An Apple for Zoe: Book One ~ The Forsaken

'Is the last name spelled, R- A- P- P- E?' asked Webber.

'Yeah, looks like the word rape with an extra 'p' in it.'

'I think someone is trying to play a joke on you Inspector.'

'What do you mean?'

'Virginia Rappe was a silent film actress.'

'Was she?'

'Yeah, she was raped by a guy named, Fatty something or other.'

James froze in his chair. The hair stood up on his neck. That's why the name seemed familiar to him, James thought to himself.

'Mr. Webber, can you stay on the line with me a moment?'

'Certainly.'

'I'm going to put you on speaker phone.'

James turned to his computer and typed into the search engine the name, Virginia Rappe. In a moment he saw dozens of links and photos of a sultry young woman. He clicked on a link titled 'FATTY ARBUCKLE and the DEATH of VIRGINIA RAPPE.' James' heart raced as he scanned the article. According to the article silent film star Roscoe 'Fatty' Arbuckle was blamed for the death of sometime silent film actress Virginia Rappe. The event had occurred at San Francisco's Aleris Hotel in 1921. At a wild party, with heavy drinking, Arbuckle was accused of raping Virginia with a Coke bottle. James shivered at the image in his mind.

'Mr. Webber? Is the address of this cardholder 335 Powell Street?'

'Yes that's right, 335 Powell St. Number 1219, San Francisco, CA.'

James quickly scanned the article. There it was in bold black print. Fatty had taken the girl to room 1219.

'Mr. Webber, how many charges are on the card?'

'Just one.'

'One? Just how new is this card?'

'Account was opened this month.'

'Let me guess, the charge is for a room at The Aleris?' asked James knowingly.

'No, the charge is from The Razor's Edge in Alameda.'

Although continuing to read the article online, James managed to turn his attention back to Webber, who was questioning their next step with the card.

'Inspector, what do we do about this card?'

'Keep the account open, Mr. Webber. Notify me at once if the card is used again. I will call you back.'

A sick feeling began to come over James as he faced the idea that at this very moment there might be a dead woman waiting for him at The Aleris Hotel. His only hope was she wouldn't be nude with a Coke bottle substituting for a lover. Whatever the answer was, it seemed to be waiting for him in room 1219.

Chapter Six Room 1219

Kirkland met James at the main entrance of The Aleris around four o'clock that afternoon. The street was unusually quiet. For the most part James always found this area of the city to be bustling, no matter what time it was. As they proceeded up the steps, James stepped on a dead bird. The weight of his foot crushed down on it. To James it felt like squashing a hard-boiled egg. Looking down to see what he had done, James stepped on a second bird, then a third.

'What the hell?' quizzed James as he and Kirkland both found themselves stepping on dead birds everywhere.

'Tom look,' said Kirkland as he pointed to the building across the street where there were hundreds of birds perched and watching them.

'That's very Alfred Hitchcock, isn't it?' stated James.

'It sure is, what's even more disturbing is, why are all the dead birds over here and the live ones on that side of the street? What do they know that we don't?'

Cautiously, James and Kirkland made their way to go inside, they were both puzzled to find the doors locked.

'Locked? Hotels aren't supposed to be locked,' said Kirkland as he peered through the glass doors trying to get a look inside.

'See anything, Mike?'

'I see several people sitting throughout the lobby.'

'Can I help you gentlemen?' asked a young man wearing a suit with the hotel logo on his name badge. Kirkland and James looked at each other and then at the young man. 'As a matter a fact you can Mr. Lee, assistant manager of The Aleris Hotel,' said James holding up his badge.

'What's going on?'

'Well we were going to ask you that very same question, first off why is your front door locked? And second can you let us in?'

Mr. Lee looked confused. He tried the door, but couldn't budge it. 'This door isn't supposed to be locked. Not ever.'

'We didn't think so. But it's good to know it can be, because we are here to lock it down.'

'What? Why?' asked Mr. Lee.

'I'll have that discussion with your manager. Why don't you unlock the door, let us in, and get your manager on the phone,' said Kirkland.

'I can't let you in. I don't even have a set of keys to this door, because it's never been locked as far as I know.'

'Okay, get your manager on the phone and tell him, wait, better yet get your manager on the phone and let him speak to Detective Kirkland,' ordered James as he watched the young man take out his cell phone and place the call. Moments later he handed the phone to Kirkland. 'What's going on Inspector James?' Mr. Lee asked while they waited for the call to connect.

'We have reason to believe you have a terrorist staying here. Hey can't you rap on the door and get someone from the lobby to come over here and just open it up?' asked James.

'I'll try,' he said as he knocked hard on the glass. The man sitting closest to the doors just ignored him. 'Come on asshole, turn around. Open up! Wait that's Mr. Foster. HEY Mr. Foster open up!' he shouted as he banged hard on the glass.

'Take it easy Lee, your boss is already on his way down here. He told me he'd be here in less than two minuets,' stated Kirkland handing Lee back his cell phone. 'Got your boxing gloves on?' asked Kirkland.

'We got a problem?' inquired James.

'Oh yeah, the manager is shitting little green biscuits. Says we don't have the right to be here without a warrant.'

'Does he know why we're here?'

'No, I told him exactly what you said to say. That we have reason to believe a known terrorist is booked into the hotel.'

'Thanks Mike, once we get inside we can see if there's a dead girl up on the twelfth floor.'

*   *   *

Moments later a black BMW pulled up into the valet parking and James could tell this would be the hotel manager approaching him with all the vigor of a schoolyard bully. He was tall and charismatic in appearance. James did a double take seeing that man in the Armani suit walking directly at him reminded him of the actor Alan Rickman. Not Harry Potter, Alan Rickman, but Die Hard, Alan Rickman. I hope his name isn't Hans, mused James.

'Pardon me, officer I'd like to talk to you,' called the hotel manager in a deep resonate voice that carried an underlying threatening tone. James raised his badge. 'Inspector Thomas James.'