Suite 103

**There is no TL;DR to this joke. You have to read the whole thing in order to fully comprehend the joke.**


The scotch wasn’t going down easily today, but that didn’t make pouring some more any more difficult for Adam. The phone call he had received three days earlier kept replaying in his mind over and over again.

She was out of town for a press conference. “I can’t not go, honey. I was the lead designer for the prototype. Who else is going to announce and describe its features?”

Adam never became too involved in Alexa’s career. He was supportive, but the amount of time she spent away from home was anything but enjoyable for Adam.

Adam was a retired homicide investigator, though his retirement was earlier than he’d have preferred. He’d known it would happen if he kept pursuing the case, but a double homicide on two children under the age of 10 was too much for Adam to just “let go.” During his investigation, he got in a bad way with some worse people and became too much of a liability for the department. Retirement was the only option.

The phone call though… the phone call changed everything. Alexa’s assistant was in tears as she told him. Adam couldn’t suppress his despair when he found out his beloved wife was found with a gun in her hand and a bullet through her head in the company paid hotel suite: Suite 103.

Adam was waiting. He was told that his arrest was inevitable if he interfered with the investigation. That wouldn’t stop him from conducting his own once the unmotivated machine-men finished lazily going through their procedures.


He arrived the next day at the hotel, and his hangover disappeared as soon as he walked through the doors. The hotel manager seemed to be giving him looks of disapproval as soon as he walked through the door, so unsurprisingly, he refused to allow Adam into Suite 103 since the investigation was over and had already deemed the death a suicide.


Adam knew Alexa better than that. This wasn’t a suicide no matter what the investigation seemed to reveal, and no bitter hotel manager with a big nose and a bigger stick up his ass would keep Adam from finding out what really happened in that hotel suite.

Adam headed into a maintenance hallway and began watching the workers. They seemed to still be talking about the incident in Suite 103. Adam noticed one girl in particular: a blonde, around 22 years of age who he knew would have a wonderful smile if she allowed one to occupy her face. A smile seemed out of the question for her, though. She seemed to feel more uncomfortable talking about the “suicide” than the other workers, and upon learning she worked with the housekeeping staff, Adam knew she was his way in.


He waited for her to enter the restroom and seated himself close enough for her to notice him when she walked out, but far enough away to be covert about it. Thinking about Alexa was all Adam needed for tears to begin streaming down his face. The blonde exited the restroom and stared at him for a bit before approaching him.


“Are you okay?” whispered the girl.


“I’ve had better days.” Stuttered Adam.

While explaining his situation, Adam learned the girl’s name was Alex—a convenient coincidence as far as Adam was concerned. Alex had tears glistening in her eyes by the time Adam was finished, and it was not difficult to convince her to help him.


There were three conditions Adam had to follow if he wanted to have access to Suite 103:

1. He had to make his own copy of the key to the room.

2. Alex’s involvement in helping him had to remain a secret no matter what.

3. Adam had to only access the suite at evenfall for around half an hour each day, as that was the latest time he could enter without seeming suspicious, and shift changes of security personnel lasted around that long.

Adam’s first day in the suite didn’t yield much. He noticed the bullet hole in the wall didn’t make much sense with what he expected based on evidence from Alexa’s head, but that was all speculation since Adam didn’t get to observe the initial investigation.


Over a period of nine days, Adam visited Suite 103 each day for a half hour. He noticed nothing that the investigation hadn’t already revealed. He went home on day nine and thought that maybe he didn’t know his wife as well as he thought he did. He tried to convince himself that his efforts weren’t all for naught, but nothing seemed to support that idea.


As he was drowning in those depressing thoughts, he realized that there was one thing he hadn’t looked at. Investigators avoid searching sheets and any other form of fabric for fingerprints because the material does not hold the prints like a glossy and hard surface does; however, that hotel room had a blanket over the comforter on the bed that was mainly there for aesthetic appeal. This blanket had some sort of glossy coating on it from what Adam had observed when he removed it from the bed on day one. If there were one place from which someone wouldn’t think to clean their fingerprints, that place would be on a blanket.


Adam couldn’t wait for the next night. He grabbed his supplies for revealing prints and his key to the suite and rushed back to the hotel. He hurried through the doors and saw Alex whose eyes widened upon seeing him. She vigorously shook her head, but Adam ignored it and jogged to the suite, opening the door and entering. He began applying a powdery residue to the glossy blanket.


The door swung open and the hotel manager’s silhouette came into view on the mirror in front of the door.


“GET OUT!” he screamed.


Adam knew he wouldn’t be able to reason with the hotel manager, so he just kept searching the blanket for fingerprints. Adam worked through the hotel manager calling the police and worked through the hotel manager’s constant screaming. Sure enough, the blanket was covered in prints. Prints from multiple people. Prints from more people than were involved in his wife’s death, but Adam knew that some of them belonged to her killer.


Seconds after this revelation, Adam’s arm was grasped firmly and he was handcuffed and brought to his feet.


“NO! My wife was killed! Murdered! The killer’s prints are on that sheet! I know it!”


The officers would not listen and they led Adam to the doorway. Adam walked away from his life and left his heart on that blanket. As the hotel room door closed, Adam turned back toward the room as a single tear streamed down his cheek. Emotion overwhelmed his voice as he opened his mouth and whispered, “Good night, suite prints.”