“Who cares?” said Al. “We got her now.” Then he added, “It would make things easier if she’d go back to her hotel.”
Marissa’s cab went by them with George in pursuit. Jake began to speed up. Ahead he saw George overtake Marissa. They would continue leapfrogging until Marissa reached her destination.
About fifteen minutes later, Marissa’s taxi stopped behind a line of cars waiting to pull up to the Fairmont. “Looks like your prayers have been answered,” said Jake, stopping across the street from the hotel.
“I’ll handle the car,” said Al. “You get your ass in there and find out what room she’s in.”
Jake got out as Al slid behind the wheel. Dodging the midmorning traffic, Jake reached the front of the hotel before Marissa had even gotten out of her cab. In the lobby, he picked up a newspaper and, folding it commuter style, positioned himself so that he could see everyone coming into the hotel.
Marissa walked directly to the front desk. He quickly moved behind her, expecting her to ask for her room key. But she didn’t. Instead she asked to use her safe-deposit box.
While the receptionist opened a gate allowing Marissa into the office behind the front desk, Jake wandered toward the board announcing the various convention meetings. Presently Marissa reappeared, busily closing her shoulder purse. Then, to Jake’s consternation, she came directly toward him.
In a frantic moment of confusion, Jake thought she’d recognized him, but she passed right by, heading down a hail lined with gift shops.
Jake took off after her, passing her in a corridor lined with old photos of the San Francisco earthquake. Guessing she was headed to the elevators, he made sure he beat her there, mingling with the crowd already waiting.
An elevator arrived, which Jake boarded before Marissa, making certain there was plenty of room. He stepped in front of the self-service buttons. Holding his newspaper as if he were reading, he watched as Marissa pressed eleven. As more passengers got on, Marissa was pushed farther back into the car.
As the elevator rose, stopping occasionally, Jake continued to keep his nose in the newspaper. When the car stopped at the eleventh floor, he strolled off, still absorbed in his paper, allowing Marissa and another guest to pass him. When she stopped in front of room 1127,
Jake kept walking. He didn’t turn and go back to the elevators until he’d heard her door close.
Back on the street, Jake crossed over to Al’s car.
“Well?” said Al, momentarily worried something had gone wrong.
“Room 1127,” said Jake with a self-satisfied smile.
“You’d better be right,” said Al, getting out of the car. “Wait here. This shouldn’t take long at all.” He smiled so broadly that Jake noticed for the first time Al’s gums had receded almost to the roots of his front teeth.
Al walked over to George’s car and leaned on the window. “I want you to drive around and cover the back entrance. Just in case.”
Feeling better than he had in several days, Al crossed the street to the posh, red-and-black lobby.
He went over to the front desk and eyed the mailbox for 1127. There was an extra set of keys, but there wasn’t enough of a crowd for him to chance the receptionist’s turning them over without asking questions. Instead, he headed for the elevators.
On the eleventh floor, he searched for the housekeeping cart. He found it outside of a suite, with its usual complement of clean sheets, towels and cleaning materials. Taking one of the hand towels, he carefully folded it on the diagonal, creating a stout rope. Gripping an end in each hand, he entered the open suite where the maid presumably was working.
The living room was empty. There was a vacuum cleaner in the middle of the bedroom and a pile of linens on the floor, but he still didn’t see anyone. Advancing to the dressing room, he heard running water.
The maid was on her knees in front of the bathtub, scrubbing its interior. A can of Comet was on the floor by her knees.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Al stepped behind the woman and, using the folded towel as a garrote, strangled her. She made some muffled noises but they were covered by the sound of the bath water. Her face turned red, then purple. When Al let up the tension on the ends of the towel, she slumped to the floor like a limp rag doll.