Detective Ira Banerjee arrived twenty minutes later.
Rain dripped from her dark coat as she stepped into the hotel lobby.
She looked tired, but her eyes were sharp.
Inspector Kabir Malik, her partner, stood waiting near the elevators.
"You're late," he said.
"Traffic."
Kabir smiled slightly.
"Or coffee."
"Both."
They rode the elevator to the third floor.
The hallway outside Room 309 buzzed with police officers and forensic technicians.
Ira stepped inside.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Sanjay Malhotra lay on the carpet beside the bed, his face pale, his body twisted awkwardly.
No signs of violence.
No blood.
Just death.
Ira crouched beside the body.
"What do we know?" she asked.
Kabir checked his notes.
"Male. Forty-eight. Tech investor. Checked in two nights ago."
"Cause of death?"
"Unknown."
Ira scanned the room carefully.
A half-empty glass of whiskey rested on the bedside table.
A laptop glowed faintly on the desk.
A suitcase lay open on the chair.
Nothing looked disturbed.
"Locked room?" she asked.
Kabir nodded.
"Door locked from inside. Windows sealed."
Ira sighed softly.
She hated locked-room mysteries.
Because they were either impossible…
Or brilliant.