Authors: Gary S. Griffin
Tags: #mystery, #detective, #murder, #LA, #models, #investigator, #private, #sex, #drama, #case, #crime, #strippers
Edie paused, thought and said softly, “I never wanted to get between you and your girlfriends⦔
“Oh, Edie. It's different now⦔
“Yes, it is, Stevie.”
“There is no one else.”
She said, “I never expected this,” then, went silent.
I said, “When we get through this, let's have a long, serious talk about our future.”
She asked, “OK, promise?”
“I promise. But, what about your movie?”
“I start filming Tranquility later this summer, but it will be just a few months work.”
I asked, “What about the other series?”
“Oh, Stevie, other parts in other series may come my way. But, it wouldn't matter, you'd come first⦔
Edie stopped short. She realized what she said. “I'm sorry, Stevie. I'm out of line.”
“No, you're not, Edie.”
She apologized, “Please forgive me. I love you so much⦔
She stopped herself again, then continued, “I didn't mean to say that, I mean, not now, we're in the middle of this tragedy. I'm such a jerk. “
“Edie, I'm not upset, and you're not a jerk. I love you and really care about you. It's just⦔
“I know. My mind should be on Andi and finding her killer⦔
She began to cry. She couldn't say anything else. Her tears became uncontrolled. I moved to her side of the booth and held her for a long, long time until she was calmed down. Then, Edie looked up and gave me a kiss.
Finally, I said, “Are you OK?”
“I am because you're here, Stevie.”
I said, “I'm glad you here, too, Edie. I need you.”
“I need you too.
Do you think the time is right for us?”
That simple but excellent question rocked me. I immediately thought of my recurring dream.
I said, “I think our right time is almost here.”
“Yes, I believe that, Stevie. We have something special.”
“Yes, we do.”
She said, “So, it wouldn't be wrong to be with my special man tonight and dream about our future together?”
“No, it wouldn't be wrong.”
She smiled, and then said with a touch of irony, “I'd love to spend tonight with you, but it's that time of the month. That's why I'm such an emotional mess. God, will our timing ever be right?”
I put my finger on her lips. “No, don't say that. I'll stay with you, Edie. I'll hold you like this.”
She kissed me again. I reached for Edie's hand, helped her out of the booth and walked to her room.
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***
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I woke early the next morning, Wednesday, June 9. I was in love.
I walked back to my room and called Cyndie. I briefed her on our findings in Fort Lauderdale and told her, Edie and I were leaving that day.
I opened the curtains in my eleventh floor hotel room, walked out to the balcony and looked at the clear day. Warm, humid air flowed over me.
Then, my cellphone rang. It was the security manager at the Kimmel Center. He wanted to show me something. I told him I was in Florida but would come by his office the next morning.
The enticing blue Atlantic rolled up on the white sands far below me. The lure was too great. I quickly called Edie and we changed into our swimsuits and spent the next hour enjoying the Fort Lauderdale beach. I jumped in the warm 80-degree water and body-surfed the waves. Edie watched me from the shore. Sensational!
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***
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We checked out of the hotel, drove to the airport and turned in the Mustang at the rental agency. Edie wanted me to call her whenever I had news. I kissed her goodbye as she had a later flight to Los Angeles. I headed down the wing to my plane that took me back to Philadelphia. We were contented, for now, and ready to fly away to our future.
I was about to be shocked.
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“I found something unusual, Garrett.”
“What's that?”
Jim Mason got up and went out to the Kimmel Center's security control center. I saw him pull open a filing cabinet drawer and remove a folder. After speaking to one of his officers, he returned to his office.
“Garrett, a problem was reported by one of our officers in early February. It was the camera in the hallway outside that second floor lounge. It appears the camera was repaired on the following Monday, Feb. 16. That means we don't have video from Feb. 14. But, the strange part is that the work was done by the reporting officer, Jack Hostel. Hold on a minute.”
Mason picked up his phone and called a woman at the outside security desk and asked her to come in to his office. He introduced me to Suzanne Jackson. She was a medium-built African American woman in her fifties and looked confident in her navy blue uniform. Mason instructed her, “Tell Garrett about this security officer named Jack Hostel.”
Jackson replied, “Jack Hostel was assigned to another building in town, but moonlighted here when we needed extra people. But, he quit working for Quaker City about two months ago.”
Mason held up the maintenance ticket and said, “It says here that Hostel found a problem in the front hallway's camera on the second floor Friday night, Feb. 13, during a musical and did the repair work later.”
I asked, “Why did one of your security officers do the repairs?”
While Mason hesitated, Jackson answered, “He had some talent in that area. Hostel liked electronics. We let him do the stuff when he said the repair was no big deal. It was a way for us to save money. Hostel did the repairs when he was on the clock and didn't charge us anything except for the supplies he needed.”
It all seemed convenient, very convenient. I then asked Suzanne Jackson, “Where was Jack Hostel's regular assignment?”
Jackson replied, “I don't know.”
Mason spoke up, “I can trace that. Thanks Suzanne.”
Jackson went back to the front desk.
Mason added, “Garrett, I didn't know this guy, Hostel. See, we're not
Kimmel Center
employees. The center contracts with our company, Quaker City, to provide security here. It may sound strange, but Quaker City is a fairly big company, the largest security firm in the city, with over 150 security guards. My guess is that Hostel worked here occasionally, especially when we had a big event. On those full house nights, we can have as many as thirty officers here. We pull in guys from all around town. An orchestra concert is a big deal as the city's elite turn out and we would pull people in for that.”
I commented, “It seems strange to use a guard for a camera repair.”
Then, Mason replied, revealing the real reason for his co-operation; he was cutting corners to get things done. “We sometimes use our guys for moving furniture or for repairs as it saves money. See, money's tight in the budget and we look for savings. I'm not surprised that Suzanne or one of my people used this Hostel. I encourage it. This electronic stuff breaks down all the time and my guess is Hostel could do it for half the cost of a true professional.”
I asked Mason, “Where was Hostel's regular place of work?”
“Garrett, I'm not sure. See, why don't you contact our personnel office and ask them? Here, I'll write a quick note for you and you give this to Trudy Johnson. She's working today; I spoke to her before you arrived. I'll call Trude right now, and ask her to help you.”
I sat patiently as Mason wrote the quick letter, which he handed me. Then, he made the call and told a bad joke about Trude's body as he asked for her assistance.
I thanked him for all his help, and said my goodbyes to Mason and Suzanne Jackson in the outer office.
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I found Quaker City's offices in South Philly. They were a block east of Broad Street and three blocks south of Snyder Avenue. It had an off-the-street parking lot. The office was a two-storied, flat-roofed, light blue stucco building that had five windows upstairs and four down, with a door in the middle. When I walked in, I immediately saw a lobby with a busy receptionist behind a desk.
The middle-aged lady had a sign that indicated she was Joyce Romano. I said hello to Joyce and told her I was interested in meeting Trudy Johnson. I gave her my name and she said have a seat. Joyce got up from her desk and walked somewhere in back. Two minutes later, I had just started reading a Sports Illustrated, when Joyce returned with Trudy Johnson. Ms. Johnson was a medium-built African American woman in her thirties. She had a pleasant demeanor, and was wearing the company uniform of navy blue slacks and blue cotton shirt.
We introduced ourselves and Ms. Johnson said she expected me. I handed Mason's letter to Ms. Johnson, which she read immediately. Whatever Mason wrote the result was surprising; full co-operation from Ms. Johnson.
Ms. Johnson's face showed interest in my case and she asked me to follow her. On the walk to her office, she insisted that I call her Trudy and asked why I was interested in Jack Hostel. I told her that Hostel may know something about the blackmailing of my client, Cyndie Myst. That comment perked her curiosity. I continued my story by relating that Ms. Myst wanted me to talk to Hostel about an incident at the
Kimmel Center
in February. Mr. Hostel was working that night and may be familiar with the incident.
Once we were seated in her office, Trudy told me that Hostel quit the company suddenly over two months ago. His last day of work had been Saturday, March 20, 2004.
“Did he leave a forwarding address?”
Ms. Johnson replied, “Let me check his personnel file. I'll be back in a minute.”
Five minutes later, Trudy returned with a brown-colored folder. She paged through it and said, “No he didn't, but his resume and personnel history sheet are here.”
Trudy scanned further through the file and then, continued talking. “I can't let you look at this, but I like to read out loud.” She winked at me and said, “Did you bring a notebook?”
I answered, “Yes, I did.”
She started reading out loud, “He was born in Boulder, Colorado, and grew up in Fort Collins, Colorado.” My heart rate increased and I felt an adrenaline rush.
Ms. Johnson read on, “It says that his mother still lives in Fort Collins at 53 Rodeo Drive. Her phone number is here too.” She recited the ten digits. Later, I checked my notes and discovered this number matched the second call Andi made from her Fort Collins hotel room.
“Do you have Hostel's local address?”
Trudy responded, “Yes, here it is. He lived at 2307 Oregon Avenue, here in South Philly.”
“Is there any next of kin or emergency contact listed, with a local address or phone number?”
Trudy continued looking at the file. “Yes, he shows a sister, named Melissa Hostel, with an address on 1839 Addison Street, here in Philadelphia.” She read the address and phone number.
I asked, “How long did he work at Quaker City?”
Trudy answered, “Less than three years.”
“What was his regular assignment? Jim Mason told me it wasn't the
Kimmel Center
.”
“Let's see.” Trudy closed the brown personnel file and picked up another notebook and scanned through the pages. “His last place of work was the Grayson Modeling Agency on Rittenhouse Square.”
It was another surprise, but I wasn't completely shocked. “Trudy, what did Jack Hostel look like?”
Ms. Johnson thought a minute, then, answered, “He was a big, muscular blonde guy, over six feet, with curly hair. I thought he was very handsome.”
It was all fitting together. I asked, “What was his personality and interests?”
“I'm not completely sure. He was outgoing and enjoyed the outdoors. I didn't know him well, but he was called 'Cowboy' by his friends.”
I thought I had some good information here and thanked Ms. Johnson. I asked if it would be okay to call her later if I thought of any questions, and she said sure.
I sat in my car and decided to check out the two Philadelphia addresses of Jack Hostel and his sister, Melissa Hostel. But, first I called both Jack and Melissa's home phone numbers. Both numbers were disconnected.
Since I was closest to Oregon Avenue, I drove to Jack's apartment first. The address was a garden-style apartment building with twelve apartments spread over three floors, with a center entrance and four apartments per floor, two facing front and two facing the parking lot and yard in back.
I parked on the street and walked to the second floor and knocked on his apartment door. Thirty seconds passed and I was about to leave, when a young white man in his twenties opened it. He was about six feet tall, fairly muscular and had curly hair and a cool demeanor. He asked who I was and I told him, and I asked if Jack Hostel lived here.
He answered, “He did until mid-March and then he moved out suddenly leaving me with money for his share of the rent for April and May.”
I asked his name and he said Phil. I asked Phil if I could come in for a few minutes. He looked me up and down and asked me if I was a cop. I told him no, I was a private eye and showed him my license and gave him my business card. I quickly said that my client was a woman who worked in the same building as Jack.
He said, “Okay, come in for a minute. Did Jack do something dumb like knock up your client?”
I raised my eyebrows at that statement and said, “No, but her life is screwed up.”
Phil answered, “I'm not surprised. That guy was a chick magnet but didn't really care very much about them, and didn't treat them real well.”
I asked Phil, “Where did Jack go?”
“Home, Colorado, I think. He wouldn't say. He left a lot of his stuff here and said, 'Keep it, sell it or toss it. I don't care.' A lot of it was crap, but he did leave a nice TV and Stereo - see.”
Phil pointed to the living room and I noticed it was Sony equipment mostly, including a 36-inch color TV.
“Did he say why he was leaving?”
“No, he only said something like, 'I'm heading west, Philly.' That's what he always called me, because we're in Philadelphia, but I never liked that nickname.”
“How did you meet Jack?”
“At work, I'm a guard at Quaker City. We worked in the PNC Bank building together, at 16
th
and Market for a year then he transferred to the modeling agency. Of course, that's his luck, in a building with great looking girls, while I'm seeing the retirees and poor people come in all day long cashing their monthly checks. Jack sure made out good there. Always was hitting on the chicks and having more luck than you'd expect. He told me that at least one in ten girls will go to bed with you on the first date, all you need to do is ask.”
“How long did you guys room together?”
“Only nine months. That's what pisses me off. He wanted to room and then he bolts leaving me with the lease. Thank God, I got another buddy moving in June 15, or I'd be really screwed.”
“Did he every mention a woman named Andi Grayson?”
“Not sure. What did she do and what does she look like?”
“She's 37, but gorgeous. She's a former model herself, tall, well-built and blonde. Also, she was the owner's wife.”
“No, I don't think so. Jack was into younger girls.”
“Who did he date at the end of his time in Philadelphia?”
“A cute, younger, shorter girl who was very tight with Jack. Her name was Julie, no, that's not it, something like that.”
Taking a shot in the dark, I asked, “Did you ever meet Jack's sister?”
“Just once, but I didn't get to know her.”
“Was Melissa her name?”
He thought a second, “Yeah that sounds right.”
“What did Melissa look like?”
“In her thirties, good body, strawberry blonde, but not real friendly towards me.”
“Did Melissa live in town?”
“Yeah, Jack told me it was just north of South Street, west of Broad, in a nice town house.”
“Did Jack like electronics and cameras and that kind of stuff?”
“Big time, I always asked him why he didn't do that for a living, and he said, 'Why should I, I have too much fun being a guard.'”
I thanked Phil and asked him if I could call him back if I had any other questions. He said sure, but gave me his cellphone as he had the apartment phone shut off after Jack left.
I decided to go visit a town home on Addison Street.
As I drove in the Rittenhouse Square district, I found a whole variety of wonderful homes. The area included twenty-plus-story apartments and condo buildings, huge townhouses, and more modest row homes. But, all were well maintained and classy.
One of the joys of working in center city Philadelphia is this area. It's within walking distance and makes for a healthy trip of fresh air. Depending on your energy, your available time, and the weather, you can enjoy a loop through the square and up and down the pleasant streets during lunch hour. Many young women live, work and play in this area, which increases the pleasure of these walks. When in town, I try to make a daily visit.
I found Addison Street, but it was too hard to find the exact house in my car, so I parked in a metered spot, dropped my money in, and started out on foot.
Addison is one of those streets in old Philadelphia that shifts its path at every intersection with a major street. After walking up and down this changing road for a few blocks, I found 1839 Addison. It was a three-storey, white brick row home with dark blue shutters. It was the third house in from the intersection with Nineteenth Street. The street was narrow, lined with leafy trees, each with lit, white Christmas lights in the bare branches. Addison had a warm, neighborly feel to it.
The next thing I noticed was a “For Sale” sign inside the storm door with the name and phone number of Melissa's realtor. I looked in the front door's windows and noticed that her living and dining room furniture were in place. I also saw a stack of twenty-some boxes. I guessed they were kitchen and dining room supplies.
The door was locked and no one was home.
Hmm⦠it seemed like both members of the Hostel family left Philly.
I decided to walk the few blocks to Rittenhouse Square and found a quiet bench with a great view of my blue office tower in center city. I called the realtor, Sally Moran, to inquire about the house. Sally answered on the third ring and said, “It's your lucky day, I was on my way out and you just got me.”
I told Sally Moran that I was interested in the house on Addison. Ms. Moran informed me that it would be at least two more weeks before the house was going on the market, as painting was in-progress. Then, it would show by appointment only. The asking price was $455,000 for immediate occupancy.
I told Sally a white lie that the owner, Melissa Hostel, was a friend of a friend, and I wondered where she moved. Ms. Moran said that was confidential. I told her I was just by the house and noticed that Melissa's furniture was still inside.
Sally said, “Yes, that's correct. It's moving out in about two or three weeks as Melissa is settling in her new home at the end of the month. Do you want to make an appointment to tour the house?”
I answered, “Yes, when can I?”
She said, “Let's see, how about Wednesday, June 30, at 10 a.m.?”
“Okay, I'll see you then.” That was a lot later then I wanted to get inside, but I wrote the visit's date and time in my pocket calendar.
I hung up and slowly walked back to my car. This lead sure didn't produce anything yet.
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***
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I drove to the Liberty Place parking garage and had a take-out Chinese lunch in the food court. I arrived at my office around 2 p.m. I checked in with my admin, Lauren, and my boss, John. Jimmie Spiare was out on assignment. Everything was cool. It's a nice place to work - I do my job, get results and no one looks over my shoulder. Yet, the other three are there to help when I need it.