Everybody Wanted Room 623

by Cecil Murphey

  “I suppose it’s mostly my uncle Rich. His and other voices like his still lurk inside my head. Until I met you, I thought Christianity was for old people and idiots.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s not just for the old,” I said. “No, I’m sorry. There I go. I’m at my worst when I’m tense or have to talk about my feelings.”

  “I know,” he said. “You’re good at picking up others’ feelings, but not so clear about your own.”

  I sat on the bench across from him because I didn’t trust myself. As I looked at James Burton, I knew—for the first time with absolute certainty—that I truly loved him. I also knew I didn’t want to mess up his life. I’m too honest a person to say I believe in God unless I mean it.

  “That’s why I came here,” he said. “I’ve missed you. I’ve wanted to call you half a dozen times every day, but I couldn’t, and I won’t. I had to get away and pray and ask God to help me.”

  “How did you ask? How did you pray?”

  He hung his head, and light reflected on those gorgeous curls. “I prayed for God to—to give me a sign. If I was to hang on or if I was to totally avoid you. I had become desperate. I couldn’t hear anything from God. I felt if I got away—”

  “Away from any contact with me?”

  He lifted his head and smiled. “Something like that.”

  “So we’re both here at the Cartledge Inn and neither of us knew the other would be here. Do you think God arranged that, or was it a trick of the devil? Uncle Rich would say the latter.”

  “I prefer to think more about God than I do the devil.”

  Our eyes met. I didn’t know what to say or do. Obviously he didn’t either. So we stared.

  I love this man, I said to myself. I do. But I can’t—I can’t go his way.

  Eight

  “A lovers’ quarrel?” Ollie asked.

  I hadn’t heard him approach and wasn’t aware of his presence until he spoke. Despite his being a large man, he walked quietly. I wondered if that had been part of his police training.

  “Hardly,” I said. I was glad he had come, because Burton and I didn’t know what to say to each other. I wanted to kiss him and he wanted to run away, but neither of us had moved.

  “Did you learn anything about room 621?” Burton asked.

  “I still don’t know anything about Scott Bell-James, but he did write down his cell number when he checked in. I left him a voice message and asked him to call me.”

  “Thanks, Ollie, for letting us be part of this,” I said. “I know we’re amateurs—”

  “And you are,” he said without rancor in his voice. “But I’m open to any kind of help.”

  “I wanted to ask you something,” I said. “It’s about Deedra Knight. Why would someone kill her? I assume she wanted the diamonds. At least it makes sense that she was looking for them. But why murder her? If she found the diamonds, wouldn’t it be easier to take them from her?”

  “Probably,” he said.

  “But why kill her?” I persisted. “Unless, of course, she found them and the murderer could only take them from her by shooting her. Seems drastic.”

  “Or maybe the killer didn’t want anyone alive to identify him,” Burton said. “Or her.”

  “A strong possibility,” Ollie said.

  Burton looked at Ollie. “But until you know that’s the reason, what do you plan to do? What’s your next step?”

  Ollie sat next to his former classmate. “I plan to talk to anyone who can shed any light on this situation.” His voice was calm and pleasant. As a professional, I wondered how his moods could shift so easily. I wondered if this erratic behavior was typical or if this case was causing a big emotional strain.

  Ollie talked for a while, but I didn’t hear him. I was absorbed in watching him. His hand had shaken slightly before, but now it was steady. He smiled the way he had when we first met. Something was different about him, and in the back of my head, something clicked. I had worked with clients like him before, but I couldn’t pull the information into my conscious mind.

  “Good idea,” Burton said, and I snapped back to attention.

  “Jason Omore will be here in a minute,” Ollie said. “I called his room and asked him to join us. I told him we’d be out here.” He smiled at me. “After we learn everything he knows, perhaps you’ll open up and tell me the rest of what you know about Lauber.” He leaned forward, about a foot from my face. His green eyes narrowed as if he were trying to see inside my head. “And I know you’re still holding back.”

  Before I could reply, Jason Omore came into view. He had picked a yellow rose and held it out to me. “I don’t have permission to do this from the owners,” he said, “but I do not think they will mind if I pluck one rose to give to such a beautiful woman. Does not beauty attract beauty?”

  “I like you better all the time,” I said. I took the flower and held it to my nose and inhaled the scent. So many of the roses these days have little fragrance, but this was different. The pungent aroma filled my nostrils.

  Jason sat next to me and faced the detective. “You wish to ask more questions, is that so?” Before he looked at Ollie, he glanced at me, and I think he winked, but it was so quick I wasn’t positive.

  “Tell us more about you and Lauber at the prison.”

  “Is there much to tell? I do not know, but I shall try.” Jason held his hand to his face. “Even the odor of the rose remains. Do you say odor? Is that not a negative word?”

  “Try fragrance,” Burton said. I could tell from his expression that he knew Jason was creating a diversion on purpose.

  “As you know, I am a Christian,” Jason Omore said. “I am also a student sent here by my government so that I may return and develop—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Ollie said. “You can skip that part. Get to Lauber.”

  “Yes, but of course, I shall do that. At the prison in Rome, I spoke with many of the inmates. As you may know, in prisons and jails, many volunteer groups come regularly to present worship services and Bible studies. I chose to talk to them individually. Because I was a doctoral student from Emory University, I had no problems in moving freely around the prison.”

  “And how did you meet Stefan?” I asked.

  “First, as you may know, he was at two different prisons before they transferred him to Rome—”

  “Yeah, I know how the system works,” Ollie said. “With good conduct come better conditions.” He cleared his throat and added, “So answer the question.”

  “I had posted the information at various places in the prison that I wished to study individual inmates and their behavior. All things were confidential. More than sixty of them showed up.”

  “That’s a lot,” I said.

  He laughed, and his whole face participated in the exercise. I had rarely seen a person so happy. I wondered what made him so joyful. It was more than his face; something about the way he behaved exuded a kind of aura of peace and quiet joy. The more I was around Jason Omore, the more I liked him.

  “That is easy to explain, is it not? Some thought it would help them make early parole. I had to assure them that their participation would not make a difference. For others, they came to the meeting out of boredom. Some left the facilities during the day for work details, but the others had nothing much to claim their attention.”

  “And Stefan was among which group?” Ollie asked.

  “He worked on detail, is the way I think it is said. He often worked for ten hours each day. It was volunteer work, but he seemed always the first to volunteer for any task.”

  “Did you wonder why?” Ollie asked.

  “But of course, and I asked.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “I had seen Mr. Lauber before, of course. He was different from most of the others.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Ollie said, “but maybe you’ll answer this. In what way was he different?”

  “Many of the inmates had marked themselve
s—tattoos, many tattoos. Others carried scars from fights. Too often I saw old faces, hard faces on young men. He was in age maybe, I don’t know—”

  “Thirty-seven,” Ollie said. “According to our records, he would have been thirty-eight in November.”

  “Yes, but it was more. He shaved and dressed as if he had a purpose each day. How can I say it? Most of them seemed to have nothing. Something else also. He read. He read many, many books, did he not?”

  “What kind of books?” Ollie asked.

  “Everything. The prison had no real library, even though I tried to get them to start one. A few books were in the recreation room, and there is a room where they may enter and read, but little of intellectual stimulation. People cannot send books to individuals, but only publishing houses can do so. So he received many such books that way by ordering them from the publishers. Once he read them, he left them in the reading room for others.”

  “How did he pay for them?”

  “I did not ask, but one day he said his brother gave him money.”

  The three of us looked away from Jason and at each other. Our silent faces asked how that could be. They supposedly hated each other.

  “Do you know anything about his brother?” Burton asked.

  “Of that I know little. I met him but one time in the prison. He came to visit. By then, Stefan was truly my friend, and he introduced him to me. We did not exchange words. He seemed to be in great haste to leave.”

  “That was the only time you saw him?”

  “Yes, of course, except for yesterday.”

  “What?” Ollie jumped up and grabbed Jason’s T-shirt as if he wanted to strangle the African. “What are you holding back?”

  Jason said nothing, but his eyes met Ollie’s and he did not flinch. Ollie finally released him and moved back.

  “You did not ask if I had seen him here. It was a surprise to me to see him, of course.”

  “When did you see him? Where? Here in the hotel?”

  “I saw him but yesterday. I did not look at the time, but I know it was before 6:30. Perhaps ten minutes, but I do not know.”

  “How do you know the time?”

  “Because my doctoral adviser promised to call me at 6:30.” He held up his cell phone. “I wanted to get out of my room, and I was moving toward the front entrance of the building. I wanted to walk away from the inn and toward the expressway. I do not have a motor vehicle, and I wanted to see a different landscape. That is when we met.”

  “And exactly where did you meet Lucas?” Ollie asked.

  “When he exited from the elevator, is that not so?”

  “Did he acknowledge you?” Burton asked.

  “At first not. I think he recognized me, but he would have walked past as if he must be in a large hurry. He walked quite rapidly. Perhaps he did not remember my name, but—”

  “Did you speak to him?” I asked.

  “Would it not have been rude for me not to do so?”

  Ollie took a long, deep sigh and said, “Please, Jason, just tell us. Don’t make me pull out every tiny fragment of information.”

  “Yes, that I can do.” Jason momentarily closed his eyes. “He wore a blazer that was of the color gray, a light gray. His trousers were of a darker shade of the color gray. And as I said, he walked very fast, as if in a large hurry.” He turned to me. “Large hurry? Is that correct English? I think it is not correct?”

  “We understand what you mean,” Ollie said. “Just move on.”

  “I greeted him and extended my hand,” Jason said. “I introduced myself, and he said he did remember me. We both were going in the same direction, so I walked out of the inn with him and to his car. He drove away. That is all.”

  “That’s all?” Ollie asked. His anger was almost at the exploding point. “What did you talk about as you walked to his car? What kind of car was it? Did he say where he was going? Did he explain why he had been at the hotel?”

  “Oh, is that what you wish to know?” Jason said. “He told me that he had been to see his brother, but he was not in his room. I had seen Stefan perhaps an hour earlier when he stopped at my room.”

  “Why your room?” I asked.

  “To give me a Bible and—”

  “Okay, and then Stefan left you? Is that correct?” Ollie asked.

  I wondered how Ollie solved any crimes if he was always so uptight and explosive.

  “Lucas said he had come because Stefan needed to sign a paper, and he was late for a place he had to be for a meeting, and he regretted that he could no longer wait for his brother.”

  “Just that?” the detective asked.

  “I said I would drop by his room later and ask him to call, but Lucas said I should not bother. That was all.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “My cell phone rang then. It was exactly 6:30. My adviser is punctually absolute.” He laughed. “Sorry, absolutely punctual. English is so difficult, is it not, especially with where to place the adjectives, is that not so?”

  “And he drove away?”

  “Yes, and it was a green vehicle. A Mercedes, but the year of the vehicle I do not know,” Jason said. “But it was not a vintage model—not—not old, I mean.”

  Ollie waved at him to stop explaining.

  “Was there anything unusual about him? Anything that struck you as strange or unusual?” I asked.

  “But one thing only. It was a paper he held in his hand. I could not read it, but it was, how do you say it? Crumpled? No, it was also that, but—”

  “Torn?” I asked.

  “Yes!” His eyes lit up. “Sometimes I forget English words. It was torn—no, ripped. Fragmented. Yes, that is the word. It was but almost all of one page, and does that not make it a fragment?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “I noticed it because the fragment was not straight at the bottom. You know, if I take a sheet of paper from a tablet, both top and bottom are even—”

  “Okay, okay, I got it,” Ollie said. “Torn. Ripped. Shredded. Fragmented. Whatever. Could you read it?”

  He shook his head. “And would it not have been rude to try to do so?”

  “Did your people find the remaining portion of the paper?” I asked.

  Ollie shook his head. “Not that I know. It certainly wasn’t among the evidence collected.”

  “It would have been such a small portion,” Jason added. “But a pinch—I think is how you say it.”

  Ollie waved him away.

  “I have a couple of questions I want to ask,” Burton said. “Would you tell us about your time in prison? What happened?”

  “Yes, that I can do. I did not like Stefan at first because he said rude things—perhaps rude is not the word. Vulgar? Yes, he spoke with vulgar—with vulgarity—about my faith and about God.”

  “Tell us, will you?” I asked.

  “Let’s go back to the room,” Ollie said. “This is a little too public.”

  We followed him back to the meeting room.

  Nine

  This is the story Jason Omore told us:

  I had noticed Stefan because he was different, and that I have already said. He told me the first time in the meeting that he didn’t want to hear me talk about God.

  “Then you must close your ears or walk away,” I said to him. “God is not something I can push aside because you are afraid to hear of Him.”

  “Afraid? What makes you think I’m afraid?” His voice was very low, what you call a bass.

  “Are you not afraid?” I asked.

  “I just don’t want to hear anything about religion,” he said. “I had a couple of injections when I was a boy and now I’m inoculated. I don’t need another dose.”

  “That I can understand for your sake,” I said, “but for my sake, if I cannot speak about God, it is as if I would be forced to walk with only one leg.” I turned from him and spoke to the others in the room. I did that to enable him to get up and leave if he chose to do so. I did not wish to embarrass anyone. By then we ha
d only fourteen men left in the room. “Each of you has volunteered to come here. If you choose to remain with my program, I will record the information, but your names will never appear. I must do this to defend my work at the university. I looked around. “There are liars and crooked people in this place, you know.”

  Most of them laughed, and several hooted and clapped.

  “No one will hear your voice—unless it is because my supervisor wishes to upcheck.”

  “Check up, you mean!” one of them called out and many laughed. I made that error on purpose, of course. From their responses I knew they wanted to trust me.

  They had a few questions, but most of all, they simply wished to talk, and I waited patiently for them to speak. I explained that I studied quite diligently to understand behavior in humans. “It may surprise you, of course, but we truly have criminal activity in Kenya. We wish to understand behavior of every kind.”

  They truly loved it when I spoke like that. They thought I was extremely naïve, and I did not mind that they thought so.

  After that I looked around and Stefan Lauber had not left. I was surprised, but I made no mention of his presence still with us.

  In the middle of my first session with the group, one of the men stood up. “Why would you come here? You’re not like some of those who want notches on their guns to record each of the converts they’ve shot out of hell and landed in heaven.”

  This time Stefan clapped loud and long. It was the first time he had responded as a member of the group.

  Did I not laugh at that? Yes, indeed, I did laugh. Then I explained that I had once been a very bad person in my native Kenya. I had used pombe—native beer—every night without fail. I beat my wife if she argued with me, and I stole cattle from other farmers. But one day God changed my life.

  I told them about a man named Erasto Otieno who had come to our village and told me that God loved me and God’s Spirit would never give me peace until I surrendered. He also said he would not leave our village until I believed in Jesus.

  “Is this not strange?” I asked the men.

  I must explain our African custom to you. That man, Erasto, stayed in our village for five days. In our culture, a guest stays until the host tells him to go. That is the way it is, although Western culture is changing our ways, those of us who live far from the cities still honor the ways of our ancient parents.