Chapter 10 – Breaking and entering, are we?
May 28, 2010 5:55 am
When she wasn't back in three hours, he got worried.
When she wasn't back in eight, he got scared.
The weather outside had settled, the dark clouds having dispersed during the night and, in their absence, the sky welcomed a sea of twinkling stars. The wind had died, the ocean had calmed, and the rain had ceased, the air thick with a freshness that only came after a good storm. As Elliot watched, the view through the window had gone from pitch black, to grey, and was now showing signs of white light as the sun pushed its way toward the horizon to usher in a new day. Outside, birds started to stir in the trees, preparing for the arrival of the sun.
But still no Olivia.
Clad in a pair of boxer shorts, Elliot lay on top of the sheets, propped up on several pillows, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He hadn't slept all night, but he was too worried to really be tired. His fight with Olivia over 8 hours ago ran on a continuous loop through his head, each word echoing in his ears hauntingly. He had said some hurtful things that he now regretted with every fiber of his being. Throwing Stuckey and Porter in her face had been low. Yes, he had been jealous when she kissed them, but that was before they were a couple. And he had purposely ignored the extenuating circumstances to make his point. In reality, she had kissed Stuckey to save Elliot's life, and she had distracted Porter to help them solve a case. His comment had been uncalled for, the product of a deadly mix of anger and hurt, a recipe for disaster.
Remembering the pained look on her face, he would give anything to take it back.
It made it even harder knowing that she had taken the high road. Instead of hurling back one of his past boneheaded moves in retribution, Olivia told him she loved him. The very words he had longed to hear from her for as long as he could remember. And then she left, leaving those words hanging in the air. Stupidly, he had let her go. He wanted to stop her, to grab her, kiss her, make love to her, pleasure her until she got that amazing look on her face and cried out his name, but it was as if he was wading through quicksand. He couldn't get his body to react fast enough, to catch up with his mind. And then she was gone.
Around 2:00 am, Elliot had gone looking for her, roaming aimlessly around the resort. He had visited the restaurant, looked for her in the bar, stopped by the casino, but no Olivia. For a few fleeting moments, he feared that he had driven her into the arms of another man with his stupidity. Then, remembering that line of thinking had gotten them into this fight in the first place, he shook it away. Fed up with him, she probably decided to get her own room for the night. She had left her wallet and passport in the hotel room, so she couldn't have gotten far.
Briefly, Elliot entertained the idea of contacting the police for help with the search. If she was hurt . . . he pushed that idea away as well. It wasn't productive to think that way, he had to focus. If he contacted the police, Maduro would undoubtedly find out, and assume that she was on the lam. No, he had no choice but to wait for her to return on her terms. He longed for just one more opportunity to see her, talk to her, hold her if she would let him, and apologize for being a jerk. One more opportunity to tell her he loved her. Olivia was so different than Kathy. Kathy was needy, liked being taken care of and coddled. Olivia was used to being on her own. He would have to show her he loved her by giving her space.
Feeling frustrated and impotent, Elliot sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Sleep was not going to happen, not before he talked to her. Padding into the bathroom, he turned the water on as hot as he could stand it and showered, standing under the steady stream of water until his skin shriveled and ached. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a green collared shirt, he was extremely cognizant of how quiet and sterile the once cozy room was without her. Slipping on a pair of sandals, he brushed his teeth and developed a plan of attack. He could not sit around all day waiting for Olivia to come back. He would go crazy. He had to do something. He couldn't fix things WITH Olivia until she was willing to sit down and talk with him. But he could fix things FOR her by getting to the bottom of the Roundhouse case. Obviously, Maduro was fixating on the wrong people. If Elliot could prove that they were innocent, Maduro would leave them alone and they could focus on salvaging what was left of their vacation, as well as their battered relationship. To prove their innocence, he required information. Information that there was no way in hell Maduro would give him. He would have to go get it himself.
The resort resembled a ghost town as Elliot slipped out of his room, closing the door gently behind him. All was quiet and there were no signs of life behind most doors as he tread softly through the empty corridors. Most of the occupants were waiting for the rising sun to rouse them from their slumber and signal the start of the day. As he approached Room 128, he held his breath and was particularly attentive. The door was closed and all was quiet inside. Tattered remnants of crime scene tape poked through the door jam, but the large pieces had all been removed. The resort obviously did not want its guests reminded of the disturbing happenings in that room.
Trying to look inconspicuous, Elliot continued past Room 128 and sauntered down the rest of the hall, passing the breakfast buffet. That room, unlike the hallways, did show considerable signs of life, as many of the resort staff sat there, trying to choke down breakfast before guests woke up, assumed control of the buffet, and demanded their attention.
Once past the buffet room, Elliot picked up his pace considerably, circling through the halls again. As he closed in on Room 128 for the second time, he felt adrenaline kick in. Glancing up and down the hall, he put his ear to the doors on either side of Room 128, listening intently. Silence. Moving quickly, Elliot lowered his shoulder and threw his weight into the sensitive spot on Room 128's door. With a loud crack, it flew open and Elliot stumbled inside. Using his elbow to avoid leaving obvious prints, Elliot quickly closed the door behind him and leaned against it, listening carefully through the wood. No voices, no footsteps. No one coming to check out the crash, at least not yet. He would have to work quickly.
Turning on his heels, Elliot began to survey the room, absorbing all the details like the skilled investigator he was. The natural light was still dim, but he dared not turn on any artificial light for fear someone would see it. As best he could tell, the room was untouched since the crime scene unit had finished with it yesterday. The bed was stripped, the sheets removed, but the blood stains remained, having gone straight through into the mattress, pooling in the middle. White fingerprint powder coated most surfaces like snow and black markers revealed where the bodies and murder weapon had lay.
Elliot paced quietly, careful not to touch anything, his eyes drinking in the scene, memorizing the details. One of the bodies had been found sprawled across the bed, its owner no doubt responsible for the gruesome stain. The marker for the second body lay on the floor, but the amount of blood and brain splatter that decorated the small sofa bed just behind the marker suggested the body had been leaning against it before being hauled away. No cleaner on this earth was going to be able to get that out. Maduro hadn't been kidding. There had been a lot of rage in this room.
Mentally, Elliot began to sift through plausible scenarios. There were no signs of forced entry, other than the ones Elliot had just created. Chad and Harmony must have let their murderer in. Perhaps they found a willing sex partner who changed his/her mind halfway through. There were several obvious stains on the small fabric chair sitting in a corner that were likely from semen. Someone got off. Was it Chad? Or perhaps the mystery lover was male? Maybe all that bravado at the table about "attractive female talent willing to do anything" was just Chad's way of covering up his homosexuality. Not likely. Not based on the way he was coming on to Olivia in the bar. Bisexual maybe. Chad was a big, tall guy. Elliot struggled to imagine a woman overpowering him and then whacking him in the head with a golf club. But stranger things had happened.
Just as Elliot was preparing to leave, his mind stuffed full of theories, the morning sun peeked over the horizon and a beam of light passed into the room through the filmy curtains, glinting off something wedged tightly between the bedpost and the mattress. Frowning, Elliot crouched down and ran his finger between the footboard and the edge of the mattress. A thin, delicate silver bracelet fell silently to the carpet. It was not surprising the crime scene techs had missed it. Elliot likely would have missed it himself had the sun not been shining at the right angle and twinkled off the edge of the thin plate centered in the middle of the strand. Gripping it gingerly between two fingers, Elliot held it up and squinted at it. On the thin silver plate, the initials M.G. were engraved in cursive.
The sound of a keycard sliding into the door lock made Elliot's heart leap up into his throat. Swearing under his breath, he ran for the patio doors, ripping back the curtains and flipping the lock. Just as he clicked the patio doors closed behind him and the curtains swished back into place, he saw the faint outline of a person enter the room. Breathing a sigh of relief and clutching the bracelet, Elliot turned to head back into the resort.
He had taken five steps when he ran directly into Inspector Maduro, standing quietly beside the patio.
"Good morning Mr. Stabler." The politeness of Maduro's words did not extend to his eyes. "Breaking and entering, are we?"