Lost in Silence (The Lost Series Book 1) (3 page)

I reached for the phone on the bedside table and dialed the manager’s office. Roland answers on the second ring. “Morning Glory Inn.”

“Roland, it’s Hudson,” I pause briefly, allowing the dots to connect in his addled brain. His breath hitches. He was remembering the stack of fifties I left on the counter at check in. I purposely overpaid for my room. It wasn’t just the location I wanted but the privacy as well.

“Is he back?” his weasel voice sneers across the line. If I didn’t know any better he might have actually sounded concerned but men like Roland don’t like confrontation. Fact is, he didn’t want to deal with a mess and the cops.

“Thankfully, no. I want to know who is staying in the room he was trying to access,” I say. I don’t play games, don’t believe in them. They’ll get you killed if you’re not careful. Besides, it’s best to get straight to the point with men like him.

“I can’t give you that information, “ he’s bullshitting me of course, we both know it. He’ll give me the information and anything else I ask for, if the price is right.

“How much?” I ask straight up. Whatever the fuck he wanted, I’d pay it.

“I’m insulted...”

“How much?” I interrupt him, this time putting steel into my voice.

“I can’t...”

“Roland, my patience is thin and you don’t want to know me when it runs out. Stop fucking playing games with me. We both know you’ll give me the information I want, the only question is how much will it cost me?” If there is any game left in the old man, he needed to know not to push me any further.

“I’m sure President Grant will cover it,” his voice is different now. Not quite fear but close enough.

Fucking bottom feeder, you better be scared. I’ll fucking rip out your throat.

“Done, now give me the name,” the urge to follow through with my silent thought is strong. It was a good thing he only existed through the phone line right now.

“Just a second,” he places the phone down on the counter. I can hear him rustling through some papers before coming back on the line. “Jane Doe.”

“You’re fucking kidding me?” I groan.

Jane-fucking-Doe!

“Afraid not, it’s what the card says,” he answers and I swear loudly. It’s smart she didn’t use her real name but Jane Doe? Really? “No credit card on file, paid cash daily for her stay and no other contact information.”

This shit is serious bad news, I can feel it deep. Using this name in particular worries me. Did it mean she doesn’t know who she is? Or is her use of it more psychological? Choosing a fake name and back story isn’t hard to do and I wonder why she hadn’t been more creative.

Jane Doe stood out in record keeping. It put a bigger target on her back, making it
that
much easier to track her. I can only hope she used it this once and if not she was at least using a different back story wherever she went.

“Anyone come in asking about her?” I didn’t have to elaborate, Roland isn’t completely addled. He knows who I mean.

“Not on my watch but I’d have to check in with Norma. She’s on tonight,” he sniffed. Norma, his wife, is one scary bitch. I doubt I’d get anything out of her. She didn’t like questions.

I hang up the phone without saying goodbye and reach for my cell. I want to call this in but it has nothing to do with the job I’m here to do. King wouldn’t appreciate the distraction I’ve found. He’d probably send one of the guys down here to check on me if he got wind of this shit.

I could call Sneak. He owes me a favor or two and he’d keep quiet about it as long as I provided him with a mountain of moon pies. I flip open the phone but stop short. I didn’t have a name to give him. Jane Doe isn’t much to go on.

Fuck!

I resist the urge to chuck the device at the wall and instead flip it closed. It lights up and begins to ring in my hand. I look down at the caller I.D. It’s the call I’ve spent the last few days waiting for. I take a breath and allow myself to slip into character.

Back to work.

“Hey Devlin,” I say into the phone after I quickly flip it open. “I’ve been waiting for your call man.

Hudson

After my call ended with Devlin, I sat perched in my chair gazing out the window. It was late afternoon and I hadn’t heard any sounds coming from next door. No shower. No television, even though I knew she used it for the background noise and light. No one could watch that many infomercials and still function normally.

All was quiet. Too quiet. I don’t like silence. It unnerves me.

Maybe it’s because my mind goes to work and it isn’t good for anyone when that happens. I hear a scratch at the door, followed by a soft knock. Standing from my chair I move towards the door, my gun in my hand, quietly cocking it. I hadn’t seen anyone approach from my spot at the window. No one has walked by in ages.

My ears strain for any sound or movement. I hear nothing.

Damn it Rivers, get it together.

I turn back to my chair but I hear the knock again, more distinct this time. Moving back to the door I look through the peephole and see nothing. Another knock, more urgent. Still no one in sight.

Quietly, I turn the lock and slowly open the door. A small figure crouched low to the ground pushes against the door. Before I can react, the figure moves quickly past me and into the small closet across the room. I follow behind thinking it’s a small animal but stop suddenly.

The figure opened and closed the door to the closet, something an animal was incapable of doing. The hoodie, I recognized it. It was her. The girl next door.

I turn back to the door and softly close it, pushing the lock back into place. I uncock my gun and place it back in the holster on the table, all the while keeping my back to the closet. I reach for the lamp at my bedside and switch it off, engulfing the room in darkness.

My gut screams, something is brewing on the horizon.

With my neighbor safely settled in the closet, I wait for whatever it is to rear its ugly head. This girl is the center of something dark and whatever it may be, there’s no going back now.

I open my mouth to assure her of her safety but my words stick in my throat. There isn’t a point vocalizing what she already knows. I close my mouth and wait in deafening silence.

I hear footsteps approach, multiple sets. They walk past my room, stopping at her door. Someone knocks on the door.

“Alice Scott?” I turn to the window and cautiously peek out. There are at least half a dozen uniformed officers standing behind a man in a gray suit. “I’m Detective Sean Edwards with the LAPD, please open the door.”

My breath catches, her name. I need to remember to call Sneak tonight with it. Meanwhile, I soaked up every detail of the scene unfolding before me.

“Ali, baby, its Erik,” oh, yes that voice sounded familiar. Douche bag was back. I note his name too. Sneak was going to be busy tonight. “Open the door sweetheart.”

“Mr. Scott, please let us speak with her,” the suit says.
Yeah, douche bag, back the fuck off!
“We need to assess her mental state, especially if what you’ve told us is true.”

“What do you mean
if
?” Erik screeched stepping into the man. “She was kidnapped.”

“Sir, please, step aside,” one of the uniformed officers steps in between Erik and the detective. Erik moves back reluctantly, his eyes dark and angry. The officer pushes him back further towards the stairs, further still down to the cruisers without laying a finger on him. The detective whispers something to another officer standing by. He straightens and heads toward the cruisers as well. Detective Edwards turns back to the door and knocks again.

“Alice, it’s Detective Sean Edwards again. Your husband is worried. He claims you’ve been kidnapped. Mrs. Scott, I am here to help. Please open the door and we can talk.”

My heart is pounding in my chest.
Husband? Kidnapped?
My eyes swing to the closet behind me. Something didn’t add up here and Detective Edwards needed to be clued in. There is no way this woman was kidnapped.

Erik’s words replay in my head.
I know she’s afraid. She better be. It’s open season.
He wasn’t a man worried about a kidnapped wife. He was a man who’s been denied his play toy. He took a chance going to the police with this bullshit story though.

I step toward the door and softly speak two words to the woman in my closet before cracking open the door. “Trust me.”

A uniformed officer stands guard at my door, his back to me. He quickly turns and steps into my line of sight, “Sir, please go back inside and close your door.”

“She left,” I say but the uniform doesn’t budge.

“Sir, this is police business. Go back inside your-”

“She’s gone,” my voice louder interrupting him. Detective Edwards hears me this time and he turns.

“What was that?” he looks over at me, his eyes briefly resting on the uniform. “Franks, let the man speak.”

“She’s gone,” the officer moves aside and I step out of my room further, leaving the door slightly ajar. I don’t want them to think I have anything to hide.

Detective Edwards hold up a photo. “Is this the woman you are referring to?”

The woman in the photo is a few years younger but it’s her. Instead of blonde, her hair is a deep shade of sable brown, shiny and healthy. Her lips are full, pink and upturned into a breathtaking smile. Dark eyes stare back at me, filled with joy. Her body is stunning in a two piece swimsuit. Curves in all the right places, everything a man would desire. The woman hiding in the closet is a fraction of the woman staring back at me.

“Her hair is blonde now,” I nod. “She left though, soon after douche bag’s first visit.”

“First visit?” he asks, stepping towards me. His interest piqued, concern etched onto his face.

“He was here earlier today,” I flick my head in Erik’s direction. “He wasn’t very nice though. Banging on the door, cursing up a storm and making threats because we wouldn’t let him in. He said some pretty disturbing things to her though, don’t know if she heard him or not.”

“Mr. Scott claims his wife was kidnapped,” I could see the wheels turning. He doubted the man’s story even more. I’d bet my left nut Erik hadn’t told him about his earlier visit.

“He never mentioned a kidnapped wife and he didn’t act like a man distraught. I’ve never had a missing wife though,” I cross my arms and shrug.

“What’s your name?” the detective takes out his notepad and a pen. I had to tread lightly here.

“Hudson Rivers,” a few of the officers snicker, but I’m used to it. My parents had a sense of humor when it came to naming my siblings and I. “I’ve been here since last Tuesday.”

“Have you seen Mrs. Scott come and go?”

“Yes, she checked in a day after me, alone. A single bag. No car. She leaves alone and arrives home alone. She’s quiet.”

“A bag?” he asks lifting an eyebrow.

“Yes, a small duffle,” I verify. “She doesn’t look like a woman who’s been kidnapped to me.”

“Have you seen a kidnapped woman before?”

“No, I haven’t,” I know he’s only covering his bases but I still find his questioning annoying. Cops are taught to be suspicious of everyone until the evidence proves otherwise. It was a necessary vice.

“How long ago did she leave?”

“I’d say twenty or thirty minutes after he left,” I answer calmly. I could sense that he is a no nonsense cop and he has his head about him. He knows Erik is lying and he is buying time trying to figure out how to play his cards. He needs more to go off of. “I heard the door to her room open and close, saw her walk down the stairs with her bag.”

“Did she stop at the office to check out?”

“Not that I saw, she was in a hurry though. She kept looking over her shoulder,” I wasn’t exactly lying. I had seen her leave in a hurry on a daily basis. I had seen her looking over her shoulder. I had seen her carrying her bag with her. Just not today.

“Have you spoken with her?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Mr. Rivers what bring you to our fine city?”

“I’m here on business.”

“Business?” he lifts an eyebrow. He doesn’t believe me. “What is it you do for a living Mr. Rivers?”

“Detective, am I under investigation here?” I ask reaching into my pocket to pull out a card. I hand it to him. He looks down at it, his eyes widen in surprise. He looks up at me and finally he turns toward the officers standing at his back.

“Have the manager bring the key up. We need to get into the room,” the officers walk away. Detective Edwards turns toward me.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I get the sense that you are a good cop Detective, so I’ll give you a bone,” I move further from my door and pull Edwards away, lowering my voice as we walk. “Erik, her so called husband, is lying. He’s not looking for a kidnapped wife because she hasn’t been kidnapped. She’s running, from him. The woman is a fraction of the photo you showed me. My guess, abuse and a lot of it.”

“Did she leave Rivers?” he nods toward my room. He’s asking if I lied about seeing her leave. I wasn’t on his radar anymore, in fact he knows I’m one of the good guys. The card I handed to him said as much. My clearance through his boss’ boss. I made it a point to get local support on these types of cases.

He’s genuinely concerned but I can’t say anything. She hid in my closet instead of asking for help from law enforcement. She had to have seen the cruisers in the parking lot below. I can’t say anything more to him, not until I get to the bottom of all this myself. Edwards might be a good cop but I didn’t know him well enough to trust him.

“I don’t know exactly what you’ll find in her room but I do know she isn’t in there,” he nods.

An officer approaches with Roland in tow. The old man isn’t too happy to have the police crawling all over his parking lot. His dislike is obvious, cops are bad for business.

“Detective, the name on the registration is Jane Doe,” the uniform stops at the door and waits for Edwards’ instructions.

“Roland says she checked in alone, pays daily for her stay, never has visitors and keeps to herself.”

I move back towards my door and stopping just at the opening.

“Bring the husband up here,” Edwards barks. The uniform nods and heads back down. “Roland, were you the one who called earlier about a disturbance?”

The old man nods with a glint in his eyes.

“Was Mr. Scott the reason?”

Roland nods again, “He came into the office spouting off about how his woman locked him out of their room.”

“Did he ask you for a key?”

“He did,” his gaze flicks my direction weary of where the detective was headed with this line of questioning. “I was just about to unlock the door when Hudson stepped out of his room.”

“Do you usually open other people’s rooms for strangers?”

“Uh, well, no,” Roland sputtered his face turning red. “He wasn’t exactly kind about his request.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“Well, no.”

“His name isn’t on the registry,” Detective Edwards steps toward Roland. “The woman he is looking for, her name isn’t on the registry either.”

I felt sorry for Roland. Detective Edwards is about to hand him his ass.

“I-I’m not sure what you’re getting at-”

“Not this son of a bitch again,” Erik’s voice cuts Roland off again.

The officers tense, preparing for a possible physical altercation. I shift, blocking him from seeing past me and into the room. Edwards notices my movement but says nothing.

“Mr. Scott,” the detective’s voice is strong and authoritative. Mr. Nice Cop is gone. Erik paid him no mind, his beady eyes remain on me. “Do you know this man?”

“This is the asshole that kept me from-” he stops suddenly, his eyes grow wide and he clamps his mouth shut. His gaze shoots to the detective, who is smirking at him. He hadn’t told them about his visit earlier.

“Go on,” Edwards smiles. He’s goading him now.

“I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” Erik squawks but it’s too late. Edwards nods and the uniform take out his cuffs.

“Mr. Scott you are under arrest for falsifying information to the police,” the uniform says,  he continues to read Erik his rights.

“This is outrageous, my wife has been kidnapped and I’m the one being arrested?” Erik sputters as the uniforms escorts him back down to the cruisers. Edwards turns back to Roland.

“Unlock the door please, or do I need to get a warrant?”

Roland doesn’t hesitate. He quickly slips the key it into the lock and opens the door. Detective Edwards walks into the room and turns on a light. Roland and I follow cautiously behind him. The yellow glow from the outdated lamps illuminates the room.

There wasn’t any trash anywhere. There wasn’t any clothing hanging in the closet or tucked away in the dresser. There weren’t any wet towels hanging in the bathroom. Besides an unmade bed, you’d never guess someone lived here for a week.

I didn’t know what to expect but this was something else entirely.

“Detective, no one is here or has been here for some time,” the uniform called Franks says from the center of the room.