Authors: Eve Carter
The elevator ride up to the twelfth floor at the Greymore Hotel took forever. I had managed to call for an ambulance and it was on its way, but just in case there was a slim chance that he might still be alive I had to check. Maybe he wasn’t dead yet. Maybe I could bring him back.
Shit
. What was I thinking, I didn’t know CPR any more than the blond hooker, but I was filled with urgency. I had to do something to help or at least try. I gripped my cell phone tightly and shoved both hands in the pockets of my work provided navy-blue blazer and blew out a breath. I mentally prepared myself for what I was about to face in the forlorn room on the twelfth floor. I had never seen a dead person before and the thought of it alone made my stomach queasy. I repeatedly pumped the black elevator button marked with a white number twelve, as if that would make the elevator go faster.
It finally came to a halt on the twelfth floor and I bolted out. The door to Room 1215 was standing wide open. The hooker had been in such a hurry to get out of there, she hadn’t even bothered to shut it. I slowed my pace as I stepped over the threshold and peered into the room. There he was on the bed, lying on his stomach, butt naked except for his black socks. He didn’t look so bad for a dead guy. More like he was sleeping, but I didn’t hear any snoring or heavy breathing. I cocked my head to the side and stared at his pale bare back as I took a few steps closer. I was checking to see if it was rising and falling or for any movement at all. Nothing. My eyes trailed down his back to his pasty white butt, and I quickly averted my eyes, focusing on his upper body area. Shocks of black wiry hair bristled out of the back of his head in a typical male baldness pattern on the crown. Hair that had once been neatly combed before his “party in the bed” as the hooker had called it, was now astray. I avoided looking at his face. I didn’t want to see his eyes. I was already creeped out enough.
Why couldn’t you have had your party on Jerry’s shift, old man?
Pulling myself together, I picked up a sheet that had fallen on the floor and threw it over him. Although I knew, from the cop shows I had watched, not to touch anything at a crime scene, I felt it was the decent thing to do. I should check for a pulse. I gasped at the thought of touching a dead body.
I can do this, god dammit.
I closed my eyes and prepared to reach for his neck with my two fingers to check for a pulse. I sucked in a breath and took a step closer when the toe of my black work shoes hit something on the floor just under the edge of the bed up near the night stand. I was so intent on checking him, I hardly even noticed. I wanted to find out if he was dead before I lost my nerve. I poked around his neck, feeling for a pulse but I felt nothing but stillness. Complete stillness. He was dead alright.
There was nothing more I could do. Sorry old guy. My thoughts turned to getting the heck out of this depressing room. I gave one last glance at the back of his balding head. His lifeless arm draped over the edge of the bed, dangling nearly to the floor. My eyes followed the length of it as it hung down where it was almost touching a dark object under the bed. My curiosity was piqued. That must be what I hit with my toe as I leaned over the bed to check for a pulse. I peered under the bed to find a briefcase protruding from under the overhang of the decorative dust ruffle. Why would he carry a briefcase when he came with a hooker in the middle of the night? I kicked at it with my foot, sliding it out to get a better look at it. I bent down on one knee and tried to open it. It was locked.
This was crazy. I should just get out of here and leave this mess for the police. I scanned the small room and spotted his wrinkled gray suit jacket thrown over the back of a chair along with his other clothes. Acting on instinct, I went over to the suit jacket and patted the pockets. There was a keychain. I pulled it out and among a bunch of larger keys, I picked out a small one about the size of a briefcase key. Curiosity burned a hole in my mind. It almost seemed like the man was reaching for it, even in the agony of death. What could be in the briefcase that was so important he would reach for it in his death?
I moved with great stealth, surprising myself at how steady my hands were now.
Bingo
. The key matched the lock. I gasped as the lid sprung open, and I touched my fingertips to my mouth to stop any words from coming out.
Oh my fucking god
. Bundles of hundred dollar bills filled the case to the brim. This was two ‘firsts’ in one night. The first time seeing a dead body and now the first time seeing this much money. I slapped the case shut and locked it, staring blankly into the room. Thoughts rushed through my mind like wildfire. This much money could change my life. Hell, this much money could change anyone’s life. And Grammy’s too. For the last five years, Grandma had suffered from failing kidneys, but couldn’t afford the medication and the dialysis needed to make her life bearable. This could pay for the expensive tests needed to pinpoint exactly how to best treat her and maybe even make her able to walk again.
I heard the sirens outside closing in and without hesitation, I jumped to my feet to beat it out of Room 1215 of the Greymore Hotel. I took a quick step toward the door then paused. I had to get down to the front desk to let in the police and paramedics. On pure impulse, I turned back, grabbed the briefcase and exited the room, locking the door behind me.
My heart was beating out of my chest as I rode down the elevator to get to the back room and hide the briefcase before the paramedics would get here. The stainless steel elevator doors opened with a whoosh into the lobby. Alternating blue and red lights illuminated the area, pulsing in through the glass door and windows. I could see the movement of the EMT’s as they opened the back of the ambulance and removed a gurney.
Fuck, they’re already here.
My pulse was now pounding at about a hundred and fifty beats per minute. I was sure that the sound of my heart could be heard echoing off the lobby walls. I sprinted into the ladies restroom next to the elevator. Lucky for me, the plumbing system at the old Greymore Hotel was on the fritz again. One of the stalls was locked with an 'Out of Order' sign on the door. I entered the adjacent stall to the one that was locked. Standing on the seat of the toilet, I carefully hoisted the briefcase over the adjoining partition as far as my arms could reach and lowered it down into the locked stall. I aimed for the closed toilet seat and dropped the suitcase, praying that it would land on the seat. Not the best hiding place, but hopefully no one would enter before I could store the forbidden fruit someplace else. I exited the stall, stopped in front of the mirror and smoothed a lock of dark displaced hair. I put on my best poker face, steadied my riveting heartbeat, then flung the door open and strode out, ready to answer all the questions I was sure the police would be asking me.
“Paramedics. Anybody here?” A husky voice called from the lobby.
Two men were entering the building, and the ambulance was parked just outside the door. They entered with an air of confidence and directness that led me to believe they had been here several times before. Both of them were dressed in the typical blue uniform that the emergency rescue people wore in Manhattan. My head snapped to the right as I caught myself checking out the taller man. He looked like he was straight out of a men’s fashion magazine. I glanced at the floor. What was wrong with me? Now was not the time to flirt with cute paramedics. Could they tell that I was hiding something? I cleared my voice. “Yes, the victim’s body…er…the man is on the twelfth floor. Right this way.” I should just keep my answers short and vague. No need to imply there was a crime happening here. As we were about to step into the elevator, two police officers came through the glass front door. “What happened here?” one of them asked.
“A guest had a heart attack. I believe he is dead,” I replied with a straight face.
“How do you know it was a heart attack?” The cop glared at me suspiciously.
“I…I just assumed.” My pulse quickened.
“Humph.” He grunted, and followed us to the elevator while the other cop stayed in the lobby
We rode up the elevator in silence. With my eyes glued to the floor, I felt heat rising in my face. I was sure it was due to guilt and not the handsome paramedic standing next to me but if anyone noticed, I would confess being in such close proximity to a handsome man in uniform as being the cause of my red cheeks. I’m sure that had happened to him before.
The elevator bell dinged. The red glowing number twelve illuminated above the steel doors. Nervousness skittered up and down my spine like a fast snake just slithered its way through my body. The feeling made me want to jump out of my skin, but I had to remain calm and try not to think about what I had done right now. I just wanted to get this over with and get the dead man, and the police, out of here. It may be a cheap hotel, but it was also my place of employment, and the thought of working in a place where someone died made me feel uncomfortable, almost as if there were something dark and sinister filling the air in the hotel like second-hand smoke. The same air I had to breathe every night while I worked the front desk.
I used my master key to open the door to Room 1215. The EMTs set to work immediately, talking among themselves and going through the routine they were trained to do. One of the paramedics took out his stethoscope and checked to see if he could find a heartbeat or a pulse. After I held the door open for all of them as they filed into the room, I hung back near the plastic potted palm near the door. The police officer made a quick visual inspection of the man on the bed then positioned himself opposite me to ask questions. He didn’t appear all that interested in the man on the bed, seemingly happy with my assessment that the guy was dead. The paramedics set down their red medical bags and put on latex gloves to examine the body.
“So who are you?” the police officer asked me as he pulled out a notepad.
“I’m the front desk clerk.”
“Your name, miss?”
“Dani…I mean, Daniella Carrington. I work the night shift.”
“Was he like that when you found him?” He waved his notebook in the direction of the dead man. “Did you cover him with the sheet?”
“Well…yes. I threw the sheet over him, he was naked…it seemed an undignified way to die…I just….”
“Look, Miss Carrington, next time don’t touch anything, leave that for the police, okay?”
I lowered my gaze to the floor and bobbed my head.
“You work here all alone?” He scribbled hectically on his little pad.
“Yes, there is not that much to do in the middle of the night. Not many people checking in and out.”
The officer nodded. “But he did?”
“Yes, he came earlier tonight.”
“I need to see a copy of the identification you took when he checked in.”
I suddenly fell sick to my stomach. “I didn’t get any identification. I asked him but he refused. He paid in cash.”
The cop stared at me with annoyance. “You know it’s the law to acquire identification of any guests in a hotel?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” I replied as my gaze fell to the floor.
“He’s dead alright,” the paramedic interrupted. He removed his stethoscope from his ears and stood up. “Nothing more we can do here, except take him away.”
“Any clue as to the cause of death?” the cop asked.
“An autopsy would tell for sure, but a heart attack is very likely.” The other paramedic rolled out the stretcher he had brought, and they carefully placed the dead man on it.
“Okay, I guess that will do for now,” the officer said and pocketed his notepad. “Oh, by the way, was anyone with him?” He glanced at his watch and then in the direction of the door, like he was getting bored with the questioning and just wanted to get this over with, like the loss of a man’s life was interrupting his usual three A.M. nap.