accompany him.
After getting Captain Caine’s room number, George and I rode up in the elevator together. I asked why he had been called to the scene of an apparent suicide attempt by a hotel guest.
“I’ve made it known at my office that anything untoward having to do with the SilverAir passengers should be reported to me immediately. Whether this young lady’s act has anything to do with Mr. Silverton’s murder is purely conjecture, of course, but it can’t be dismissed out of hand.”
Two uniformed officers standing outside Caine’s door snapped to attention upon seeing George, who led me into the room where the flight attendant was on a couch in the sitting room portion of a small suite, a blanket covering her up to her neck. Seth Hazlitt, and another man I assumed was the British physician Mort had mentioned, hovered over her.
“How is she?” George asked.
The British doctor turned and frowned at this question from someone he didn’t know.
“He’s from Scotland Yard,” Seth said.
George spared Seth an explanation by introducing himself and me.
“She’ll be fine,” the British doctor said, returning his attention to Molnari.
Seth took George and me aside and whispered, “An overdose, although not much of one. Made her sick but wasn’t enough to kill her. The bottle’s over there on that table.”
“Seeking attention?” George asked.
“Possibly,” Seth replied, “but that doesn’t mean taking it less seriously.”
“Who reported it?” George asked.
“The fellow in the bedroom,” Seth said, “the airline pilot. This is his room.”
I moved away from them to gain a view of the bedroom where Captain Bill Caine sat in a flowered wing chair by the window, his attention directed outside. I returned to Seth and George.
“Did he say what prompted her to come here to his room and attempt to take her life?” I asked.
“He hasn’t said much since the doc over there and I arrived,” Seth said. “Those two officers out in the hallway were here before that.”
“She needn’t be taken to hospital?” George asked.
“Might not be a bad idea to have her spend a night there,” Seth offered, “and have a psychiatrist look in on her. Even if she was only calling out for attention, there’s got to be something pretty heavy weighing on her.”
“I think I’ll have a word with Captain Caine,” George said. “Jessica?”
I’d been looking around the room, my focus not on their conversation. “What?” I said. “Oh, yes, I’ll come with you.”
We entered the bedroom and George quietly closed the door behind us. Caine never looked up to acknowledge our presence. He continued to sit stoically, his eyes trained on something through the window—or perhaps on nothing.
“Excuse us,” George said. “I’m Inspector George Sutherland, and you know Mrs. Fletcher, I believe. We didn’t have the pleasure of meeting this morning at breakfast, although we did speak by phone earlier today.”
“Researching a plot for your next book?” Caine asked me.
George saved me from having to answer. “We’d arranged to meet tomorrow,” he told Caine, “but since we’re here, I wonder if I might have a word with you now.”
Caine, who wore a silky, dark blue warm-up suit with white stripes down the legs, and sneakers, shrugged. “Hell of a time for a talk, isn’t it?” he said. “Gina’s in there hanging on to life, and you want to talk.”
“According to the doctors with her,” George said, “she’ll be fine. However, if you prefer to wait until tomorrow to discuss Mr. Silverton’s murder, I’m willing to do that. But I do have a few immediate questions about this episode tonight. I understand it was you who called to report the young lady’s attempt to take her life.”
“That’s right. It’s a good thing I did or she might not have made it.”
“I don’t doubt that,” George said, not reiterating that whatever pills she’d taken would not have killed her. “This
After getting Captain Caine’s room number, George and I rode up in the elevator together. I asked why he had been called to the scene of an apparent suicide attempt by a hotel guest.
“I’ve made it known at my office that anything untoward having to do with the SilverAir passengers should be reported to me immediately. Whether this young lady’s act has anything to do with Mr. Silverton’s murder is purely conjecture, of course, but it can’t be dismissed out of hand.”
Two uniformed officers standing outside Caine’s door snapped to attention upon seeing George, who led me into the room where the flight attendant was on a couch in the sitting room portion of a small suite, a blanket covering her up to her neck. Seth Hazlitt, and another man I assumed was the British physician Mort had mentioned, hovered over her.
“How is she?” George asked.
The British doctor turned and frowned at this question from someone he didn’t know.
“He’s from Scotland Yard,” Seth said.
George spared Seth an explanation by introducing himself and me.
“She’ll be fine,” the British doctor said, returning his attention to Molnari.
Seth took George and me aside and whispered, “An overdose, although not much of one. Made her sick but wasn’t enough to kill her. The bottle’s over there on that table.”
“Seeking attention?” George asked.
“Possibly,” Seth replied, “but that doesn’t mean taking it less seriously.”
“Who reported it?” George asked.
“The fellow in the bedroom,” Seth said, “the airline pilot. This is his room.”
I moved away from them to gain a view of the bedroom where Captain Bill Caine sat in a flowered wing chair by the window, his attention directed outside. I returned to Seth and George.
“Did he say what prompted her to come here to his room and attempt to take her life?” I asked.
“He hasn’t said much since the doc over there and I arrived,” Seth said. “Those two officers out in the hallway were here before that.”
“She needn’t be taken to hospital?” George asked.
“Might not be a bad idea to have her spend a night there,” Seth offered, “and have a psychiatrist look in on her. Even if she was only calling out for attention, there’s got to be something pretty heavy weighing on her.”
“I think I’ll have a word with Captain Caine,” George said. “Jessica?”
I’d been looking around the room, my focus not on their conversation. “What?” I said. “Oh, yes, I’ll come with you.”
We entered the bedroom and George quietly closed the door behind us. Caine never looked up to acknowledge our presence. He continued to sit stoically, his eyes trained on something through the window—or perhaps on nothing.
“Excuse us,” George said. “I’m Inspector George Sutherland, and you know Mrs. Fletcher, I believe. We didn’t have the pleasure of meeting this morning at breakfast, although we did speak by phone earlier today.”
“Researching a plot for your next book?” Caine asked me.
George saved me from having to answer. “We’d arranged to meet tomorrow,” he told Caine, “but since we’re here, I wonder if I might have a word with you now.”
Caine, who wore a silky, dark blue warm-up suit with white stripes down the legs, and sneakers, shrugged. “Hell of a time for a talk, isn’t it?” he said. “Gina’s in there hanging on to life, and you want to talk.”
“According to the doctors with her,” George said, “she’ll be fine. However, if you prefer to wait until tomorrow to discuss Mr. Silverton’s murder, I’m willing to do that. But I do have a few immediate questions about this episode tonight. I understand it was you who called to report the young lady’s attempt to take her life.”
“That’s right. It’s a good thing I did or she might not have made it.”
“I don’t doubt that,” George said, not reiterating that whatever pills she’d taken would not have killed her. “This
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