The Case of the Guest Who Stayed Over (The M.O.D. Files Book 1)

by K. W. Callahan

  The dry cleaning being the only clue to indicate that Doddsman had been killed earlier having been taken by the room attendant just before Gerhardt arrived, he would have had no knowledge of its ever being there. Bad luck for him, good luck for us.

  Once inside, Gerhardt replaced the room key in Doddsman’s wallet to make it look as if Doddsman had returned to his room after the meeting and then was killed. Since their supposed meeting was private and with no knowledge of the dry cleaning, Gerhardt would have no reason to believe the alibi about his meeting with Doddsman would be challenged.”

  “But why didn’t the room attendant mention the clothes?” the detective frowned.

  “Do you know how many rooms those ladies clean each day? She probably just forgot. Did you ask her?” I said, an eyebrow raised.

  The detective shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Of course not,” he mumbled. “I didn’t even know about them.”

  “Well then,” I shrugged. “So Gerhardt likely used the back stairwells to make his trips back and forth between his room and Doddsman’s since those areas aren’t surveyed by security cameras.

  Later that morning, when Gerhardt replaced the key, he could be back in his room three floors below and on his phone by 8:18 a.m., less than two minutes later, to bolster his alibi. As you said detective, it’s hard to murder someone, get back to your room and make a phone call in under two minutes. Well, Gerhardt didn’t have to. He’d already killed Doddsman, so the hard part was over. He just had to pop into Doddsman’s room, replace the key, hustle back downstairs and into his own room, pick up his phone, and dial the operator.”

  The detective nodded. “Okay…but why? Why would Gerhardt want to kill Doddsman?” the detective said.

  I shrugged, “How should I know.”

  The detective gestured to me with his hands out in front of him. “I thought you had this all figured out.”

  “I did…I mean…I do. I mean, I know how he did it. Why he did it, well, that’s up to you guys. Doddsman was the company controller, right?”

  The detective nodded.

  “Well, I know the Lanigan’s controller doesn’t have many friends in the hotel. You know, being the budget creator, keeper, and enforcer, there are plenty of reasons for people not to like him. I’d start there.”

  The detective looked at me with those intense eyes. I just smiled back at him, “I mean; I can’t do everything for you guys.”

  The detective gave a little snort.

  “I certainly think you’ve got the ball rolling for us, Haze. You still got the dry cleaning?”

  “It’s in my office,” I nodded.

  “That why you were asking me the other day what we did with Doddsman’s stuff?”

  “I guess,” I said. “I didn’t have it figured out right then and there, but something was gnawing at me. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

  The detective laughed aloud and slapped the desk with his hands. “Ha! Join the club. Now you know how I feel all the time.”

  He stood up and reached a hand out across the desk.

  “You done good,” he smiled as we stood and shook hands. “Maybe you should consider a career change. We could use another good brain around here…” he said looking around him, “…one that isn’t loaded up on donuts and stale coffee yet.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but I think I’ll stick to hotels.”

  “I don’t blame you,” he grinned, giving a quick glance over at Kristen. “I’ll have someone pick up Doddsman’s stuff this afternoon.”

  He gestured to the copied reports I’d brought along. “Mind if I keep these?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” I said, standing. “Keep us updated on how the case against Gerhardt goes, will you?”

  “Sure thing,” he said.

  “And let us know if you need anymore help,” I called back flippantly over my shoulder as we made our way out though the chaos of the detective’s department.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  To: allstaff.lanigan@sharedresorts.com

  Subject: 11/24 M.O.D. Report

  THE LANIGAN HOTEL

  CHICAGO, IL

  MANAGER ON DUTY REPORT

  Friday, November 24th

  HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

  Weather: 33/24 Snow

  Occupancy: 23%

  Arrivals: 89

  Departures: 237

  Event Resume:

  Boardwalk Café - (7 a.m. - 11 a.m.) - “Turkey Day Café Buffet” Event

  Navigator’s Club - (Noon - 1 p.m.) - Special guest “Tom Turkey”

  Lake Ballroom – (7 p.m. – midnight) – All staff Thanksgiving dinner

  Note: Reminder to all staff, the annual employee Thanksgiving dinner will be held from 7 p.m. to midnight in the Lake Ballroom. All non-scheduled staff members are invited to attend. Scheduled employees are invited for dinner and dancing only (no alcohol!). Please check with department managers for approval and attendance times.

  ***

  The slow season was coming on strong.

  While things at a downtown Chicago hotel never slowed down completely, they were typically a bit more restrained during the winter months.

  Detective Marino and I were sitting in my office. He looked relaxed, at peace, and I’m sure he was reveling in the quiet serenity of the space compared to his usual frantic surroundings.

  The detective was off duty for the holiday and had made a stop by with a surprise bottle of whiskey. We sat slouching, relaxed, sipping slowly from our tumblers.

  “So you got him to confess, huh?” I said.

  “Yep,” he nodded, inspecting his glass, turning it slowly in the light. “Once we confronted him with the evidence you managed to churn up, he had trouble explaining himself out of his busted alibi. Pair that with no return ticket for his trip to South America and the evidence was just too much.”

  “How long did he get?”

  “Life without parole.”

  “Good,” I nodded.

  I took a drink, the whiskey warming the cockles of my soul.

  “Did he say why he did it?” I asked.

  “You were on top of it again, professor,” the detective smiled at me through his glass. “Old Gerhardt was embezzling money. That’s why he was so hot to make that flight. Doddsman found out that Gerhardt was cooking the books in the R & D department and funneling money from failed design projects he had supposedly worked on, into holding accounts. He had a bunch of it stashed down in the Caymans and that was his next stop. He was going to head up to Mexico from South America and charter a big yacht out of Acapulco.”

  “Interesting,” I nodded.

  The detective shrugged, “Yeah, I guess.”

  He took another drink and held it a moment before swallowing.

  “Not really interesting enough to kill a man…in my opinion,” he said softly.

  “How much did he have stashed?”

  “A couple mil.”

  I thought about it for a minute and then said, “What’s your number?”

  “Number?” the detective frowned.

  “The number it’d take for you to knock off a co-worker and flee the country.”

  He didn’t hesitate, “Don’t have one. You couldn’t pay me enough to leave Chicago. No other place in the world like it. No other place I’d want to live at least. Plus, what kind of question is that to ask a detective? You really think I’d give you a number?”

  “Thought it was worth a shot,” I laughed, pounding back that last of my whiskey and rising from my chair.

  “What about you,” he asked, grinning.

  “Ha!” I laughed loudly. “You think I’d give my number to you. A snowball’s chance in hell, detective.”

  I set my glass down on my desk.

  “Another murder rolls around in this place and you’ll be pointing the finger at me.”

  The detective smiled. “Nah, I don’t think so. You’re too smart to get caught.”

  “Thanks…I guess,” I said. “You about
ready to head over?”

  Detective Marino finished his drink and stood, setting his glass on top of my mini-fridge.

  “Sure,” he said. “Lead the way.”

  ***

  The Lake Ballroom was jam-packed full of employees. Dance music was pumping from giant speakers on the stage where a dj was mixing tunes. The lights were dimmed, a huge buffet was prepared, and rows of tables were set for dinner. A dance floor had been assembled near the stage, and a few employees were already dancing, though most were mingling, getting drinks from the open bar, and waiting until after dinner, when the combined buzz of alcohol and good food would get them in the mood to shake a leg.

  There was an overall sense of good cheer in the air…or maybe it was just the booze.

  I saw Tom at the end of the buffet line. He was wearing a tall chef’s hat and had what appeared to be a tablecloth-sized apron on. He held an electric knife in one hand and a long fork in the other and was in the process of taking a few hacks at carving the ceremonial first Thanksgiving turkey. I could already see him stopping occasionally to pop big hunks of it into his mouth as staff began to line up for food.

  Since the hotel was slow, almost everyone from a variety of shifts and departments was able to attend tonight’s soiree. The detective and I began to make our way through the crowd and over to the bar nearest us, the one that also appeared to have the shortest line.

  It took us almost ten minutes to get there since we continued to run into various people as we threaded through the throngs of staff members. I kept having to introduce the detective, and I was noticing he was getting some pretty good stares along the way…particularly from, though not limited to, staff members of the female persuasion.

  Such hotel events were known for all kinds of wild hook-ups, romantic interludes, and general hanky-panky between staff, and the booze did little to restrain wandering eyes, hands, and libidos.

  After meeting a couple room attendants, most of whom were decked out in snuggly fitting sequined dresses or super-tight skirts, the detective shouted in my ear over the din of the music and conversation, “Thanks for inviting me to this, Haze.” Then he paused, smiling and said, “I never realized room attendants looked this good under those baggy uniforms.”

  “I know,” I shouted back, “it’s a well kept industry secret.”

  Next up on the introductory list was Marvin from Carlisle’s Whiskey Lounge. He was clutching an orange peel-garnished martini glass containing what I assumed was a cosmopolitan or some version thereof. Knowing Marvin, it was already his third or fourth of the evening.

  “Well, well, well,” he eyed the detective hungrily. “And who are you?”

  “Easy there, Marv,” I said, smiling. “This is Detective Marino.”

  “A detective,” Marvin fluttered, patting a hand to his breast. “My, my. Well, if you need to polish your trade, you’re more than welcome to do some investigatin’ on me a little later tonight.”

  He gave a laugh as he dragged a finger across the detective’s shoulder and was on his way. I just looked at the detective and laughed. The detective did not look flattered, and I’m sure he was thankful none of the boys from the office were there to see the encounter.

  We continued on our way to the bar, running into Bill from property operations next.

  “They let you out of your cell again, Bill?” I laughed.

  “It happens,” he shrugged.

  I introduced him to the detective and explained how Bill was famous, being our resident movie star.

  Sergeants Grakowski and Mitts – our friendly CPD cops and lunchroom regulars – had stopped in to pay a visit, and I assume grab some free eats; but they made a hasty retreat when they saw the detective, claiming they were just there to ensure room capacity limits weren’t being exceeded.

  The detective looked at me after they left, “Yeah, right,” he said sarcastically.

  And then of course, who should we meet standing in line for the bar with two drinks already in hand, but Jay.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, after making introductions.

  “I gotta get my drink on,” he grinned. “It takes a few to get my engine fired up enough to head out on the dance floor. Line’s so long, I get two drinks at a time and then head to the back of the line because I’ll be done with those by the time I get back up to the bar.”

  “Fine reasoning,” the detective nodded.

  “I thought so too,” Jay said, smiling proudly.

  “Heard this guy gave away your arcade games,” the detective said, jabbing a thumb in my direction.

  “Ah,” I moaned, slapping a hand against my forehead, “sore subject, Marino.”

  “Another reason I’m drinking hard tonight,” Jason glared at me. “It’s been almost a month and I’m still trying to kill the pain.”

  “What do you want me to say?” I held my hands up in front of me in defense. “They went to a good cause.”

  “They were my babies!” Jason moaned.

  Thankfully, my attention was drawn away by a hand on my arm.

  It was Linda, the public space attendant who had given me the tour of the Triton Club.

  She was sporting a knee-length red cocktail dress with a slit up one side, and matching red high-heels that showcased legs that still had it after all these years.

  “I hope you’ll be saving a dance for me tonight, Mr. Haze,” she said, putting a hand on my arm and giving me a wink.

  “Certainly, Ms. Linda. It would be my pleasure.”

  “And who is this fine piece of man?” she asked, turning her attention to the detective.

  “Careful there,” I feigned a frown. “You’re making me jealous.”

  “Oh, nothing could come between us, sweetie, you know that.”

  “Well then,” I said, “this is Detective Marino. Detective, this is the young lady I told you about who helped us solve your murder case.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Linda said. “I couldn’t believe it when Robert explained to me that the story I told him about the old Triton Club murder and my brother taking that dead man’s suit helped solve your case.”

  “Many thanks” the detective smiled, shaking Linda’s hand.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me,” Linda smiled, “I must be on my way, but I’ll be seeing you,” she said, giving me another wink and a little wiggle, “out on the dance floor.”

  I bowed as she made her exit.

  “Your woman on the side?” the detective grinned.

  “Thirty years ago, she may have been,” I said, watching her weave her way gracefully through the maze of people.

  The detective and I finally made it up to the bar and got our drinks. As we turned, I spotted a table close by with a few seats still open. Kristen and Tommy were there. The detective and I made our way over and sat down next to them.

  Kristen was all in a tizzy. She’d been sulking around in a funk lately. Her cat had died last week and she’d been in a fit of depression ever since. She and Tommy had gone out a few times since I had ruined their first date, but I didn’t think things had gotten serious…until tonight.

  She grabbed me by my arm as soon as we sat down.

  “You’ll never guess what Tommy did for me,” she said excitedly.

  “Took you for a ride on a bicycle built for two?” I said expectantly.

  My sarcasm was lost on her.

  “He got me a new kitty cat!” she squealed, clapping her hands together tightly.

  “A little Persian one,” she went on. “Oh, you should just see her. She’s soooo cute!”

  I gave Tommy the thumbs up.

  “Maybe I can get some work out of her now,” I shouted across the table to him.

  “That was my plan,” he laughed back.

  I looked back to Kristen, who was decked out in a cocktail dress I’d rather not have to describe in order to avoid immediately falling in love with her.

  “That’s great,” I nodded. “I hope you two will be very happy.
”

  I decided not to clarify as to whether I was talking about Kristen and her new cat or Kristen and Tommy. Instead, I excused the detective and myself to head over and attempt to squeeze into the buffet line to get a little food in us to counteract the liquor.

  Charlie, my homeless buddy, was there talking to Tom. I could only imagine how that conversation was going or what it could even be about. Knowing Tom, it had to be food based.

  As long as occupancy allowed, the non-working staff were allowed rooms in the hotel for the night of the annual Thanksgiving event, so I’d offered Charlie a room in appreciation for his help in trying to waylay Gerhardt’s escape. In the morning, I was planning to interview him to see if we couldn’t find him a position somewhere in the hotel. I wanted to give him a chance to prove himself.

  Tom was just finishing up his short stint as honorary turkey carver when the detective and I arrived. And guess who was taking over? Yep, it was my old pal Habeebee from the cafeteria.

  “Oh man,” I groaned as he merrily accepted the carving knives from Tom.

  “Good turkey,” he chortled. “Good-good turkey. Gobble-gobble. Lots of gobble-gobble for you,” he pointed at me.

  I wasn’t even going to argue. Instead, I just held out my plate, conceding defeat, waiting for him to do his worst. I was not to be disappointed.

  After we were through the deluge of meat, the detective leaned in close. “What’s wrong with that guy?” he stared wide-eyed at the heaping mound of turkey on his plate. “I told him just a slice or two! Didn’t he hear me?”

  I nodded, “He heard you all right, but it doesn’t matter. That’s just Habeebee,” I laughed, shaking my head. “It takes all kinds in the hotel business.”

  But tonight I didn’t care. Even Habeebee couldn’t faze me. I was feeling good. I was with friends, and the detective’s good whiskey was working its brain-dulling, feel-good magic.