Slippery Rock Gazette

Dr. Frederick M. Hueston, PhD

It was one of those rare, chilly mornings in Florida, with temperatures dipping into the low 50s. I decided to don my leather jacket and take the Harley out for a spin to my favorite greasy spoon. There’s nothing like the open road to clear the cobwebs from a night of restless sleep. As I pulled up to the diner, I spotted the usual crowd inside—Flo, the ever-cheerful waitress who remembered everyone’s order, and the Admiral, a retired Navy man who never missed his morning coffee at Flo’s counter.

Just as I was settling into my booth, savoring the first sip of black coffee and the comforting aroma of frying bacon, my phone buzzed. It was the kind of buzz that signals something more interesting than spam. The voice on the other end was an old client, a property manager for a historic downtown hotel I’d worked with before. His tone was laced with urgency as he explained the problem: a guest had noticed a strange, reddish-brown stain seeping up from a grout joint in one of the suites. The hotel, a proud symbol of bygone opulence, had recently undergone extensive renovations, and the last thing they needed was a mystery stain ruining their new floors.

“Rust, maybe?” he mused. “Or could it be water damage?”

“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions,” I replied. “I’ll come down later this morning.”

After finishing my ham and eggs and exchanging some banter with Flo, I hopped back on the Harley and headed downtown. The historic hotel, with its grand façade and ornate ironwork, stood like a sentinel among the modern high-rises. Inside, the property manager greeted me and led me to the suite. It was an elegant room, with gleaming black-and-white marble floors that would have been the envy of any high-end design magazine. But sure enough, there it was: a faint reddish-brown discoloration peeking through a grout joint near the center of the floor.

I crouched down and examined the stain closely. It wasn’t the usual discoloration you’d associate with rust or water damage. Something about it seemed… organic. 

I began my inspection the usual way, tapping around the area with a rubber mallet, listening for that tell-tale hollow sound that could indicate voids or delamination beneath the tile. The surrounding tiles were solid as a rock. Next, I pulled out my moisture meter to check for any signs of water intrusion. The readings came back dry as a bone.

“Not water damage,” I muttered, more to myself than to the manager. His face reflected a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Puzzled, I decided to go a step further. I carefully scored the grout lines around the stained tile and used my tile lifter to remove it, making sure not to damage the surrounding area. As I lifted the tile, the manager and I both recoiled slightly. Beneath it was a dark, dried substance that had seeped into the substrate. It was unmistakable: blood. The distinct metallic smell hung in the air, cutting through the polished elegance of the suite.

“This isn’t just a maintenance issue,” I said gravely. “You’ll need to contact the authorities.”

The property manager paled but nodded. Within the hour, the suite was swarming with police officers and forensic investigators. The entire room was cordoned off as they began their meticulous work. I learned from the officers that the hotel had a storied past, filled with tales of glamour, scandal, and the occasional unsolved mystery. In fact, one of those mysteries involved a missing person case from decades ago. The suite where we found the blood had been closed off and unoccupied for years before the renovations.

Over the next few days, I stayed in touch with the lead detective on the case. He called me with updates as the investigation unfolded. Forensic analysis confirmed what we suspected: the substance beneath the tile was indeed human blood. And it wasn’t fresh—it dated back at least 40 years. Further excavation of the floor revealed skeletal remains concealed beneath the layers of substrate and tile. The remains matched the description of a woman reported missing in the late 1970s. As more evidence came to light, it became clear that foul play had occurred, turning this once-charming suite into a decades-old crime scene.

The case captivated everyone involved, including me. It wasn’t every day that a routine stone inspection turned into uncovering evidence in a real murder. As a stone detective, I’ve solved plenty of mysteries—efflorescence that looked like mold, strange discolorations caused by everything from wine spills to chemical reactions, and even identifying counterfeit stone. But this was something entirely different. This was the first time my work had led directly to the reopening of a cold case.

The incident left me thinking about how much history can be hidden beneath stone and tile. These materials, often selected for their durability and timeless beauty, have a way of silently bearing witness to the lives—and sometimes the crimes—of those who inhabit their spaces. While most of my cases don’t involve the police, they often reveal fascinating stories about the environments we live and work in.

For the property manager, the discovery was bittersweet. On one hand, the situation brought unwelcome attention to his newly renovated hotel. On the other, it solved a long-forgotten mystery that might bring closure to the family of the victim. As for me, it was a reminder that no matter how polished the surface, there’s always more than meets the eye.

So, the next time you walk across a pristine marble floor or admire the craftsmanship of a historic tile installation, remember: beneath the surface lies a story. Some stories, like this one, just need the right detective to uncover them.

The Stone Detective is a fictional character created by Dr. Frederick M. Hueston, PhD, written to entertain and educate. Dr. Fred has written over 33 books on stone and tile installations, fabrication and restoration and also serves as an expert for many legal cases across the world.  Send your comments to fhueston@stoneforensics.com.