The Case of the Guest Who Stayed Over (The M.O.D. Files Book 1)

by K. W. Callahan

  Sarah nodded an affirmative to my question.

  “Did they say anything about where they were going?” I asked her.

  Again she nodded, “Yes, they asked about transportation. Three of them needed cabs to their corporate office, so I directed them to the main entrance and told them to ask one of the doormen to hail them cabs.

  “And the fourth?” I asked anxiously.

  “He was headed for the airport,” she frowned. “He was complaining, saying something about wanting to get to a conference in South America ahead of time, and that all the extra days here had set him back on his schedule. I told him that he could take a cab or have a limo drop him there, but he said the limo would take too long. He wanted to be there right away, so I said he should probably catch a cab.”

  She paused, looking at me curiously. “They might still be down there if you need to catch them. It was just a couple minutes ago.”

  “Do you remember which one was going to South America?” I almost shot the words at her.

  She looked at her computer screen and made a few clicks with her mouse.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” I said to the waiting guest.

  She just shrugged.

  “It was the Gerhardt guy,” Sarah said.

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. “Thanks.”

  I turned and bolted from the desk, making it through the back office and down the stairs to the hotel’s main entrance in seconds flat.

  I did a quick scan of the foyer area, looking though the sea of guests getting themselves and their luggage organized for departure. Seeing no group of middle-aged men there, I grabbed the nearest bell captain, a young Hispanic man named Felix who’d been at the hotel for nearly a year.

  “You see a group of middle-aged guys looking for a cab come through here?”

  “All morning,” he laughed.

  “No, I mean like in the last five minutes or so…a group of four…three going to an office and one to the airport.”

  “Oh yeah,” he nodded. “They just went out about a minute ago,” he pointed outside. “You should be able to catch them. I sent old Benny out with their bags. You know how quick he moves,” he said with a sarcastic snort.

  Benny was a long-time member of the Lanigan staff and was the senior bellman with over 45 years on the job. He showed every minute of those hard years hauling luggage.

  “Thanks,” I called to Felix as I made my way outside.

  The sky was a bright blue and the morning sun temporarily blinded me as I stepped through the Lanigan’s front doors. Being inside all the time – and the lack of sunshine the past week’s weather patterns had produced – had me flinching, covering my eyes with a hand as I gave them a few seconds to adjust.

  Blinking like crazy, and squinting my eyes into narrow slits, I scanned the long line of cabs that stretched before me along Monroe Street. Cabs were coming, going, sitting, honking. Guests were getting in, new arrivals were getting out, luggage was being loaded, stacked and stashed, and the entire scene was one of organized chaos.

  Finally, I located my party at the far end of the line. Benny was waddling away from the group with an empty bell cart and working on pocketing a few dollar bills. A cabby was slamming the trunk shut and moving around to the front of the car to get inside. I could see the salt-and-peppered head of Paul Gerhardt climbing into the back seat.

  I dashed down the block after the cab, shouting for somebody to “Stop that cab!” It was like something out of a movie. I was halfway to Gerhardt’s cab as it began to pull away from the curb and round the corner, but I kept yelling, and I kept running.

  I turned the corner and could see the cab easing out into the main flow of traffic. It slid between two of the elevated train supports that dotted the street as it moved out into the center lane.

  I was starting to loose pace with the cab. And between all the yelling and running, I found that I was starting to feel a little lightheaded from lack of oxygen.

  Then something amazing happened.

  As I staggered onward, someone responded to my pleas to stop the cab. Not only did they respond, but they actually did something about it. But it wasn’t just anyone…it was a long haired man in a trench coat. He stepped out from the darkness of a recessed doorway. It was Charlie!

  He must have been hanging out in one of the doorways of the building across the street, heard the commotion, and out of all the pedestrians, guests, businessmen and women, passers-by, tourists, and gawkers, my homeless friend was the only one to take action. In fact, he actually ran out into the street and stopped dead, right in front of the cab, standing there, hands on hips like some kind of tattered and torn superhero.

  The cab slammed on its breaks, tires squealing as it came to a stop just inches from where Charlie stood. Its horn blasted as Charlie looked back and forth from the cab to me, unsure as to what to do next. But the cab wasn’t going to wait for him to make up his mind.

  Probably assuming Charlie was just some crazy homeless guy looking for a quick buck, the cab driver nudged the cab forward, making a hard right while softly pushing Charlie out of the way.

  The delay had given me enough time to gain some ground but not enough to make it all the way to the cab. I was just passing the hotel’s side entrance when I heard a familiar voice.

  It was Kristen.

  “My god, Robert. What’s going on?”

  She and Tommy were standing at the entrance, open mouthed, watching this craziness unfold. Tommy had his bike with him, leaned up against the side of the hotel.

  I stopped, bending over, hands on knees, gasping for breath as the cab started on its way again.

  “No time to explain,” I shook my head. “Tommy…can you follow that cab?” I heaved. “The police are on their way. Just call me with the cab’s location until they can have their squad cars pick it up.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” he said, pulling his bike off the wall and hopping on.

  “The detective is on his way!” I shouted as he rode away after the cab. “I hope,” I breathed to myself.

  I saw Tommy pull something from his jacket. Moments later my phone jingled. It was Tommy.

  “I’ll keep an open line with you until the cops pick up the trail,” he said, as I saw the cab – with Tommy in hot pursuit close behind – round the corner and disappear from sight.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I took a few more breaths and then straightened up, still panting.

  “What’s going on, Robert?” Kristen asked, her face confused and full of concern.

  I shook my head, swallowing hard, and holding up a finger for her to wait.

  “Out of shape,” I gasp.

  At that moment a black town car pulled up on the street beside me, its window down. It was Detective Marino. He had the same question as Kristen. I pointed up the street.

  “Your killer…he just took off. I’ve got…my bike courier…Tommy, after him. Gerhardt’s trying to make…an international flight to South America. Gotta catch him.”

  Detective Marino looked incredulous.

  I held up my phone for him to see.

  “My bike guy…he’s on the other line,” I handed him the phone.

  The detective took it, looked at the number on its face, then held it to his ear.

  “Detective Marino,” he said loudly. “With whom am I speaking?”

  He waited.

  “I see. I’ll call in your location.”

  He jotted something on a notepad as he spoke.

  “A car should pick them up shortly. Please break off your pursuit.”

  He picked up a radio from the dash. “All units, we’ve got a cab, Illinois license plate NUAL-139 entering the Eisenhower Expressway heading west, please respond.”

  He tossed my phone to me out the open car window, threw his car into drive and gunned it out into traffic, a siren blaring and red and blue lights flashing on from inside the vehicle.

  I was left standing there, still breathing hard,
a group of curious onlookers grouping around me.

  I just looked at Kristen. “Hopefully they get him.” Then I smiled at her, “Sorry about interrupting your date.”

  “Yeah right,” she gave me a wry half smile.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Kristen got to go on her date after all, only it wasn’t with Tommy, it was with me. And it wasn’t to Grant Park; it was down to police headquarters to help me explain things to Detective Marino. I guess I really didn’t need her to help me, but I asked her to come along just in case. I think that deep down I was still a little jealous about her going out with Tommy and was looking for any reason to delay their rendezvous.

  It was about an hour after he’d taken off in pursuit of Gerhardt’s cab when Detective Marino came back to find me in my office with Kristen. I’d already explained everything to her and placed a call to Tom regarding what was going on, but he was busy with breakfast and not to be disturbed.

  Kristen and I headed to the station to fill in the gaps for the detective. I was slightly surprised when we arrived at the detective division of police headquarters. I guess I’d imagined an “office” style environment for the detective, but it was more like a desk with two uncomfortable metal chairs in front of it, splayed out among a sea of similar desks and chairs in a sprawling call center style layout. The only thing missing were the thin dividers forming the desk spaces into cubicles. The whole place was noisy and chaotic. And I thought the front desk at the hotel was bad. Here, a phone was ringing somewhere almost constantly. Detectives were leading people into and out of desk chairs. Friendly banter was going back and forth between desks. Curse words were used openly and with vigor. Stacks of paperwork were formed into tiny Leaning Tower of Pisa-style piles atop desks. Open boxes of donuts (mostly empty) lay scattered between the stacks of paperwork. Styrofoam cups of coffee sat precipitously on edges of desks or perched perilously atop the stacks of paperwork, apparently just waiting for the slightest jolt, jounce or jiggle to send their contents cascading all over the place. I wondered how anyone could get anything done here, let alone solve crimes.

  Now I understood why Detective Marino seemed so at ease in my office. He probably thought I had it made in the shade. After seeing this, maybe I did.

  “Have a seat,” he said to us, gesturing to the two metal chairs before his desk. I pulled Kristen’s out for her and waited for her to sit, then sat myself.

  “Get you some coffee?” he asked. “We don’t have much else in the way of beverages unless you want to hit the soda machine down the hall,” he added, reaching out to pick up and shake a bowl full of coins at us.

  “I’m good,” Kristen said.

  “No thanks,” I shook my head.

  Kristen had time to change out of her kitty-cat Halloween costume before her planned outing with Tommy (much to Tommy’s chagrin I’m sure). I couldn’t say that she looked any less attractive in tight blue jeans, brown leather knee-high boots, a black chenille scarf, a red wool coat, and a matching red beret from under which her bright blonde ponytail dangled. I had to admit, I liked the beret. It was a touch that added a little European flair to her outfit and was something I didn’t see much in women’s fashion these days.

  The detective sat down in his desk chair, pulling it up behind him so that he could lean forward toward us on his elbows from across the desk.

  “Alright, Haze, what do you have? How do we pin this on Gerhardt? You’d better have something damn good, because he’s hopping mad about missing his flight, which by the way, he had cleared with the department.”

  The revelation that Gerhardt had told the police he was leaving made me a little nervous about my theory, but I was pretty sure I had him dead to rights. I took a deep breath before beginning.

  “Okay,” I said, “I think it’s all going to come down to the written statement you have from Gerhardt regarding the morning of the murder. Do you have that handy?” I asked the detective.

  He nodded, leaning over in his chair to pull open a side desk drawer. He removed a brown file folder and laid it out on his desk, leafing through the papers inside while I continued.

  “Well, as I recall, Gerhardt mentioned he had a meeting scheduled with Doddsman the morning before Doddsman was done in, right?”

  Detective Marino found Gerhardt’s statement in the file and pulled it out. I watched as he scanned it with a finger, reading. Then he nodded.

  “That’s right,” he said. “Gerhardt said he met with Doddsman Friday morning at around seven.”

  “Right,” I went on. “Well, it establishes that Doddsman was still alive at that time and that he was killed later Friday morning…but he wasn’t…he was already dead. The meeting was also the reason why Doddsman called for his dry cleaning to be delivered that Friday at around 2 a.m.”

  “His dry cleaning?” the detective frowned. “What’s that have to do with anything? We already knew Doddsman had called down for his clothing. He’d made a couple calls to the hotel operators in the communications department early Friday morning.”

  He scanned his paperwork. “Yeah, he made a call at 1:53 a.m. to the operator about getting his clothes and another at 2:10 a.m. about the same thing since his clothing hadn’t arrived yet. So what?”

  “So,” I went on, “Doddsman never got his clothes.”

  “Didn’t get his clothes?” the detective blinked. “Seemed like he had everything there in his room to me…but now that you mention it…” He thought for a moment and then pounded his fist on the desk in frustration, “Damn! I should have caught it. There wasn’t any trace of a dry cleaning receipt, the plastic clothes cover or wire hangers that typically accompany such a delivery.”

  He sat staring down at his desk, shaking his head. “I never realized that he didn’t receive the delivery.” He paused, thinking, and then said, “But why not?”

  “Ah, well that’s the question isn’t it?” I nodded. “I didn’t realize that he hadn’t received the delivery either…at least not until late last night,” I went on. “And Gerhardt didn’t realize it either; otherwise he would have changed his story.

  You see, Anthony, our housekeeping runner who was supposed to deliver the clothes, told me last night that Doddsman never answered the door when he attempted the delivery at 2:29 a.m. Friday morning, so he just hung them outside on the room’s door handle. Later in the morning at around eight, one of the room attendants found the clothing still hanging there and brought it upstairs. She logged the clothes back into our valet laundry department, but they got stashed in the back along with some other items and forgotten about. It just so happened that last night, Anthony remembered the dry cleaning and mentioned it to me. Its true relevance to the case didn’t click until a guest mentioned almost missing a meeting this morning. That’s when I remembered Doddsman and Gerhardt’s supposed meeting Friday morning.”

  The detective looked confused and I didn’t blame him. Gerhardt probably would have had us all fooled had it not been for Doddsman’s dry cleaning.

  “Okay,” I said, “try to stick with me here.”

  “I’ll try,” Detective Marino said, looking a little doubtful.

  I pulled the folded up housekeeping documents I’d made copies of the other night – along with a few notes – from my jacket pocket and smoothed them out on the detective’s desk.

  “Doddsman must have realized he needed a fresh suit for his meeting with Gerhardt and called our communications department for his clothing Friday morning at 1:53 a.m. Getting no immediate response, he called again at 2:10 a.m. This means that he was still alive at that time.”

  The detective nodded for me to continue.

  “It took Anthony a while longer to get down there since he was busy with other guest calls as he often is, even at two in the morning. He finally made it down to Doddsman’s room with the clothes at 2:29 a.m. according to his runner’s log. He saw the privacy sign and knocked softly on the door, but Doddsman didn’t answer. He didn’t answer because he was already dead. This
means Doddsman was killed sometime between 2:10 a.m. – his last phone call to the operator regarding his laundry – and 2:29 a.m. when Anthony made his delivery, a good time for a murder in most cases. But the killer hadn’t counted on one thing, the dry cleaning delivery. And with Anthony in a hurry to be on his way, and even though it was against hotel policy, he left the clothes hanging on the door, assuming that Doddsman was in the bathroom or whatever and that he would retrieve them momentarily.”

  I looked at the detective. “With me so far?” I asked.

  He nodded silently.

  “It’s a wonder that Anthony didn’t see Gerhardt leaving Doddsman’s room because it had to be close to when he killed Doddsman. He couldn’t have killed him after this time since as Gerhardt left the room, he would have seen the dry cleaning hanging on the door handle and placed it inside the room to cover his tracks, making everyone think Doddsman was still alive at that time. So we know the murder couldn’t have occurred after the dry cleaning delivery time of 2:29 a.m. Friday morning.”

  The detective waited for me to continue.

  “So the clothes hung there on the door handle for the rest of the night until the room attendant assigned to clean Doddsman’s room arrived at around eight that morning. There she found the clothes and took them upstairs.

  “And that’s when she must have seen the privacy sign,” the detective interjected.

  “Exactly,” I nodded. “The privacy sign was placed there by Gerhardt after he killed Doddsman to waylay anyone else entering the room for as long as possible.”

  The detective nodded agreement, so I went on.

  “Okay, so the room attendant arrives at about eight, sees the clothes, and takes them back upstairs to valet laundry where they were logged in at 8:04 a.m. At 8:17 a.m. we have Doddsman’s key swiping an entry to the room. But since we know Doddsman was already dead, this was obviously Gerhardt who must have taken the key from Doddsman after killing him, using it to re-enter the room to make it look as though Doddsman had attended his meeting with him, come back to his room, and then was killed, thereby establishing Gerhardt’s alibi. He had made the phone call from his room at 8:18 a.m. and was confirmed to have been in meetings for the rest of the day.