An Apple for Zoë ~ The Forsaken (6 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Room 1219

Kirkland met James at the main entrance of The Aleris around four o'clock that afternoon. The street was unusually quiet. For the most part James always found this area of the city to be bustling, no matter what time it was. As they proceeded up the steps, James stepped on a dead bird. The weight of his foot crushed down on it. To James it felt like squashing a hard-boiled egg. Looking down to see what he had done, James stepped on a second bird, then a third.
 

"What the hell?" quizzed James as he and Kirkland both found themselves stepping on dead birds everywhere.
 

"Tom look," said Kirkland as he pointed to the building across the street where there were hundreds of birds perched and watching them.
 

"That's very Alfred Hitchcock, isn't it?" stated James.

"It sure is, what's even more disturbing is, why are all the dead birds over here and the live ones on that side of the street? What do they know that we don't?"

Cautiously, James and Kirkland made their way to go inside, they were both puzzled to find the doors locked.

"Locked? Hotels aren't supposed to be locked," said Kirkland as he peered through the glass doors trying to get a look inside.

"See anything, Mike?"

"I see several people sitting throughout the lobby."

"Can I help you gentlemen?" asked a young man wearing a suit with the hotel logo on his name badge. Kirkland and James looked at each other and then at the young man. "As a matter a fact you can Mr. Lee, assistant manager of The Aleris Hotel," said James holding up his badge.

"What's going on?"

"Well we were going to ask you that very same question, first off why is your front door locked? And second can you let us in?"

Mr. Lee looked confused. He tried the door, but couldn't budge it. "This door isn't supposed to be locked. Not ever."

"We didn't think so. But it's good to know it can be, because we are here to lock it down."

"What? Why?" asked Mr. Lee.

"I'll have that discussion with your manager. Why don't you unlock the door, let us in, and get your manager on the phone," said Kirkland.

"I can't let you in. I don't even have a set of keys to this door, because it's never been locked as far as I know."

"Okay, get your manager on the phone and tell him, wait, better yet get your manager on the phone and let him speak to Detective Kirkland," ordered James as he watched the young man take out his cell phone and place the call. Moments later he handed the phone to Kirkland. "What's going on Inspector James?" Mr. Lee asked while they waited for the call to connect.

"We have reason to believe you have a terrorist staying here. Hey can't you rap on the door and get someone from the lobby to come over here and just open it up?" asked James.
 

"I'll try," he said as he knocked hard on the glass. The man sitting closest to the doors just ignored him. "Come on asshole, turn around. Open up! Wait that's Mr. Foster. HEY Mr. Foster open up!" he shouted as he banged hard on the glass.
 

"Take it easy Lee, your boss is already on his way down here. He told me he'd be here in less than two minuets," stated Kirkland handing Lee back his cell phone. "Got your boxing gloves on?" asked Kirkland.

"We got a problem?" inquired James.

"Oh yeah, the manager is shitting little green biscuits. Says we don't have the right to be here without a warrant."
 

"Does he know why we're here?"

"No, I told him exactly what you said to say. That we have reason to believe a known terrorist is booked into the hotel."

"Thanks Mike, once we get inside we can see if there's a dead girl up on the twelfth floor."

*

Moments later a black BMW pulled up into the valet parking and James could tell this would be the hotel manager approaching him with all the vigor of a schoolyard bully. He was tall and charismatic in appearance. James did a double take seeing that man in the Armani suit walking directly at him reminded him of the actor Alan Rickman. Not
Harry Potter
, Alan Rickman, but
Die Hard
, Alan Rickman.
I hope his name isn't Hans
, mused James.

"Pardon me, officer I'd like to talk to you," called the hotel manager in a deep resonate voice that carried an underlying threatening tone. James raised his badge. "Inspector Thomas James."

"I don't give a shit if you're Inspector fucking Gadget. I'd like you to explain to me what exactly you're doing here."

"Didn't Detective Kirkland tell you why we are here?"

"He told me. So what? You don't have any proof and no warrant, so until you have one I'd like you to stay the fuck away from my hotel," ordered the manager.

"And what is your name?" asked James.

"It's Richard Grantham," he said coldly.
 

 
James and Grantham stared silently at one another for a moment, each sizing up the other. James wanted to put the arrogant prick in his place, but knew ultimately he would get father by using diplomacy. James decided to bluff first and see where the cards fell.
 

"Well
Dick
, we have a small problem here. You're obstructing justice. Now I know you are concerned for the guests of your hotel. But what are the owners of this hotel and every media outlet in the country going to say, when a bomb goes off killing everyone within five hundred feet of the blast? And you didn't do a thing about it." James could see the manager was way too egotistical to care.

"You storm into my hotel without a phone call or any kind of warning of what you claim is going on. Stopping my guests from leaving. Now you have people scared and panicked. I know my rights. Hamilton Bransford is a personal friend of mine, and a frequent guest here. I suggest you tread carefully Inspector James," said Grantham in a conceited tone.
 

James smirked as Grantham tried to actually scare him by using the mayor's name.
 

"Actually we haven't been inside yet, to scare or prevent anyone from going. Your hotel is locked."
 

Kirkland smirked as he watched Grantham grab the doors and try to move them. He then reached into his pocket and retrieved a set of keys. "I'll thank you both to stay outside until you've got a warrant," growled Grantham.

James had come to the end of his rope with Richard Grantham. As Kirkland walked over to report everything was sealed, James took his handcuffs off his belt.

"Detective Kirkland, arrest Mr. Grantham for obstruction of justice."

Kirkland took the handcuffs and grabbed one of the manager's wrists.

"Mr. Grantham, you have the right to remain silent."

Grantham jerked away. "Wait, wait a minute!"

"Mr. Grantham, are you resisting arrest?" asked James.

Grantham looked worried for the first time. His face became flushed with fear.

"No I'm not resisting, I'm trying to understand what the hell you are doing here!"

"We told you, and you decided to be rude and belligerent. So now you're going downtown."

"I'm not fucking going anywhere!"

Kirkland grabbed Grantham's other wrist. "You have the right to an attorney. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Panicked Grantham shouted. "What do you want?"

"I want you to knock off all this fucking bravado and take us to Room 1219!"

Grantham fell silent. His face became a blank slate, but his eyes revealed to James he knew exactly what he was asking for.

"You want the..." Grantham couldn't finish the statement.

"Yeah Dick, 'The Fatty Arbuckle room.'
 
I want you to take me to the very room where he used a Coke bottle on Virginia Rappe."

James and Kirkland could see Grantham's behavior changed in an instant.
 

"Why do you want to go in there?"
 

"We have our reasons."
 

"But those rooms are not available to guests in the hotel."

"Rooms?" questioned James.

"Yes, rooms. Arbuckle booked three rooms that weekend. 1219, 1220 and 1221."

"Which one was Virginia in?"

"All of them. But I still don't understand why you want to go in there. What does any of that have to do with a terrorist in my hotel?" questioned Grantham. James looked at Kirkland who in turn gave him a look that gestured to let Grantham in on the real reason for their presence. James could see it was time to drop the bluff and give diplomacy a try now.

"Detective Kirkland and I are working on a homicide case, where a credit card was found in a victims purse. The name of the credit card holder is Virginia Rappe and the address on the card is this hotel, room 1219," stated James.

Grantham looked shocked, yet his face revealed he wasn't telling James and Kirkland everything he knew.

"So, if these rooms are not available to your hotel guests, what
are
you doing with them Mr. Grantham?" asked James.

"After what happened in 1921, the hotel owners had the rooms cleared, cleaned and locked."

"You're telling me, no one has been inside these rooms since 1921?"

"No, after the original hotel owners died. The new owners decided enough time had passed and they re-opened the rooms until 1950."

"What happened in 1950?" asked James.

"Vaudeville performer, Al Jolson died in room 1220."

Chills ran down both James and Kirkland's arms. "So you closed the rooms for good in 1950?" asked Kirkland.
 

"The owners decided they didn't want to take any more chances or bad press. No one would admit that there was something wrong with those rooms. In 1966 the rooms were turned into the maintenance man's living quarters. Since they are suites, they're big enough for someone to live in full time. We figured this was a chance to keep a man always on the premises at all hours. Also it was another way of deterring every sicko from wanting to book them on the Labor Day anniversary. Do you know how many freaks want to fuck in the Arbuckle suite?"

James reached behind Grantham and removed the handcuffs. He could see the manager relax.
 

"We need your help and cooperation, Mr. Grantham."

"Very well, ask me anything you'd like to know."

"Who is living in room 1219?"

"Our maintenance man, Mr. Skylar."

Now it was James and Kirkland's turn to appear shocked. James cocked his head to the side.

"Excuse me? Did you say Mr. Skylar? Do you mean Richard Skylar?"

Grantham nodded quickly in agreement.
 

"Yes. Why is there a problem? Mr. Skylar isn't in any kind of trouble is he?"

"Why would you ask that?" questioned James.

"Well I mean the man has been with us since 1966."

"Mr. Skylar has been with the hotel for over 43 years?"

"Yes, I came to The Aleris as manager in 1986 and originally I planned to replace him. However, when I realized he already had been with the hotel for 20 years and carried an impeccable work record, I thought, why bother?"

"And since 1966, The Aleris has not had another incident in the Arbuckle suites?" inquired James.

"Not one. We always thought since Mr. Skylar was such a sweet old guy, he changed the karma of the room, he was good luck for the hotel. So we kept him on, even after he started collecting social security."

James and Kirkland both grimaced in disgust. "Only in America, huh Mike?" said James as he suddenly remembered Skylar's drivers license gave a Hollywood address.

"Mr. Grantham, any reason to think, Mr. Skylar was leaving the hotel? Moving away I mean?"
 

Grantham shook his head. "No, Mr. Skylar never gave us any indication he was planning on leaving."
 

"Has he got any family, in southern California that you know of?"
 

"No, no family at all. He said his wife died during the war. It's why he left Europe and came to the United States. No kids, I mean it's like the guy was totally alone," said Grantham.
 

James noticed Grantham was about to speak again but stopped himself.

"Something else you want to add?" asked James.

"Why are you asking all these questions about Mr. Skylar?"

"I think you should show us to room 1219. Then we can answer all your questions."
 

*

Grantham could tell something was very wrong. He called his assistant manager over and informed him to comply with police and explain to the guests this will be only a minor inconvenience. He then placed the keys inside the lock and opened the door. The four men stepped inside the lobby door. Grantham turned around and relocked the doors.
 
Lee crossed the lobby calling to Mr. Foster.
 

"Hey Mr. Foster, didn't you hear me calling to you?" James, Kirkland and Grantham stepped into the main lobby and looked around. "What the hell is this?" asked Grantham as they noticed no one in the lobby had moved. "Mr. Foster?" called Lee. He turned to the others, "Hey, I think something is wrong with Mr. Foster."
 

"I think you're right Lee, I think he's dead, along with everyone else in the room" said Grantham. James could see Grantham was right. No one was moving. Men and women were frozen dead in their armchairs. Cups of coffee were still lukewarm as if time had just stopped.

"Guys, don't take another step. Something is seriously wrong here. Everyone cover your mouths and back out slowly. Let's get back out on the street. Mike get on the phone and call Hazmat, the bomb squad and get as many officers over here as fast as you can and take Lee with you. God, I wonder if anyone else is alive in here. Dick, how many rooms are in this hotel?"

"The Aleris has 629 guest rooms, 20 additional luxury suites," said Grantham as he relocked the lobby doors.

"Any vacancies?" asked James.
 

"We're a five star hotel in an international city, what do you think?"

"I think we're about to face some serious shit."