Read Pt1 here.
On the inside of his jacket, she found a wallet. She searched through it fast, like a professional. She had done this before, even though not because she had killed a man and tried to avoid jail. To be honest, prostitution required a lot of care not to be taken by accident in a prison cell. The woman was simple whore, she knew how to go to bars and pick the men and, occasionally the women that had money. She had started like that, denying the easy money of the street. It was more expensive to go to fancy bars and hotels, she had to keep up with the glamorous style. It was hard in the beginning, but now she had a certain reputation and clients. Clients with fat wallets that, along with her skills, they put her onto the top of the list.
In the wallet she found some cash, credit card and photographs. A lot of photos actually. Two smiley four year old girls stared back to her with the same eyes as the man. An elegant woman was smiling in the other photo. She was beautiful, but she sensed that she was strict. She sensed that was the reason her husband looked for paid company. A woman like her would not like what he asked from her; she could remember now, vaguely. She knew that was not in the league of the elegant woman with the expensive jewelry and honestly, not either hers. She tried to explain but he didn’t understand. He turned violent. She took the cash and let the wallet aside.
She searched him a bit more and searched his other pocket. She found a dark velvet ring box. When she opened it she saw the most extravagant, expensive and cruelly beautiful ring. She knew it would fit the wife’s fingers perfectly. Anniversary? Birthday? She didn’t know and she didn’t care to know. She only knew that this ring might be her way out.
- Clean up the blood.
Of course not all of it. That would be impossible and inconvenient. No, she just had to clean up the blood that could betray her presence. Like the marks of her hands that lay on the floor when she had passed out after the drug took effect. Or the bloody fingertips on the table she used to pull herself up almost an hour ago, or the long, blond and bloody hair next to her purse. She should find out all the incriminating evidence that could lead to her. And leave the rest. She got to work before moving to the next point in her list.
- Get rid of any evidence.
Get rid of all evidence. She searched him again and found a small paper with her number on. This unfortunate encounter had been a set up. She had a good friend, she liked to call like that that guy that rich guy that actually set her… career off. He had enjoyed her services so much that he would propose her to some of his friends. Usually they were nice guys, looking for a dazzling company to a fancy party and good sex in equal measures. They paid well in exchange for reasonable things. But not this guy. Mr B, as he wanted her to call him, wanted to do some drugs. Usually drugs are out of the question, they lower the performance. This time however she said yes. And then at the hotel room, after some hearty laughter and witty remarks, he started asking for things that she cringed only thinking of them. She was a whore, yes, but the wrong kind. She told him that and he didn’t like it. The well suited man turned violent, tried to enforce himself on her.
It was self-defense. She was not a murderer. But she was a whore. A well paid, upper class escort, as she styled herself, but for the law she was a whore. And who would believe her? The cops, the judge, the jury? No, it was good that she had found and removed all the evidence.
- Plant new evidence.
From personal experience she knew that most cops are just employees. Media and gangsters would like to think that they are stupid and that is why they can fool them or that is why they almost never catch the bad guy, but she knew. They were just under paid officers that were unmotivated to do their job correctly. As the cashier at the supermarket they would find the easy solution and stick to it. Why try and bother to search for something more when not even the system appreciates it?
She just had to find the correct person to incriminate. Someone who could do it and most cops would like to believe that it was her. And who is better that the cleaning woman? She carefully went outside to find her cleaning woman, while holding the small velvet box.
- Take a shower and clean the shower.
After all was done, she had fifteen minutes left. With some good luck, she would be able to step out from this hotel room and never come back. She would survive this and continue to save money for her daughter’s college tuition fees. Her little diamond wanted to be a doctor, and she had vowed that she would see her one. The hot water felt so good, so relaxing. She hating cleaning, but she had already done a lot of it today, a bit more would not hurt. She had to get out from that place as fast as possible.
She stepped outside the hotel door as casually as possibly. It was a good thing that usually she did not enter with her clients, in order you know, to be discrete. She was not a criminal mastermind, but hopefully, the ring would be found in the maids’ purse, her fingertips all over the knife that had been inserted on the man’s chest twenty times and the woman would have the same drugs in her system as him. She would be found, fainted next to him.
She just have to hope, that the cops would be officers and not aspire to be television stars. Or else she was screwed.