The Hostage: BookShots (Hotel Series) (6 page)

‘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.’

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?’

For a split second Jessie thought the man might respond, but before she could say any more he had dropped the head onto the spotlessly clean floor, leapt onto one of the benches and then jumped across the room from one bench to the next. At the back of the kitchen he vaulted off the final bench, ran towards the service elevator, and before Jessie knew it he was gone.

Jessie looked at the kitchen. She could see the abandoned head lying on the floor, blood splattered around it. Towards the back of the room she could see a blood-soaked bench. There was a body lying on top of it. In the silence of the kitchen she could hear a steady drip of blood onto the polished floor.

She turned to the kitchen exit and suddenly found herself screaming for Jon.

ROSCOE COULD STILL
remember the very first time he tasted a home-baked cake, made with Jessie’s secret ingredients of love and kindness, in the tiny kitchen of her small apartment in the Brixton area of London. It was his third birthday and from that day forward he’d known nobody could bake cakes the way his aunt Jessie could.

Jessie had lived in the apartment upstairs from the Roscoe family and it hadn’t taken her long to realise Jon’s dad was a bad lot. She’d been able to hear the shouting each evening when Colin Roscoe returned home and Jessie had increasingly feared for Jon and his mother. While never one to shy away from confrontation, she’d known the best thing she could do to help was not enrage Colin Roscoe any further. Jessie had started to call in each morning and afternoon to make sure Helen Roscoe was coping and she had everything she needed for her young son. She’d known not to insult Helen by offering her money, but she’d had a special skill at finding whatever it was Helen or Jon needed at any point in time, usually hidden away in her old wardrobe or tucked away at the back of her kitchen cupboard. She’d loved how Jon had begun to think of her wardrobe as a magical place, and had known Helen never ceased to be grateful for the toys or clothes or bikes which Jessie had found, having kept them since her own teenage son, Alvin, was a small boy.

The one time Jessie had offered Helen money was the day Colin Roscoe had left for good. She’d known he was gone for ever, and although she’d been relieved for Helen, she had known that while he’d been a bad lot, Colin had at least provided a roof over his family’s heads. Now Helen was alone in the world – her, her son and her unborn child.

Jessie hadn’t had a huge amount herself, but when Alvin’s father had died two years before he had left her and their son enough to live on. She’d gone to Helen with her first month’s rent and had received a promise it would be repaid as soon as Helen received her first paycheque from the two jobs she had taken on. Jessie had insisted there was no need, but the day after Helen had been paid, the loan amount had been quietly slipped under Jessie’s front door. Jessie had known to accept the money graciously, but in the weeks that followed, some extra discoveries would be made at the back of her magic wardrobe.

Jessie and Helen had become the closest of friends, and to Jon, Aunt Jessie had become a second mother. On the nights his mum would be working, Jon would go upstairs for his supper and then Jessie would love putting him down to sleep in her own bed. When Helen would come home from work, she’d wrap Jon in a blanket and carefully carry him down the stairs, before handing him over to his mother’s waiting arms. Every night when Helen took hold of her son, Jessie’s heart would break as she saw how close to exhaustion her dear friend had become.

Jessie often thought of the day Jon’s baby sister, Amanda, arrived in the world – arriving in great haste on a cold and wet December evening. Helen had stopped working the week before and with Jon safely asleep in bed, she’d sat watching television with Jessie. As Jessie had cleared away the dinner plates, and Alvin had finished his homework, Helen had rested her feet in front of the latest soap opera. Very quickly, all of the action had been in Jessie’s apartment and with the baby on her way, Jessie had called a cab to take her and Helen to the hospital while Alvin was given clear instructions on what he needed to do to care for Jon. But Alvin had known that part would be easy. Jon had idolised Alvin, loving him like a big brother, and would always behave whenever he asked him to.

Jessie had helped Helen into the cab, but as they’d made their way through the London streets they’d got caught up in the traffic created by eager Christmas shoppers. Jessie had praised the Lord as the cab driver had performed miracles to get them to the hospital in double-quick time but the real miracle had been in the back of the cab, where she’d delivered Helen’s baby daughter. When the cab had arrived at the hospital the cord had been cut and Helen’s new baby had been carried into the building. Helen and Jessie had followed along with two nurses and it hadn’t been long before Helen was sitting up in bed nursing baby Amanda Jessica. Jessie had smiled the broadest smile and felt for the first time that her family was complete.

Jessie had known life for Helen was never going to be easy with two young children and two jobs but she had been happy doing everything she could to help. Often in the evening she would see Helen arrive home exhausted as she made her way downstairs to carefully hand over both of the children. Over time, she’d seen the sparkle disappear from Helen; her smiles were gone and the laughter in her eyes, which had appeared after Colin had left, had gradually faded away.

On a warm summer evening, Jessie had sat with Helen in their small, shared garden and had told her friend she looked shattered. Tears had welled in Jessie’s eyes as Helen broke down and admitted she was finding life harder and harder. Jessie had suggested they take the children away for the weekend, and two weeks later they’d been walking in sun-drenched open fields. Jessie had known it had been the right thing to do as Jon had run across the fields with Alvin while Amanda had toddled along, holding hands with Helen and Jessie. After two wonderful days, they’d caught the bus back to London and home.

As the bus had pulled into Victoria station, Jessie had seen that Helen had fallen asleep and she’d reached across to wake her. But she hadn’t been able to stir her dearest friend and suddenly Jessie had been standing with the three children, watching Helen being loaded into the back of an ambulance. Twenty-four hours later, Helen’s diagnosis had been made. The cancer had spread to her bones and suddenly she’d had to decide about the future of her children. Tears had filled her eyes as Helen had asked Jessie to take care of Jon and Amanda after she was gone. Jessie hadn’t hesitated for a moment and when the time had come, Jon and Amanda had made their way up the stairs and Jessie’s home had become theirs.

Jessie still remembered the first night when Jon had moved into her home, how he and Alvin had carried his toys up the stairs, and how as he’d walked into the apartment, he had smelt the most delicious cakes she had spent the afternoon baking. On his saddest day, as he’d sat at her kitchen table and eaten his way through three chocolate muffins, she had been able to see that he was beginning to feel warm inside. Amanda had been sitting next to him, and Jessie had been able to see how protective Jon felt of his little sister.

Two years later, Jessie had adopted Jon and Amanda and Aunt Jessie became the only real mother Amanda could remember. Jon had still thought of his own mother, but Jessie had known that he loved her as much as any child could love a mother.

Throughout Jon’s childhood, Jessie would spend every Saturday baking fresh cakes and brownies for her family and creating her own most wonderful recipes. When the coffee shop folk had moved into Brixton, suddenly cakes and baking had become cool. Jessie had listened to Jon’s encouragement and now she had her own successful business. And with Jon working at the new London Tribeca Hotel, it seemed only right that Auntie’s Bakery would be the supplier of the best home-cooked muffins and doughnuts anywhere in London.

JESSIE RAN THROUGH
the kitchen and into the majestic dining room, where in three days’ time some of the wealthiest and most influential clientele were due to be served the best food a hotel restaurant had ever presented. But as she moved through the restaurant, she realised it was stupid of her to be screaming for Jon. The hotel was vast and he could be anywhere on one of its forty floors. If only he were there right now, she thought in desperation.

And then he was.

Seeing him entering the dining room, she kept running, as fast as she possibly could, until she reached him.

‘Jon,’ she cried, running into his arms. And then he was holding her as tight as she had used to hold him.

‘Aunt Jessie?’ he said, hugging her and almost forgetting what had gone before. ‘Where did you come from?’

She looked up at him, the thoughtful boy she’d raised and now the strong, brave man she adored. Looking at his handsome face, she knew she had to tell him what she had seen, however horrendous it was.

‘I was in the kitchen, Jon,’ she cried, starting to shake. ‘It … It was horrible. Horrible!’

‘It’s okay, Aunt Jessie. I’m here now. You’re safe. What did you see?’

‘A head, Jon. A human head. Cut off from its body. There’s a head in the kitchen.’

‘No, Aunt Jessie,’ said Roscoe, holding her closely to his chest. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to see that.’

Jessie looked up at the man she loved as a son and only then realised he had a gun in his hand.

She stepped back.

‘Jon? What’s happening?’

‘The hotel is under attack. I think it’s probably by just one man, but from what you’re telling me that’s the third person he’s killed today.’ Roscoe paused. ‘I’ve got to ask you this – but where was the head?’ he said, not wanting to upset his aunt any further but knowing he needed to find the killer.

‘Jon, he was holding it!’ yelled Aunt Jessie, burying her head further into Jon’s chest. ‘And then he dropped it onto the floor.’

Holding tightly on to his aunt, Roscoe realised she had come face to face with the killer. He couldn’t imagine the unspeakable horror she had seen in the kitchen. After a moment, he stepped slightly away to look into Aunt Jessie’s tear-filled eyes.

‘Did you see his face?’ he asked, still holding her hands but stepping backwards in the direction of the kitchen.

‘No, he was wearing a mask.’

‘And he’s still in there now?’ said Roscoe, letting go of her and starting to walk through the vaulted dining room to the kitchen.

‘He scrambled over the kitchen tables and I think he went into the elevator. But where are you going?’