“If you really are in the security business, you could answer that question yourself.”
“Inside job would be my assumption.”
“Good guess.”
“In a hotel, that could be any number of people. Any clue why? Man have something against women?”
Seggren’s brow tightens. “Never thought of why.” He leans back and stares at the trees again. “Some folks like killing is all. Some folks are just plain crazy.” He chuckles under his breath and sips his whiskey. “Problem is, you don’t know who’s sane and who’s nuts. Now do you?” He laughs loud then coughs and spits blood beside him. When he looks back at me, his glazed eyes shine.
“Truth is, little lady, the sane and the crazy look exactly alike.”
Seggren smiles wide. His breathing is heavy and his pupils dilated. He takes another sip from his cup as he watches me. I get the feeling that he’s enjoying his notorious reputation. That doesn’t explain his agitation, unless he’s just trying to scare me. More likely, it’s due to his pain and the alcohol. He’s back to staring at the trees and I try to step into his mind, but get lost in his stupor.
“Did you like working at the hotel?”
His head jerks. I jump and he smiles. “Decent job. I liked digging in the garden. Liked working outside and alone.” His voice is dreamy and this time, I don’t want to get in his mind. He licks his lips.
I place my hand over my solar plexus when my stomach quivers. “Did you have any security concerns when you worked there?”
“Like someone hurting me? Hell no.”
“I was referring to the hotel’s security measures. Things like unlocked doors, break-ins, thefts, missing room keys.”
“Nope. Wasn’t privy to anything like those. I tended to the garden. That’s all there was to my job.”
“So how did you come to find out who the murderer was?”
Seggren’s jaw tightens as does the hand that’s holding his cup. He glares at me then drains the whiskey in one long swallow.
“I told you not to ask about that. You didn’t much listen, now did you? Women like you think they can get away with anything. A pretty face, a nice tight body. I bet you get what you want anytime you want it.”
The man is slurring his words, but that’s not stopping him from refilling his cup.
“If that were true, I’d know who the murderer was and how he did it. I want to know what I need to do to prevent it from happening again. Do you know how the murders could have been prevented? Do you know what would have stopped the man who did it?”
I expect my words to infuriate him, but they seem to calm him. He leans back and looks around like he’s really trying to come up with some answers.
“Here’s all you need to know. Normal, everyday folks kill for lots of reasons. Love, hate, greed, revenge. That’s just human nature. Then there are those who kill for the thrill of it.”
Seggren’s voice turns soft and gentle. “The thrill of watching the fear, of watching the life leave the body, the smell of the blood, the taste of it even.”
The old man’s mind is back in the trees and far beyond them. When he looks at me, he laughs. I guess at the horror my face isn’t hiding.
“You can put a fortress around that hotel. You can put cameras everywhere, armed guards even, but you’ll never stop a predator. Those things just add to the excitement. Those things just raise the bar a little higher. That’s all part of the thrill.”
“That theory seems to suggest the hotel might as well leave all its doors unlocked.”
He thinks this is very funny and starts coughing again. I wait until he catches his breath.
“Thank you for your time Mr. Seggren.” I stand up and look down at him. “I hope you feel better.”
I’m half way back to the jeep when he yells at me to hold up. I feel like bugs are crawling all over me, and they’re all coming from the man I’m sure killed three young women in their beds fifteen years ago. The man who I’m sure would be thrilled to do it again.
“Yeah?” I don’t walk back.
“You came all this way. You should have something for your time.”
He stops talking, but I’m still not moving. “What’s that?”
“I’ll give you two words for your trouble. Crawl space.”
∞
When I’m on the road and far enough away not to feel Seggren’s creep factor, I stop to check directions to the police station. I need to get the records release for Boshears to sign.
As bad as it was meeting Seggren, he gave me information that may help security measures at the hotel. I’ve got to figure out how it will help me on my job too. I asked him if the crawl space was under the hotel or above the ceiling. He’d said above. There’s a fifty-fifty chance that what he told me is even true. Why tell me where DNA evidence might be found? Because he can’t be retried for the crime seems why.
I park in front of the station and go to the counter then I’m directed to the records window. The clerk is friendly and provides the release even after she tells me I could have gotten it online. For some reason, I didn’t think to look. I did consider that getting them would take some time, so I ask for the turnaround for the records on the Herman Hotel murders that occurred in 2002.
She gives me a double look then checks her computer and shakes her head. “Still an open case,” she says. “You’ll need a court order to see those records.”
“All of them?”
“Well, the court transcript on the trial is a public record. You can see what records were entered into evidence, but you can’t review any of them. The transcript will take a few weeks to get.”
I start to walk away then turn back. “Who’s the detective on the case?”
She stares at her monitor again. “That would be Detective Benjamin Radford.” She writes his phone number on a card and wishes me good luck. I think I’m going to need it.
When I get back to the jeep, I call Radford and get his voice message. I give him my bogus security work story and disconnect. Now I’ve lied to two cops in this town.
I’m hoping Radford is curious enough about why I’m calling to meet with me. I seriously doubt this open case is also an active one, but that doesn’t mean the detective won’t be interested in solving it, or perhaps, helping prevent another murder or two. I figure as long as Butch Seggren is alive, that’s a real possibility.
I stop for fast food and head back to the hotel. I have a crawl space to find. The clerk at the front desk smiles and waves me over. He hands me a file folder with my copies and five key cards.
“Is Ms. Boshears in?” I ask.
“No sorry, she left for an appointment. She didn’t say when she would return. Shall I leave her a message for you?”
I decline his offer and go to the elevator. How am I going to find access to a crawl space without checking all the floors? I’m considering going back and asking to speak with Aubrey when she walks up beside me.
Her arms are crossed and her eyes are blazing. “I don’t appreciate what you said to Ms. Boshears. You demeaned my position here just because you didn’t get what you wanted right away.”
“What did I say to Ms. Boshears?” The elevator is taking its time.
“You know very well that you complained about not getting your copies. My so called attitude has everything to do with how busy I am running this hotel.”
“I thought Ellen Boshears ran the hotel. And if you’re so busy, how is it that you have time to stand here and complain about your job?”
Aubrey’s face is scarlet red. “You may have fooled my employer, but I assure you that you haven’t fooled me one bit. I suggest that you be very careful on the thirteenth floor since you’re up there all by yourself.”
Chapter Twenty One
§
The elevator arrives as Aubrey stomps away. I didn’t even have time to ask her about the crawl space.
“Did she just threaten us?” I ask Mojo. I swear he rolls his eyes. I’m hardly alone on th
e thirteenth floor. I have a wolfdog and a rat doll, and the three of us aren’t afraid of a snot-nosed hotel assistant. The thought of Rita on her revenge mission makes my stomach twist. I warn Mojo not to say a word to her about Aubrey.
I may not be afraid of the woman, but I am concerned about her. Her disposition took a sharp dive long before I complained to Boshears about her. There are no traces of her professional and even meek personality that I saw initially. I’m sure that working with Boshears is no picnic, but that doesn’t explain what her problem is with me. I’m generally so likeable.
When I get to the room, I spread the records on the bed and check my notes as I eat lunch. Based on Aubrey’s performance, I’m glad I made notes of all the records I wanted copied. Somehow, I doubt everything I requested is in front of me. I did get the copy of the January 9, 2002, article on Seggren’s arrest that Boshears had flashed in my face. It doesn’t say anything I didn’t already know. The news articles on the trial provided nothing about what was happening in the courtroom.
After sorting the records and checking my notes, I see that Tollison’s last file on the murders that he titled The End is missing. I don’t care about the file since it was just the article about the hotel’s closure that I found online. I do care why Aubrey didn’t provide it, other than her just wanting to be spiteful.
I keep checking my notes. The registers around the date of the murders are also missing. This would have been so much easier if Boshears had just let me take the original records. Now I’m going to have to go back down to the basement. I’m not happy about spending more time on this task. I also can’t trust that Aubrey returned everything to the filing cabinet. What is that girl trying to hide?
Just when I get the idea to search for her online, my phone rings. It’s a blocked number. I answer with more apprehension than the call warrants.
“Yeah, this is Detective Ben Radford. You left me a message about the Herman Hotel. What can I do for you?”
I give Radford the spiel about my security work again. He cuts me off and wants to know what company I work for. I tell him I work for myself. He sounds impatient then tells me it’s an open but inactive case that he hasn’t reviewed in some time.
“I’d like to review anything you can share on the hotel’s security at the time of the murders.”
“I can’t let you see any of the records. Like I said, it’s an open case.”
“This is a public safety matter. The hotel’s current owner has a legal right to know what investigators concluded about the breach.”
I have no idea if Boshears has any legal rights at all on the subject, but it sounds reasonable, and Radford is hesitating. I’m not going to give him more time to think about how much I’m probably wrong.
“Something could be in those files that may prevent another incident. Something like a crawl space that isn’t secured. There’s a reopening planned for next week. There will be lots of people and lots of publicity. I don’t have enough time to investigate the entire building. I need the cooperation of the Taw Ridge Police Department.”
Radford’s still quiet. I think I can hear him shuffling papers. “All right,” he says. “Come down to the station at one o’clock tomorrow.” His voice went from a smooth Southern drawl to a slow Tennessee twang and back in those few words. He’s trying too hard not to sound either.
“Thanks,” I say. I get the feeling he didn’t believe a word I said and that our meeting tomorrow will be short.
As soon as I disconnect, I google obituary, Taw Ridge, and July, 2002. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. Two people in Taw Ridge died that month: an older man and a woman. I try again. This time searching in Oklahoma on the long shot that Onah’s distant relatives were one of the many natives who were relocated years ago.
The long shot pays off. There are a few short and sad words about a woman I’m ninety-nine percent sure died in this hotel.
Janet Onah, beloved daughter, teacher, and friend, has returned to her heavenly father. Funeral services will be held on July 14, 2002, at 12:00 Noon at Tabernacle Evangelical Presbyterian Church, on Victoria Road in Warren, Oklahoma. Pastor Harold Baker officiating.
Janet was born on August 1, 1973, and had worked at Warren Elementary School since 1997. She is survived by her parents, Calvin and Peg Onah. Cremation has taken place.
Cremation? Native Americans take burial ceremonies very seriously. A few southwestern tribes do cremations but since the ceremonies are meant to prepare the dead for the afterlife, it’s not all that common.
I wonder why her parents made the decision they did. I’m assuming they are the ones who did since most twenty six year olds haven’t yet considered their options. I’ll never get to ask them. It doesn’t take long to find that both Calvin and Peg Onah are in their own graves.
Perhaps the butchering was what persuaded the Onahs to opt for cremation. I make a note to ask Detective Radford how grisly the murders were. I assumed the news reporters came up with the term butcher. I don’t know how I’m going to broach the subject, but I’m going to because the dead don’t appreciate seeing what carnage is left of their bodies.
After more time is wasted trying to find the other two women’s obituaries, I give up and opt for a nap. I plan on staying up late tonight and seeing if I can convince Janet Onah to clue me in on what’s going on here.
My phone wakes me at five after six. It’s Boshears. I’m groggy, but still remember her mandated six o’clock meeting. I’d hoped she’d forgotten about it or decided that talking to me isn’t all that entertaining.
When I answer, she doesn’t sound like she’s looking to be entertained. Turns out that Detective Radford has been doing a little detective work on me. He contacted her sometime after we spoke to verify that I’m working for the hotel. She wishes I would have asked her permission before calling him.
I start to say that she wasn’t around this morning, but I’m not awake enough to argue. She wants to argue, but she wants to do it in her office.
It’s almost six thirty when I knock on Boshears’ door. She looks angry. I’m not happy either. I plan on a late night and could have slept another hour. She waits until I’m sitting across from her and gets tired of staring at me.
“I’ve decided to go through with the publicity on the haunting. My attorney has approved it, and my goal is that the community will find it… amusing. I need your cooperation.”
I cringe at the thought.
“I don’t like your having lied to the police. I’m going to have my attorney call him—
“Wait until after I talk to him. We have a meeting tomorrow at one. All I want are the other two women’s names and what he will tell me about the murders, which I don’t think will be much of anything. If your attorney tells him I’m here about a publicity stunt, he’ll never talk to me.”
Boshears is rubbing her temple again. It’s annoying.
“Fine, but please stop telling people that you’re doing security work. Everyone is going to find out why you’re here when you sign the certificate. This whole thing is going to blow up in my face if you keep misrepresenting yourself.”
She gets up and walks to her window. I didn’t notice before because of the curtain, but it looks out at the fountain. I start to ask her about the old man, but she’s barking orders before I get a chance.
“You have exactly four days to finish your investigation.” She shutters when saying the last word. “Over seventy invitations went out to the most important people in the community for the reopening. All but a few have confirmed they will be here. There will also be a luncheon that day for the press and some secondary people.”
She’s still looking out the window. There’s nothing to see. “You will make yourself available for the luncheon and do an interview for the press where you will sign the certificate that says the hotel is not haunted. It will be lighthearted and entertaining. Please dress appropriately, and do your very best to make the guests feel welcome. Afterwards, you will be
free to leave.”
“What if the hotel is still haunted?”
She spins around and her eyes are bulging. “It isn’t haunted. It never has been haunted. Period. And it’s not an option Ms. Raven. Not for me and I promise, not for you.”
Chapter Twenty Two
§
“Did she just threaten me?” I’m talking to myself since no one is around to answer. Before I left her office, Boshears wanted to know what my next plans were.
I told her I had to spend the evening in the basement seeing as Aubrey didn’t copy all the records. Then I told her I was going to try to make contact with Janet Onah. She shooed her hand at me when I told her the woman was the one who died in the room where I’m staying. Her concern was touching.
I also told her about my morning meeting with Butch Seggren. She’d forgotten about it. I told her I suspected he really was the murderer, and that he’d likely used a crawl space to enter and exit the thirteenth floor.
She claimed she knew nothing about a crawl space and told me to drop the matter. After I told her it could be an activity hot spot and filled with DNA evidence, she told me not to repeat a word to anyone about it. She said that was just the type of thing the press would love to exploit. They probably would, but I have every intention of asking Radford about it.
Boshears almost seemed interested in Seggren, then she told me she hoped I didn’t invite him to the reopening. I’d laughed until I realized she wasn’t kidding. What was stranger was her lack of apprehension about the man. Granted his age and poor health make him less of a worry, but I know most people would at least be a little unnerved knowing how close he still lives.
Just before I left her office, I’d asked her about the old man at the fountain. I’d noticed when she was looking out the window that her aura was all over the place: a little unease, a little compassion, and a little fear. The combination would have been confusing if I had not also felt these things about him. I doubt Boshears would have an ounce of compassion if she had encountered the old man on her property though. She confirmed that by telling me to call the police if I saw him again.
The Taw Ridge Haunting Page 11
