The Hostage: BookShots (Hotel Series) Page 4

  Roscoe was the first to react.

  Seeing the elevator drop floor by floor, he shouted across the lobby.

  ‘Everyone get back now! Take whatever cover you can!’ He backed away from the elevator doors, pushing his arms forward to move people away. ‘Take cover behind whatever you can. Get back! Now!’

  He ran back across the lobby, watching the elevator continue its relentless descent. His heart pounding, he knew every life was in imminent danger.

  ‘Do you think it’s him, Roscoe?’ asked Savage, appearing fearful as he struggled to act in the immediate face of danger.

  ‘I don’t know, but we need to get everyone as far away from the elevator doors as possible.’

  ‘Back!’ yelled Savage, following Roscoe’s lead.

  Roscoe watched as the floors ticked past.

  Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen.

  ‘We need to be ready for him, Peter,’ said Roscoe.

  Savage deployed three armed officers at the elevator doors. Crouching down, each officer released the safety catches on their semi-automatic weapons.

  Fourteen, thirteen, twelve.

  Savage reached across and handed a Glock 26 to Roscoe.

  ‘You know how to use this better than anyone.’

  Roscoe knelt directly in front of the elevator doors. He would be the first to fire.

  Ten, nine, eight.

  Standing behind his officers, Savage pulled his own weapon. The foyer was silent, all eyes fixed on the elevator countdown.

  Five, four, three, two, one.

  Lobby.

  CHAPTER 11

  ROSCOE’S FINGER TIGHTENED on the trigger.

  Sweat ran down Peter Savage’s back.

  Everyone across the marble lobby held a breath.

  And the elevator doors opened.

  Silence.

  Inside, an office chair was slowly spinning to a halt.

  Roscoe’s finger twitched on the trigger as the chair made its final turn to face forward.

  Screams.

  The mutilated naked body of a middle-aged man was exposed to all. The body was bound to the chair by a leather belt, his chest cracked open and his heart ripped to the surface.

  At the sight of the blood-soaked body, Savage heaved and turned away. Unable to look upon the obliterated body, he walked away from the elevator. Breathing deeply, he tried to fill his lungs and to regain his composure.

  Roscoe slowly lowered his weapon. The floor of the elevator was soaked in the man’s blood. He stepped forward to the edge of the door and saw the dead man was holding a sign written in blood:

  ‘HOTEL UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT.’

  Behind him, Roscoe heard screams continue from the shocked onlookers as he very carefully lifted the dead man’s head to try to identify him. Immediately he recognised the man as Michael Duncan, one of the hotel’s specialist security drivers. Roscoe had appointed him the previous week on the personal recommendation of Jackson Harlington. Duncan had been detailed to bring Harlington’s business partner, Oscar Miller, to the hotel earlier in the day.

  Roscoe walked back from the elevator and indicated to the three armed police officers to disengage their weapons. He looked across at Savage and saw he was still shaking.

  Knowing he was being watched, Savage forced himself to take a hesitant step towards Roscoe. Breathing heavily, he attempted again to regain his composure.

  ‘What kind of man are we dealing with, Roscoe?’ asked Savage, failing to hide the tremble in his voice. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this. What has he done to him?’

  Savage became hypnotised by the sight of the dead man’s body, unable to draw his eyes away from the shattered chest and eviscerated heart.

  ‘Is that his heart?’ he asked, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. ‘My God, Jon, he’s an executioner.’

  ‘Look at me, Peter,’ ordered Roscoe, stepping across to Savage, putting his arm around his shoulder and steering him away from the elevator. ‘This is brutal, but you’re the officer in charge and you have to show it.’

  ‘I can’t, Jon. Look what he’s done. He’s some kind of animal. Insane.’ Roscoe could hear the panic rising in Savage’s voice.

  ‘If the body’s come down from the twenty-fifth floor, it means the Harlington family are in danger. We need to get upstairs and find them. You need to lead your team and we need to stop this man before he kills again.’

  Savage took a deep breath.

  ‘You’re right. We can do this,’ he said, reassuring himself. ‘You and I, we can do this. We were a good team when we worked together. Good cop, bad cop – in every sense of the word.’

  Roscoe offered a smile in an attempt to support his former colleague. Savage was right. This was a brutal attack, not something he had ever seen the like of before. And he knew they had to go to the Harlington family – whatever it meant they might discover. ‘We need to go upstairs now. We’ve got to go to twenty-five.’

  Savage called over two of the armed officers to accompany them up the building, leaving one officer to secure the scene. In silence they walked past the blood-soaked elevator, Roscoe pressing the call button for the neighbouring one. As the doors opened, the three men and one woman stepped inside.

  Journeying up through the building, Roscoe wondered what might greet them on the twenty-fifth floor. When the elevator doors finally opened, he led them out onto the hallway’s hand-woven Indian rug, weapon drawn. As he did so, he heard a desperate cry for help.

  It was coming from the Royal Garden Suite.

  CHAPTER 12

  QUICKLY AND WITHOUT hesitation, Roscoe moved down the hallway, his position covered by the armed officers following close behind him. As he reached the door to the Royal Garden Suite, another terrified cry for help came from inside the room. He pushed at the door but found it securely locked. He reached for his access pass, only to realise he had left it with Anna. Immediately he grabbed a fire extinguisher from the hall, smashed the lock and then forced the door open.

  The living room and dining room were both deserted. Roscoe crossed to the entrance to the main bedroom and indicated to one of the officers to open the door as he and Savage covered him.

  Another piercing scream came from inside the room.

  The door swung open.

  Roscoe turned to Savage and quietly said, ‘Thank God for that.’

  Tied back to back on the bed were Jacqueline Harlington, the daughter of Jackson Harlington, and Oscar Miller. Miller had been struck on the head and blood had run down across his face. Both he and Jacqueline had been gagged but Jacqueline had worked her gag loose, making her the source of the cries for help. The police officers scanned the room as Roscoe pointed towards the closed bathroom door.

  ‘My mom’s in the bathroom,’ Jacqueline Harlington sobbed. ‘Be quick. You need to see if she’s okay.’

  Roscoe ran to the bathroom and threw open the door. Lying on the floor was Jocasta Harlington, her hands tied, her feet bound and a gag tightly wrapped around her mouth. Roscoe knelt on the bathroom floor, removing the gag and untying the ropes, which he saw had cut into her wrists.

  ‘Jacqueline?’ came the first cry from Jocasta.

  ‘It’s okay, Mom, I’m here. I’m okay.’

  ‘And Oscar?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ replied Oscar Miller, a little blearily but with nothing more than superficial injuries.

  ‘Thank you, God,’ cried Jocasta. ‘And thank you, Jon,’ she said, turning to Roscoe, the man who had headed her husband’s security team for the past two years.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened, Mrs Harlington?’ asked Roscoe.

  He helped Jocasta to her feet and supported her as she walked shakily into the bedroom. Jacqueline and Oscar Miller had been untied by the officers and Jocasta rushed across to hug her daughter.

  ‘I can see this has been a horrible ordeal, Mrs Harlington,’ persisted Roscoe, ‘but we need to know what happened.’

  ‘Jon, it was terrifying – horrendous.
Jackson had invited Oscar to come up to the suite when he was ready.’ Jocasta suddenly stopped and turned to the police officers. ‘Jackson?’ she exclaimed. ‘Where’s Jackson? Jon, he took Jackson. Where’s my husband?’

  Stepping forward, Roscoe sat on the corner of the bed next to Jocasta and her daughter. ‘It’s not good, Mrs Harlington,’ he said.

  Jocasta’s eyes filled with tears. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ she asked, as Roscoe wondered if she already knew the answer she was about to receive.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ he said, putting his hand on her arm.

  Jacqueline Harlington let out a cry at the news of the death of her father as Oscar Miller put his hand to his face. Jocasta Harlington sat motionless and somehow retained her composure.

  ‘I think I knew,’ she said. ‘The man was heavily armed. When Jackson opened the door to welcome Oscar, he easily forced his way in. As soon as he was in the room he hit Jackson across the head, knocked him unconscious with the butt of his gun. Jackson went straight down.’ Jacqueline started to sob as her mother continued, ‘He wore a mask the whole time. A ski mask, I think. He threatened to shoot us all, Jon. Jackson was on the floor, hardly moving. He tied up Oscar and Jacqueline. Oscar started to struggle.’

  Jocasta turned to Oscar Miller. ‘Why did you do that, Oscar? He might have killed you.’ Only now did she show any real emotion. ‘He struck Oscar and then he dragged me into the bathroom. I thought he was going to kill me but all he did was tie me up. He left me lying on the floor and I could see him going back to Jackson. Jackson was coming round and he dragged him to his feet. I started screaming and that’s when he came back in and gagged me. Then he closed the door and left me. After that I didn’t see any more.’

  She bowed her head and Roscoe could see the physical effort she had to make to stop herself breaking down, as her hands trembled on her knees.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Harlington,’ he said before turning to Jacqueline. ‘I know this is difficult, but can you tell me what happened after that?’ he asked her.

  ‘He came back out, grabbed hold of my father, pointed the gun at his head and forced him out of the room. And that was it until you came in,’ said Jacqueline, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  ‘How long since he left?’

  ‘It feels like hours, Jon, but I’m guessing it’s no more than thirty or forty minutes,’ Jocasta said.

  Roscoe turned to Savage. ‘He’s working to a timetable,’ he said quietly. ‘When he called us from the twenty-fifth floor he knew we’d head upstairs. He was waiting for us to unlock the elevators and as soon as we did he sent down his message. By the time we get up here, he’s long gone.’

  ‘Did any of you recognise him at all?’ asked Savage. ‘Or feel like you knew him or might have known him in any way?’

  ‘He wore the mask,’ said Jacqueline. ‘There was no way we would’ve been able to recognise him even if we did know him.’

  ‘What about his voice?’ pressed Savage. ‘Anything at all that struck a chord with you?’

  ‘He never spoke,’ said Jacqueline. ‘Not a word. Nothing.’

  ‘What about you, Mrs Harlington. Any recognition?’ continued Savage. ‘Anything you might be able to tell us could be vital.’

  ‘I’m sorry, no. I wish there was. We’ve told you everything.’

  ‘Can you tell us what happened to my father?’ asked Jacqueline Harlington, looking directly at Savage.

  Savage couldn’t answer. He turned to Roscoe for help. Silence hung in the air.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Harlington. It seems like the hotel is, I don’t know …’ said Roscoe, struggling for words, ‘it seems as if the hotel is under some kind of attack. I’m afraid Mr Harlington was killed as part of that. Right now we’ve every reason to believe the killer is still in the hotel, and that means we need to get you somewhere safe.’

  ‘We should take you downstairs, Mrs Harlington. All of you. We can get medical attention for Mr Miller,’ added Savage.

  The police officers started to help Jocasta Harlington and her daughter to their feet.

  ‘Savage,’ said Roscoe softly. ‘He could have killed all three of them if he’d wanted to. But he chose not to. He killed Jackson Harlington and Michael Duncan but he didn’t kill Harlington’s wife, daughter or business partner. I’m telling you – this is something personal.’

  Roscoe could see Savage didn’t want to get into a discussion around the killer’s motive.

  ‘Let’s get these people downstairs,’ said Savage sharply, ‘and then maybe we start a general evacuation. You were right, Jon. We’ve got to get everyone out before it’s too late.’

  And then the phone in the suite started to ring.

  CHAPTER 13

  IN THE ROYAL Garden Suite, the phone continued to ring loudly.

  Roscoe looked across at Savage and saw a man frozen with fear.

  The phone continued to ring.

  All eyes in the room turned towards the inspector, who stood motionless.

  The phone continued to ring.

  Seeing that Savage was petrified, Roscoe stepped forward. ‘He’s already spoken to you, Peter. You’re the one who can build a relationship with him. Answer it.’

  ‘No,’ said Savage as his eyes rapidly raced around the room. ‘It should be you, Jon,’ he insisted, desperately searching for a reason as to why.

  The phone continued to ring.

  ‘I’ve spoken to him once. I think it would be good for you to build an understanding of him as well,’ said Savage. Roscoe watched him trying to convince himself as much as anyone else in the room.

  Roscoe grabbed the phone. ‘This is Jon Roscoe.’

  ‘No Inspector Savage? Now that is disappointing. Perhaps he is enjoying the wealth of amenities we offer to all our valued guests here at Tribeca Luxury Hotels.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘And so, Jon Roscoe, what is it you do?’

  ‘I head up security here at the hotel.’

  ‘Oh dear. I think we might need to have a meeting, Jon Roscoe, as from what I understand, things aren’t going too well on that front.’

  ‘This needs to stop,’ said Roscoe. ‘And it needs to stop now!’

  ‘I take it you’ve freed my hostages on the twenty-fifth floor.’

  ‘We’re helping Mrs Harlington and her daughter, yes. And Mr Miller.’

  The killer was silent.

  ‘Tell me, what are you trying to achieve?’ said Roscoe.

  ‘I think we all want the same thing – for the grand opening of the Tribeca Luxury Hotel in London’s Mayfair to be remembered around the world for a very long time.’

  ‘I think you might have achieved that already,’ Roscoe said, determined to keep the killer talking.

  ‘As you say, Jon Roscoe, perhaps.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘Didn’t I say? How remiss of me. Not the level of service we expect here at Tribeca. Allow me to apologise. As the new manager of the hotel I’ve given instructions for a very special lunch to be prepared. I do hope you enjoy it.’

  The phone went dead.

  ‘That’s it, he’s disconnected,’ said Roscoe, turning to the room.

  Savage moved forward in an attempt to assert control. ‘I should head for the kitchen. That’s where he wants us to go.’

  ‘Exactly,’ warned Roscoe. ‘That’s what he wants. He’s always a step ahead of us. His next move is for us all to charge down to the kitchen. Let’s not fall into that trap. I say we get everyone in here safe and when that’s done we secure the area around the kitchen and the restaurant. If we throw our net wide enough, we’ll have him trapped.’

  CHAPTER 14

  HAVING LIVED IN London all of her life, Jessie Luck knew her way around every one of the city’s winding backstreets. With traffic as bad as ever, she drove herself around the side streets of Mayfair, avoiding all the main roads and congestion. Pulling up to the rear of the Tribeca Luxury Hotel, she stopped in the employee parking lot and made her way to
the kitchen entrance of the hotel.

  Jessie was surprised to find the hotel so deserted but didn’t give it a second thought. She knew everyone would be busy throughout the building in preparation for the grand opening later in the week. She went to buzz the kitchen intercom, but saw the figure of a man by the main kitchen entrance and quickly made her way over to him.

  ‘Hello,’ Jessie called to him. The door was open, and he was standing just inside. ‘I was hoping you might be able to give me a hand. At my age I can still manage to do the baking but my days of carrying in the boxes are long gone. There’s a muffin in it for you if you can help me,’ she smiled at him.

  There was no response, so Jessie guessed the man hadn’t heard her.

  ‘Hello,’ she called again. ‘Hello, I wondered if you might be able to help me?’

  She saw the figure step back inside the kitchen. Never one to be deterred, she followed. Entering the vast room, with row upon row of stainless steel preparation benches and tables, she saw the figure turn away from her and move to the back of the kitchen.

  Beginning to feel slightly irate at being ignored, she called out again in a voice designed to show her growing displeasure, ‘Excuse me, I wondered if you might be able to give me a hand. I’ve a number of boxes—’

  Jessie stopped.

  The figure turned and walked slowly towards her.

  For the first time she saw that the man was wearing a black ski mask to hide his face, but that almost didn’t register with her.

  The man was covered in blood.

  His arms hung by his sides and in one hand he was carrying a decapitated human head. The head was rotating from side to side as he gripped it by the hair on its scalp.

  Jessie stood open-mouthed, staring at the man, but refused to run away. The man stopped moving towards her.

  Standing in front of the open door, Jessie realised she was blocking his route of escape. She edged to one side. At any moment he might come at her. He could probably kill her with one blow yet at that moment she didn’t feel afraid.

  ‘I guess you won’t be helping me with my boxes, but perhaps I can help you?’ she said, surprising herself at her calm approach. ‘Why don’t I stand to the side? Or maybe I should walk away from you, out into the parking lot?’