Elevator Six


  The lobby of City Hotel was as quiet as the tomb it was as Rockford slowly made his way across the polished marble floors. It was a cold room in every regard and he felt the chill run through every fibre of his being. He contemplated briefly whether Bunting had felt the same feeling race through his bones before fate swallowed him whole, unrelenting in its grasp, never to release him from the eternal shackles of death.

  He reached the suite of elevators and surveyed the scene, hoping to glean a speck of information previously missed. The killer had played his hand deftly but – in Rockford’s experience at least – no murder was without some sort of tell, a trail of breadcrumb clues, a lone domino waiting, just waiting, to be toppled and take the whole set-up down with it.

  “Come on,” Rockford said to himself, crouching over the dark stain in elevator number six, touching a memory of a crime he couldn’t come close to cracking, “who are you?”


~ by Joseph Blame on December 28, 2010.

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