I went into the lobby through the front doors. The remodel had been done with an impeccable eye for detail. The architect had managed to capture the old glamour without sacrificing current standards of elegance. It looked like all the old brass fixtures were still in place, burnished to a high shine. I knew this to be untrue as the originals had been looted in the days just after the hotel closed. Murals in muted tones covered the walls, with scenes depicting the fashionable set in residence at the Paramount Hotel in the 1940s. The doorman was on hand, as well as numerous bellhops toting luggage for the patrons checking in. A party of rail-thin women in jaunty hats played a hand of bridge in one corner of the lobby. Two of the four had foxtail furs tossed over their suit jackets with the big shoulder pads. There was no hint that a war was going on except for the scarcity of men. The patio and pool area had been brushed in, the images lifted from old photographs. I could see six cabanas on the far side of the pool, which was flanked with ponytail palms and the larger, more graceful queen palms. What I hadn’t realized, peering at the construction through the barrier, was that the pool extended under a glass wall into the lobby itself. The lobby portion was largely decorative, but the overall effect was nice. In the mural there were vintage automobiles parked at the street and no hint of the various tourist-oriented businesses that now stretched along State. Just to the right, there was a wide carpeted stair in trompe l’oeil curving up to the mezzanine. I turned and saw the same stairway in reality.
I went up and at the top turned to my right so that I was facing the street. What I’d imagined was a restaurant or lounge was actually a lavish corner suite. The brass number on the door was an ornate 2. I could hear a television set blaring inside. I went to the window at the end of the hall and looked out. Solana must have snapped the picture from a window in the suite because the perspective was slightly off from the place where I stood.
I went down the wide stairs to the lobby. The desk clerk was in his thirties with a thin, bony face and hair slicked back with pomade in a style I’d seen only in photographs taken during the ’40s. His suit had a retro look to it as well. “Good morning. May I help you?” he said. His nails had the shine of a recent manicure.
“Yes. I’m interested in the suite on the mezzanine,” I said, and gestured toward the stairs.
“That’s the Ava Gardner Suite. It’s occupied at the moment. How soon would you need the reservation?”
“Actually, I don’t. I think a friend of mine checked in and I thought I’d pop in and surprise her.”
“She asked not to be disturbed.”
I frowned slightly. “That doesn’t sound like her. Usually she has a steady stream of visitors. Of course, she’s in the process of divorcing and maybe she’s worried her ex will try tracking her down. Can you tell me what name she used. Her married name was Brody.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t give you that information. It’s against hotel policy. The privacy of our guests is our first priority.”
“What if I showed you a photograph? You could at least confirm that it’s my friend? I’d hate to bang on the door if I’m making a mistake.”
“Why don’t you give me your name and I’ll ring her?”
“But that would spoil the surprise.” I brought my fanny pack around from the back to the front and unzipped the smaller of the two compartments. I took out the photo of Solana and put it on the counter.
“I’m afraid I can’t help,” he said. He was careful to maintain eye contact, but I knew he couldn’t resist a peek. His eyes flicked down.
I said nothing, but I gazed at him steadily.
“Anyway, she has company at the moment. A gentleman just went up.”
So much for his respect for her privacy. “A gentleman?”
“A handsome white-haired fellow, tall, very trim. I’d say he was in his eighties.”
“Did he give you his name?”
“He didn’t have to. She called down and said she was expecting a Mr. Pitts and when he arrived I should send him right up, which is what I did.”
I could feel the color leave my face. “I want you to call the police and I want you to do it right now.”
He looked at me, a quizzical smile playing across his lips, as though this were a hoax being filmed by hidden cameras to test his response. “Call the police? That’s what the gentleman said. Are you two serious?”
“Shit! Just do it. Ask for a detective named Cheney Phillips. Can you remember that?”
“Of course,” he said, primly. “I’m not stupid.”
I stood there. He hesitated and then reached for the phone.
I moved away from the desk and took the stairs two at a time. Why would she have called Henry? And what could she have said that would get him over here? When I approached the Ava Gardner Suite for the second time, the volume on the blaring television had been turned down. The modernization and restoration of the hotel, happily from my perspective, hadn’t included the installation of card-operated locks. I didn’t recognize the lock brand, but how different could it be? I unzipped my fanny pack and took out the leather folder with its five picks. I’d have preferred the cover of loud music and talk, but I couldn’t take the chance. I was just about to set to work when the door opened and I saw Solana standing there.
She said, “I can save you the effort. Why don’t you come in? The desk clerk phoned to tell me you were on your way.”
The fuck-head, I thought. I stepped into the room. She closed the door behind me and secured the burglar chain.
This was the sitting room. Doors on the left stood open revealing two separate bedrooms and a bathroom done in an old-fashioned white marble streaked with gray. Henry was out cold, lying on the plump upholstered sofa with an IV line in his arm, the needle taped in place. His color was still good and I could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. What worried me was the loaded syringe lying on the coffee table beside a crystal bowl filled with roses.
The French doors stood open, sheers lifted by a breeze. I could see the newly planted palms near the flagstone patio surrounding the pool. The terracing was still under construction, but it looked like work had been completed on the pool, which was now in the process of being filled. Solana allowed me time to get my bearings, enjoying the fear that must have been written in my face.
“What have you done to him?”
“Sedated him. He was upset when he realized you weren’t here.”
“Why would he think I was here?”
“Because I called him and told him so. I said you’d come to the hotel and attacked me. I said I’d hurt you very badly and now you were close to death and begging me to let you see him. He didn’t believe me at first, but I insisted and he was afraid of being wrong. I told him I’d put a tap on his phone line and if he called the police, you’d be dead before he hung up. He was very quick, knocking on my door in less than fifteen minutes.”
“What did you inject him with?”
“I’m sure the name of the drug would be meaningless to you. It’s used to render a patient immobile before surgery. I hit him with something else first, an injection in his thigh. Very fast-acting. He went down like a tree toppling in a high wind. He doesn’t seem to be conscious, but I can assure you he is. He can hear everything. He just can’t move.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Just the pleasure of watching your face as he dies,” she said. “You took away the love of my life and now I’ll take yours. Ah. But first let me have your fanny pack. Gus told me you own a gun. It wouldn’t surprise me if you had it with you.”
“I don’t, but you’re welcome to look.” I unbuckled the pack and held it out to her. When she reached for it, I grabbed her by the arm and jerked her toward me. She lost her balance and toppled forward as I brought my right knee up to meet her face. There was a lovely popping sound that I hoped was her nose. Sure enough, blood poured down her face. Her eyelids fluttered briefly and she sprawled to her knees, her hands thrown out in front of her as she tri
ed catching herself. I kicked her in the side and stomped on one of her outstretched hands. I snatched the syringe from the coffee table and crushed it with my heel. I stood beside Henry and pulled the tape from his arm. I wanted that IV line out of him.
Solana saw what I was doing and came after me in a flying tackle. I stumbled backward onto the coffee table and dragged her with me. The coffee table tipped over. The bowl of roses bounced on the carpet and settled upright, the roses still perfectly arranged. I grabbed the crystal bowl by the rim and hit her on her upper arm, which loosened her grip. I flipped over to my hands and knees and she launched herself at me again. She hung on, while I rammed her in the side repeatedly with my elbow. I kicked back at her, catching her on the thigh, inflicting as much damage as I could with the heel of my running shoe.
The woman was relentless. She came after me again and this time grabbed me around the arms, pinning my elbows to my sides. We were in such close contact I couldn’t shake her off. I laced my hands together and brought them straight up, which broke her hold. I torqued myself to one side, grabbed her by the wrist, and pivoted. Her body arced across my hip and she went down. I hooked an elbow around her neck and dug my fingers into one eye socket. She shrieked in pain and covered her face with her hands. I pushed her away from me, breathing heavily. I could hear sirens in the street and I prayed they were heading toward us. With one eye bloody, she turned, her expression wild with pain. She found Henry in her visual field and in two strides was on him with her hands around his throat. I leaped at her. I boxed her ears, caught her by the hair, and hauled her off him. She staggered two steps back and I shoved her hard in the chest. She banged backward through the French doors onto the balcony.
I was gasping for breath and so was she. I watched her use the railing to pull herself up. I knew I’d hurt her. She’d hurt me, too, but I wouldn’t find out to what extent until the adrenaline receded. For the moment, I was tired, and not altogether certain I could take her on again. She glanced toward the street where I could hear police cars, sirens wailing, come screeching to a stop. We were only one floor above and it wouldn’t take them long to come pounding up the steps.
I made my way to the door and removed the burglar chain. I turned the thumb lock and opened the door and then leaned against the frame. When I turned to look at her, the balcony was empty. I heard a scream from below. I crossed to the French doors and went out on the balcony. I looked over the rail. The water in the pool showed a spreading cloud of pink. She struggled briefly and then went still. It made no difference whether she’d fallen or jumped. She’d landed facedown, hitting her head on the edge of the pool before she slid into the water. At the shallow end, the water was only two feet deep, but that was sufficient. She drowned before anyone could get to her.
EPILOGUE
Henry was taken to St. Terry’s by ambulance. He recovered from his ordeal without incident. I think he felt foolish that Solana had deceived him, but I’d have done the same thing in his place. We’re each of us more protective of the other than we are of ourselves.
The Fredricksons’ suit against Lisa Ray was dropped. I came close to feeling sorry for Hetty Buckwald, who’d been convinced their claim was legitimate. By the time I was able to swing by the laundromat to tell Melvin he was off the hook, the milk truck had disappeared and so had he. I completed an Affidavit of Inability to Serve Process and filed it with the court clerk, which ended my official connection to the man. I wasn’t surprised to find him gone, but it was hard to believe he’d give up his vigil over his youngest grandson. I kept wishing there were some way to make contact, but I’d never heard his daughter’s name, first or last. I had no idea where she lived or where her youngest boy was enrolled. It might have been the preschool near City College or another day care center I’d spotted six blocks away.
Even now, I find myself driving around the neighborhood where Melvin worked, checking nursery schools, scanning children on the playground. I coast by parks in the area, thinking I might catch sight of a white-haired gentleman in a brown leather bomber jacket. Every time I see a kid with a lollipop, I study the grownups nearby, wondering if one of them offered the child a piece of candy in that first tentative overture. At the kiddie pool, I stand near the fence and watch the little kids at play, splashing water on each other, gliding on their tummies in the wading pool while they walk their hands along the bottom and pretend to swim. They are so beautiful, so sweet. I can’t imagine anyone willfully harming a child. Yet some people do. There are thousands of convicted sex offenders in the state of California alone. Of those, a small but unsettling number are unaccounted for on any given day.
I don’t want to think about predators. I know they exist, but I prefer to focus on the best in human nature: compassion, generosity, a willingness to come to the aid of those in need. The sentiment may seem absurd, given our daily ration of news stories detailing thievery, assault, rape, murder, and other treacheries. To the cynics among us, I must sound like an idiot, but I do hold to the good, working wherever possible to separate the wicked from that which profits them. There will always be someone poised to take advantage of the vulnerable: the very young, the very old, and the innocent of any age. Though I know this from long experience, I refuse to feel discouraged. In my own unassuming way, I know I can make a difference. You can as well.
Respectfully submitted,
Kinsey Millhone
Sue Grafton, "T" is for Trespass
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