by G. K. Parks
“Do you think you could page Jason Oster for me?” Jacobs asked, flashing his badge at the desk clerk. She studied his badge as if it might be fake and then picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“Mr. Oster’s on his way.” She went back to answering phones and booking rooms while Jacobs and I took a seat on the couch in the lobby.
“Why was Alvin Hodge left hanging in the open?” I whispered.
“It was probably a warning. I was surprised the guy’s tongue wasn’t cut out, but that would have been harder to stage as a suicide.” He shrugged. “Who knows? These sickos do all kinds of crazy shit. If the ex-wife is to be believed, then whoever it was must have made it a point to follow through publicly on the threat.”
Rachel and Alvin were threatened. Jason knew about this, and he set up a surveillance camera in a room that was used in the beating and murder of Frank Costan. If he was responsible, why would he risk setting himself up to be caught, particularly after more law enforcement officials and private security were on scene in the wake of Alvin Hodge’s murder? It didn’t fit.
“Are you sure Costan was killed after Hodge?” I asked. The wheels were turning, and I felt close to a breakthrough.
“Yes.” Jacobs questioned my thinking. “Hodge was killed at least two days before Costan.”
“And the ligature marks on Hodge’s throat didn’t match the cables running from the ceiling,” I recalled. “Do we have any idea what was used to kill Hodge? I’m guessing after Hodge was left out in the open, Costan was beaten and tortured for information on where his money was stashed.”
“I’ll check with the medical examiner and see if they can narrow down the timeline for us,” Jacobs promised, scrutinizing me in the hopes of some additional elaboration. “So you don’t think Costan was killed because of a deal going south?”
“Originally, yes, but maybe, instead of negotiating, someone decided to simply take what they wanted.”
“Detective,” Oster said, startling me from behind, “you wanted to see me?” I spun around, and Oster looked down at me. “Well, if it isn’t the woman who broke into my locker.” He plastered a phony smile on his face. “First, you confront me about an affair, and next, you’re snooping through my stuff. Let me guess, you want to strip search me.”
“I’m not sure. Are you concealing any suspicious packages?” I asked.
“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?” He glared, but I remained unaffected by his outward hostility. Considering the fact I was reevaluating his level of involvement, he should be nicer. Instead, he turned his attention back to Jacobs. “Can we please get on with this? I was just about to punch out when you beckoned.”
“We can wait,” Jacobs offered. “Maybe you should clock out and collect your belongings. Then we can have this conversation at the station.”
“Here and now is fine,” Oster insisted, not wanting to risk being arrested. “I thought we sorted everything out last night.” He glanced down the hallway. “Let’s speak in the conference room.” He led us to an empty room just off the lobby.
“We’ve spoken to Rachel Romanski. In fact, we picked her up from your apartment earlier today. It seems you left out a lot of relevant information, even though you insisted you were doing nothing but cooperating to help further this investigation,” Jacobs said, taking a seat and waiting for Oster to break.
Jason snorted and remained silent. He wasn’t worried about the police department. He must have known they had nothing on him. So maybe it was time to sweeten the pot.
“Mr. Oster,” I said, recalling the importance of being respectful to persons of interest, “your girlfriend’s in over her head. She’s admitted to some serious crimes, and she’s implicated you in a few of them. I can guarantee this will be easier on both of you if you explain to us what is going on.”
“You’re a fucking P.I.” He rolled his eyes. “Hell, you were fired by PDN, and you expect me to be scared of your hollow threats and obvious lies? Allegations like that are just a hair’s throw away from coercion, maybe slander. And just because I didn’t press charges against you for breaking and entering doesn’t mean that I won’t hesitate if you keep this up. This is harassment, plain and simple.” He turned to Jacobs. “Unless you have something concrete, I’m tired of explaining myself and playing along.”
“Who got to you?” I asked, surprising the two men with my brazen question. “We’ve spoken before. You were cooperating with the police department. And you didn’t come after me. I don’t think you’re a killer, but you know who is. And they got to you.”
He swallowed twice, and I knew it was true.
Thirty-five
“You’re wrong,” Oster said, his eyes searching the room.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to have this conversation someplace more private?” Jacobs asked. He sensed there was more to the story than either of us realized. “We don’t need to muddy your professional career with these unsubstantiated allegations.” He stood, hoping to convince Oster to comply. “I need to step outside and make a few calls. Why don’t you think about it?”
I never expected Detective Jacobs to turn into a softie, but maybe he was afraid that pushing Oster too hard out in the open would result in a third homicide. Two already occurred, and a third had been attempted. Depending on who threatened Oster, we might actually get a name for our killer, assuming our newest lead didn’t end up dead too.
Following Jacobs lead, I stood up from the table. “I need to have a chat with Mr. Russell.” I gave Oster a final look. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, but you still deserve the opportunity to remain breathing. Talk to us,” I whispered as I went past him.
Before I made it out the door, Oster grabbed my elbow and pulled me backward, slamming the door closed. I pulled free from his grip. My training took over, and I stepped back into a defensive position. He didn’t seem to notice and stepped closer.
“Is it true that Rachel’s in custody?” he asked.
“She willingly surrendered.” I searched his eyes, hoping for answers. “She told us about going to Paul Eastman’s house, how the two of you met, and that she’s been threatened on multiple occasions.”
He nodded once and went out the door ahead of me. That encounter only resulted in further confusion. Did Jason ask in order to ensure she was safe? Or was it so he’d know precisely where she’d be in order to silence her? Goddamn. I sent a text to Mark, hoping for reassurance that someone was still tailing Oster. At least we’d know if he planned to make a move on Romanski. The only good news was she was at the precinct, surrounded by dozens of police officers. It wasn’t the ideal place to carry out a homicide.
Moving on to my second reason for being here, I went back to the front desk. The woman from before warily glanced up as if to say ‘now what do you want?’ Before I could even ask a question, I spotted Mr. Russell heading down the hallway. Skipping the formalities, I made a beeline to him.
“Mr. Russell,” I called, falling in step beside him, “can I ask you a few questions?”
He turned and looked at me, never breaking stride. “I know you,” he said, attempting to figure out when he saw me last. His brow furrowed. “You’re one of the investigators, right?”
“Yeah.” Private or otherwise, the term was broad enough to be accurate. “Please, sir, this will only take a couple of minutes.”
“Okay.” He continued toward the elevator, and I followed behind. “What do you want now?”
“Well, I was wondering if you could provide any additional information on when the hotel was remodeled. You mentioned the cable that Alvin Hodge was hung from was only noticeable in certain parts of the hotel because of a remodel. When did that occur?”
“Um,” the doors opened, and we stepped inside, “it wasn’t that long ago. A few months maybe. If you need an actual date, I’ll have to find the paperwork.” He let out a tired sigh. “The old elevator system was part of the original construction. It was half a century old and not very reliable
. We had to install a separate pulley system, and it widened the shaft, which is why we had to knock down some walls and leave the cables exposed.” He looked up at the illuminated numbers, hoping to flee from this conversation. “I can assure you that it’s all within the fire safety codes.”
“What runs through those cables? I know you mentioned it before, but I forgot,” I lied, hoping to keep him talking.
“Cable, phone, electric.” The doors opened on level ten, and he stepped out. “Pretty much everything.”
“And your security systems? The CCTV feed?” I asked.
“Everything. It’s all on one main system. Was there anything else? I’m a busy man.” He was already a few steps down the hall, making it apparent he had no intention of answering any other questions.
“That’s it. Thanks for your time, sir.”
I remained in the elevator as the doors closed. Those answers didn’t necessarily prove anything, and I still didn’t get a chance to ask about the hotel’s co-owner, but Mr. Russell was in a rush. Or he was intentionally avoiding further questioning. Unsure which was more accurate, I returned to the lobby. Maybe Detective Jacobs would have better luck convincing Jason Oster to talk.
Jacobs was lingering near the front door. He looked up as I approached and tucked his phone back into his pocket. “That was quick,” he said, glancing around.
“Yeah, and not particularly helpful. The remodel took place in the last few months, but I didn’t get a chance to find out whose idea it was or who authorized it. Russell claimed it was because the old elevator was shoddy and needed to be replaced. They widened the shaft, resulting in tearing down a few walls which exposed some of the cables.”
“Sounds like a late night infomercial,” Jacobs said, his facial expression remained serious, but I still laughed at the joke. “Do you have any idea where Oster went?”
“Not since he left the conference room.” I spun on my heel, slowly surveying the entire lobby, the numerous hallways, exits, stairs, and elevator. “He might have snuck out.”
“Great.” He walked out the front door, his phone pressed to his ear.
Before I could follow suit, my phone rang. It was Mark, probably getting back to me about the whereabouts of Oster’s potential tail. “Do we still have eyes on him?” I asked in lieu of a greeting.
“Parker,” Mark’s tone didn’t bode well, “I’m not calling about that.” He paused, sucking some air in through his teeth. “I lost Eastman.”
“You what?” Those words made no sense, and my brain couldn’t even begin to comprehend what they possibly meant.
“He wanted to make a call to PDN. So I told him we’d go somewhere else, and I’d let him use my phone, just in case. But after he made the call, he said he wasn’t feeling so great and ducked into a bathroom.”
“And you didn’t go with him?” I ran a hand through my hair. “That’s the oldest fucking trick in the book. Who the hell are you, and what did you do with the real Mark Jablonsky?”
“Well, I didn’t expect him to give me the slip. He hired you to guard him for fuck’s sake.”
“Shit.”
“He didn’t call PDN,” Mark continued. “He phoned someone at the hotel. At least that was the number left on my phone. He’s looking mighty dirty right about now.”
“When did this happen?” I asked, wondering how much of a head start Paul had and if there was a chance I could grab him before he did something stupid enough to get himself killed.
“About twenty minutes ago. I’ve called in a BOLO on him and notified the PD. Units were scrambled to his apartment, his office, and Rachel’s yoga studio. The FBI is sending additional units to the hotel, and the current surveillance team is on standby. Any other places I might have missed?”
“Find out who he called. I want to know. Now.” I hung up and darted outside. “Detective,” I called, chasing after Jacobs who was leaning against his cruiser, “we’ve got a problem.”
“I heard.” He lowered his handheld radio. “And you convinced me your client was innocent.”
“He might be.” Now wasn’t the time to argue about this. “He called someone at the hotel.” My mind raced as I remembered the things Paul and I discussed the day before. “I’ll bet he plans to confront Oster.”
“We don’t know enough about his involvement. If Eastman confronts him, we might lose our entire case. Hell, Eastman’s probably responsible, and maybe he hopes to silence his remaining partners.” He radioed to the precinct for added protection to ensure Rachel Romanski stayed safe.
“Or Oster could do the same,” I spat. “We don’t know who to trust.”
“Trust no one,” Jacobs replied. He listened to radio chatter, informing him a few units were on the way to our location. “What do you know about Eastman? Is he armed? Dangerous?”
“He wasn’t armed when he ducked out on Jablonsky. And there’s no record of violence in his history. From the research I’ve done, he doesn’t own any firearms. PDN security is allowed to carry, but Eastman coordinates, not protects.”
“So he could gain access easily enough,” Jacobs commented. He glanced back at the hotel. “I’d love to lock this place down, but we don’t know enough for that kind of action at this point.” He checked the time and his phone. “Where the hell is Oster?”
I turned, staring into the glass doors of the hotel. “He’s with Eastman.”
Paul slipped past us, probably by taking one of the side entrances reserved for employees and staff. He and Jason were standing across from one another in the lobby. It appeared heated words were being exchanged, and without waiting for things to escalate any further, Jacobs and I sprinted back inside.
“You did this,” Paul accused. The two men were in the back corner of the lobby, near the elevator and security office. “You killed Alvin. You tried to kill me. And you used Alvin’s wife to do it. Who the fuck does something like that?”
“Paul,” I said, stepping close and suddenly realizing that Jason Oster was holding him at gunpoint. Shit. “Okay, let’s just take it easy,” I said, raising my hands slightly. “No one wants to do anything they’re going to regret.” Jacobs was two steps behind me, and from my body language, he realized what was happening and pulled his service piece.
“It’s not me,” Oster hissed, waving the gun around as he spoke. “You’re wrong, Paul.”
“Mr. Oster, drop your weapon,” Jacobs commanded, his authoritarian tone was hushed so as not to panic any nearby bystanders. The last thing we needed was a hysterical person encouraging Oster to open fire.
“I’m sorry, Detective, but I can’t.” He shifted his gaze to me. “Don’t even think about it.” He jerked his chin at my shoulder holster. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Sure, no problem,” I replied. “Maybe we could move this little shindig into your office and have a nice, calm conversation.” Cops were on the way, an FBI surveillance team was somewhere on-site, so this needed to find a civilized end before the stakes were raised. “Why don’t you put down the heavy artillery? No harm. No foul.”
I didn’t turn, but I felt Jacobs fidgeting. I knew police protocol, and he would request back-up. He was by the book, and this situation wasn’t a normal page out of any book. Oster looked torn, and he stepped backward, toward the wall and the security office.
“Alexis, I’m sorry,” Paul muttered. “But after what you said in my motel room, I couldn’t just sit idly by while he was still out here. He killed my friend.”
“Not now, Paul,” I hissed, but it was too late.
“You think I killed Alvin?” Oster studied me, flabbergasted. “Why would I do that?” He scoffed at the notion. “We never saw eye to eye, but I’m not crazy enough to kill someone.”
“Then why don’t you lower your weapon,” Jacobs urged. “Prove what you say is true by your actions.”
Oster faltered, hesitating as he considered the words, and at the same moment, Paul rushed forward, grabbing the gun and pointing it at the c
eiling. The weapon discharged a few times during the struggle, someone screamed, the fire alarm was pulled, and sirens blared outside. Today just wasn’t my day.
Thirty-six
When people are placed in difficult situations, human nature tends to rear its ugly head. With the cacophony of the sirens, the screams, and the wail of the fire alarm as guests fled from the hotel, Jason Oster managed to wrestle his gun away from Paul and use the man as a human shield. Despite the fact that my gun was now drawn, there wasn’t a clear shot.
“Drop your guns,” Jason growled, pulling Paul backward by the arm. “I’m not a violent man, but you’re not giving me a choice.”
“I can’t do that,” Jacobs said. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the hotel emptying out. The desk clerk was gone, and hoards of guests were now outside in the parking lot as police officers cleared them away from the doors and began to enter the lobby.
“Stay back,” Oster screamed, turning his gun to point at Paul’s temple. “Tell them to stay out of here, or I’ll do it.” And now we had a hostage situation.
“Pull back,” Jacobs said to the officers entering the lobby. They took an uncertain step backward, their guns drawn. “Mr. Oster, I’m going to reach into my pocket and pull out a radio to tell them to stay outside.” Oster nodded, and Jacobs radioed for them to standby. He didn’t say stand down, but Oster didn’t notice.
“Now go outside with the others,” Oster ordered.
“Jason,” I said his name, drawing his attention away from Jacobs, “why are you doing this? You said you weren’t responsible. What’s going on?” He shook his head and refused to answer me. “C’mon, let Paul go. He has nothing to do with this. He isn’t in charge of this situation. You are.” Hostage negotiation 101, not that I was ever part of HRT, but we all went through the preliminary classes at Quantico.