by Thomas Amo
"What is it?"
"The body. Is it a woman?"
"Yes it is."
"Is it like it was in 1921?" Grantham asked with a hollow tone.
"It's worse."
Kirkland watched the hotel manager's eyes fill with fear. A fear that made him question, maybe he knew more than he was letting on.
"Richard, is there something you want to tell me? Maybe something more about Mr. Skylar?"
"No, Mr. Skylar, he's the best employee I've ever had. As I told you earlier, I never had any trouble with him. He's always courteous and kind to everyone."
"Would it be out of place for a young girl to be found in his room?" asked Kirkland.
Grantham blushed and hesitated. He gave a look to Kirkland as if he was telling tales out of school.
"Frankly, Detective Kirkland, no it's not out of place for Mr. Skylar to have a young woman come round. We always found it quite interesting that very attractive—and I do mean very attractive women—would be seen coming to the hotel to see him."
"Escorts?"
"Not on his salary. Look, I run a high-class hotel detective. I know the difference between escorts and prostitutes. None of the women coming here were either of those."
"So why do you find it interesting?" asked Kirkland.
"Come on the guy is old. It's just kinda funny to think at his age he's still getting his freak on. And I might add, he's doing it with the kind of women most of us never get a chance with. Gotta love that Viagra I guess"
Kirkland was really beginning to like Grantham. "So Richard, how many different girls do you think you've seen him with?"
"I don't know, maybe three or four."
"Does he see them more than once?"
Grantham began to squirm a bit. "I suppose so. I mean I'm not the guy's social secretary. But yeah, I've seen the same women in here more than once."
"Think you would remember any of them if you saw them again?"
"Sure. I think so," said Grantham.
"Then I'd like to ask you if you recognize the woman inside room 1219."
Grantham hesitated. "Do I have to?" he asked.
Kirkland put his hand on the manager's shoulder. "It would be a huge help to us all if you did." Grantham nodded and stepped inside the room.
"Now, just try to relax, she's going to be laying on the bed. Try to just look at her face okay?" stated Kirkland.
Stepping round the corner, Grantham froze momentarily as he saw the dead girl. His eyes went immediately to the Coke bottle.
"Oh my God."
"It's okay. Ignore that. Just look at her face," said James.
Stepping closer Grantham attempted to adjust his eyes as James flashed the beam of light on her face. Both Kirkland and James watched Grantham. In an instant they could tell from his reaction he recognized her.
"Who is she?" asked James.
Without warning Grantham began to shake and shoved Kirkland aside, running for the door. James quickly pulled his gun from the holster and ran in pursuit. Rising to his feet Kirkland followed.
"Richard, stop!"
"Mr. Grantham, don't run!" called Kirkland.
Grantham continued into the hallway and fell to his knees. Doubled over he began to throw up. James turned his head away trying to give the manager as much privacy as possible in what was, at best, an embarrassing moment. Wiping his mouth with the back of his shirtsleeve, Grantham tried to pull himself together. "I'm sorry, Inspector James."
"You scared us," said James as he replaced his gun.
Kirkland knelt down next to Grantham. "Was it one of the girls?"
Grantham shook his head no. "No it wasn't," he said as he tried to regain his composure.
"But you know her?"
Grantham nodded. "Yeah, she's my girlfriend's kid sister."
"What's her name?"
"Valerie Rivera."
Chapter Eight
Valerie Rivera
Kirkland and Grantham waited just inside the lobby entrance for Jessalee Rivera and her evidence crew to arrive while James stood guard over the crime scene twelve floors above them. Kirkland stared into space as Grantham paced back and forth mumbling to himself about how bad for business this would be.
"Would you stop pacing, you're making me dizzy," snapped Kirkland.
"Do you know how many people are dead in here detective?" shouted Grantham at Kirkland's seemingly disrespect, followed by an immediate apology. "Sorry, I didn't mean it, I just don't know what to say to Jessalee."
"You're not going to have to say anything. I will tell her," said Kirkland.
Kirkland hated to give a death notification. It was always hard and even worse when it's one of your own he thought. That was the one thing all cops agree on, you never get used to it. Standing at a stranger's door in the middle of the night. Ringing the bell. The porch light clicks on. A single mom, looking weary and overworked, peeks from behind the porch window. Housecoat and her hair in curlers, years of worry carved into her features, she knows something is wrong. The bad news comes. She swears she has misunderstood what the officer has said. Her hand covers her mouth. Her chin shakes and quivers, then the silent scream and finally the breakdown begins.
"Here she is," said Grantham as he nudged Kirkland. Kirkland forced a smile as he saw Jessalee approaching, he swallowed hard and cleared his throat as he began to walk towards her with Grantham following close behind.
Kirkland had always thought Jessalee Rivera was a very attractive woman. He always had noticed her. She was tall with brown eyes and a skin tone that easily tanned during the warm days of San Francisco. Her hair was always in a ponytail. Kirkland longed to see it completely down and free. Today, her hair was black. Kirkland could have sworn yesterday it was brown with hues of purple in it. Like a chameleon, Jessalee always seemed to be blending in and changing with the current theme of the time. Not to say she wasn't her own woman. Kirkland had seen her take on several officers in serious confrontation. She refused to be treated like less a person, simply because she was a woman.
Aside from his normal male attraction to her, Kirkland always had a fondness for Jessalee Rivera. Together they had worked on many cases and he had always found her professional and to the point. Yet it was her sarcastic sense of humor that drew him to her. Often he had wanted to ask her out, but dating a co-worker was seriously frowned upon. He wasn't even sure if she ever was interested in him. Regardless if she was or wasn't, what he liked best about her was that she was equally kind and generous as she was pretty. A combination not usually found in most of the women of Kirkland's life. Sometimes a close friendship was far more rewarding than a sexual relationship.
"Darling," said Grantham as the three of them met at the lobby door.
And then there's Richard Grantham, thought Kirkland to himself. How does a young woman like Jessalee, an officer of the CSI become involved with a power player like Grantham? Their social circles would never cross.
"Mr. Grantham," replied Jessalee maintaining a professional tone. Kirkland was happy, not only was she being her usual professional self, but there seemed to be a hint of dissatisfaction in her voice. Maybe things weren't so good in Grantham's garden of sin after all, he mused.
"Hey Mike, Bobby will be joining us as soon as he finishes cataloging the evidence from the funeral home. What have we got? Why the hell is Hazmat here?" she asked setting down her evidence bag as Kirkland kept her at the door.
"That's fine Jessa, we're going to be upstairs on twelve. Thomas James is in charge," he said trying to make small talk before he dropped the bomb on her.
"This tied into the double 187 you guys had at the funeral home?" she asked as she knelt down and riffled through her evidence bag.
"We think so."
"Crap. Mike I left my bag of memory cards for my camera in the car. I'll be right back."
Kirkland placed his hand on her shoulder. "That's okay, let that go for now. Actually I need to talk to you privately before we go up. But before that Jessa,
you need to know, that there are a lot of dead bodies in there. I mean a lot. Before you ask, we don't know what happened here yet."
Without hesitation, Jessalee responded with no hint of concern. Grabbing her evidence bag and placing it on her shoulder, the three of them walked to the manager's office. Jessalee looked around at the bodies in the lobby. From her point of view it had all the makings of something unspeakable.
"Why don't you use my office," offered Grantham. He stepped forward and unlocked the door, holding it open for both Jessalee and Kirkland. Jessalee stepped inside and Kirkland turned around to face Grantham, blocking him from following.
"Mr. Grantham, do you mind if I speak with Miss Rivera alone?" Grantham looked at Jessalee and then back to Kirkland and nodded. "Sure, no problem. You want me to wait here?"
"Actually Inspector James needed the power restored to room 1219."
"I'll take care of it," he said. Looking past Kirkland, Grantham smiled at Jessalee only to lose sight of her as Kirkland closed the door in his face. Stepping away Grantham cringed as he heard Kirkland turn the lock.
* * *
James was standing guard in the hallway leading to room 1219. The hotel seemed unnaturally quiet and as he looked down the hallway he could see the doors leading to rooms 1219, 1220 and 1221. The view gave him a chill. The scene became even more chilling, when he realized that the numbers on the doors had been numbered counterclockwise.
Waiting for Kirkland and the evidence collectors to show up seemed like an eternity. The silence was broken by the sound of labored breathing and a heavy footfall coming from the stairs. James slowly reached for his gun as the heavy breathing grew louder and closer. Seconds later a very winded Richard Grantham appeared at the landing. James felt relieved when he saw that it was the manager.
"Damn these stairs are going to be the death of me. Sorry to keep you in the dark, Inspector. Detective Kirkland told me you needed power restored to room 1219. I'm sorry I didn't realize it was out when I was up here earlier."
"No worries, you did have quite a shock. You going to be okay to go in there again?"
"Actually I won't have to. The fuse box for rooms 1219, 1220, and 1221 are all tied together in room 1221."
"You still use fuses?"
"Only in this part of the hotel. This is one of the original wings built in 1905. I'll have you up in running in just a few minutes," said Grantham as he made his way down the hall to room 1221. James watched Grantham walk along the far wall, avoiding the side that housed room 1219. Hesitating at room 1221, Grantham turned back to James.
"Inspector James."
"Yes?"
"Don't let Jessalee see her sister like that."
"Don't worry, we'll take good care of her," said James as he watched Grantham disappear into room 1221.
* * *
Kirkland sat on the edge of Grantham's desk trying to think of how he was going to break the news to Jessalee.
"So, alone at last Mike. You finally gonna ask me out?" joked Jessalee as she plopped down on the leather couch opposite of Kirkland.
Kirkland wanted to join in on the joking, and tried to be lighthearted.
"What about Grantham?" he quizzed.
"What about Dick?" she retorted.
Well, that's direct isn't it, thought Kirkland to himself? "So things aren't going so well between you guys?"
"Never was much between me and him, Mike, literally," she quipped with a quick hand version of a rim shot on the desk corner. "Oh she's on today!" said Jessalee, admiring her own clever quick wit. Kirkland smiled and squirmed a bit. "Thank you folks, I'll be here all week," she added as her levity subsided, but she couldn't help noticing Kirkland's silence. "So what's up Mike, since I know you didn't really ask me into Dick's office to show his fake leather sofa—a good time. What the hell happened here?"
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 t
o 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,