Everybody Wanted Room 623

by Cecil Murphey

  Jason shook his head. “But how could I? He went to a desk, held out his key, and the woman looked at it, checked his identification and signature, and took him into a room behind her.”

  “That’s it,” Ollie said. “I think we’ve found the missing diamonds.” He thanked Jason and told him it was all right to leave. He handed the Bible to the African. “It’s yours. Follow his wishes. His brother is in room 625. I assume he’s already made plans for the funeral.”

  Jason left us, and the three of us headed back to the inn. We returned to the suite the Cartledge Inn had given us.

  “One big problem has been solved,” I said, “or so I assume. At least we think so. If the diamonds are there, that’s one problem out of the way.”

  “But there have been two murders,” Burton said. “That’s more important than diamonds.”

  “Oh, we’ll figure that out,” Ollie said. “We won’t close the door on this case.”

  “But some crimes never get solved, do they?” Burton said. He had a slight edge in his voice. Or did I only imagine it? I was glad he focused on the murders, because it was obvious Ollie had—at least for the moment—dismissed them from his thoughts.

  “Why don’t we call it a night?” Ollie said. “I’m absolutely worn out. I don’t know why, but this has taken a lot out of me. You two might want to go for a proper dinner. I’m ready to turn in, and I live only ten minutes from here.”

  “Why don’t you spend the night here?” Burton asked in a voice that was almost too casual.

  “No trouble. It’s a straight shoot off the Stone Mountain Expressway,” Ollie said.

  “I’d feel better if you stayed over,” Burton said. “The desk can provide you with a toothbrush and razor.”

  I wasn’t sure why that was significant, but I was ready to back Burton. “You know where the diamonds are, but no one else does,” I said. “Jason does, too, but he was never a suspect. There has been just enough noise around here that someone—someone may still be searching.”

  “Two murders,” Burton said. “We assume the same person killed them both. The three of us have been pretty visible all day.”

  “I’d like you to stay, Ollie.” I turned on all the charm I could conjure and said softly, “Please.”

  “There are two king-sized beds,” Burton said. “And one of those sofas folds into a bed. Julie could stay there.”

  “What? You think someone’s going to shoot one of you?”

  “Or shoot you maybe,” I said. “Two murders. Who knows what else may happen?”

  Ollie seemed to think about it for a few seconds. “Sure, why not? If you two will feel safer—”

  “I’ll feel much safer being with you,” Burton said and laughed.

  “Now I’m the hero?” Ollie laughed too. “Yeah, okay, let’s do it.”

  Ollie decided he did want to eat after all, so all three of us went to the dining room. On the way we stopped at the desk and asked them to make up the sofa for me.

  “Immediately,” Craig said.

  When we stood at the entrance of the dining room, I was impressed by the soft décor with its muted tones and earth-colored table linen. The area featured two sections—the casual room and the formal room. The maître d’ suggested we choose the room on our right. “Do not be concerned about your dress. This is not about clothing,” he said with a slight European accent. “This is about cuisine. To your left is strictly American.” He wasn’t able to disguise his disdain before he smiled and said, “But in this direction is the finest European cuisine. We have three chefs, all trained in Europe and—”

  “You sold me, pal,” Ollie said. “Let’s go continental.”

  A uniformed waiter came immediately and filled our water glasses and offered delicate pieces of mint, lime, or orange. At my urging, we all took mint.

  Ollie didn’t seem to care what he ordered, so the waiter, whose name tag identified him as Henri, suggested chicken in aspic, asparagus, Coeur de crème, and wild strawberries for dessert. After Ollie nodded, the waiter said in a heavy accent, “That is an excellent choice.”

  I settled for a Caesar salad and yellowfin tuna on pasta and no dessert. I didn’t get the enthusiasm for my choice, but the waiter did say, “Our tuna is imported, as you may assume, from Australia. It was brought in fresh this morning. You are most discerning, madam.”

  Burton chose the veal cutlet and the wild strawberries.

  “The veal . . . ahh, my dear sir, that is my absolute favorite,” the waiter said. “The veal is paper-thin and encrusted in a delicate mixture of spices, egg, and bread crumbs. It is the most delicious thing we offer this evening.”

  We didn’t talk much during the dinner, except about the food. We all agreed that it was absolutely delicious.

  “At these prices, it needs to be,” Ollie said.

  “The meal is on me,” Burton said. “Please. I can get mine free, but I’d like to pay for all three.”

  I smiled at Burton and said softly, “Oh, is this like a date?”

  Burton blushed.

  I loved that response.

  Twenty-Three

  On the way back to the room, Ollie picked up a fairly expensive “Male Pak” from the desk. The female clerk made me a “Female Pak” as well. “There is no charge for this.” Her long brown hair covered up her name tag, but I assumed she must be Doris. It was the first time I hadn’t seen Craig behind the desk.

  When I asked about the sofa, she smiled and said, “The housekeeper has taken care of it.”

  We went inside the room and found that all three beds had been made and pulled back. On each bed was a small bar of Zhocolate. To my surprise, Ollie knew it. “Hey, this is supposed to be the best chocolate in the world—and probably the most expensive.”

  We each munched our Zhocolate and agreed it was rich and that a two-ounce bar was enough. Ollie started in on one of his stories about getting some college girl to bake chocolate pies.

  “Hey, guys, how about if you go into your room and tell your stories? I’ll use the bathroom while you guys relive the glory days.” I didn’t give them an opportunity to argue.

  “I’ll run out to the car and get my stuff,” Burton said.

  Inside the bathroom I saw two white terry bathrobes hanging up, and I claimed one of them.

  “In case you’re worried,” Burton said, standing in the doorway of his room, “we’ll lock the door. It has a lock on the inside. It makes a loud racket—in case—”

  I started to make a smart remark, but instead I said, “With two strong men behind a lock in the next room, I know I’ll be safe.”

  “Oh, and we have our own bathroom, so we won’t disturb you in any way.” He turned to close the door.

  “Uh, about that—that visit you made to—”

  “Later. Trust me.” Burton closed the door. I heard the lock turn.

  Despite the closed door, after I went to bed, I could still hear Ollie’s voice. I didn’t have to listen to his stories, but every few minutes I heard his loud guffaw.

  With such discordant music in my ears, I finally drifted off to sleep. I didn’t sleep well because I kept thinking of poor Stefan and Deedra Knight. I wondered if the police would ever find out who murdered them. As I lay in the dark, I tried to imagine every possible thing that could have transpired between Burton and the couple in 624. Despite his closed lips, I sensed it was important information.

  By seven both men moved around inside their locked room, and they didn’t do it on tiptoes. At exactly 7:45 a waiter brought us breakfast. Apparently Ollie had ordered from room service instead of our going down for it. When they came out of the room fully dressed, Ollie pointed to an ugly greenish-and yellow omelet. I spotted cold cereal and opted for that, and so did Burton. All three of us poured from the two carafes of coffee.

  “The bank opens at nine,” Burton said. As he put down his third cup of coffee, he checked his watch. “That gives us forty-five minutes. I’ll be glad to drive.”

  “Than
ks, chum, but no.” Ollie shook his head. “No, this is strictly police business. I’ll take care of it, but I’ll call you.”

  “I’d like to go with you,” Burton said in a strong voice.

  “That’s not necessary.” He smiled before he said, “You two are civilians. I allowed you to sit through all of this out of professional courtesy and—”

  “I really want to go with you,” Burton said. He smiled and added, “In fact, I insist.”

  Just then a conversation from the day before snapped into my head. I understood why Burton persisted. “Yes, and I’d like to be along as well,” I said.

  “I appreciate your help,” Ollie said. He smiled at me this time. “Both of you. Because of you, I hope this is just about over.”

  “But it’s not over,” Burton said. “The diamonds won’t be found.”

  Ollie looked dazed as if Burton had slugged him. “But I have the key—”

  “No, they won’t be found,” I said, “because you’ll have them.”

  “What are you—are you trying to say that I’d steal them?”

  I stared at Burton. “Your old classmate catches on faster than I thought.”

  “Hey, where do you get off talking to me like—”

  “Okay, then prove it,” I said. “Call your supervisor or whatever you call the person above you and explain about the key you found inside the Bible.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Burton said.

  “You’re serious. You think I would rip off the diamonds,” Ollie said. “You two aren’t joking, are you?”

  “Unless murder is a joke,” Burton said. “No, we’re not joking. Maybe we can’t get you convicted for the murder of Jeremiah Macgregor—”

  “Or Stefan Lauber or Deedra Knight,” I added, interrupting Burton.

  “But we can stop you from stealing the diamonds—the real ones this time.”

  “This is too insulting to discuss.” Ollie pushed past me and started toward the door.

  “Okay, Mastermind,” Burton said. “Stop.”

  Ollie turned around and stared at both of us. “You don’t seriously—”

  “That’s what you called yourself in college. You remember, Ollie, when you did all those pranks and underhanded tricks.”

  “That’s what I remembered,” I said. “Mastermind. You used the word yourself, Ollie.”

  “This is nuts,” he said and walked past Burton.

  Burton grabbed him from behind and held him in a headlock. “And before you tell me I’m assaulting an officer of the court or whatever you’re supposed to tell me, I admit my guilt. Either give me the key or use your cell to call your supervisor.”

  “I will not give in to your tactics.” Ollie could barely speak. “Ease up—let me breathe.”

  Just as Burton relaxed his grip slightly, Ollie punched him with his left arm, broke the hold, and in record time pulled out his gun with the other hand. “Now back off. You are interfering with an investigation, and you are obstructing justice.”

  “If we let you go, we obstruct justice,” Burton said.

  “You’ll have to kill both of us,” I said. I almost laughed at those words. I’d heard them so many times on TV.

  “What are two more dead bodies?” he asked. His gaze shifted from me to Burton and back again. “I don’t want to hurt either of you, but if you force me, I’ll shoot you right now.”

  This wasn’t funny, and it wasn’t TV. That’s when the criminal is supposed to crack or give up or do something stupid. Ollie had a gun, and we had nothing. He only needed two bullets and a second between shots.

  “You will have to kill me,” Burton said, “because I won’t let you out of this room with that key.”

  Ollie raised the gun. “This is my last warning.”

  A knock at the door interrupted us. I was less than three feet from the door, so I lurched forward and opened it.

  Ollie fired.

  Twenty-Four

  I pulled the door open at the moment of the shot.

  Jason stood outside the door and stared at us. “I came because—because—”

  I turned around. Burton had grabbed Ollie, and they grappled for the gun. Blood seeped from Burton’s right shoulder, but he still fought. I raced over to the scuffle. I had received all kinds of training in self-defense, but none of it seemed appropriate. I did the most natural thing that came to me—I grabbed Ollie’s left hand. I bit the soft spot between his thumb and index finger. And I bit down hard.

  Ollie tried to shrug me away. Just that motion was all it took for Burton to use both of his hands to pound Ollie’s right wrist against the floor. The crack of the bone filled the room. Ollie no longer resisted.

  “Now it’s over,” Burton said.

  I pulled out my cell and dialed 911.

  Jason stepped into the room. “I came to this door because of bad feelings in my heart. I cannot explain except that I did not feel it was good for that man to have the key.”

  “You saved our lives,” I said.

  “Yes, this must be so,” Jason said. “And even more so is that God helped me to do just that.” He winked. “Is that not so?”

  Burton’s gunshot wound bled quite a bit, but it was superficial. He needed only a large bandage from the hotel’s first-aid kit.

  After the police arrived, Burton told them his conversation with the couple in 624. At last I was able to find out.

  After I’d knocked on the door and the old man answered and his wife behind him, they had accused me of being the bad cop in the TVish good cop/bad cop scenario and wouldn’t talk to me, so I left.

  “They didn’t want to talk to me either,” Burton said, “but I think they were afraid not to. This is what happened,” he started.

  “Are you from the police?” the old man asked. “From the same place as the other one?”

  Before I could answer, the woman said, “No, this one isn’t cruel like that one.” She walked up to me and peered into my face. “You’re not going to threaten us, are you?”

  “No, ma’am, I wouldn’t threaten you. I don’t do things like that.”

  “That’s good. One death threat is enough.”

  They had already acted odd, and I wasn’t sure what to make of that statement, so I decided to try humor. “Why, you’re both too nice for anyone to hurt.”

  “What kind of cop are you anyway?” the woman said.

  “I’m not a policeman. I didn’t mean to mislead you—”

  “Then why are you here? Why do you want to know about 623?” her husband asked.

  “It’s like this—I’m a pastor. The woman who came to the room with me is a psychologist. We’re both guests at the hotel. Julie doesn’t have a room, but she is a guest. The lead homicide detective is a close friend. He asked us to help him with this case.”

  “Mama, it’s just like Murder She Wrote. Remember that? That Jessica Fletcher wasn’t with the police, but she solved most of the crimes for them. And she did tricks like that—let people think she was someone she wasn’t. You must be a pretty smart fella.”

  The woman came up close again and stared into my eyes. She nodded twice before she grabbed both my hands. Her fingers lightly traced my palms and the back of my hands, even though her gaze stayed on my face. “You have good hands. They feel honest.” She turned to her husband. “Papa, I think we can trust him.”

  “I appreciate—”

  “You have good hands,” the woman said again. “I was a manicurist for forty-three years. When I see hands, I know the person. They say eyes don’t lie, but I can tell you that hands don’t lie. Yes, you are a good man.”

  “Thank you—”

  “You need a little work on your nails, but your hands are good. I learn much from observing hands.”

  “So you’ll tell me what I want to know?”

  “Of course,” he said. He pulled up three chairs in a kind of triangular shape. She raised her hand as if to say, “Just wait.” Without asking me, she hurried into the bathroom and minu
tes later came out with a pot of tea. While she was gone, he told me his name was Duncan Kyle and she was his wife of forty-five years and her name was Mildred.

  “Not Millie,” she called out. “Just Mildred. Now you must join us,” she said and poured each of us a cup. They had their cups drained before I had taken more than a few sips. I don’t know much about tea, but my nose told me she had blended in several different herbs.

  I took a sip and wished I hadn’t. I’m not much of a tea drinker anyway, but to be polite, I took another sip while they watched.

  I was afraid they were going to ask about the tea, so I said, “Look, can you help us? We think you know something about the murder across the hall.”

  “What are you talking about?” the man asked. “We know nothing.”

  “After the murder, you both went to the gazebo and discussed the matter. Someone heard you talking.”

  “Just like that Jessica Fletcher, isn’t he?” the woman said. She shook her head, but it was obvious she was impressed. She turned to her husband. “Tell him, Papa.”

  “It wasn’t much. We heard a noise. I’m not even sure what it was, but it was like a loud pop.”

  “No, Papa, more like a car backfiring. That’s how Jessica’s witnesses always describe it. And that is exactly how it sounded to us.”

  “Okay, maybe so,” he said. “Yes, I did think maybe it was a gunshot. I used to do some target practice. I haven’t done any for maybe twenty years, but people like me never forget the sound.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Nothing,” the man said. “I mean, we talked about it, but that was about all—”

  “And what time was that?”

  “A few minutes after six. Five after at most,” she said. “Remember—we had just heard the top-of-the-hour headline news on CNN.”

  “Right, yes,” he said. “We had eaten a big lunch and didn’t want dinner, but we decided to go for a walk.”

  As they left the room, he turned around to lock the door. Just then the door to room 623 opened.

  “That man was startled, I tell you,” she said. “He still had a gun in his hand.”

  “How long after the shot was that?”