Kirkland met James at the main entrance of The Aleris around four o'clock that afternoon. The street was unusually quiet. For the most part James always found this area of the city to be bustling, no matter what time it was. As they proceeded up the steps, James stepped on a dead bird. The weight of his foot crushed down on it. To James it felt like squashing a hard-boiled egg. Looking down to see what he had done, James stepped on a second bird, then a third.
"What the hell?" quizzed James as he and Kirkland both found themselves stepping on dead birds everywhere.
"Tom look," said Kirkland as he pointed to the building across the street where there were hundreds of birds perched and watching them.
"That's very Alfred Hitchcock, isn't it?" stated James.
"It sure is, what's even more disturbing is, why are all the dead birds over here and the live ones on that side of the street? What do they know that we don't?"
Cautiously, James and Kirkland made their way to go inside, they were both puzzled to find the doors locked.
"Locked? Hotels aren't supposed to be locked," said Kirkland as he peered through the glass doors trying to get a look inside.
"See anything, Mike?"
"I see several people sitting throughout the lobby."
"Can I help you gentlemen?" asked a young man wearing a suit with the hotel logo on his name badge. Kirkland and James looked at each other and then at the young man. "As a matter a fact you can Mr. Lee, assistant manager of The Aleris Hotel," said James holding up his badge.
"What's going on?"
"Well we were going to ask you that very same question, first off why is your front door locked? And second can you let us in?"
Mr. Lee looked confused. He tried the door, but couldn't budge it. "This door isn't supposed to be locked. Not ever."
"We didn't think so. But it's good to know it can be, because we are here to lock it down."
"What? Why?" asked Mr. Lee.
"I'll have that discussion with your manager. Why don't you unlock the door, let us in, and get your manager on the phone," said Kirkland.
"I can't let you in. I don't even have a set of keys to this door, because it's never been locked as far as I know."
"Okay, get your manager on the phone and tell him, wait, better yet get your manager on the phone and let him speak to Detective Kirkland," ordered James as he watched the young man take out his cell phone and place the call. Moments later he handed the phone to Kirkland. "What's going on Inspector James?" Mr. Lee asked while they waited for the call to connect.
"We have reason to believe you have a terrorist staying here. Hey can't you rap on the door and get someone from the lobby to come over here and just open it up?" asked James.
"I'll try," he said as he knocked hard on the glass. The man sitting closest to the doors just ignored him. "Come on asshole, turn around. Open up! Wait that's Mr. Foster. HEY Mr. Foster open up!" he shouted as he banged hard on the glass.
"Take it easy Lee, your boss is already on his way down here. He told me he'd be here in less than two minuets," stated Kirkland handing Lee back his cell phone. "Got your boxing gloves on?" asked Kirkland.
"We got a problem?" inquired James.
"Oh yeah, the manager is shitting little green biscuits. Says we don't have the right to be here without a warrant."
"Does he know why we're here?"
"No, I told him exactly what you said to say. That we have reason to believe a known terrorist is booked into the hotel."
"Thanks Mike, once we get inside we can see if there's a dead girl up on the twelfth floor."
Moments later a black BMW pulled up into the valet parking and James could tell this would be the hotel manager approaching him with all the vigor of a schoolyard bully. He was tall and charismatic in appearance. James did a double take seeing that man in the Armani suit walking directly at him reminded him of the actor Alan Rickman. Not Harry Potter, Alan Rickman, but Die Hard, Alan Rickman. I hope his name isn't Hans, mused James.
"Pardon me, officer I'd like to talk to you," called the hotel manager in a deep resonate voice that carried an underlying threatening tone. James raised his badge. "Inspector Thomas James."
"I don't give a shit if you're Inspector fucking Gadget. I'd like you to explain to me what exactly you're doing here."
"Didn't Detective Kirkland tell you why we are here?"
"He told me. So what? You don't have any proof and no warrant, so until you have one I'd like you to stay the fuck away from my hotel," ordered the manager.
"And what is your name?" asked James.
"It's Richard Grantham," he said coldly.
James and Grantham stared silently at one another for a moment, each sizing up the other. James wanted to put the arrogant prick in his place, but knew ultimately he would get father by using diplomacy. James decided to bluff first and see where the cards fell.
"Well Dick, we have a small problem here. You're obstructing justice. Now I know you are concerned for the guests of your hotel. But what are the owners of this hotel and every media outlet in the country going to say, when a bomb goes off killing everyone within five hundred feet of the blast? And you didn't do a thing about it." James could see the manager was way too egotistical to care.
"You storm into my hotel without a phone call or any kind of warning of what you claim is going on. Stopping my guests from leaving. Now you have people scared and panicked. I know my rights. Hamilton Bransford is a personal friend of mine, and a frequent guest here. I suggest you tread carefully Inspector James," said Grantham in a conceited tone.
James smirked as Grantham tried to actually scare him by using the mayor's name.
"Actually we haven't been inside yet, to scare or prevent anyone from going. Your hotel is locked."
Kirkland smirked as he watched Grantham grab the doors and try to move them. He then reached into his pocket and retrieved a set of keys. "I'll thank you both to stay outside until you've got a warrant," growled Grantham.
James had come to the end of his rope with Richard Grantham. As Kirkland walked over to report everything was sealed, James took his handcuffs off his belt.
"Detective Kirkland, arrest Mr. Grantham for obstruction of justice."
Kirkland took the handcuffs and grabbed one of the manager's wrists.
"Mr. Grantham, you have the right to remain silent."
Grantham jerked away. "Wait, wait a minute!"
"Mr. Grantham, are you resisting arrest?" asked James.
Grantham looked worried for the first time. His face became flushed with fear.
"No I'm not resisting, I'm trying to understand what the hell you are doing here!"
"We told you, and you decided to be rude and belligerent. So now you're going downtown."
"I'm not fucking going anywhere!"
Kirkland grabbed Grantham's other wrist. "You have the right to an attorney. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
Panicked Grantham shouted. "What do you want?"
"I want you to knock off all this fucking bravado and take us to Room 1219!"
Grantham fell silent. His face became a blank slate, but his eyes revealed to James he knew exactly what he was asking for.
"You want the..." Grantham couldn't finish the statement.
"Yeah Dick, 'The Fatty Arbuckle room.' I want you to take me to the very room where he used a Coke bottle on Virginia Rappe."
James and Kirkland could see Grantham's behavior changed in an instant.
"Why do you want to go in there?"
"We have our reasons."
"But those rooms are not available to guests in the hotel."
"Rooms?" questioned James.
"Yes, rooms. Arbuckle booked three rooms that weekend. 1219, 1220 and 1221."
"Which one was Virginia in?"
"All of them. But I still don't understand why you want to go in there. What does any of that have to do with a terrorist in my hotel?" questioned Grantham. James looked at Kirkland who in turn gave him a look that gestured to let Grantham in on the real reason for their presence. James could see it was time to drop the bluff and give diplomacy a try now.
"Detective Kirkland and I are working on a homicide case, where a credit card was found in a victims purse. The name of the credit card holder is Virginia Rappe and the address on the card is this hotel, room 1219," stated James.
Grantham looked shocked, yet his face revealed he wasn't telling James and Kirkland everything he knew.
"So, if these rooms are not available to your hotel guests, what are you doing with them Mr. Grantham?" asked James.
"After what happened in 1921, the hotel owners had the rooms cleared, cleaned and locked."
"You're telling me, no one has been inside these rooms since 1921?"
"No, after the original hotel owners died. The new owners decided enough time had passed and they re-opened the rooms until 1950."
"What happened in 1950?" asked James.
"Vaudeville performer, Al Jolson died in room 1220."
Chills ran down both James and Kirkland's arms. "So you closed the rooms for good in 1950?" asked Kirkland.
"The owners decided they didn't want to take any more chances or bad press. No one would admit that there was something wrong with those rooms. In 1966 the rooms were turned into the maintenance man's living quarters. Since they are suites, they're big enough for someone to live in full time. We figured this was a chance to keep a man always on the premises at all hours. Also it was another way of deterring every sicko from wanting to book them on the Labor Day anniversary. Do you know how many freaks want to fuck in the Arbuckle suite?"
James reached behind Grantham and removed the handcuffs. He could see the manager relax.
"We need your help and cooperation, Mr. Grantham."
"Very well, ask me anything you'd like to know."
"Who is living in room 1219?"
"Our maintenance man, Mr. Skylar."
Now it was James and Kirkland's turn to appear shocked. James cocked his head to the side.
"Excuse me? Did you say Mr. Skylar? Do you mean Richard Skylar?"
Grantham nodded quickly in agreement.
"Yes. Why is there a problem? Mr. Skylar isn't in any kind of trouble is he?"
"Why would you ask that?" questioned James.
"Well I mean the man has been with us since 1966."
"Mr. Skylar has been with the hotel for over 43 years?"
"Yes, I came to The Aleris as manager in 1986 and originally I planned to replace him. However, when I realized he already had been with the hotel for 20 years and carried an impeccable work record, I thought, why bother?"
"And since 1966, The Aleris has not had another incident in the Arbuckle suites?" inquired James.
"Not one. We always thought since Mr. Skylar was such a sweet old guy, he changed the karma of the room, he was good luck for the hotel. So we kept him on, even after he started collecting social security."
James and Kirkland both grimaced in disgust. "Only in America, huh Mike?" said James as he suddenly remembered Skylar's drivers license gave a Hollywood address.
"Mr. Grantham, any reason to think, Mr. Skylar was leaving the hotel? Moving away I mean?"
Grantham shook his head. "No, Mr. Skylar never gave us any indication he was planning on leaving."
"Has he got any family, in southern California that you know of?"
"No, no family at all. He said his wife died during the war. It's why he left Europe and came to the United States. No kids, I mean it's like the guy was totally alone," said Grantham.
James noticed Grantham was about to speak again but stopped himself.
"Something else you want to add?" asked James.
"Why are you asking all these questions about Mr. Skylar?"
"I think you should show us to room 1219. Then we can answer all your questions."
Grantham could tell something was very wrong. He called his assistant manager over and informed him to comply with police and explain to the guests this will be only a minor inconvenience. He then placed the keys inside the lock and opened the door. The four men stepped inside the lobby door. Grantham turned around and relocked the doors. Lee crossed the lobby calling to Mr. Foster.
"Hey Mr. Foster, didn't you hear me calling to you?" James, Kirkland and Grantham stepped into the main lobby and looked around. "What the hell is this?" asked Grantham as they noticed no one in the lobby had moved. "Mr. Foster?" called Lee. He turned to the others, "Hey, I think something is wrong with Mr. Foster."
"I think you're right Lee, I think he's dead, along with everyone else in the room" said Grantham. James could see Grantham was right. No one was moving. Men and women were frozen dead in their armchairs. Cups of coffee were still lukewarm as if time had just stopped.
"Guys, don't take another step. Something is seriously wrong here. Everyone cover your mouths and back out slowly. Let's get back out on the street. Mike get on the phone and call Hazmat, the bomb squad and get as many officers over here as fast as you can and take Lee with you. God, I wonder if anyone else is alive in here. Dick, how many rooms are in this hotel?"
"The Aleris has 629 guest rooms, 20 additional luxury suites," said Grantham as he relocked the lobby doors.
"Any vacancies?" asked James.
"We're a five star hotel in an international city, what do you think?"
"I think we're about to face some serious shit."
"You still want to go upstairs?" asked Grantham.
"Yeah, I do. Once Hazmat gives us the all clear. Something tells me whatever is going on in room 1219, it's going to be connected to all of this."
The four men methodically retraced their steps back to the street. Once outside, Grantham made certain the lobby doors were secure. Leaning against them he turned to James. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?" Shaking his head no, James added "But after today nothing would surprise me."
Within the hour the city police had blocked off every street leading to The Aleris Hotel. Crowds of people had been gathering with several activists trying to break through the police barriers. James laughed to himself. Every time there is some kind of media event in this city, the liberal hardliners think it's their personal mission to be in the middle of it all. James loved arresting people who thought the rules didn't apply to them. Hazmat had arrived and they were putting on their nuclear suits while some jerk shouted in the background, "The people have a right to know!"
Standing at the lobby doors, James and Grantham waited for Lee and Kirkland to return. Looking at his watch, James became more and more annoyed that it was taking so long. He could feel valuable clues slipping away from him.
Finally, James could see Kirkland and Lee leading the Hazmat crew to the hotel's main entrance.
"Tom, this is Steve Vermillion. He's the crew leader for Hazmat. Steve, this is my partner, Inspector Thomas James." The two men shook hands quickly and Steve asked who had the keys. Grantham reached into his pocket and retrieved them.
"Here you go."
"Thanks, we will let you know as soon as we can what we find," said Steve.
"Wait a second, hold it, Steve. You can't go in there without us. This entire hotel is a crime scene. You gotta take us with you," commanded James.
"You're kidding, right?"
"No, I'm not. I can't take the chance that you or your men could accidentally compromise my scene here. We not just dealing with one homicide, everyone in this lobby is a murder victim."
Steve sighed and radioed for someone to bring up some more gas masks. "But you're taking full responsibility for everyone who's not Hazmat cleared right?" Steve stated. James nodded in agreement as another member of the Hazmat crew arrived with respirators for James, Kirkland and Grantham.
"Lee, I want you to wait here at the lobby doors, handle any questions that Steve's back-up crew have about the hotel. You're also going to be our outside liaison," instructed James. He then turned to the rest of the men and spoke, "Are we ready?"
"We're ready. Okay Mr. Grantham, I want you to follow Jake, my second in command here. He and I are going inside first. You, Mike and Tom will be right behind us. Since you know the layout of the hotel, you can guide us where we need to go and Tom can keep the integrity of his crime scene. Understood?" asked Steve.
Grantham nodded nervously acknowledging he understood the Hazmat leader's instructions.
"Okay, let's go," said Steve as he unlocked the lobby doors and the five men stepped inside. Steve and Jake slowly swept their Geiger counters from left to right, checking for any signs of radiation. Jake read the Geiger counter and gave Steve a puzzled look. Moving deeper into the lobby, he switched the counter off and removed a small handheld RAE gas detector. Sweeping it from side to side and up and down he stopped in the middle of the lobby.
"Jake, are you getting the same readings I'm getting?"
"Same thing, Steve."
"What is it? What do you guys have?" asked James.
Steve turned to James and pulled his respirator off. "Nothing Tom. The air is clean."
"You're sure?"
"You think I would take this thing off if I wasn't sure? Here look for yourself," said Steve as he showed James the clear reading from his portable RAE unit. James looked over at Jake and watched him pull off his mask as he nodded his agreement with Steve. James slowly removed his own gas mask, as did Kirkland and Grantham.
"I don't know what's scarier. The fact I'm standing in the middle of a room full of dead people. Or the fact for the first time in my life, I'm afraid to breath," said James.
"Either way Tom, it doesn't change the fact, something in this building killed these people," said Steve.
So it has to be something else," said Kirkland.
"You're right, Mike. So Steve, any chance we're gonna need to put these things back on again?"
"No, if there was any type of danger. Our instruments would have picked up even the smallest particle. But we'll stay with you guys just the same."
James sighed and turned to Grantham. "Okay Dick, you're on, take us to room 1219." Grantham gave a look of hopelessness. "I was afraid you were going to say that. And I do wish you would stop calling me Dick," Grantham said as he slowly made his way to the main desk. Behind the counter, two of his staff were lying dead on the floor. Their eyes wide open and their hands clutched to their throats.
"Oh my God. What the hell happened here?" asked Grantham as he moved to his office door. "Hey one of you guys want to cover me before I go in here alone?"
James joined Grantham and watched him open up his office. Stepping inside it was quiet. Grantham quickly moved over to and opened an old world safe, retrieving a set of skeleton keys. Lying on the floor next to the safe door was a dead rat.
"Hey Mike, contact Lee and tell him so far everything is clear and then meet us at the elevators," said James.
"This day isn't going to get any better. I can tell," lamented Grantham.
James and Grantham stepped from the office and joined Jake and Steve. "We checked the hallways and gift shops this floor," reported Jake.
"You find anything?" asked James.
"Just more dead bodies," said Steve.
"Jesus, okay, let's get over to the elevator."
The four men made their way to the main elevators where Kirkland met them.
"Lee's in communication with the fire chief, and I told him to watch for our evidence crew. He's going to radio us as soon as Bobby and Jessalee get here. So what are we doing? We going up?" asked Kirkland. James turned to Grantham.
"What about it, Richard?"
Grantham held the keys up as if to offer them to James, "I don't mind waiting with Lee," he said as he pushed the button to call the elevator. "I mean you guys see this kind of shit everyday. I don't like dead bodies," said the manager.
"Yeah, it's just another day on the job for Mike and I here," said James as the elevator arrived filled with several dead bodies inside piled on top of each other.
"Son of a bitch!" shouted Grantham as he backed away. Jake and Steve moved in quickly. Steve ran his RAE unit over the elevator car. "It's clear."
"I guess this means we're taking the stairs," lamented James as he gestured to Grantham to lead them on.
The five men made their way to the twelfth floor. Stepping around a sea of dead bodies along the way. Bellhops, old women in their jewels clutching the walls or door handles of their rooms in an attempt to get away from whatever it was that took their lives from them. All of their eyes were wide open and their mouths were twisted into a shocked final gasp. "God, they're everywhere," said Grantham.
"What the hell do you think happened, Tom?" asked Kirkland.
"I haven't a clue Mike, but it reminds me of that case in the seventies remember? The American Legion meeting at the Bellevue Hotel where practically everyone there was killed? It was blamed on the air conditioning system."
"Whatever this is, it isn't air conditioning," said Steve firmly.
Finally arriving on the twelfth floor, James could hear a piano being played. The men looked at one another.
"Is that someone singing?" asked Kirkland.
James nodded and looked at Grantham who seemed to be as bewildered as everyone else. As they made their way around the corner, large black double doors with gold numbers came into view. Looming ominously at the end of the hallway, James felt as if any moment the doors would fly open and a decomposed carcass of Virgina Rappe would stumble into the hallway. Her eyes gone, cockroaches falling from her knotted twisted remaining hair, the famous Coke bottle still where Fatty left it. The thoughts left him nervous and feeling like he was a pawn in some surreal game of chess. The music seemed to grow louder. Arriving at room 1219, James placed his ear next to the door.
"What is it, Tom?" asked Kirkland.
"I can't be sure, but I think it's The Beatles."
Grantham placed one of the skeleton keys inside the lock. The old tumblers clicked and unlocked.
"Step back Mr. Grantham, in fact everyone get back," whispered James, as he removed his gun from the holster and gently pushed the door open. The music filtered out into the hallway. James and Kirkland, guns drawn stepped inside room 1219. The music flowed from around the corner of the next room of the suite. James felt a ring of confidence, as it was indeed Beatles music. He recognized the song immediately from The White Album. It was Sexy Sadie.
James stepped around the corner and let his eyes adjust to the low light. From where he stood a king sized bed appeared in front of him as Kirkland raised his flashlight to guide their steps. "Mr. Grantham, wait at the door please," said James.
Grantham nervously stepped back into the hallway, standing between Jake and Steve. Eerily the music continued to flow out into the hall.
Kirkland aimed the beam of his light towards the bed. The flash of his light reflected on the wall mirror and blinded him for a moment.
James found the light switch to the room and clicked it. The room came to life as both Kirkland and James slowly approached the bed. Both slowly lowered their guns. The two seasoned detectives tried to comprehend what they saw.
Lying center of the bed was the naked body of a young female. With, as James had feared, a Coke bottle placed just where Fatty would have wanted it.
The music caught their attention as the record began to skip. "Sexy Sadie, you'll get yours yet."