THE BROOKSES WERE HAVING breakfast out on their patio when their front doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Eloise said and started to get up.
Not expecting a visitor, and very cautious at this point, Brooks was even quicker to his feet. He put his hand on Eloise’s shoulder. “I think it’s for me.” He went to the door.
“Yes?” Brooks said through the door.
“Anniversary gift from the hotel management,” the anonymous voice said.
“Just leave it at the door, please. Right now’s not convenient. I’ll retrieve it shortly.”
“It’ll spoil in the heat, Judge Brooks,” the voice said.
“Not to worry. I promise not to let it spoil. What’s your name? I’ll leave something for you at the desk.”
“Uh, the name’s Lucia. But that’s not necessary.”
“It will be my pleasure. Have a nice day,” Brooks insisted.
If Lucia was still on the other side of the door, there wasn’t any answer.
Brooks double-checked the deadbolt and quickly returned to the table.
“When are you planning to tell me what’s going on, Cyrus? I haven’t seen you move that fast in at least a decade. Come to think of it, more like two. Your power walks certainly never look like that.”
Brooks took Eloise by the hand and quickly led her inside from the patio, where they had been having breakfast. He returned and locked the patio door. “I don’t want to worry you, dear. Give me a moment to call Frank. I’ll then explain everything.”
DAMN. THAT BROOKS IS nobody’s fool. One might say he doesn’t “brook” any nonsense. Haha. That’s okay. Time for Plan B.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Day Three, 8:20 a.m.
THE HOTEL MANAGER SHOWED the new guests, Mr. and Mrs. David Jones and Mr. and Mrs. Winston Ellsworth, to their four-bedroom suite on the seventh floor of the Hotel Marisol, a secured concierge floor. Access required a special elevator pass key. They were told their luggage and clothing would be along shortly. In the meanwhile, they were invited to freshen up and relax for a few minutes on the ample terrace that surrounded the suite and to soak up the incredible views, and the chilled champagne, assorted cheeses, crackers, and fruit, compliments of the hotel management.
Lotello thought back about how the four of them came to find themselves in their opulent new suite. Less than five minutes after Brooks had telephoned Lotello about the suspicious knock on his door, Lotello and Klein had knocked on that same door. “Judge, it’s me, Frank. Leah’s here with me, too.”
Brooks unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door, allowing Lotello and Klein to enter the room. Lotello observed Eloise sitting calmly on the edge of the bed, calmer than he would have expected under the circumstances. Eloise stood, Klein came over to her, and the two women hugged. Lotello explained to Brooks that he and Klein had already inspected the outside entrance to the room, and found no so-called anniversary gift from the hotel management.
Lotello discussed his intentions with the Brookses. For the most part, he met with no opposition. Ten minutes later, Lotello appeared at the registration desk of the hotel. He asked if there was a two-bedroom suite available on an upper floor. He was told, regrettably, that no such accommodations were available. He asked to speak with the hotel manager. That was all it took.
“Nice room,” Brooks said to Lotello as the four of them sat in their new quarters. Not a two-bedroom suite as Lotello had requested, but the rather extraordinary four-bedroom suite the hotel generally kept in reserve and truly was all that presently was available.
“Yeah,” Lotello answered. “I remember someone telling me years ago that hotels always have rooms in reserve, even when they say they’re all booked up. In this case, this opulent four-bedroom suite to which we have been moved.”
“Same thing with all upper crust restaurants,” Brooks commented, not to be outdone, not even by his good friend Lotello. “Fine hotels and restaurants have to be able to accommodate their celebrity clients who often show up without notice. Who knows, by the way, about our new arrangements?”
“The four of us, the hotel manager, and hotel security. Not even anyone at TITO knows. We’re gonna keep it that way. We can’t be too careful. The hotel registration card shows the room is occupied by Mr. and Mrs. David Jones and Mr. and Mrs. Winston Ellsworth. Of Jones Ellsworth Ltd, the hotel’s U.K. public relations firm. You and Eloise are the Joneses. FYI, the room’s being comped.”
“Why is that, if we’re vacating our original rooms, and even if these lavish new accommodations obviously cost considerably more than our original rooms?” Brooks asked.
“Not vacated,” Lotello promptly corrected Brooks. “Hotel security personnel are now watching those rooms. They will continue to do so until we leave the island. By all outward appearances, you and Eloise and Leah and I are still occupying our respective original rooms. While some of our own clothing will be brought up here to these new quarters, most of it will be left in our original rooms. In order to keep up appearances and to maximize our flexibility and planning.”
Lotello realized that the Brookses might not have fully grasped the import of what he had just said. He went over it again and expounded. “You need to maintain your presence at the conference. To a lesser extent, the same is true for Eloise, Leah, and me, at least in terms of our presence at the hotel. This is why most of our clothing will be left behind in our original rooms. Only some of it will be brought up here. New clothing, and luggage, will also be brought to this suite so that we will have ample wardrobes here as well as in our original rooms.”
“What new clothing and luggage?” Brooks asked. “I don’t understand.”
“As soon as the hotel shops open, I will take Eloise and Leah shopping. Eloise will shop for you as well. All of these purchases will be signed to our new suite in the names of Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Ellsworth and will also be paid for by the hotel.”
“And the hotel is underwriting all of this why?” Brooks asked Lotello.
“Because of all of the business TITO brings to the hotel every year. And no doubt also because the hotel feels some sense of responsibility for an unidentified person running around the hotel on the loose and possibly threatening our safety.”
“I see. Well, I trust we won’t overindulge in these purchases,” Brooks said.
“Of course not. And, by the way, to further assure our safety, until our departure, hotel security has posted a 24/7 guard at the elevator entrance to this concierge seventh floor in order to supplement the elevator pass key identification system already required to gain access to the floor. No one gets on the floor who has no business being here. Period.”
“Seems like you have thought of everything, Detective. Very good. I guess.”
“I hope so. One more thing, Judge. I took the liberty of collecting up all of our original smartphones. They are back in our original rooms. We have been given four new smartphones, also courtesy of the hotel. They keep a supply of them on hand. I guess for those celebrity clients who suddenly arrive, stay for a couple of nights, but in this day and age somehow still manage to arrive without their phones. These smartphones are also configured in the name of the Joneses and the Ellsworths. All charges for these phones will also be directed to and absorbed by the hotel.”
“Smartphones?” Brooks repeated. He seemed confused.
“What you call cell phones,” Lotello said. “We techies call them smartphones because, compared to traditional landline phones that are just for talking, these smartphones are just that—smart. Very smart. And before you ask, landline phones are those old fashioned things we all grew up with that are still around but that the younger generations barely see, let alone use.”
“Is all of this really necessary?” Brooks asked again. “It really does seem a bit elaborate—and extravagant.”
“I admit that much of this was my idea. But the hotel manager and security readily agreed. Our perp seems to know way too much about what’s going on here at the retreat. I�
�m concerned that he or she may somehow be monitoring what people are saying, and doing. Including us. Probably through one or more of our smartphones.
“Our techs at the D.C. police department tell me that today’s smartphone manufacturers install spyware features on all of the phones they make and sell to the public. For their disgusting marketing purposes. I’m also told that savvy geeks know how to access this spyware. This technology not only captures calls and texts made on the phone, but conversations that take place in the vicinity of the phones as well.”
“That’s beyond my comprehension and astonishing,” Brooks said. “Eloise and I now depend on and use our cell phones every day. It is beyond disgusting that people are listening to and observing us. Bad enough that our culprit may be doing this here, but far worse that this is happening back home in our everyday lives.”
“Worse still,” Lotello replied, “we have to ask why Congress is allowing this to go on. Actually, we know the answer, it’s the lobbyists and money that these manufacturers throw at our representatives. The two of us are obviously not going to clean out our swamp politics at the moment, but if this is happening here at the hotel, it could be giving our perp a heads-up on whatever we’re saying and doing. And planning. And whatever TITO’s officers are saying and doing. And planning. And wherever we each are at any moment in time. I plan to get Lewis away from her cell phone this morning and talk to her about possibly replacing TITO’s management’s cell phones too.”
Lotello watched Brooks’s face scrunch up. “You don’t agree?”
“I think it does makes sense to change out our cell phones,” Brooks said. “We need to be able to communicate privately, and I don’t think our culprit will be all that focused on us anyway. Especially if we do a little bit of faux communicating on our original cell phones while using the new alias cell phones for the real stuff. However, I see it differently with the TITO phones.”
“How so?” Lotello asked.
“Number one, I don’t want to scare our culprit off. To think we discovered what he’s doing. Number two, in the spy novels I read, disinformation always makes a great weapon.”
“Good thinking, Judge, but we need to be sure we’re on the same page. Or phones,” Lotello snickered. “First of all, as I said, I need to make sure that TITO personnel are aware of this likelihood, and that they need to know to occasionally not have their cell phones in their possession when they want to speak privately. Secondly, you and I need to make sure that our original phones remain in our original rooms so that we are only overheard when we are sending out disinformation. Our privacy would be totally defeated even if we were speaking on our alias new smartphones if our original smartphones were nevertheless in our possession, or nearby, at the same time.”
“Okay, I get it. Making sure I’m not rubbing my belly when I’m patting my head. Kind of like years ago when I was in college and thought I might have it in me to play competitive tennis, and my coach suggested that I learn how to play left-handed rather than right-handed to give me an edge. Like Rafa Nadal.”
“Did it work?”
“Not at all.”
“Why not?”
“The underlying premise was unsound.”
“Why? It definitely works for Nadal.”
“Because I was a lousy tennis player. It didn’t matter which hand I used. And I only got worse when I tried playing with my left hand.”
“Well, I think your idea was a good one and will work with our cell phones,” Lotello said.
“I’m cautiously optimistic and think so too,” Brooks agreed. “As long as we don’t forget to make sure all four of us are fully tuned into this. My philosophy professor told me a chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Day Three, 9:00 a.m.
ELOISE WANDERED ABOUT THEIR new suite. She should have been thrilled. She and Cyrus were on a beautiful Mediterranean island holiday celebrating their fifty-fifth wedding anniversary. On top of that, as if she was the winner on some TV quiz show, she was now on a no-holds-barred free shopping spree. Picking out a brand new wardrobe. Well, at least a limited one. Not to mention a free set of luggage in which to cart around her windfall.
Moreover, she and Cyrus were in the company of their good friends, Frank and Leah. And to make matters all the more perfect, Cyrus was actually accommodating her desire that he explore the possibility of segueing from his demanding and all too physically and emotionally perilous legal career to a more genteel calling as a novelist. Writing about such dangerous matters rather than experiencing them.
But Eloise was not thrilled. She believed such intrigue belonged in a TV spy movie, not in real life. And she didn’t feel right being a freeloader. She didn’t need a new wardrobe. Neither did Cyrus. If we did, we’d buy our own, thank you very much. And since when, all of a sudden, are Cyrus and I fashionistas? We don’t wear the kind of clothes that are featured in the high-end gift shops here at Hotel Marisol.
Cyrus encouraged Eloise to lighten up, go with the flow.
She wasn’t buying it. “That’s precisely the problem,” she said. “I’m not the one buying it.”
To make matters worse, Cyrus insisted on resuming his conference activities. He had explained that was the only vantage point from which he could meaningfully assist Lotello in trying to find the killer. “Killer? I’ve had enough killers! That’s why we traveled half way around the world. Exposing you to writing is one thing. Exposing you to more killers is another.”
She had agreed to the business about all the cell phones, once it was explained to her. There was good reason for that. And Cyrus had assured her that he would be perfectly safe surrounded by the large crowds.
She remembered what she had thought what now seemed so long ago. What could possibly go wrong at a writers’ conference?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Day Three, 10:40 a.m.
LOTELLO HAD USHERED ELOISE and Leah through their shopping adventure and safely shepherded them back to their new quarters. After assuring Eloise once more about the sanctity of their new arrangements, he had now caught up with Lewis in person.
“How are you coming with the rejection lists from Lasko’s, Llewelyn’s, and Simpson’s offices?” Lotello asked.
“Mixed bag. The good news is that modern technology makes possible what I wasn’t originally sure we could accomplish. With the time change between here and New York, and working on this end all night long, I think we have the results you wanted.
“As a prominent literary agent, Lasko receives on average 300 query letters per week. Eliminating duplicates, and the few to whom she offered representation, her list of rejects for the last three years came out to 9,500 names.”
“Query letters?”
“Sorry, that’s the industry name for author requests to literary agents seeking representation for a particular manuscript.”
“Got it.”
“Lasko’s office uses a database software that allows their list of query submissions to be presented in ascending order, descending order, or alphabetical order. In the case of alphabetical ordering, the presentation can be last name, first name, or the other way around. We requested alphabetical, last name first, so that we could most easily check the Lasko list against our own registration list. Of the 9,500 Lasko rejects over the past three years, it turns out that 200 of those rejects are registered here at TJ this year.”
“That’s still way too many possible candidates for me to vet, Lisa.”
“Hold on. There’s more. Information, that is, not candidates.” Lewis was obviously wearing thin, but she was hanging in there. “Llewellyn’s and Simpson’s offices use the same database software as Lasko’s office. It’s a standard software used in the literary industry. However, Llewellyn and Simpson, in their publishing and PR lines of work, receive significantly fewer requests from authors than literary agents. Llewellyn’s list of rejects over the past three years was only fifty-seven. Simpson’s list of rejects o
ver the past three years was 312.
“Once again, we pared these lists down to those rejects who are here at TJ this year. For Llewellyn’s list, that was nine. For Simpson’s list, that was forty-three.
“We then made up our own list of everyone here at TJ this year who made all three rejection lists. The number of registrants here rejected by Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson comes to five.”
“Now we’re cooking! That’s terrific. One way or another, I can manage to investigate each of those five today. If they all prove clean, then I’ll have to double back to the three individual pared down lists, although those larger numbers will be a lot tougher. Hopefully, we’ll hit pay dirt on the three-way rejection list.”
“That’s pretty much what I expected you’d say. I’m going to turn my staff loose so they can get some sleep.”
“What about you?”
“Not a chance. Too much stuff I have to do the rest of the day. I’ll sleep well tonight. So long as you get somewhere on all of this today.”
Lotello didn’t need the hint. Lewis’s remark was right out of Brooks’s playbook manual. He knew it was now up to him. Lewis gave him copies of each pared down list as well as the three-way list.
“One other question,” Lotello asked. “How do I find the physical whereabouts of the five Thriller Jubilee registrants on the three-way list?”
“No way to know. Participants are registered by days but not by classes. They could be in any of the classes hour by hour. Or in no classes from time to time if they just choose to wander the halls and network. Or take a nap.”
Lotello wondered if the perp was listening in. He had updated Lewis on their smartphone suspicions and strategies, but he had intentionally directed her to have her cell phone on hand. He wanted the perp to be listening in, perhaps getting anxious.
CLEVER LITTLE SNOTS. BUT not clever enough.
LOTELLO TOOK THE LISTS back to their new quarters where he would be close to Eloise and Leah while he studied the lists and figured out his plan of attack. At that point, he would have to venture out from the suite and leave the ladies to themselves. At least they had their new cell phones to stay in contact, and the hotel security staff stationed at the concierge floor elevators.
Brooks-Lotello Collection Page 80
