Chapter 36
While Sean searched for Roger, Rivers emailed Sean the documents she’d obtained from Boston PD about the stalker’s letters.
There were four letters, the first offering vague threats of “hurting” Karla, but the subsequent letters became more violent, detailing violence of dismemberment, choking, and slicing young Karla’s throat.
Boston PD had been unable to identify any suspects.
The letters were mailed from a public drop box, and investigators recovered no fingerprints or DNA.
That alone told Sean whoever wrote them wasn’t playing around.
They had chosen to be deliberate in not making any mistakes, and now, if it was the same person, which Sean believed it was, they had followed through on their threats.
Sean only hoped to find Karla in one piece.
When Sean found Roger, the hotel owner was pacing anxiously, his cell phone pressed to his ear.
“Yeah, listen, that’s what I’m telling you,” Roger said, then noticed Sean and held up a finger to let him know he would be finished soon.
“The police report hasn’t been completed because we’re snowed in, and I just wanted to get a head start—” He shut his eyes, cut off by the person on the other side of the call.
“No, I don’t—” He tensed, clenching his fists so hard that his arms trembled.
“I know what my policy covers! I need to know when the money—Fine! Fuck you, too!” Roger hung up the phone, then slammed it onto his bed, the angry motion muted by the playful bounce of the phone on the cushions.
“Cheap motherfuckers!” Roger shouted, and then he pinched the bridge of his nose as if a headache was coming on. “God, these fucking people.”
“Everything all right?” Sean asked.
“No,” Roger said, lowering his hand. “I’ve been trying to get on the line with my insurance company to get the claim process going to repair some of the damages from the snowstorm.
I can already see some of the glass cracking in the atrium, and the snow-melt runoff stained the rugs in the lobby.
I need to get things moving, and these people want to nickel-and-dime you for everything.
I haven’t missed a payment my entire time with them. It’s…infuriating.”
Sean nodded. “It can be difficult when people don’t cooperate with you.”
“Tell me about it,” Roger said, sighing.
“So, why haven’t you been cooperating with me?” Sean asked.
Roger frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Marco Donovan,” Sean answered, watching Roger’s face for any recognition of the name, but Roger played dumb.
“Who is that?” Roger asked.
“It’s the name of the guy whose receipt from the gas station found its way into room 109’s trashcan,” Sean said. “A guy who also happens to be a mobster from Chicago who moved to Boston a few years back. A guy who was at the same prison you were locked up in thirteen years ago at the same time.”
Roger scrunched his face in bewilderment, the expression accentuating the wrinkles on his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Are you telling me that you don’t know who Marco Donovan is?” Sean asked.
“I’ve never heard that name in my life,” Roger answered. “Do you have any idea how many guys were at that prison? All I did was try to keep my head down and not get into any trouble that would have extended my time or got me killed.”
“And you don’t think it’s strange that a man who was at the same prison as you when you were there has a receipt that mysteriously ended up in one of your hotel rooms?” Sean asked. “All the while, I have a dead woman and a missing girl?”
“Look, man, I’ve been up front with you about everything,” Roger answered.
“Sure, maybe I didn’t bring up my past right away, but do you know how many times that’s come back to bite me in the ass?
Yeah, I did some stupid shit when I was younger.
Yeah, I wish I hadn’t. But I did my time.
I don’t want that life anymore.” He gestured to the hotel.
“It was why I came out here! Bought this hotel! I was dying for a fresh start!”
It was a compelling story, but before Sean could press Roger for any more questions, another scream echoed through the hotel hallways.
Sean was beginning to think this place was cursed.