Mister X

75

Quinn and Fedderman pushed through a heavy plate-glass revolving door and entered the lobby of the Belington. The bustling hum and rush of the city suddenly became quiet.

The lobby was not only hushed but surprisingly cool and vast. An array of ornate brass bars was affixed to the long registration desk in a way that suggested tellers' windows in an obsessively secure bank. The marble floor was patterned with fine cracks. The ceiling was vaulted, with a graceful design of arched wooden beams. Artificial green vines tumbled from large terra-cotta pots next to groupings of deeply upholstered furniture. On a table in front of a fan-shaped mirror were chipped and yellowed plaster busts of Artemis and Apollo, gazing away from each other like the arrogant book-ends they were.

"Looks like an ancient Greek ruin that's been spruced up," Fedderman said.

Ignoring a bellhop and curious desk clerk, they made their way to the elevators.

Vitali and Mishkin had met Keller at LaGuardia and driven him to the hotel. They'd ensconced him there according to Quinn's instructions and explained the rules. Mishkin had later dropped by the office and left a room key card for Quinn. He'd assured him that Keller was being cooperative, and everything was set up at the hotel. Quinn, being Quinn, wanted to make sure of that. He also had plenty of questions for Keller. Such as: How long had he been in New York? Had he actually flown in to LaGuardia, or taken a cab there so he could pretend? And had Lisa Bolt been telling the truth about him beating her? Lisa was a smooth liar.

"He's in two-twenty-one," Quinn said, leaning on the glowing up button as if it were a doorbell and he might speed things along inside.

Speed wasn't a feature of the Belington. Quinn and Fedderman got tired of waiting for an elevator and took the carpeted stairs to the second floor.

The halls in the old building were wide and long, lined with pale blue doors with raised panels. Quinn and Fedderman went to 221 and knocked.

When there was no response, Quinn knocked louder, keeping an eye on the door's glass peephole for any change of light.

Nothing.

Quinn pulled his wallet from his hip pocket and extracted his key card.

It worked on the first swipe, and they pushed the door open.

Quinn went in first, eyes darting left and right, taking in the neatly made bed with the closed suitcase on it, the hanging bag in the otherwise bare closet. Unlike the hall doors, the closet door was a cheap hollow-core panel that slid on tracks. The Belington's rooms didn't match the lobby's grandeur. They were small and plain and modestly furnished.

Both men stood motionless and listened. There was no sound of a shower or bath running. Fedderman went to the bathroom door, knocked twice, and then eased the door open. He looked back over his shoulder and shook his head. The bathroom was unoccupied.

Like the rest of the room.

"Keller agreed to stay in his room until we contacted him," Quinn said, annoyed by yet another missing participant in his plans.

"He probably stayed about twenty seconds," Fedderman said. He opened and closed the dresser drawers, all of them empty. "Didn't even bother to unpack."

"So many people disappearing at one time or another, we oughta turn the case over to Missing Persons," Quinn said.

He walked to the connecting door leading to the adjacent room and opened it to make sure it was unlocked. That room was to be occupied by whoever would be listening to Keller's bugged room, and would provide a staging area for the police if and when Chrissie did show up to take out her rage on dear Dad. Quinn let his glance roam over the room, identical to Keller's, and then closed the door, leaving it unlocked. He wandered over to the bed and checked the luggage tag. It said the suitcase belonged to Edward Archer. Quinn was getting used to this, people with at least two identities.

"Maybe he went out for something to eat," Fedderman said.

"The agreement was for him to use room service."

"Ever notice how our agreements never seem to work out?"

"Hard not to," Quinn said.

"The people we meet in our business, crooks and killers and such, they're dishonest."

"Can't count on them."

"I guess we shouldn't be surprised that Edward Keller is a lying bastard."

"I'm not surprised," Quinn said. "But I am pissed off."

Quinn returned to the suitcase on the bed and reached over to open it.

"Careful," Fedderman said. "It might be a bomb."

It wasn't a bomb, but it was empty.