Death Never Sleeps (36 page)

“Boss, did I lose you?”

Michael laughed out loud at his own meandering thoughts. “No, I’m still here, Karen. Just thinking about what a great life it is that we lead.”

“Did you say ‘we’?”

“Yours is pretty good too, Karen. We’re all so lucky. But I was really wandering off. Sorry.”

No sooner had he said it than a woman’s scream pierced the colorful but calm surroundings. Staff and security men rushed into the ladies’ room near the pool. A young woman came rushing out of the entrance in obvious distress, crying and shrieking,
“Elle est morte! Elle est morte! Mon Dieu!”

Samantha turned to Michael. “Someone’s dead in the ladies’ room! Oh my God. I was just in there.”

Everyone around the pool and the casual diners in the adjacent outdoor restaurant stood up and watched as the scene of raw terror played out in front of them. After an initial few moments of silence, everyone began whispering to each other as the rumors passed amongst the small crowd of stunned vacationers now gazing in horror as word spread that the attractive French blonde who, just ten minutes earlier, was poolside basking in the sun was now lying dead in one of the ladies’ room toilet stalls, her throat slit.

“Michael, I just spoke with her this morning. We both had the same blue wrap on; she also bought hers at the hotel’s boutique. We were just laughing about it. I was leaving the stall, and she was going in.” Samantha was shaking.

Michael had noticed the woman earlier when she was topless around the pool. He also remembered thinking that she resembled Samantha—a little younger but the same blonde hair and similar trim figures, height, and weight. Both spoke French around the pool. If she was wearing the same exact cover-up as Samantha, the similarity would have been even more striking. Michael hoped that for the moment at least, these thoughts wouldn’t enter his wife’s mind.

“Why would anyone want to kill her? And here at the Chateau? She had no jewelry on, no purse. It couldn’t have been a robbery.” Michael could see his wife’s mind going to the same terrifying and dark place. “Michael, she resembled me, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did.”

Chapter 65

Saint-Tropez, France

July 19, 2010

D
inner at the Hotel Yaca restaurant in town was tense. Samantha and Michael could not help but look everywhere for potential killers.

Michael realized that it was more difficult to identify or “profile” dangerous personalities in a foreign country. As familiar as the South of France was to them both, Saint-Tropez, nevertheless, attracted a diverse population of Arabs, North Africans, Eastern Europeans, and Russians who, even to sophisticated American eyes, were menacing in appearance. He sat, watching the multiple entrances to the dining area.

Michael had already booked the next flight out of Nice. A helicopter would be waiting for them on the landing pad near the hotel at seven in the morning to take them to the airport. They had to make it alive through the night in Saint-Tropez.

Michael had done everything he could to at least minimize their vulnerability. He hired a security guard to watch over them until they boarded the plane in Nice and a private car to take them to and from dinner instead of the hotel’s SUV-shuttle. The ride in and out of Saint-Tropez in the dark night for dinner was nerve-racking.

The local police accepted the possibility that the murder might have been a case of mistaken identity—and that Samantha could have been the real target. They promised to watch the hotel during the night and appeared to be periodically checking in on them and their security guard here at dinner. If Samantha was a target, however, the problem could easily follow them home.

Michael noticed that Samantha had consumed more than her usual share of rosé, although she had hardly touched her meal. It was time to head back to the hotel for what he knew would be a restless night.

They entered room 548, the same room at the Chateau they had stayed in each year for over a decade. The hotel’s turndown service had ensured that the lights were dimmed, the room was in perfect order, and soft, classical music played on the alarm radio. The familiar comfort of their surroundings provided at least some balance to the underlying fear and vulnerability he knew they both felt as they prepared for bed.

The security guard sitting on the couch in the hallway outside their door also offered some additional peace of mind. Michael, however, always worried about private security guards. How could anyone really know, especially in a foreign country, whether your assigned guard had been compromised? Or whether local influence and a few thousand euros had turned him into your killer?

To Michael’s delight, Samantha always slept naked. As she approached their immaculate king-sized bed, Samantha noticed something different from any other evening’s turndown. A single, elaborately gold-wrapped chocolate lay on her pillow. Perhaps a nice touch from the Chateau’s management, knowing her anxiety from the murder and the possibility that she was the intended target. Michael thought it slightly odd that he hadn’t received one on his pillow.

Samantha placed the chocolate on her bedside table, turned down the comforter, and tucked herself under the covers. Michael watched her fluid moves and prepared to join her.

But as Samantha adjusted her body to her desired position, Michael saw her suddenly stiffen as she placed her hand under her pillow and pulled out a small note card, similar to the ones the staff would leave each night with the morning’s weather forecast. Michael hoped the housekeeper had accidentally misplaced the card. But as he watched Samantha grip the edges of the Chateau’s embossed stationery, he knew immediately that it would contain no weather forecast. Samantha, her hands trembling, read the note out loud, and Michael watched as though gazing helplessly at a deadly accident unfolding in front of him:

“Samantha, sorry we missed you today.

Next time we’ll check passports first.

You are going to die.”

Samantha tried to scream. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked at Michael, her face contorted with terror. Michael grabbed the card out of her hand and put his arms in a protective embrace around her. Where could they turn for safety if someone could penetrate their room and bed? He picked up the phone to call the front desk—the line was dead. He then went to the door and unlatched the lock. Cautiously, he opened the door and looked for the security guard. The couch outside the room, where the guard had been sitting, was empty. Michael quickly retreated back into their room, bolting the door from the inside.

Michael looked around at the room. There was only one other exterior door, the one leading to their fifth-floor terrace. Going out the patio door meant a five-floor jump—plus, who knew if anyone was hiding out there? Michael quickly went to the heavy glass door and secured the lock, for what it was worth.

Just to be sure there was no one else in the room, he opened each of the four closet doors while holding a heavy brass bedside lamp in his other hand. Each door opened to a view of Samantha’s shoes or other clothing. He looked at Samantha and realized that they needed to get out of the room.

“Samantha, grab your robe; let’s get out of here. We’ve got to get to the front desk so they can get the police. Where the hell is our security guy?”

“Michael, I don’t know—and why doesn’t the phone work?”

“Whoever left the note must have disconnected the phone.” Michael checked the phone plug as he was speaking. The cord had been cut, thereby removing the plug that needed to be connected to the wall outlet. He rapidly moved past the bed and went into the bathroom and then into the separate toilet room. The wall phone near the toilet was also dead.

Michael dialed the hotel’s main line from his cell. No answer. “Where the hell is everyone?”

“Michael,” Samantha pleaded, “let’s just get out of here. I can’t stay any longer. Whoever is after us has been in this room. They know we’re here.”

The front door was the only way out of the room.

Michael slowly reopened the door and peeked out to the hallway. The couch was still empty. The elevator door was no more than ten feet away. “Let’s take the elevator. There’s no way we’re going down the stairway.”

Samantha raced out the door and pressed the “down” elevator button, illuminating the tiny red light. The overhead lights indicated that the elevator was on the main floor. As Michael checked out the hallway and all the doors leading to it, Samantha watched the lights indicating the elevator’s agonizingly slow ascent to the fifth floor.

Michael wondered what the elevator door, when it opened, would reveal. He knew Samantha was thinking the same thing. The elevator stopped at the fourth floor, further delaying its arrival and adding to the drama of who might be awaiting them when the doors opened. The groaning sound of the elevator opening and closing its doors and making its way up to the fifth floor was accentuated by the overall silence of the fifth-floor hallway.

“Something is wrong,” Michael said. “But we’re not the only ones here. Where’s the goddamned guard?”

“I don’t know, Michael.” Samantha was in tears. “I just want to get on that plane and get home.”

Finally, the elevator arrived at their floor. The door opened, revealing nothing unusual at first glance or eye level. But as Michael looked down, it was clear that more terror loomed as he stared at the crumpled body of the security guard lying in a pool of blood.

Samantha saw him one second later. “Oh my God!”

“Let’s get in and get to the lobby.” Michael was calm and his tone subdued, despite his own near internal panic. He had to exhibit some almost unrealistic sense of sanity or Samantha would break down in fear.

“Michael, are you crazy? I can’t get in there. Let’s take the stairs.” Just as Samantha spoke, a door slammed shut—either the door to the stairway or a guest room. There was no more time to think about choices.

“No, we can’t go down those stairs. Whoever is out there will be expecting that. Our odds are better here. I know it’s crazy, please—just get in and close your eyes.” Michael had no idea which was better. The thought of getting in the elevator with the murdered security guard seemed, in the split second he had to weigh such bizarre choices, only marginally preferable to stepping into an unknown, probably dark, stairway with innumerable opportunities for entrapment and more surprises.

He walked into the elevator first, stepping nearest the bloody, lifeless body and onto the wet, red-and-yellow bloodstained carpet. Michael pulled Samantha in with him, shielding her view from the gory scene at his feet. He pushed the button for “Lobby,” put his arms around Samantha, and held his breath, hoping the door would not open again until they reached the lobby.

Michael watched the floor indicator lights just above the elevator door. First “5,” then “4” flashed green, but as the elevator approached the third floor, it slowed to a sudden stop.

“Shit, what do we do now?” Samantha said to Michael.

“We’ve got to play it by ear. There’s no plan. If it’s bad, I’m going to try to throw myself at him right away while you get the hell out. It could be anyone though.”

The elevator had stopped at the third floor. “Jesus, how long does it take for this damned door to open?” Michael whispered.

The elevator had a door on both sides. This time, the door on the opposite side would open. “Whoever walks in is going to have to literally step over this body,” Michael said. “They’re going to have one helleva shock.”

“Yes, unless they’re the killer,” Samantha said, her voice breaking up.

The door opened to a mature, well-dressed French couple that Michael recognized from the pool. They immediately gave a welcoming nod of recognition as they took their first step into the elevator. Michael put both hands up, his palms open, in a gesture to warn them to stop so they wouldn’t trip over the body. Michael’s gaze shifted quickly back to Samantha who appeared paralyzed, her mouth partly open, as though she were about to speak. The couple finally looked down at the security guard’s body in a bloody mess on the floor and then back up at Michael and Samantha, who were still dressed in their white terry cloth evening robes.

As he pulled his wife back from the elevator, Jacques Foucoult, a Paris solicitor, turned to Michael. “My God, what has happened?”

Michael shouted out, “Someone has killed the guard and is trying to kill us. Please, call the police. Hurry!” The doors closed, leaving Michael and Samantha alone again with the body. The only sounds were the creaking of the elevator mechanism.

Michael held Samantha firmly but kept his eyes glued to the indicator lights. “Okay, just three floors to go.”

“What then, Michael?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.”

He felt like time was frozen. The distinct metallic odor of fresh blood and alcohol seemed to overwhelm the musty elevator air. The lobby indicator light flashed on, and the elevator came to another abrupt stop. The doors opened to a still life of perfect quiet, order, and a strange serenity.

Michael and Samantha quickly exited the bloody elevator. The lobby was empty. Not a soul was visible, even behind the front desk. Their slippers left bloody footprints on the white marble floor as they walked toward the front desk of the abandoned lobby. Michael felt the sticky bottoms clinging to the floor.

Holding Samantha’s hand tightly, Michael walked past the reception desk on the right, then the abandoned concierge desk on the left, hoping to find anyone, if not the familiar face of the concierge, Alain Piezza. But the entire lobby was empty. Samantha looked outside the front glass doors. “Michael, look, there’s something going on outside.”

Michael looked out beyond the front doors. “It’s the police!”

It was clear that a small military presence was waiting. A militia of heavily armed uniformed police officers, some carrying submachine guns, some with sniper rifles aimed at Michael and Samantha, were standing and then cautiously approaching the lobby. Sure enough, there was Piezza, accompanied by two of the approaching officers, pointing out Michael and Samantha as guests. The officers continued their approach but began waving for Michael and Samantha to rush and join them outside to safety.