Walter Justin Deanmoore looked at his hotel room. His belongings appeared to be all present, but what was not present was his suitcase.
Again.
Over the last ten years of near constant travel he had been through eight suitcases, seven travel packs, five trunks, and three duffel bags. All had vanished the day before he was due to check out. All had later surfaced in cities he had never visited and had absolutely watertight alibis for.
Which was a very good thing, because each time they had a body in them. A dead body. Sometimes the murderer had been caught, sometimes not.
Walter reached for the phone "Hello? I'd like to speak to the day manager." He waited for a few moments "Good afternoon, it is Deanmoore in 418. Has anyone left the hotel today with a green suitcase with black leather straps?"
He paused.
"Yes, it is an odd question. My suitcase is missing. My belongings are not, however. Just the suitcase."
Another pause.
"Seven? All at once? I see. I suggest you prepare your records for the police. No it is deadly serious."
He hung up and dialed again. "Hello? Yes, I'd like to report that there has almost certainly been a murder in or near the Green Field Hotel."
"No I don't know who or why. It is because my suitcase is missing."
He held the receiver away from his ear for a good minute.
"If you are quite finished, you could call the Marseille police, the New York police, or even Scotland Yard. Ask them about the Deanmoore Suitcases."
He took a breath.
"Yes, I am Walter Deanmoore. Yes. Seven people checked out earlier today with suitcases identical to mine. Right. Good. Thank-you."
Walter sat back. He was not getting his suitcase back, he was sure of that. But at least the killer - or killers - might not get so far this time.
#microfiction #microfic #tootfic #Mystery #murder #IAmWriting #IBlameChristie
