“These kinds of thefts are common as bums at a soup kitchen,” Ed said, yawning. “Even happens at the Marriott and the Hilton. Karen, could you sit down, please? You look like a Secret Service agent.”
A duffel bag that said HUMMER on it was on the Fanta-orange couch. Karen picked it up, held it like a dead rat by the tail, and dropped it straight to the floor. She sat down and said: “This okay, Ed?”
Ed paused, inhaled deeply, and exhaled through his nose. Miss Myra thought she could hear him counting to ten in his head. She was annoyed with Isaiah. He’d brought her here and hadn’t said a word.
“Ma’am, it’s like I told you before,” Ed said, “this guy had you in his sights the minute you walked in, probably dressed up like a tourist, maybe even said hello to you. These guys are slick, let me tell you. Then he waits until you’re at the wedding, gets in your room, gets what he wants, and is in the wind before you or anybody else knew what happened. You almost have to admire the guy. He was a real pro.”
“How did he get out?” Isaiah said.
“How did who get out?” Ed said.
“The pro. How did he get thirty or forty presents out of the room and out of the hotel without being seen?”
“Good question,” Ed said, like he was responding to a kid on Career Day. “But try to understand, this hotel has a hundred and eighty rooms, twelve ground-level exits, and four more to the garage. No way two people can cover all that. Right, Karen?”
“If you say so, Ed,” she said.
“Was there anything on the surveillance cameras?” Isaiah said.
“No, I’m afraid not,” Ed said. “The system was down for the whole weekend. Damn computers. What can you do?”
“There was more than one thief,” Isaiah said, “and they were amateurs.”
Karen cleared her throat.
“I’m not following,” Ed said.
“One person couldn’t get thirty or forty presents out of there, not without being seen. There were other guests and housekeepers around. There had to be two of them and they weren’t professionals. A pro wouldn’t have taken all the presents, especially the big ones. They’re hard to carry and there’s no point stealing a punch bowl unless it’s Waterford crystal and this isn’t Beverly Hills. A pro would have gone for the smaller ones that might have had jewelry or electronics in them. No, these were amateurs.” Isaiah looked directly at Ed. “And they were employees.”
The washing machines were still groaning but the room seemed to go quiet. This was too much tension for Miss Myra. She wanted to go home and watch Shonda Simmons and where was Isaiah getting all this? Was he making it up?
Ed had his lips pursed like he was kissing his mom. “Now that’s a very serious charge you’re making,” he said. “I hope for your sake you can back that up.”
“The employees knew which room had the presents in it and when it would be empty,” Isaiah said. “They’d have access to key cards so getting in was no problem. They got the presents out of the room by stashing them in another room and then they took them out of the hotel a few at a time in something like that Hummer bag.”
“Well,” Ed said, standing up, “that’s a very interesting theory but unfortunately it’s pure speculation and if I were you I’d leave the detective work to me. Now I’ve got a really busy schedule today and—”
“Room 605,” Isaiah said.
“605?” Ed said.
“That’s the room you hid the presents in and why nobody saw you. It’s right across the hall from Brenda’s room and it’s always vacant because it’s next to that noisy elevator. You used it again today, didn’t you? Want some advice? Take a shower when you’re done. Both of you smell like the lubricant on a condom.”
“Oh my God,” Karen said, sniffing her hands.
Ed did the gorilla pose. Leaning forward, arms straight down, palms flat on the desk. “You can spin all the theories you want but you’ve got no proof, no witnesses, no nothing.”
“Good, Ed,” Karen said. “Way to not give it away.”
“I talked to a housekeeper,” Isaiah said. “She said everybody knows about the stealing and she said you’ve done it before.”
Miss Myra looked at him. What housekeeper?
“That’s a bald-faced lie,” Ed said, “and I know who told you that. That bitch Esmeralda. Woman’s got it in for me but I couldn’t tell you why.”
“You call her Chiquita Banana,” Karen said. “Maybe that’s why.”
“Only once or twice and if she thinks management’s gonna take her word over mine—”
“I’d take her word over yours,” Karen said. “God, you’re an idiot. How I let you talk me into something like this I’ll never know.”
“Karen, I’m handling this.”
“Shut up, Ed, for God’s sake shut up.” Ed started to reply but Karen looked at him hard enough to break his jaw. She pushed the hair out of her eyes, her face shinier and redder than before. “I’m really really sorry,” she said. “Is there any possible chance we could make this go away? We’ll do anything you say.”