An Apple for Zoë ~ The Forsaken (9 page)

Kirkland nodded, and forced a fake smile. "Valerie's dead." There he said it. Two short words— could they change someone's life in an instant?

"My sister?" said Jessalee as if she misunderstood him.

Apparently they can
, thought Kirkland. "Yes, Jessa. I'm sorry."

"What happened?"

"We really don't know, but I have to take you off this case."

"Is she upstairs, Mike?"

"Yeah."

"Can I see her?"

"Not yet Jessa, it's really bad. I'm not going to lie to you."

"Did the same thing happen to her, as everyone else?"

"No, your sister was murdered."

Kirkland watched Jessalee closely. So far no quivering chin, no silent scream, no tears.
She's strong
, he thought.
She won't break down until she's alone
. He looked for anything that would allow him to help her during this moment.

"We're going to need your help Jessa, because neither James or I have ever seen anything like this."

"Okay, I'm listening," she said remaining calm.

"Your sister has a tattoo."

"No, that's not right. Valerie hated tattoos. She used to give me shit for mine. How do you know it's her?" she asked, biting her lower lip.

"Richard identified her."

"Richard? He's never even met my sister?" she exclaimed.

"Are you sure? I mean he knew her right away. He told us, his words exactly were: it's my girlfriend's kid sister, Valerie Rivera."

"He couldn't have met Valerie. Valerie and I haven't talked to or seen each other in three months."

"Why?"

Jessalee looked around the room as if she was searching for her answer.
 

"Why Jessa?"

"We had a fight."

"You had an argument?"

"No a fight, you know a hair pulling, bitch slapping smack down."

"Isn't that a bit extreme?"

"No love like sisterly love," she said, still trying to keep her sarcasm in tact. "Look Mike, the truth of the matter is, Valerie and I never really got along very well. I didn't care for the crowd she started running with, I told her I didn't want her around these people, she didn't like it. She mouthed off some shit to me and I popped her."

"And she popped you back."

"Once or twice, bitch hits hard too. Anyway, that was the last time I saw her, until I ran into her at a club last night. She was still hanging out with the same dyke we argued about before."

"This was at The Cellar?" asked Kirkland.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Bouncer give you guys a hard time?"

"Just Valerie and what's her name. He made them leave."

"What's her friend's name?"

"I don't know Mike, I didn't stop to ask her how she liked licking my sister." Kirkland could see the news was finally taking its toll on her. Jessalee's face became flushed and without warning she screamed, "FUCK!" as she jumped up and faced the wall, fighting her urge to breakdown. Kirkland quickly came to her side and held her. She threw her arms around him and held him tightly. He had always wondered how it would feel to be this close to her, but not by means of having to deliver such heart-wrenching news. Estranged or not, Kirkland could tell that Jessalee loved her sister.
 

I'm sorry, Mike," she apologized. "It's not like me to be like this."

"Jessa, don't say another word to anyone about what we talked about in here, you got it?" instructed Kirkland as he stroked her hair and held her in his arms. "Why am I a suspect?" she asked wiping the tears from her eyes. "No, but I think your sister and her friend were both killed by the same killer."

*

Looking down at the empty hallway James shivered at the silence of the hotel, although eerily quiet, it seemed somehow peaceful. James leaned against the wall and tried to relax and sort through the day's events. Two young beautiful girls found dead in the weirdest of places. Both victims with strange tattoos placed above their vaginas. Vagina. How he hated the sound of that word. There was nothing pleasant about it. Even today the word sounded vulgar. He wondered what it must have been like having to hear it in the courtroom during Fatty's trial. James' mind began to wander. Wander to the infamous weekend nearly a century before.

Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle books rooms 1219, 1220 and 1221 for a weekend celebration of his new multimillion-dollar contract with Producer Adolph Zukor. It's going to be a weekend of good old-fashioned Hollywood style debauchery. A weekend, filled with bootleg booze, broads and wild sex. The September weather is gorgeous. The warm, slight breeze caresses the curtains on the open windows. Voices call to one another between the rooms. The haunting voice of Al Bowlly, singing
Midnight, the stars and you,
was playing on the Victrola.
 

James began to realize he wasn't daydreaming, his attention was turned to the scratchy sounds of an old record playing. He turned and looked down the hallway to room 1219, where the music was coming from. Slowly the door opened. The sound of the music grew louder. A man dressed in a black tuxedo stepped from the doorway of room 1220. His face covered in black make-up with a white mouth, eyes and white gloves. The man looked at James and said nothing as he stepped into room 1219.
 

Startled, James looked around. He wondered if someone was trying to play a joke on him. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn he just saw Al Jolson leave room 1220 and go into room 1219. Standing alone at the end of the hall James called out. "Hello? Mr. Grantham?" Feeling a bit spooked, James turned on his radio and unsnapped his gun. "Hello?" Feeling uncomfortable, he began to walk down the hallway towards the open door of room 1219. As he passed each room, he, could hear hushed laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses, heavy breathing, the sounds of sex. Whispers called to James to join them. Walking closer to room 1219, the whispers became louder. The sound of the music increased, as did the heavy breathing.
 

Standing outside the door of room 1219, James tried to collect his thoughts as he listened intently.
 

"Midnight, with the stars and you."

The lights in the hallway began to dim, as the music in the room swelled.
 

"Midnight, and a rendezvous"

No longer able to resist the temptation to look inside room 1219, James pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Your eyes held a message tender"

James strained to adjust his eyes as quickly as he could to the low light. The room was filled with cases of champagne stacked on top of one another, buckets of ice with chilled bottles of Coca-Cola, tables full of food, balloons, and streamers. A banner was pinned over the entrance of the bedroom door, it read,
 

"Fuck Her Fatty!"

The soft glow of chandelier light filled the bedroom entrance, while the music was coming from inside the room. Making his way into the bedroom, James could see the room was filled with people. Standing on a platform table in front of the windows leading to the balcony was Al Bowlly in white tuxedo. His jet-black hair was combed straight back and his eyes sparkled as he sang into the old world microphone.
 

"I surrender, all my love to you"
 

James moved closer to the center of the room where Jolson was standing at the foot of the bed looking down. The breathing became louder.
 

"Midnight, brought us sweet romance"

Standing next to Jolson was a young Herman Kritzler in his Nazi uniform.
 

"I know all my whole life through"
 

Working his way closer to the bedside, James saw Amanda Carlyle seated in a chair next to Kritzler. She was holding a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other, her attention on the bed. Standing against the wall was a tall man in pinstriped suit. A diamond lapel pin with initials, W.D.T sparkled in the smoke filled room. He watched emotionlessly with his hands in his pockets. Two women stood flanking him, their arms each hooked through his respectively.
 
One woman was blonde, the other brunette. The blonde was holding a handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing tears. Embroidered on her hankie were the initials, M.M.M. The brunette slowly licked her blood red lips and gasped with pleasure as she listened and watched.

"I'll be remembering you"

The sounds of bedsprings strained to the rhythmic thrusts, creating a voice of an invisible chorus that chanted, "Fuck her Fatty!" The breathing and whispers mixed with the velvet tones of Al Bowlly.
 

"Whatever else I do"

James looked to the opposite side of the bed, where another well-dressed handsome man in an all white suit sat in a chair. His elbows rested on the arms of the chair. His long fingers laced together. His olive toned skin glistened from the heat of the bedside passion. Crossing his legs, he remained emotionless as he watched the event on the bed. The man's attention was not like the others. While they were completely focused on the bed, his focus seemed to be on everyone else. He stopped watching everyone long enough to remove a book from his inside pocket. He looked over at James. Acknowledging his presence with a nod, he scribbled a note and suavely returned the book to his pocket. He then resumed his focus back to the others in the room. James pushed his way to the edge of the bed and looked down to see the obese figure grunting and ramming his hips into what James could only imagine would be the petite body of Virginia Rappe.

"Fuck her Fatty!" bellowed the crowd of voyeurs. "How am I doin Mabel?" grunted Fatty as he continued his relentless sexual assault. The brunette unhooked her arm from the tall gentleman and knelt down next to Fatty and smiled, as she pulled a Coke from the bucket of ice. "You're doing fine Fatty, just fine," replied Mabel in a soft, yet, encouraging tone.
   

Standing in the corner alone was the one and only little tramp. His worn bowler hat held up to his mouth. Face, bleached white in stage make-up causing his features to glow in the dim light of the room. His greasepaint Hitler moustache was wet and glistened from perspiration. His teeth chewed and chattered on the rim of his hat as he watched with anticipated ecstasy. "Give him the Coke Mabel, give it to him," he said giggling.

Screaming in orgasmic grunts the woman began to shout and cry out, "He- he- he's kill-kill-killing me! Plu-pluh- please- muh-muh-make heh-heh- him stuh -stuh stop!"

James reached out to stop the violation. Kritzler blocked James with his riding crop.

"Nein! Das Frauline likes it."

James shoved the riding crop aside and grabbed the meaty shoulder of the man on top of the girl. Pulling him away long enough to see the girl wasn't Virginia Rappe at all, but the sweet love of his youth, Julie Jackson.
 

James stood frozen in disbelief and shock. It couldn't be Julie, but in his heart he knew it was her. Those brown eyes staring up at him as they had many times before. Only this time they were pleading and yet ashamed. He looked down at her naked body and could see that like the other victims, Julie also had a tattoo directly over her genitalia. He tried to read it. His eyes widened as he took in the tattooed script. Julie turned her face away and attempted to hide her sex with a bruised forearm. The words read,
"The Desolate One"

CHAPTER NINE

The Desolate One

"Help me," whimpered the tiny voice.
 

"Help me please," it cried again.
 

Lying on the floor James opened his eyes with a sudden start. The dimly lit chandelier glowed above him as he looked up and focused. He now remembered he was in the Arbuckle suite.
I must have passed out
, James thought to himself, rolling over and grabbing the edge of the bed to help himself stand up. As he pulled himself up his heart leapt—he was face to face with the dead body of Jessalee's sister, Valerie. Her blank eyes stared at James as he stood up. Watching him, her swastika carved forehead glistened from the wet blood, which had slowly dripped down her face, giving the appearance of tears.
 

"Puhleese help me,"
sobbed the tiny voice once again catching James's attention. His head was still in a fog as he tried to gain his wits and find his radio. Reaching down to his hip, it was nowhere to be found. The crying voice called out to him again from what sounded like the next room. Slowly making his way toward the living room, he found he needed to brace himself against the wall. His legs were still not quite ready to cooperate with him. As James looked into the living room he could feel Valerie's dead eyes watching him leave. He half expected it to be her calling out to him. Staggering into the living room James expected to see where the noise was coming from. But the room was empty and still.

"Hello?" he called.
 

"Please help me, please,"
the tiny voice cried in an innocent tone.

"Where are you?" called James back.

"Here!"
pleaded the voice, redirecting James' attention to outside the room.
 

Moving to the door, he stepped into the hallway. Looking across the hall he noticed the door to room 1223 slightly ajar. Reaching down he found the grip of his gun, which allowed him to regain his confidence. Slowly James stepped across the hall and pushed open the door of room 1223. The room was piled with dead bodies on top of dead bodies. There were easily 12 or 13 people inside the room. Some were on the floor, others were slumped in chairs, more were on the bed. James looked down and saw tiny fingers wiggling underneath the pile of bodies on the floor. His eyes widened as he quickly knelt down to the floor.
 

"Oh my god, it's a child," he said as he began to shove the corpses aside to get to the child. Finally he was able to pull to his surprise was a little girl. She sobbed as she threw her arms around his neck.
 

"It's okay honey, I got you. It's okay now," he whispered as he held her. Picking her up, she couldn't have been any older than eight years old. James stepped back into the hallway, where he saw his radio on the floor near the door of room 1219. Bending over he quickly snatched it up and radioed for help.