were not in sight. He knelt down on one knee and looked under the bed. Nothing. The two bodies were gone. Rudy stood and slowly looked around the room. He could see no sign that they had ever been in the room except for the blood. How could they have left the room? He went directly to the spot where he had left the switch blade knife he had taken from them. It to, was gone. Had someone else been in the suite during his absence?
Rudy felt relieved that he did not have to deal with the two bodies. He was not sure what he was going to do with them anyway, so at least that problem was solved. Their disappearance however, was of great concern. Had one of the thugs survived and made off with his companion and the knife? Why would they trouble themselves to retrieve the knife?
Rudy was exhausted. He was feeling the effects of the loss of blood and being up all night. He would sleep a few hours and then he could continue to worry about the intruders. He made his way to the second bedroom at the rear of the suite and opened the door. The bedroom meant for Roberto was dark, cool, and undisturbed. The freshly turned down king-size bed looked very inviting and he wasted no time removing his clothes and let them fall to the floor. He crawled between the crip sheets naked. His thoughts turned to Pamela and her wet, warm lips. He needed her. He could fall in love with her.
Chapter Two
“Mr. Rodriguez...Mr. Rodriguez, wake up. I’m Detective Levy, New York City Police Department, Homicide Division.” Rudy opened his eyes to see a tall, thin white man holding a gold badge for him to examine. “Mr. Rodriguez we’re here to investigate a reported homicide. We’ve received an anonymous call claiming that a murder has occurred in this hotel suite. We have a search warrant and the hotel management has provided us with the pass key.” The Detective picked up Rudy’s trousers and tossed them onto the bed. “Get up and put these on, we have some questions to ask you.” Rudy nodded his head in compliance and did as he was told.
“What time is it?” Rudy asked a uniformed policeman standing at the foot of the bed. “It’s almost 9:00 A.M.” he responded. Rudy had had only about an hour and a half of sleep before the unwelcome interruption.
“Let’s take a walk to the other bedroom,” Detective Levy instructed. As the pair walked through the living room and into the front bedroom, Rudy counted the number of police officers in the suite. Four uniformed policemen and five plain clothed detectives. “Can you explain the blood all over this bed?” Detective Levy asked Rudy. “Yes,” Rudy declared, “I had an accident.” “What kind of accident?” asked Levy. “Sword practice, I cut my shoulder,” Rudy pointed to the large bandage on his left shoulder. “You were practicing with a sword in bed?” Levy snickered. “No, I was standing next to the bed when I slashed my shoulder and I used the bed sheets to stop the bleeding. I spent the rest of the night at New York General Hospital’s emergency room getting stitches and didn’t get back to the hotel until an hour and a half ago,” Rudy recounted. “Show me the sword,” Levy snapped back at Rudy.
“I can’t...it seems to have gone missing while I was at the hospital.” Rudy knew his answer would not be believed, but at least it would buy him some time to be able to think things through. “I am extremely tired and went right to bed after returning from the hospital...I have not tried to locate the sword since returning back here to the room.”
A second plain clothes detective stepped forward and produced a gold badge for Rudy to acknowledge. “I’m Detective Miller,” he said, “Are you Roberto Rodriguez?”
“Yes,” Rudy answered, “ah...no actually I’m Rudolph Roberto Rodriguez, my twin brother is Roberto Rudolph Rodriguez.”
Detective Miller quipped, “People with twins and their names” and made a quick note to his pad. He scrolled back through the little pad’s pages and said, “The hotel register shows that Robert Rodriguez has been checked into this suite for three days. When was the last time you saw your brother?” “A few days ago,” Rudy answered apprehensively. Detective Miller continued his questioning, “That would make it on Wednesday or Thursday then, is that correct?” Rudy was silent for a moment then answered, “No, I haven’t seen him since I’ve been in New York. We were together in Montreal last week. We are purchasing some properties there. That was the last time I spoke to him.”
“Do you know where your brother is right now?” asked Miller.
“No...not for certain,” Rudy answered, “He’s been doing the annual audit of the books of our inheritance for the last week. I assume you can find him there.”
Detective Levy interjected a question, “Is this your bedroom or your brother’s bedroom?” Rudy understood the implication of the question immediately...he’s using both bedrooms. “This is my bedroom. After returning from the hospital this morning, I needed a clean bed, so I used Roberto’s room, where you found me. I was going to have the maid make up both rooms after I awoke this afternoon.”
Miller fired off the next question, “What line of work are you and your brother in?” “I am Rudolph Rodriguez, a matador, and my brother is a businessman.” Again Miller made notes in the little pad.
“You’re a matador, like in bullfighting? That’s what this stuff with the sword is all about?” Levy asked as he waived his pointed finger at the blood stained bed sheets.
“Yes,” Rudy said, nodding his head. “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
Levy walked directly up to Rudy’s face and said, “How do we know it’s your blood and not your brother’s blood?”
“You can ask him,” Rudy said defiantly. “If you’ll take the time to check, you’ll find that Roberto is alive and active, irrespective of some snoops anonymous report to you to the contrary. I can prove I was at the hospital last night getting stitches. You’ll have to ask my brother how he spent his evening.”
Rudy went to the night table and picked up the telephone and said, “I’m calling my attorney. If you have any further questions, you’ll have to wait until I have legal counsel is present.” He dialed the number and waited for the connection.
Detective Levy instructed the forensic team to take pictures of the blood stained bed and to continue their routine evidence gathering.
Miller elected to go through the partially unpacked suitcase on the valet stand.
“Good morning, Vargas, Sanchez, and Garcia. How may I direct your call?”
“Good morning Heather, this is Rudolph Rodriguez, I’d like to speak to Juan please.”
“One moment please, Mr. Rodriguez while I page Mr. Vargas for you.” The line went to soft Spanish Flamenco guitar music.
After a moment Heather came on the line and said, Mr. Rodriguez, I reached Mr. Vargas on his cell phone and he said to tell you that he’s in the lobby of your hotel and is on his way to your suite.”
“He’s here?” Rudy questioned in amazement.
“Yes, that’s correct,” Heather said. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Rodriguez?”
“No, thank you Heather,” Rudy said hanging up the telephone with a questioning look on his face.
A commotion in the living room informed the group that Mr. Vargas had arrived.
“I’m Mr. Rodriguez’s attorney and no school boy in a blue uniform is going to keep me from consulting with my client.” The short, fat bald man barged past the uniformed policeman stationed at the door and into the bedroom. “Rudy, don’t say another word,” he commanded.
Juan Vargas was a bully of a man, used to having things go his way. The sixty-five year old senior partner of the law firm was the executor of Doctor Hector Rodriguez’s estate. He had personally handled the investments of the trust fund for the last thirty-one years. His success dealing in the world financial markets was only out done by his relentless greed. The trust fund had been established in 1985 with seventy-five million dollars and today had a cash value of over four billion dollars. Juan Vargas considered