"Oui, apparently." He took another corner a little too sharply for Pietro's liking, and Pietro found himself gripping the edges of his seat rather tightly as he gunned it down the street. "Dey good cops?"
"From what I've seen, yeah." He held his breath as Remy swerved around another intersection, and he was so thankful when they finally pulled up outside the hotel in question. Remy slid out of the car and immediately held up his badge to the doorman.
"Lieutenant LeBeau. Nobody touches de car, oui?" When the doorman nodded and moved to open the door, Pietro raised his eyebrows – usually it took more than that to convince people to allow police vehicles to sit directly outside. Then again, Remy's car really didn't look like a police vehicle. He followed Remy into the hotel lobby, and fished out his badge as Remy approached the desk. "Bonjour cherie," he flashed a charming smile at the young lady working the desk, and Pietro rolled his eyes when she actually blushed, "Lieutenant LeBeau, an' dis is my partner Detective Maximoff, NYPD."
"Oh, of course. Mr Edwards informed me that more police would be arriving." She tapped away at her keyboard for a moment, and then rose from her chair. "I'm supposed to escort you up."
"Lucky us." Remy grinned again, and Pietro suppressed a groan at the obvious flirting. Jesus, they were cops. They were supposed to be professional. They stepped into the elevator, and Remy took a moment to put the mirrored wall to use – he swept his fingers through his untidy hair, adjusted his sunglasses, and flipped up the collar of his coat. Pietro rolled his eyes again. Goddamn southern cops.
When they stepped out onto the fifth floor, the receptionist led them down the corridor and around a corner – and there was the unmistakable uniform of NYPD officers. Remy turned to the receptionist and thanked her with yet another charming smile, and sent her off blushing and giggling like a schoolgirl.
"If you're done flirting, can we get to work?" It came out before he could stop it, and for a moment Pietro tensed, waiting for the reprimand he was sure would follow. Remy, to his surprise, only laughed.
"Remy's never done flirting, mon ami." He clapped Pietro on the shoulder, and then he stepped forward to speak to the two officers standing guard outside the door. "Officers." Pietro knew Bobby and John on sight, and they'd had a few drinks together once or twice in the past.
"Detective Maximoff." Bobby gave him a nod, and then his gaze shifted to Remy. "Sorry, you are…?" Remy held up his badge, and smirked as they both immediately straightened up. "Sorry, Lieutenant."
"Not to worry, gentlemen." Remy waved them off, tucking his badge back onto his belt. "So, what's de situation?"
"Male victim still unidentified – no wallet or other identification on the body at first glance, and we were reluctant to touch anything until CSI gets here. Room is booked under the name of Adam Richards, who hotel staff can confirm is not the deceased." Bobby told him, glancing over his shoulder at the room beyond the open door. "Hotel manager is down in security getting copies of the footage from last night and this morning."
"There's still no sign of the guy occupying the room, so he's looking to see if he even came back here last night." John added. "We've got the housekeeper in a staff breakroom with a colleague. Took an initial statement from her but we figured you'd want to hear it for yourself."
"Good work, lads." Remy nodded, and then he turned to Pietro. "We'll take de housekeeper in a few. Let's go take a look." Pietro gave a nod to Bobby and John as he followed Remy into the hotel room – and watched Remy switch from charming flirt to cop in about three seconds flat.
The sunglasses came off, tucked into an inside pocket in his coat, and he circled around the bed with very careful movements, watching where he stepped without once taking his eyes off the scene in front of him. He pulled a recorder from another pocket, and clicked it on.
"LeBeau, Lieutenant Remy, recordin' on scene." He murmured, crouching so he was at eye-level with the man sprawled on his front on the bed. "Room is booked under a Mr Adam Richards, whereabouts unknown as hotel staff confirms he is not de victim. Victim is, at a guess, t'irty years o' age, male, as yet unidentified. No wounds visible as o' yet, ot'er dan some heavy bruisin' around de t'roat. We'll know more when crime scene gets here an' we can roll him." He straightened up, surveyed the rest of the room – and as he did so, Pietro caught his first glimpse of Remy's eyes.
He was thrown for a moment, and he hoped he didn't show on his face. For a moment he'd thought he was still wearing his sunglasses even though he knew he'd taken them off, because he was met with solid black where they should be white – but then he registered the burning red irises, and realised Remy had possibly the most unique eyes he'd ever seen.
"De room seems undisturbed – no signs o' a struggle, no signs o' forced entry." He shook his head slowly. "We won' know more until we can find out who dis guy is, an' where de hell Mr Richards is." He switched off the recorder, and turned his attention to Pietro. "T'oughts?" Pietro blinked, and realised he'd been staring. He tore his gaze away, and pretended to study the room.
"My first impression tells me whoever this guy is, he knew his killer." He began, circling the bed as Remy had done. "Since I'm not much of a believer in coincidence, I bet there's a connection to Adam Richards – if he didn't kill him, then he knows him, or whoever killed this guy does." He gestured around at the room Remy had described as undisturbed. "No signs of a struggle, as you said. No furniture overturned, nothing broken, no obvious defensive wounds on what we can see of the body. It was quick, too sudden for him to fight. It doesn't look like he struggled against whatever was used to strangle him, either, so it's possible he was unconscious before it happened." He shrugged at Remy's lifted eyebrow. "Someone puts something around your throat – hands, scarf, rope – and starts squeezing, you're gonna claw at it. But there are no scratches, just the bruising."
"Nice ta know Remy ain' workin' wit' morons." Remy grinned. "Oui, dis guy was out cold – drugged, probably, since dere's no obvious head injury dat could knock him out – when he was strangled. Didn' even know it was happenin'." He studied the body, switched the recorder back on. "Victim – who we'll call John Doe until an ID is made – is dressed casually, smart shirt an' jeans, nice boots. Probably on a nigh' out, eh?" He bent as close to the body as he could without potentially contaminating the scene – and sniffed. "Nice cologne you got on dere, boy. Definitely a nigh' out. Out on de prowl, were ya?"
"Did you just sniff a dead body?" He straightened, and turned to grin at Pietro.
"We got more senses dan sight, Detective. Usin' 'em gives us more info'mation." He shrugged, gestured at the body. "Dis isn' what you'd expect from a sex crime – de body is clot'ed, not posed, an' as far as we can see dere's no mutilation to genital areas. But he's all dressed up, wearin' nice cologne, styled himself up all nice. Could be our Mr Richards is into de fellas, an' dis is a date o' his." When Pietro continued to stare at him, Remy rolled his eyes. "Gotta t'ink o' everyt'in' until we know more facts. Don' rule anyt'in' out."
"I know that." He almost snapped it out, but he caught himself at the last minute. He didn't quite know why he was so on edge, but he knew it had something to do with Remy. They both turned as a new face appeared in the doorway – a face Pietro recognised well.
"Hi, sorry." She swept into the room, red hair tied high up out of her face, a smart suit covered by a protective white coat. She paused as she studied Remy, and then stepped forward with a hand outstretched. "Jean Grey, ME. I got held up in some traffic." Remy shook her hand, and flashed her the same smile he'd given the receptionist in the lobby.
"A pleasure, ma cherie." She stepped back, putting her bag on the floor before rummaging inside it to extract a pair of gloves. "Lieutenant Remy LeBeau."
"So you're the new LT?" Jean smiled up at him as she gathered her essential tools, and straightened up, moving to the body. "How are you finding New York?" She bent over the body, studying it for a moment.
"Nice city." Remy shifted his weight, cocking one hip out very slightly. Pietro held back yet another groan – if Remy was a peacock, his tail would be fanning out right about now.
"It has its moments." Jean laughed a little. "The CSI team are on their way. They got held up, too, at another scene. Caught this one on a busy day, I'm afraid." She stepped back, paused. "I can't move the body yet, not until CSI have taken their photos, but at a guess I'd say he's only been dead a few hours. I'll confirm, but for now I put my estimate at around six this morning, possibly an hour earlier."
"Alrigh, t'anks. Well, since we can' do anyt'in' else until CSI clear de scene, let's go talk to de housekeeper." He tapped two fingers to his temple and gave Jean a salute before he stepped out into the corridor once more. "CSI will be here soon." He told Bobby and John. "You said de housekeeper is in a staff breakroom?"
"Yes, sir. First floor, off the lobby. Officer Rasputin is with her." When Pietro raised his eyebrows, Bobby smiled a little. "He was on scene when he heard the commotion. Following up a lead relating to another case. He was the one who told the hotel manager to call it in whilst he secured the scene."
"Okay, thanks." Pietro gave them a nod – and caught John's intense stare focused directly on Remy's face. More specifically, his eyes. Remy must have noticed too, because he very casually reached into his coat and withdrew his sunglasses, and perched them back on his face.
"Righ', let's go talk to her. She got a name, Drake?"
"Ah, yes. Of course, sorry sir. Clara. Clara Mills." Remy gave Bobby a nod in much the same way Pietro had, and then he turned, catching Pietro by the elbow as he began to lead him back down the corridor. Pietro glanced down, surprised at the contact, but he said nothing.
"So, Miss Grey." Remy began once they stepped into the elevator to head back down to the lobby. "She seems nice."
"She's engaged." Pietro cut in smoothly. "Before you get any ideas." He glanced sideways at Remy, lifting one eyebrow subtly. "To your predecessor, actually."
"Remy was jus' makin' an observation, Detective." But his grin gave him away. "Lieutenant Summers, righ'? He transferred out to anot'er division?"
"Yeah." Pietro shrugged one shoulder. "Went over to Illegals as far as I know. Some cops just aren't cut out for Homicide."
"It's a tough job." Remy ran his fingers through his hair idly, and then flashed a grin at Pietro. "But someone's gotta do it, eh?" When the doors opened and Remy stepped out into the lobby, Pietro realised he was smiling. Maybe Remy wasn't so bad.
But then Remy leant against the front desk and turned his charm on the receptionist again, and Pietro fought the urge to bang his head against something solid.
When Remy finally managed to tear himself away from the pretty young lady, they were directed to the breakroom, and Pietro led the way if only to get away from the damn flirt before he spoke out of turn again. Officer Piotr Rasputin sat on a plush sofa next to a trembling petite blonde, whose hands shook around the plastic cup of water she held. Another young woman sat on her other side, her arm around Clara's shoulders as she murmured something no doubt intended to soothe her, and an older man hovered nearby, holding several discs in one hand. The hotel manager, almost certainly.
"Miss Mills?" She looked up, water sloshing out of the cup and over her hand as she jerked in surprise. The other woman mopped up the spill with a tissue in a manner which made it clear it wasn't the first time it had happened. "I'm Detective Maximoff, and this is Lieutenant LeBeau. We'd like to speak with you, go over what happened."
"I already spoke to the police." Her voice was thin and soft, and it trembled. She glanced quickly at Piotr, who put a hand on her arm and smiled gently.
"It's okay, Clara." He turned to them, offered Remy a polite smile. Remy moved forward and perched himself on the coffee table opposite Clara, and this time his smile was soft and friendly – but Pietro noticed he didn't remove his sunglasses.
"Clara – is it okay if Remy calls you dat?" When she nodded, his smile widened. "We jus' need to hear it from you, fo' de record. It won' take long, promise." He pulled a notebook out of his pocket, along with a pen. "So if you would start from de beginnin', an' jus' tell us everyt'in' you can." Clara took a deep breath, looked to her friend for comfort, and then nodded.
"Okay. Well." Her voice trembled again, and she took a moment to compose herself. "I was just doing my morning routine – we do an early turndown service here, unless requested otherwise. If the do not disturb sign isn't hanging on the door, we go right on in – change the towels, make the bed, restock the little kitchenette if necessary." Remy let her walk herself through it, didn't rush her. Pietro appreciated that. "Adam – Mr Richards – he's usually in the room when I go in, watching the news before he heads out for the day. He's always polite and talks to me as I work," she trailed off, and sent a glance at the older man as if worried he'd disapprove, but he only smiled in encouragement, "and he's very pleasant. He didn't answer when I knocked, and you're supposed to knock again just in case – but the door was ajar, so I just walked in. I thought maybe he just hadn't heard or something, so I called out as I walked in."
"De door was open?" Remy prompted, and Clara blinked in surprise as if she'd forgotten she'd said that.
"Oh. Yes. It was odd, but sometimes guests prop the doors open for some air circulation whilst they're inside, or the automatic closing mechanism gets jammed a little – a good rap will fix it, but sometimes they don't notice, so I didn't really think much of it." Remy made notes as she spoke, quick strokes with the pen, and from where he stood Pietro could see that he had long, elegant handwriting.
"So you walk righ' in – what would you do first? De towels, de bed?"
"The towels. I always collect towels first. I left my cart outside and grabbed some fresh towels, because Adam always needs fresh ones. I… I think I dropped them, I'm not sure." She shook her head as she went back to that moment in her mind, the moment she walked in and saw the dead man on the bed. "I saw someone lying on the bed but I was too distracted with what I was doing that I didn't really look properly. I just started talking – good morning Mr Richards, that sort of thing – and then when he didn't answer I turned to look because I thought he might have been asleep, or something." She paused, took a sip of water. "When I saw him – the man – passed out on top of the bed in his clothes, I thought maybe there was something wrong. Adam had said he was going out yesterday morning, he told me he was going out somewhere nice that evening so he'd probably have the do not disturb sign on the door, but it wasn't there so I assumed he hadn't got back as late as he'd thought."
"So what did you next?" Remy urged, scribbling down a note to himself to check the security discs for what time Adam left the hotel.
"I think I dropped my towels. Or I put them on the chair… I don't remember. But I put them down, and I walked over to see if he was okay. My brother once passed out like that after a party and he was really drunk and he'd thrown up, so I was thinking of that, and thought I'd better see if he was okay. But then… then I realised it wasn't Adam on the bed."
"Had you ever seen de man befo'? Had he come in befo', did you ever see him wit' Adam?"
"No. I don't think so." She shook her head. "I went to touch him – to shake him, see if I could wake him up, but then I noticed the bruising on his neck and I knew something wasn't right. I… I did touch him. I checked his pulse, because I told myself if I just walked away and he was still alive, then he might not be when I got back with some help, but… but he was dead." Her voice cracked, and her friend quickly moved closer, rubbing a hand up and down her arm.
"It's okay, Clara. Just tell them everything and then I can take you home, okay?"
"Did you touch anyt'in' else in de room, Clara? Did you notice anyt'in' out o' place?" Remy prompted, and she took another drink of water before she answered.
"No. I… I don't think so. No." She shook her head. "I ran out, calling for help. I was shouting so loud, I… I probably disturbed so many guests… I don't know how long I was shouting for but then Mr Edwards was there, and this nice Officer. I didn't go back in there, I couldn't. It was only after the other two officers got here that I realised I hadn't seen Adam anywhere."
"Okay. T'ank you, Clara." Remy reached over and gently touched a hand to her arm. "We'll let you get on home now, but we may need to contact you again, so don' go anywhere, eh?" He grinned, and she gave him a weak smile in return.
"Go with her, Amy. I'll give you both the rest of the day off. She shouldn't be alone." The older man – Mr Edwards – told the other woman, who nodded.
"Come on, Clara. Let's get you home." Whilst Clara gathered up her coat and her bag from a locker, Remy turned to Officer Rasputin.
"T'anks fo' stickin' wit' de witness, Officer." He held out a hand, which Piotr shook with a smile. "Appreciate de time you put in."
"It's not a problem, sir." He gave another smile to Pietro. "But I should be heading back to the station. I have reports to write up."
"O' course. T'anks again." As Piotr left, holding open the door for the two ladies, Remy turned on the hotel manager. "Yo' Mr Edwards, oui?"
"Yes." Mr Edwards held out the security discs. "When I learned it wasn't Mr Richards lying dead in that room, I thought you'd want to see these. I haven't gone through them myself, but it should cover the lobby and the fifth floor from six-thirty yesterday morning right through to an hour before you arrived."
"Thanks." Pietro took them from him, and slipped them into an evidence bag. "Can you tell us anything more about Mr Richards?"
"There's not much to tell, I'm afraid. He booked online a month ago – standard room, booked in for a week, starting four days ago. I saw him once or twice in the lobby. Looked like a business type, always in a sharp suit. Clara or one of my other girls might be able to tell you more – two of them take that section of the hotel. Louise isn't in today, but she took the turndown service the day before yesterday, when Clara had the morning off." He paused, considered something. "Francis, our bartender, might know something. Mr Richards used the hotel bar on his first night – I was at the desk talking to another guest when he asked what time it closed – and Francis always gets them talking if he can. He'll be here at six, as he only works the evenings." Remy made notes of everything, and then tucked the notebook away.
"T'ank you Mr Edwards. If you could give us de names an' contact details o' anyone who had contact wit' Mr Richards dat would save us time." He pulled out a card, and handed it over. "Dat's our number. If Mr Richards returns, den you call us, an' keep him somewhere until we arrive."
"I'm afraid the room will be out of use until we can clear the scene, which could be a while. I understand you have a lot of guests here, and on that floor in particular, but if possible you may wish to relocate those in the neighbouring rooms." Pietro suggested. "You may have a lot of cops going in and out for several hours."
"I'll see what I can arrange, but if my guests do not wish to move then I shall not force them." Mr Edwards nodded. "If there is anything else you need, please, do not hesitate to ask." Remy turned as if to head to the door, and then he stopped and turned back.
"One last t'ing, monsieur." When Mr Edwards raised his eyebrows in question, Remy went on. "Did you get a good look at de deceased?" He nodded. "Had you ever seen dat man befo'?"
"Not that I can recall, no. Do you know who he is?"
"Not at dis moment. It's possible he's anot'er guest here. If it looks dat way, we'll run de name by you, see if it sounds familiar – if not, we'll have to check yo' logs to see if it matches any o' yo' guests."
"Of course. Anything you need, Lieutenant, Detective." He held out a hand, and they shook it in turn. As they walked back to the elevator to head back up to the crime scene, Remy took out his notebook and went over his notes. Pietro glanced over and noticed – with a spark of interest – that the notes were all written in French.
"Are we looking at Adam specifically at this moment?" He asked, just to break the silence.
"At de moment we don' know where we're lookin'." Remy shrugged, tucking the notebook away again. "But Adam is our top suspect until we have evidence dat says ot'erwise. We'll run de security discs when we get back to de station, see if we can pin our boy headin' out or comin' back – if he came back at all."
"We'll need that ID on the deceased before we can start looking for motive." Pietro sighed. "CSI should be here by now, which means Jean will have more for us. Maybe we have an ID."
"Let's go find out den, eh?" Remy put a hand on Pietro's shoulder as the elevator reached the fifth floor, and Pietro was once again surprised at the contact – he wasn't a very physical person, so the touch was strange to him. But then, he mused, Remy himself was rather strange to him, so that was no surprise.
--
By the time CSI had done their sweep of the room, collecting evidence, dusting for prints – the usual – Jean had been able to determine time of death as five forty-three that morning, and cause of death was definitely strangulation. She had him bagged and tagged, and sent down to the morgue for an autopsy to determine any other factors that might have played a part in his death – and whilst Remy studied the scene again, Pietro ran the fingerprints Jean had provided.
"Get anyt'in'?" Remy asked, turning away from the bed to face him. Pietro looked up from his handheld scanner.
"Not yet, but it's a huge database." He let the machine do its run, and he stepped up beside Remy. "What's on your mind?"
"What did de killer use?" Remy gestured around them. "De bruisin' doesn' fit wit' manual strangulation, an' Jean confirmed it, so what did dey use? Not'in' left behind dat stands out, so did dey take it wit' dem?"
"Did CSI check the bathrobes?" Remy turned to him, and Pietro shrugged. "Just a thought. Bathrobes-,"
"Have belts." Remy nodded, and he strode towards the en-suite. He emerged a moment later, shaking his head. "Dere's a hook fo' one, but it ain' dere. We'll check wit' housekeepin', see if dey replace dem an' when." Remy studied the room once more, and realised he'd get nothing else from the scene until he knew what he was looking for. "Nice catch." Pietro didn't know how to respond to the compliment – he was still unsure about Remy, even if he was proving to be a good cop despite his appearance that suggested otherwise.
He was saved by his handheld signalling that it had finished the scan – and he sighed. No matches found. Remy glanced over his shoulder, and also gave a sigh of frustration.
"Well, whoever our dead guy is, he's not in de database. Let's get back to Central an' find out what our missin' Mr Richards was up to last nigh'." Pietro scowled down at the handheld – he'd been hoping it would give him something. He looked up at Remy's soft laugh, and then a hand was pressed to the back of his neck, warm and firm, but the touch was gentle. "Don' worry, Pietro. We'll find him." Remy murmured, as he was suddenly rather too close for Pietro's liking. "De t'ing you'll learn 'bout Remy is dat he don' give up. Not on anyt'in'." Those odd eyes peered into his own over the top of his sunglasses, the gaze fiercely intense, and Pietro felt a flush creeping up his neck.
And then Remy pulled away, and he strode to the door, coattails billowing slightly with the motion. Pietro exhaled slowly, and lifted his hand to tug again at his collar.
He could see this becoming a problem.