The point was, she was there. In the right place at the right time.

She'd come in to do the nightly turndown in Suite 4602. He'd waited, quite patiently, and she hadn't kept him long.

She wore the smart black uniform and fancy white apron of The Palace Hotel's housekeeping staff. Her hair was neat, as was expected of any employee of the finest hotel in the city. It was shiny brown and clipped at the nape with a simple black bar.

She was young and pretty, and that pleased him. Though he would have followed through in the intended manner if she'd been ninety and hag-faced.

But the fact that she was young, attractive enough with her dusty cheeks and dark eyes, would make the task at hand somewhat more enjoyable.

She'd rung first, of course. Twice, with a slight pause between as required. That had given him time to slip into the generous bedroom closet.

She called out as she opened the door with her passcode. "Housekeeping," in that lilting, singsong voice people of her trade used to announce themselves to rooms most usually empty.

She moved through the bedroom into the bath first, carrying fresh towels to replace those the occupant, registered as James Priory, might have used since check-in.

She sang a little as she tidied the bath, some bouncy little tune to keep herself company. Whistle while you work, he thought from his station in the closet. He could get behind that.

He waited until she came back, had heaped the used towels on the floor for later. Waited until she'd walked to the bed and had finished folding down the royal blue spread.

Took pride in her work, he noted as she carefully formed a long triangle with the bed linens at the left corner.

Well, so did he.

He moved fast. She saw only a blur out of the corner of her eye before he was on her. She screamed, loud and long, but the rooms of The Palace were soundproofed.