Why do I know that name?
James sat at his desk staring at his computer screen. His face was blank. Was the name another mock clue from Edmund Frayker? Was it supposed to mean virgin rape? he wondered.
James picked up the credit card and examined it closely. It appeared to be new. He turned it over to find it was unsigned. James noted the telephone number to report it lost or stolen. As he dialed, James wondered if the name on the card was the identity of the killer. The voice of a young female operator pulled James away from his musings.
"This is operator 2175, do you have a lost or stolen card to report?"
"Yes, my name is Thomas James, I'm a homicide detective with the city of San Francisco. My badge number is 1563. The card I wish to report has been found at the scene of a homicide."
A long pause filled the air. James knew the operator was trying to absorb the information.
"Did you say homicide, sir?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"One moment."
James knew the operator was putting him on hold to find a supervisor. How long would this take? he wondered. Should he take his dinner break now or just wait it out? His attention returned to the phone as the voice of a man was now on the other end.
"This is supervisor Webber, how may I assist you sir?"
"Mr. Webber, my name is Thomas James, I'm with San Francisco homicide. I need to verify some information on a credit card found at a crime scene we are working on."
There was another long pause. James knew neither, the operator or the supervisor believed him.
"What is your badge number Mr. James?"
"Inspector James, and it's 1563, I already told the girl I spoke with this information."
"Please be patient with us, Inspector James. You understand we have an obligation to our cardholder."
"I understand, so just tell me what you need, so you can verify I'm telling you the truth and we can proceed."
"Just one more moment Inspector, we're verifying your information right now."
James rolled his eyes as he listened to the monotone sound of the supervisor's fake voice. Deepening it, trying to make his voice sound authoritative and threatening, Webber continued, "Thank you for your understanding Inspector James. What information do you require?"
"I need an address and telephone number for this credit card."
James rattled off the credit card number and listened to the clicking of computer keys on the other end of the phone.
"The name on the card please."
"Virginia Rappe."
Another pause. James knew the supervisor sensed something.
"What is it Mr. Webber?"
"Are you sure the card says Virginia Rappe?"
"I'm looking right at it," said James.
"Is the last name spelled, R- A- P- P- E?" asked Webber.
"Yeah, looks like the word rape with an extra 'p' in it."
"I think someone is trying to play a joke on you Inspector."
"What do you mean?"
"Virginia Rappe was a silent film actress."
"Was she?"
"Yeah, she was raped by a guy named, Fatty something or other."
James froze in his chair. The hair stood up on his neck. That's why the name seemed familiar to him, James thought to himself.
"Mr. Webber, can you stay on the line with me a moment?"
"Certainly."
"I'm going to put you on speaker phone."
James turned to his computer and typed into the search engine the name, Virginia Rappe. In a moment he saw dozens of links and photos of a sultry young woman. He clicked on a link titled "FATTY ARBUCKLE and the DEATH of VIRGINIA RAPPE." James' heart raced as he scanned the article. According to the article silent film star Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle was blamed for the death of sometime silent film actress Virginia Rappe. The event had occurred at San Francisco's Aleris Hotel in 1921. At a wild party, with heavy drinking, Arbuckle was accused of raping Virginia with a Coke bottle. James shivered at the image in his mind.
"Mr. Webber? Is the address of this cardholder 335 Powell Street?"
"Yes that's right, 335 Powell St. Number 1219, San Francisco, CA."
James quickly scanned the article. There it was in bold black print. Fatty had taken the girl to room 1219.
"Mr. Webber, how many charges are on the card?"
"Just one."
"One? Just how new is this card?"
"Account was opened this month."
"Let me guess, the charge is for a room at The Aleris?" asked James knowingly.
"No, the charge is from The Razor's Edge in Alameda."
Although continuing to read the article online, James managed to turn his attention back to Webber, who was questioning their next step with the card.
"Inspector, what do we do about this card?"
"Keep the account open, Mr. Webber. Notify me at once if the card is used again. I will call you back."
A sick feeling began to come over James as he faced the idea that at this very moment there might be a dead woman waiting for him at The Aleris Hotel. His only hope was she wouldn't be nude with a Coke bottle substituting for a lover. Whatever the answer was, it seemed to be waiting for him in room 1219.