The Prosecution of General Hastings

by A. A. MacQueen

CHAPTER NINE

  Jana Hastings arrived and checked into the Prairie Plaza Hotel, the finest in Oklahoma City, just before six o’clock. It was Friday evening and Jack had reserved a penthouse suite for them to enjoy for the weekend. She was looking forward to the escape, albeit modest, from what she referred to as the ‘Lawton routine.’ Jack had told her to expect him ‘late,’ allowing him time to wrap up a late afternoon meeting with his design team at Mesquite Manufacturing in Stillwater. He hoped they could have a late dinner in The Dining Room, the ‘white tablecloth’ restaurant there in the hotel, one of the City’s best.

  At fifty-one years of age, Mrs. Hastings still turned more than a few heads. The flaxen blonde hair of her youth had given way to a gorgeous silvery gray that framed the still lively blue eyes to which her husband had fallen prey over thirty years before. The active life that she had always led served her well, maintaining a figure that was the envy of women half her age. She was wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a short denim jacket over a western shirt when she emerged from her Mercedes in the motor lobby and checked in at Reception. The only thing unusual about her appearance, thought the staff, was that such western wear rarely looked so good. The bellman insisted on escorting her to the penthouse floor, pulling the only piece of luggage that she had brought. Over the years she had learned to pack light, taking only what she’d need. The bellman slid the electronic key through the lock and opened the door for his guest to enter. He followed her in, placed her suitcase on a luggage rack that he removed from the closet of the bedroom. He pulled open the curtains of the floor to ceiling windows that wrapped around the corner of the sitting room. The Oklahoma City evening flooded into the room. The furnishings were elegant and comfortable. Glancing around, she decided that the suite was probably worth the $350 per night. In Washington, it would have been $950, but this was Oklahoma City.

  “Is there anything else I can assist with, ma’am?” he asked.

  “No. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Thank you, Carlos,” she said, placing a folded bill in his palm.

  “Please enjoy your stay,” he said, backing out of the suite.

  Once alone, she decided to treat herself to a long, lazy bubble bath in the oversized tub that could have easily fit two. She removed a bottle of Shiraz she had decided to bring at the last minute, opened it and poured herself a glass. When the bath was full, she took her wine and her copy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s “One Hundred Years of Solitude” and slid gracefully into the warm bubbly water. Jana Hastings was content. And she was happy to be in this place looking forward to the weekend with her husband.

  Jack Hastings glanced back into the bar, then stepped into the elevator car when it arrived at the floor occupied solely by the Cattlemen’s Club. He was pleased that he had the car to himself. He still held a handkerchief in his hand, continually blotting the shoulder of his blazer that had taken the brunt of Diana’s ire. He had expected her to react harshly. But he wasn’t prepared for the display of temper brought on by his pronouncement.

  Hastings had met Diana Ricci, Assistant to the Executive Director of the Oklahoma City Chamber of Commerce at a cocktail party hosted by the Chamber some seven months prior. Diana was in her early forties, had chestnut hair that she wore up that evening and sparkling green eyes. Her hourglass figure was accentuated by the fit of her emerald cocktail dress. When Hastings introduced himself as a guest who had come at the behest of his banker, he soon discovered that she was intelligent, charming, and available. As the party wound down, Diana caught one of Hastings’s passes and invited him for the proverbial nightcap at her townhouse in Founder’s Grove. It was the start of an affair that he considered an entertaining diversion; she thought it had long term potential. He had rolled into bed next to his sleeping wife back in Lawton at just after five o’clock the next morning. Jana had long ago ceased asking questions when Jack arrived home at such odd hours. She reasoned that if she didn’t ask, he wouldn’t lie to her.

  For the past month, Diana’s expectations had become more and more a topic of conversation when they met for their frequent trysts. Hastings recognized trouble the first time she had used the term ‘we’ when discussing a future of which he never had imagined himself a part. Yes, it was time to break it off. She was a big girl, and though she may not want to hear it, surely she could deal with it. Now it was just a matter of returning her key and picking up his laptop computer that he had left at her place the previous afternoon.

  The valet brought his Lexus around and held the driver’s side door for him to get in. He pressed several bills into the young man’s hand, fastened his seat belt and pulled out into the evening traffic. He would go meet Jana at the hotel, drop off his bag, then go deal with Diana. It would take no more than thirty minutes to get to her townhouse. This would give Diana time to cool off a bit and his swapping the key for his laptop shouldn’t take more than five minutes. His little errand would also give Jana time to dress for dinner later in The Dining Room. That was it; a good plan and a clean break.

  When he arrived at the hotel suite, he knocked on the door and playfully announced, “Room Service.” He waited a minute or two and knocked again. “Mrs. Hastings?” he said.

  He heard the chain latch grab, then smiled at his wife as she opened the door the few inches allowed by the chain. There stood Jana in a luxurious, white terry bathrobe with the hotel’s logo stitched into one side. Her hair was wrapped in a turban she had fashioned with another towel, a universal skill of all women.

  “Room Service?” he asked, smiling.

  She looked back at him playfully. “I didn’t order anything but if I had I would have asked for something a little fresher.”

  “Ouch!” he said as he pushed through the door, pulling his suitcase behind. He kissed her on the cheek and said, “You look comfortable.”

  “You got me out of the most soothing bubble bath,” she answered.

  “Well, I’ll let you get right back in it. I’ve got to go pick up my laptop. I left it with Frankie Lutz this morning before I drove up to Stillwater for the meeting. Another virus. I don’t know how I continue to attract those things. Frankie cleaned it up today and I need to go get it because he’s closing this weekend because of the snow in the forecast. I’ll only be about an hour, tops,” he said.

  “Why did you even come by here then?” she asked.

  He turned to face her and drew her into his arms. “To see you, of course. It’s been a long time since this morning.” He gave her another kiss then said, “I’ll just drop my suitcase and go. How about calling The Dining Room and make reservations for nine? Does that work for you?”

  “Okay. I’ll finish my bath and be here waiting,” she said smiling. She studied him standing before her. She did love her husband. He had always been the most handsome man she had known. She believed it the day they met at West Point and her opinion had never waned. Looking at him standing there in his Navy blazer, she realized just how well he had aged. It just wasn’t fair, she thought, that men grew distinguished looking, with their salt and pepper hair. Their wrinkles were lines conveying worldliness and knowledge. Women just looked old. She pulled him close to her again and gave him a slow, yearning kiss. Releasing him, she winked and said, “Hurry back.”

  As he turned to leave, she looked at the crystal clock set in driftwood on the far wall. “Seven-fifteen,” she mumbled. Perfect. She’d pour herself another glass of wine, reheat the bath and take thirty more minutes in it.

  Hastings was back down in the motor lobby in minutes and found his Lexus double parked in the drive through where he’d left it. Knowing he’d be right back out, he’d opted not to deal with the valet. He got into his car and swung out into the traffic on Broadway and headed north, merging on to I-235. He drove for fifteen minutes and exited at North Wilkerson heading west. Five minutes later he pulled up in front of Diana Ricci’s townhouse. He stopped short of her address and waited for a white panel van with Arizona plates to pull away from the curb. He maneuvered the Lexus
into the vacated space, killed the engine and stepped out of the car. He walked briskly up to her front door and rang the bell. No answer. He waited a minute and rang again. Being well familiar with the place, he knew that she had had time to answer the door. Apparently she wasn’t home. This may work out even better, he thought. He’d just open the door with the key he planned to return, go in and pick up his laptop and leave the key. He’d be out of there in less than a minute.

  He slid the key into the lock, turned the knob and pushed the door open. He stepped through the foyer and moved forward.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the scene that lay before him.

  The living room to his left was a sea of blood. The walls were splattered as if a bloody paintbrush had been slung and shaken against it. There were lines of blood trailing across the floral print of the sofa and splotches of the red liquid that had run down the wall behind it. The wretched smell of death permeated the room. Diana Ricci lay amid the scene on the once spotless ivory carpet that was now a sponge soaked with the coagulating essence of her life. Her head lay to one side at an unnatural angle. He stepped closer and saw that it remained connected to her body by a single tendon woven through a muscle. Her neck had been savagely slashed leaving her all but decapitated.

  Hastings fought back nausea as he tried to think. He could feel panic beginning to overtake him. Looking down he saw that his shoes were forcing Diana’s blood out of the carpet as if standing on soaked turf. Blood was seeping up around the soles of his shoes.

  He had to leave. He couldn’t be found at this unbelievable scene. He looked over his shoulder into the kitchen and saw his laptop computer on the breakfast table where he had left it the day before. He stepped out of the carnage and over to the table. He snatched up his computer, pulling the power cord from the wall plug. He shoved them into his case, holding it rather than zipping it closed. He threw the door key which he had been holding onto the table and ran for the door of the apartment leaving bloody footprints with every step that he took. He locked the front door from the inside and, clutching his computer, stepped back out into the night. He dashed for his car taking no notice of a young woman walking her dog near the end of the block.

  Hastings opened the door to the Lexus and tossed his laptop across the console into the passenger’s seat. He started the car, slamming the gear shift into reverse. He stepped on the gas and crashed into the pickup truck that was parked behind him. He shifted to drive and slammed into a late model BMW in front of him. The Beamer’s burglar alarm began to sound and his own front passenger’s air bag deployed. Backing up again, he was able to maneuver out of the space and into the street. He pushed the accelerator to the floor, sideswiping the driver’s door of an oncoming Volkswagen Beetle. He sped away down the street without ever seeing the dog walker who was copying his license number on a grocery receipt, the only paper she had in her pocket.