Murder with Strings Attached

by Mark Reutlinger

  “I said no, I’m just crossing the street.

  “The doorman saluted politely, crossed the sidewalk and pressed the button for a ‘walk’ signal. At the front door of the Mark Hopkins, another doorman opened the door and ushered me in.

  “I could get used to this, I thought. So I entered the elevator and pressed the highest button for the bar at the Top of the Mark.

  “And that’s when things began to get a bit crazy.”

  Chapter 21

  “When I woke up this morning,” Sara said, “I was immediately aware that something was wrong. Not necessarily wrong in a bad way, but definitely wrong.

  “To begin with, I wasn’t in my own bed. That by itself wasn’t surprising, of course, since I remembered I was in San Francisco, not Seattle. Looking around the room, I was definitely in an elegant hotel suite. The only problem was that it wasn’t the suite, or the bed, I’d slept in the night before. It was even more elegant than the one here at the Fairmont; but it was still the wrong one.”

  The second problem, Sara said, was that she was not alone, and her bedmate was not me. “Sleeping next to me in this king-size bed was definitely a man. A good-looking man, at that. He was covered by a sheet, which I gently lifted to get a better view. The guy was perhaps 40 years old, well-groomed, short-cropped hair with a hint of gray, ripped abs, and…geez, I thought, this guy’s naked!

  “Worse yet, so was I. I suddenly realized that I was wearing no nightie, no bra, no panties…no anything.”

  Shit! I’d been right. She clearly had overdone!

  “I guess my first impulse was to pull the sheet up to cover myself. But of course that was a bit silly: whatever had happened between the time I entered the elevator and that moment, it obviously had involved my naked body in a way that would make next-morning modesty almost hypocritical.”

  As I listened to Sara’s story, I couldn’t help wondering how I would have reacted if I woke up naked in an elegant suite next to a similarly-attired strange man. But I didn’t have that kind of luck.

  Sara continued: “My head was really throbbing from what must’ve been far too many cocktails, but I slowly began to recall some of the events between pressing that top button in the elevator and waking up in that strange bed. The name Roger seemed to come to me. And he was some kind of big shot, the CEO of…of some company I can’t remember the name of. Well-heeled. I’d had a cocktail or two alone, then an innocent little flirtation with this man down the bar, then some quiet conversation—about what I don’t remember—and a few more cocktails…that, I guess, was when I overdid it…and finally an invitation to continue the conversation in his suite. So that’s where I imagined I must be. And from the look of it, Roger Whatever-his-name-was didn’t lie to me; that suite had to cost six, maybe seven hundred a night if it cost a dime.”

  Well, at least she didn’t surrender her virtue cheaply.

  Of course, “virtue” might be the wrong word here. While she was not what you’d call promiscuous, Sara was by no means a virgin, and under the right circumstances she enjoyed a romp in the hay as much as the next woman—maybe more. So I’m sure the fact that she probably had had sex with this man was not in itself a huge deal for her. But I’m also sure she was used to having sex with men she knew well, in surroundings with which she was familiar, and while she was fully conscious. My God, she doesn’t even know if she had a good time!

  “Anyway, about the time I was remembering some of the details,” Sara went on, “the body next to me moved. I looked over and saw it open one eye, then the other, and a smile broke out on its face. It wasn’t a smile of triumph, just a kind of warm smile of contentment.

  “He said, ‘Hey, honeybunch. Glad you’re still here.’ He had a slight Southern accent, like someone who was born in the South but had lived in Yankee country since he was a kid.

  “I honestly didn’t know how to respond. I guess I smiled, and then I decided I had neither the energy nor the desire to play it coy, so I confessed. I said, ‘I’m sorry, but I must’ve had a lot to drink, because I don’t remember much about how I got here or what happened afterwards.’

  “Roger—turned out I’d remembered his name correctly—kind of patted my…well, patted me and said, ‘Well, now, I can assure you that you had a wonderful time. I know I did.’ Then he said we’d met upstairs in the bar, had a few drinks, talked a little, then we came down there to his place and, well, one thing kinda led to another, and…and there we were.”

  I said, ‘Yes, I see that. And, uh, did you…”

  “Have sex? Funny, I asked him that too.”

  “And what did he say?” I was sure this was not a common question for a guy to be asked, especially after waking up with a naked woman in his bed.

  “He said, ‘Absolutely!’ And that we both enjoyed ourselves immensely. And then he kind of began doing some nice things to my body and I was about to find out if he was right about that, when I sat bolt upright and asked Roger the time.

  “It was 7:30 already! I said, ‘My friend will think I’ve been kidnapped or run over or I don’t know what! I’ve got to call her!’ He was very understanding. I was so frantic I couldn’t think how to get the Fairmont’s number. He told me just to call the operator and ask her for it. I almost couldn’t find the ‘0’ on the phone I was in such a state. Fortunately the operator not only gave me the number but even dialed it for me.”

  I thought about that for a moment. She had called at 7:30, but she hadn’t arrived back here until about 8:30. “So why did it take you so long to get here once we’d spoken?”

  Sara looked distinctly sheepish. “Well, once I’d assured you I was okay, there didn’t seem to be any hurry, and, well, Roger was making these nice…”

  “Never mind. I get the picture. Spare me the erotic details,” I said. I could understand Sara wanting to have some fun while in the city, even fun of the carnal variety. I myself hadn’t been in bed with a man in quite a while, preoccupied as I was with establishing my new profession. In fact, Sara had occasionally accused me, in a good-natured way, of being far too “uptight,” too inhibited when it came to men; and perhaps there was some truth in that. I’ve passed up a few opportunities for, shall we say, intimacy, that Sara, not to mention most unattached women my age, would have had no trouble accepting. And whatever my inclinations might be at other times, when I’m on the job, as I now was, I had to maintain a strict separation between work and play. But I also had to remember that Sara had come along as a companion, not an accomplice. I couldn’t expect the same discipline of her as I demanded of myself.

  I changed the subject, at least slightly: “Tell me more about this Roger.”

  “Well, his last name is Andrews. He has to be rich, because you should see his suite. It has spectacular views of Alcatraz, the Golden Gate Bridge, everything. And geez, the bathroom—which also looks out on Alcatraz—is almost as large as my entire apartment at home, and far more elegant.”

  “So are you planning to see the guy again?”

  “We did exchange contact information. And he seemed really concerned about how I felt. About the night before, I mean.”

  “What do you mean, concerned?”

  “He said, ‘I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of guy who takes advantage of a helpless woman. Honest, you were acting like you knew exactly what you were doing; that is, what we were doing.’”

  Sara laughed. “I’m sure I did, at the time. The problem is, of course, as I told him, when I have too much to drink, I don’t necessarily lose control of my actions—although that’s certainly possible—but the next day I can’t remember much of what happened. So I said I didn’t feel violated or anything like that.”

  “And what did he say to that?”

  “He said, ‘That’s good, because I remember everything that happened, and it was all good. And I hope we can see each other again sometime.’ Apparently he lives in L.A.. He asked if I get down this way very often. I said no, this was my first trip to San Francisco, and I
’ve only been to Los Angeles once, several years ago.

  “Then he asked me whether I was here on business or pleasure. I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I think I said, ‘Well, up until last night it was business.’ And then I had this horrible thought that maybe I had, you know, told him what our ‘business’ here was.”

  Which is exactly the horrible thought I had just had myself. Had Sara gone and blown our cover? And to a stranger?

  “And had you?”

  “Apparently not. At least Roger said I didn’t mention anything about why I was in San Francisco. He said I just told him I was down here with a friend and staying at the Fairmont, helping my friend out with her business.

  “He said he has a few clients down the Peninsula, so maybe we’ll run into each other somewhere.”

  “I sure hope it’s not in Los Altos,” I said. “If you do, don’t introduce him to me, please. So what business is your Roger in that takes him up and down the state?”

  “He’s not ‘my Roger,’ and I’m not completely sure. I remember he said he was the CEO of some big corporation, but when I asked him what the company did, he sort of hesitated and said it was ‘a bit complicated,’ but that he was in some kind of ‘import/export business.’ They’re apparently based in L.A. and have offices in New York and a few foreign countries.”

  “Hmm. I guess no harm was done,” I said, fervently hoping I was right about that. “And you’re not likely to see the guy again, so…”

  Sara seemed a little uneasy when I said this.

  “Well, he did ask me if he could see me again before we left town.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “I was noncommittal. I said I didn’t know whether I’d have time. So he gave me his phone number just in case.”

  Knowing Sara, I was sure she was hoping to find a way to see this guy again. And as long as it didn’t compromise our mission in some way, that was fine with me.

  “So overall,” I said, “it sounds like you had a good time.” I hoped I didn’t sound jealous.

  “I sure did.” She scratched her head and seemed to be concentrating.

  “At least what I can remember of it.”

  ****

  The day’s work turned out to be fairly brief. I had wanted to sound out some of my ideas with Sara, and once she had showered and we had had breakfast, she was willing to postpone further sightseeing and listen. It always helps to explain a plan to someone else, because in the explaining whatever flaws it has, whatever has been overlooked or conveniently shunted aside, will probably be exposed. It’s the familiar “now that I say it, it doesn’t sound very good” syndrome. Besides, Sara is very good at spotting those flaws and pointing them out. But after an hour of this, it occurred to me that we still were not really ready to finalize any plans.

  “You know, I can’t really do much more until Aaron gets back,” I complained to Sara with a sigh just before noon. “We have to integrate him into the plan, get him up to speed. We have to describe what we’ve seen and done, what we expect him to do.”

  “And he may have some ideas of his own that we—or more accurately you—haven’t thought of,” Sara added.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. I’m sure he still thinks this is just a matter of waltzing into Sanders’ house, picking up his violin, and waltzing out again.” I shook my head. “Amateurs! Watch out for amateurs!”

  “Hey, don’t get ahead of yourself. Give him a chance. And don’t forget you’re not exactly a grizzled veteran yourself.”

  “Right. Okay, we’ll see,” I said, but rather grudgingly.

  “So now that we have a little time,” Sara said, “I’d sure like to do some more sightseeing in San Francisco. While we have the chance.”

  “I know,” I said. “Me too. I do have a few things I need to do this afternoon, like check out the uniform rental shops, but that shouldn’t take long.”

  “Great. Let’s eat.”

  Chapter 22

  Sara and I strolled down to California Street, looking for a likely place for lunch. When we passed a friendly-looking establishment called the Well Come Inn that already had a busy early lunch crowd, we joined the line inside.

  The Well Come Inn was not an inn at all, but just a fancy burger bar, with a long list of “gourmet” burgers taking up most of the back wall. That was fine with us, as we didn’t require anything fancy for lunch, and a burger, gourmet or pedestrian, would be quite acceptable.

  We stood in line contemplating the several dozen ways the Well Come Inn could prepare a slab of chopped beef, not to mention chopped pork, chopped turkey, chopped bison, or even, for the truly adventurous, chopped wild boar and ostrich, and the equal number of buns on which it could be served: white, wheat, multi-grain, gluten-free, onion, sour dough, or naked—apparently their term for no bun at all.

  “It’s like getting coffee at Starbuck’s, isn’t it?” Sara said. “I wonder if they have a plain old cheeseburger on a soft white bun?”

  “That doesn’t sound very adventurous,” I said.

  “No, I suppose not. I guess I really should try the wild boar or the ostrich. Maybe I’ll compromise and have the bison—at least it looks something like a cow.”

  I had to laugh, as the line edged slowly forward toward the order counter. “Since when did a buffalo look anything like a cow?”

  “Hey, it looks a heck of a lot more like a cow than an ostrich or a wild boar does. Anyway, that’s what I’ll get. And you?”

  “Hmm. Let’s see. I don’t see any aardvark or platypus, so maybe I’ll just settle for wild boar.”

  “Probably tastes like chicken,” Sara said.

  “Probably. I’ll let you know.”

  We ordered and received our burgers and sat down to find out whether we preferred bison and/or wild boar to beef. We didn’t, but it was fun finding out.

  Sara finished her bison, took a few sips of her drink, and turned to me with a serious expression. “Now that it’s almost time to execute your plan,” she said, “how are you feeling about the risks and rewards? Still positive?”

  I thought about this for a minute or so, trying to weigh the factors on both sides. “So far as I can figure out my own motivations,” I said, “I do still think it’s worth the risk. There’s big money involved, and a virtuoso to save from himself, not to mention myself to clear of a possible murder charge. On the other hand, there’s nothing much in it for you except a paid vacation, and I wouldn’t blame you if you decide you don’t want any further part of my crazy adventure and head on home. I promise I wouldn’t hold it against you one bit, nor would Aaron. This is our little scheme, or rather his with me as his trainer, and while you’ve been a huge help so far and I really appreciate it, from here on it’s pretty much up to Aaron and me. So feel free to have a few more days of sightseeing on Aaron’s nickel and fly home.”

  I wasn’t just putting up a noble front. I’d felt uneasy from the beginning about getting Sara directly involved in what I knew was a risky caper, and the riskier it looked, the guiltier I felt. I would more than understand Sara bowing out after doing her part of the groundwork. In fact, my conscience would have preferred it.

  Sara didn’t immediately respond. It was obvious that she too was conflicted, between her loyalty to me and her sense of self-preservation. At the moment, neither side seemed to be winning.

  After a minute, Sara said, “Let me sleep on that. For now, I’ll just stay in the background and you do whatever it is you decide to do. I’ll wait until Aaron gets back to decide whether to stick around or wait for you at home.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. I was relieved the matter had been put over for a while. And although I still had not completely resolved the risk-benefit issue, the very fact that it remained unresolved meant I would probably go ahead with my plan, having failed sufficiently to talk myself out of it.

  But I too would sleep on it.

  Back at the hotel, I again looked over my plans, as Sara watched some crime show
(naturally) on TV. We were both avoiding any further discussion of either my motivations or her intentions.

  Then the phone rang.

  Chapter 23

  There is a tendency for someone with a guilty conscience, such as a lady who is planning a major heist, not to mention her unwilling accomplice, to become jumpy at a sudden summons from beyond, whether a knock on the door or the ringing of a phone. Have we somehow been found out? Has retribution come to call even before the crime was committed?

  Sara and I stayed still, giving each other the same “who could that be” look, and the phone rang four times before Sara finally reached over and answered it.

  “Yes?” Sara’s greeting was tentative, her features wary, her eyes on me. I held my breath. I knew this feeling was uncharacteristic of me, but I couldn’t seem to help it.

  Suddenly, however, Sara’s features relaxed and she smiled. “Oh, hi! It’s great to hear from you.”

  I exhaled.

  Sara put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “It’s Aaron. He’s back in town!

  “Let me put you on the speaker,” Sara said into the phone. “If there is one…wait…okay, here it is…” Sara pressed the speaker button. “There. Okay, start again.”

  Over the speaker we heard, “I’m back. How are you guys?”

  “Welcome home!” I said. I skipped telling him how we were. I’m sure my voice reflected both relief that it was not the outside world closing in, and genuine pleasure in hearing Aaron’s voice again. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the airport. Actually, the Oakland airport; it was much easier to get a flight here than to SFO. I’m on the ground and walking toward baggage claim.”

  “Did you just get in?”

  “Yeah. I was going to surprise you guys, but then I thought since I’m only a few miles away—less than a half hour, I’m sure—it wouldn’t pay to go to the hassle of renting a car and then turning it in. I was hoping you’d come and get me here. A lot more pleasant than a taxi or shuttle. I assume you still have the car you rented.”