Graveyard Shift E-Book

Meinema Eduard

• Herausgeber: Eduard Meinema
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

A new hotel. A historic city. A multiple murder.
The death of a hotel owner puzzles Detective Marilou Tetteroo. With the arrest of a suspect, the case seems quickly resolved. But as she scrutinizes the suspect's statement more thoroughly, there appear to be many - too many - gaps.
To check the alibi of the only suspect, she returns to the crime scene in the historic center of Delft. Her research in the hotel and its immediate surroundings leads to a startling discovery. Her night shift turns into a nightmare as she faces a gruesome series of murders ...

Leseprobe

Eduard Meinema

DBC 1 Graveyard Shift

Copyright © 2021 by Eduard Meinema

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

First edition

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com

Contents

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High TXTC

About the Author

1

It was already dusk, but still sweltering warm. The last rays of the sun of a sun-drenched day reflected in the gently undulating water of the canal. René Karlas locked his bicycle and looked up at the leaning church tower of the ‘Oude Jan’, the ‘Old John’. The characteristic church tower had already subsided during construction and now, centuries later, was still hunch over threateningly; if at any moment it could fall to the ground with a last sigh of relief. As a little boy he always cycled past the church as fast as he could, afraid that the ‘Old John’ would give up precisely the moment he cycled there and he, with his bicycle and all, mercilessly, by God’s hand or, who knew, a devilish power would be crushed.

Tonight he was going to start his new job; tonight he went to work in the building opposite the ‘House of God’ that had given him not only nightmares but also the most bizarre daydreams in his youth. With a nervous smile he entered the monumental canal house through the revolving door. This was his first evening as a night porter in the trendy ‘Gallery Hotel’, which opened last week, situated opposite the ‘Old John’.

“We also have to find our way around,” Ed Décran, the director and owner of the hotel, had confided to him during the interview. “It is also new for all of us and we have to get used to it. So prepare for the unexpected when you start here,” the man with the thin, gray curly hair had added with a laugh.

Tonight he started. Walking into the hotel, he actually thought it was more exciting than he had thought. Working during the night, with the possibility to study a bit in the quiet hours. It seemed like a great opportunity for the young student. Well in time René Karlas entered the hotel. Behind the small counter, the fresh paint still smelling, was a girl in a chic black uniform. A pretty girl. He quickly assessed her. Just twenty; about his age.

“Hello,” said René in a cracked voice.

She greeted the boy with a disarming smile. “What can I do for you?” she asked, flipping her blond, almost white, ponytail to the side with a nod of her head.

René was shocked. Did she seek rapprochement? He had to clear his throat for a moment. “I am René Karlas. I’ve come to work here this evening. Or, um, tonight actually…,” he laughed shyly.

The blonde girl looked at him diagonally. His heart pounded shyly in his throat. “Like what?” the receptionist asked.

“Um… I, uh … I’m the night porter…,” he could barely speak audibly.

She stared at him with her green eyes. “Night porter? I don’t know anything about that,” said the girl with a smile which really was too sweet.

“B… But… Last week I… With Mr. Décran…”

The girl looked at him so intently that he began to feel even more uncomfortable. “What did Mr. Décran do?” she asked with her disarming smile.

He had to swallow. “Hired me. As a night porter,” said René. “I’m going to start tonight…”

“Sorry… René. I really don’t know anything about this. If you were to work here tonight, Ed would have…” She changed her mind and quickly corrected herself: “… Mr Décran, would have told me.”

René Karlas began to doubt himself. “But…,” he stammered overwhelmed by this totally unexpected announcement and was searching for words. His eyes darted back and forth nervously. In a flash he saw the list next to the phone. A small handwritten list of names, including his. “But look!” He leaned far over the counter, so far that he could almost reach the list. “There I am! On that list!”

Now the girl seemed to be upset. For a moment she didn’t know what to say.

René Karlas looked at her a little more confidently. He was on the list! “See…?” he said to the receptionist. Now that he dared to look at her, he saw that she was wearing a badge with her name. “Monique… ?” he added boldly.

Monique pulled the list off the phone. It was clear to René that she did not know what to do with this situation.

“Otherwise, why don’t you give Décran a call,” said René relieved now that he knew he was on the employee list. “Then he will explain it to you.”

“Ed… Mr. Décran, is not available,” said Monique. Now that she had the list in her hands, she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Well, that seems strange to me. Last week… during the job interview, he indicated that he is always available. Twenty four seven, hesaid to me. With his little gray curls.”

Monique didn’t want to, but still had to laugh secretly at his comment.

“I can also give him a call myself…,” said René. Now that the ice was broken, he suddenly dared much more.

“Oops, I don’t know if he appreciates that,” said Monique. She did her best to keep the list as inconspicuously as possible and without René Karlas noticing it put it in a drawer under the counter.

“Well, we have to do something. I can’t help but wait here in the lobby until Mr. Warden himself finally shows up, right? I didn’t come here for nothing; I want to get started!”

The revolving door behind René started to move. Both Monique and he looked instantly at the hotel entrance. Two people with too much luggage wrestled their way through the spinning colossus.

“I… We’ll talk in a minute,” said Monique. “If you want to wait there on the couch, I’ll help the new guests.”

“Why?” said René bluntly. “Isn’t that the work I have to do? Then I’d better have a look and learn everything I need to know.”

Monique cocked her head, her short white-blonde ponytail just touching her shoulder. “Please?” she said blinking with her green eyes.

He couldn’t refuse her.

2

From the sofa in the lobby of the hotel, René followed the conversation Monique and the two newly arrived hotel guests had. Two Japanese-looking tourists; the heavy Australian accent astonished him. Judging by the amount of luggage, it seemed to René that they were on a month-long world trip. As the conversation progressed, he could no longer keep his attention. His eyes drifted; his thoughts followed closely. Directly opposite him was the small office where he had had his interview with Ed Décran; the hotel owner, the man with the gray curly hair who had hired him as a night porter. At least, that was what he had told René. But apparently he had “forgotten” to inform the rest of the staff about their new colleague.

Although…

His name was on the list …

Décran’s office was on the ground floor of the century-old building, opposite the canal and next to the church. The high windows guaranteed a magnificent view of the canal in front of the building, the ‘Oude Delft’, and the leaning church tower of the ‘Old John’. René Karlas chuckled. Should the ‘old man’ still fall over, it would at least crash next to the hotel. He was safe here.

The office door was ajar. René Karlas had his doubts. Would he…? He looked at the counter. Monique was still busy talking to the two new guests. The discussion took a strange course; it seemed that the foreigners’ reservation had not gone quite well. He decided to take a chance. Walked to Décran’s office. Looked semi-interested at a reproduction of one of Vermeer’s paintings, artistically edited with rough splashes of paint, hanging on the wall next to the door, when in fact he was watching if Monique was watching him. He saw the two newly arrived guests demanding all of her attention. Carefully and as inconspicuously as possible, he tapped the door open further with the tip of his shoe and slipped inside.

Made it.

He was in!

Décran’s antique desk was just out of sight. Monique could not possibly see him from her seat behind the counter. He could not resist and sank into the dark brown office chair. The leather crunched and sighed under his weight. There was no light in the room, but the lamppost in front of the hotel and the light entering the office from the lobby was more than enough to see everything that was in the room. Things that, due to his nerves, he had barely noticed during his job interview. A seat with three luxurious leather armchairs; a tall bookcase, without books but filled instead with expensive-looking bottles of whiskey. Bottles from which Décran, judging by the smell in the office, regularly poured himself a glass. In the corner in front of the window was an imposing humidor, filled with an extensive assortment of big cigars. Mr. Décran was a bon vivant. No doubt about it.

“What the f… are you doing?” Monique said angrily from the doorway. “Get out of that room!”

Startled, René Karlas got up as quickly as he could. As he got out of the chair, he tapped his shoes against something under the desk. He couldn’t see it well in the semi-darkness, but it looked like a briefcase, covered with a stained jacket.

“Well! Hurry up! Get out of that room!” Monique sneered.

René Karlas raised his hands apologetically. “Sorry. I…”

“I don’t give a shit what you want to say; you have no business here. Well c’mon, out of that room and walk straight outside because I just called Décran. He said he knew nothing,” said Monique, shaking her head violently, causing her white blonde ponytail to dance viciously up and down.

“What?” René Karlas called. “That is not possible! I’ve met him last week…”

“Yeah. Last week, last month, even if it was yesterday. Don’t know when you think you’ve spoken to Ed… Mr. Décran. He doesn’t know anything about you, so come back tomorrow; then you may discuss it with him yourself,” said Monique in a tone unlike the way the receptionist had greeted René Karlas upon entering.

The young blonde waited in the doorway for René to do as he was asked. As soon as he reached the lobby, she glanced around Décran’s room. “That bike? That old thing out there against the window? Is that yours?” she said bitingly.

René Karlas nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, Ed… Mr Décran must have told you he doesn’t want bicycles in front of the hotel, so I doubt you spoke to him at all. Good. Been nice. Now get out… René.”

René Karlas was somewhat lost in the lobby. This would be the first evening… the first night of his new job. Monique had seemed nice to him at first. More than that; secretly, he found her very attractive. But apparently one phone call with Mr. Décran, or Ed as Monique repeatedly called him…, had quite troubled the receptionist. Her attitude had changed suddenly and radically. “Good. I’m going. But I’ll be back tomorrow!” he heard himself say menacingly.

“Ffffine,” said Monique with an overly long rolling ‘F’. “And then put your bike somewhere where it is allowed!” she added, offended.

René Karlas walked out angry. Hitting the revolving door so hard in envy that the door kept turning squeaking until Monique slowed it down and brought it to a stop. She waited safely behind the glass for René to get on his bicycle and see him cycle away from under the leaning tower of the church.

3

He was angry. Disappointed. Could cry with grief and at the same time scream with anger. That’s what he did: “Fucking prick!” René Karlas yelled as he cycled hard and lustily at a man who, some distance from the crooked church tower, was leaning against the low railing along the canal.

The man used the fence as an alternative tripod to take a photo of the church tower ‘at night’. René Karlas drove so close to him and roared so loudly that the man dropped his camera in the moat.

“Goddamn!” the man cursed as hard as his attacker had done to him. He just watched his expensive SLR camera disappear into the greenish water of the canal, but was too late to chase the cyclist who was still cursing.

René Karlas did not care about the grieving photographer. Immediately after passing the church tower, he drove against the traffic, a short distance into the old center. Until the bridge of the next canal. There, on the other side of the ‘Old John’, he threw his old, partly rusted bicycle against the centuries-old church wall which, despite all the prohibition signs, was slowly affected by the biting urine of drunk guys who were pissing the church walls in the middle of the night. He walked to the cafe opposite the church which, not very original, had been called ‘the Old John’. Upon entering, he slammed the door behind him so hard that the glasses on the bar were shaking.

“Do you want to drink something?” the bartender said calmly. “Or do you want to compensate for the damage first?”

“Sorry,” René Karlas muttered. He couldn’t help but look back to see if the door had really been damaged by him; fortunately, this turned out not to be the case. He sat on a stool at the bar. Ordered a ‘draft beer’ and, without bothering about the other guests at the bar, started talking to no one in particular, “That bastard from that hotel… That bastard kicked me out.”

The bartender put the beer on the bar in front of René. “Then what have you done?” he asked more out of politeness than interest.