The room was a bloody mess and it was my fault.
I could have sent John. If I’d sent John to run to the store for more paper, we’d both be alive. I hadn’t thought about the vulnerability of our temporary office, and John paid with his life. I’d returned to find hotel security and the Los Angeles police crawling all over a murder scene. They might not be sure it was a murder but I was.
I could also have tried to teach John the spells Zeb had been teaching me. The banishing one would have been obviously useful to him in the situation he’d faced. Maybe it would have worked for him, maybe it wouldn’t, but at least I would have been able to say I’d tried.
The hotel surveillance tapes were clear, so at least this once I didn’t have police trying to frame me for John’s murder. They’d recorded my exit, and there had been cops and hotel security who saw me return, ignorant of what had happened until they showed me the awful truth.
Maybe I hadn’t done it, but I knew it was my fault John was dead.
I was wondering what all the fuss was about as I parked the Porsche and retrieved the paper from the front seat. Eve Destrillo, the hotel’s agent for special rentals, met me with a plainclothes cop, one I didn’t know. “What’s going on?” I asked, as Eve introduced us, “Sergeant Martinez, this is Mark Jackson, the leaseholder. Mark, Sergeant Martinez, L.A.P.D. He needs to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Mr. Jackson, there’s been an incident in your room.” That’s when I knew, as the pit dropped out of my stomach. I wasn’t even worried about the two hundred deaths Whitehall and Ramirez were trying to pin on me. I knew what had happened before she ever said, “Some of the neighboring rooms reported gunshots. When hotel staff went to investigate, we found the body of a white male. We called the police immediately.”
“May I see the room?” I asked.
“It’s not a pretty sight,” Sergeant Martinez replied, “but it seems a necessary thing. I’ll need you to answer some questions first.”
That brought things to a screeching halt, “Then I’d better call my attorney. George Stuart of Morris Silver and Associates. Probably better if we all just wait for George before starting anything, as my responses are going to be repetitive and not informative until then.”
“You’re not a suspect, Mr. Jackson. Security cameras show…”
“Sergeant, my wife is an attorney. We both know ‘not a suspect’ is subject to change. Let’s just start this out the right way, shall we?”
“So you’re saying there is reason to suspect you.”
Our public servants hate it when somebody realizes they can become the target of a witch hunt or the whim of a police investigator. “No, sergeant, and you know better. I have been subjected to being made the subject of witch-hunts twice in the past few weeks because the person I suspect is behind this attack has political allies and allies in the police department who have decided that I am the only suspect in defiance of all evidence. If you’re not crooked, you will await the arrival of my attorney patiently. If you are, you’d use anything I said to fabricate a pretense of suspicion, so I’m definitely waiting for an attorney. Which is it going to be?”
“Call your attorney.”
So I called the Morris Silver number, but George was busy in court, and it was Julie came to my defense during the police interview. It took her about 45 minutes, and in the time I was waiting, I took two phone calls from clients, but Sergeant Martinez did not offer to allow me access to the office. I understood that given the circumstances, he couldn’t, but that still didn’t make it any better to leave me sitting isolated from all my work when I was now going to have to do John’s work as well as my own.
Julie’s arrival gave us the opportunity for a quick hug and kiss, then she was all business. She was wearing a white and cream outfit, with cream skirt that fell just below her knees. “Sergeant Martinez, I understand you wish to interview my husband as a witness in this case. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Ms. Ingmar…”
“Thank you, but I’m going by Mrs. Jackson, now.”
“Then yes, Mrs. Jackson. Congratulations. Now, as to the body in the office, Mr. Jackson, do you know who it was?”
As usual, I counted to three to let Julie break in if she thought it was necessary, and she did, “Have you shown him the body, yet?”
“I have not. In fact, the coroner took custody a few minutes ago and it is no longer in situ.”
“Then it would be speculation on the part of my husband to answer that question.” To me, “Mark, to the best of your knowledge, who would have been present in the office in your absence?”
“Only my assistant, John Hawthorne.”
“Continue, Sergeant,” Julie prompted.
“What was your relationship with Mr. Hawthorne?”
“Employer. John was my assistant. He did most of the behind the scenes work in the office, and he did it well. I will be hard pressed to maintain my business at its current level without him.”
“A hotel room, or even a suite, does not seem to be the usual sort of office for a financial planner.”
“Is there a question in there?” Julie broke in. I knew there wasn’t. It was pure fishing expedition.
“Why are you doing business in a hotel room?”
“Because after a previous attack, I was abruptly ejected by my previous office partnership. This was an interim solution until a new property I just bought is ready for occupancy.”
“Why did your previous office eject you? You said there was a previous attack?”
“Two, actually. The first tore up the office after most people had gone home for the evening, and I was ejected because of fear over a second. But a couple days after ejecting me, the office was attacked again. I’m told there were three fatalities and two hospitalizations. I was viewing the property I just bought at the time; John visited the ones hospitalized, as I thought it best if I stayed away.”
“So you consider this attack evidence that this organization is still after you?”
“I do.”
“What is this organization?”
I didn’t need to see Julie’s quick head shake to know not to answer that one. “I don’t know what they call themselves. I’m not even certain it’s the same organization, but I believe they bear me a grudge because they incorrectly believe I caused the deaths of many members of their organization.”
“Is that the Hollywood Bowl massacre?”
Julie broke in, “That’s fishing, Sergeant. Mister Jackson, do not answer that question.”
So I looked at Sergeant Martinez like he hadn’t said anything at all. It hadn’t taken place at Hollywood Bowl, but rather the analog of Hollywood Bowl on the far side of the gates, so I could have answered “no” and been telling the truth. We’d been present, and they’d been trying to sacrifice us, but we hadn’t done anything beyond pretend to comply – without actually complying – with the requirements of their ritual, and the lack of an acceptable sacrifice meant the whole thing unraveled, but Julie and I had still been forced to rape each other – which was why Julie was pregnant.
“Regarding Mr.Hawthorne: Do you have any reason to believe anyone meant him harm?”
“Meant John harm, no. However, I’m sure you’re aware of my role in ending the riot at the courthouse a few weeks ago.” My involvement had been newsworthy. “I believe the organization behind those riots is at least allied with the one that bears hostility to me. In the absence of further information, I believe it more likely I was the target, and John was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Was Mr. Hawthorne a good employee?”
“John may well have been an irreplaceable employee, at least with one person. I paid him more as my assistant than most successful planners make. You don’t find summa cum laude graduates in mathematics who can maintain websites and help with due diligence and compliance requirements and research under every grain of sand on the beach. Without John, my income may well be cut in half, and I have no idea how I’m going to replace him.”
“So you have suffered a loss? Did you have a life insurance policy on Mr. Hawthorne?”
“No, but I should have. The one portfolio he actually managed was his own, and he was good at it. I believe his wife will be the beneficiary of a moderately large policy, and his investments outside the policy were in the high six to low seven figures, but I never took out a key employee policy.”
“So you had no reason to want him dead?”
“Well, he made jokes that were not acceptable to modern audiences, but he was my only employee and he didn’t speak with customers. But he allowed me to get twice as much done and concentrate on clients, which is what I’m good at. As I’ve said, he’s going to be difficult to replace at all, much less with a single employee. No, I didn’t want him dead, and if I had a way to bring him back, I would.”
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Jackson. The room will be taped off pending investigation, but we’ll be as quick as possible.”
“Forty-eight hours, Sergeant.” Julie said, “My husband’s business has already suffered enough.”
“We can petition for an extension.”
Julie flashed a predatory grin, “What’s your record on that against anyone in my firm? If there’s a real reason, I don’t think my husband will be vindictive, but that’s no excuse not to do your best to get it done in forty-eight hours.”
“Julie, should we volunteer to identify the body? I don’t know her well, but I don’t think Mollie is going to deal with this easily.”
“Sergeant?”
“Procedure says spouse is preferred.”
Right. Bureaucratic procedure. Because God forbid we save a distraught widow some extra distress.
“Then we’re done here?” Julie asked.
“Yes. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson,” and he headed for the exit. Julie stopped him for a moment, “You will make certain my office gets a copy of those surveillance tapes?”
He turned and stopped just long enough to say, “Yes, Mrs. Jackson,” before continuing towards the exit.
Copyright 2026 Dan Melson. All Rights Reserved.
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