Chapter 12
"The call came from a cellphone that's not currently on," Stabler said, so we can't trace the current location. "I'm going to try to call David's cellphone. If someone picks it up, we can use the GPS to track his location."
"Does anybody recognize the symbol on this keycard," Benson asked, passing it around. "According to the scrapbook, it's from a trip Justin and his father took to New York in 1996. They may have met up with David and his kidnapper on this trip."
When the card came to him, Cragen looked at it and frowned. "This looks like the logo on the sign they had on the old St. Regis Hotel in Manhattan. I used to go to the bar there with the guys quite often in the good old days. I think it got sold a couple years ago -- it was renovated and given a new name. I don't remember what it is though."
"I'll check it out," Munch said, turning to the nearest computer.
David fought to pull himself out of the dream and drift back into the darkness again, but this nightmare refused to be ignored.
It was almost noon and they had just gotten out of bed and joined the others for brunch. As he ate and listened to the little redhead's chatter, he felt a glimmer of hope that this week wouldn't be so bad after all. The first day and night had not been too awful. Mike had suggested the men take the boys out and show them the town. So they'd gone to Central Park, visited the zoo, then had a late dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe. Jason had been so excited, his enthusiasm had buoyed his own spirits and made the day more fun than he'd ever expected it could be.
When they'd returned, Mitch had wanted to go right to bed. He'd been scared but the man had been tired and wanted to get some sleep, so even that had not been as bad as he'd expected.
He brought his attention back to the present as he heard Mike say he was taking Jason to Coney Island and ask if they wanted to come. The ember of excitement that flared at the thought of going to an amusement park quickly died as Mitch said he didn't feel like going out, so they were just going to stay in and get better acquainted. He saw Mike smile knowingly at the remark, then watched in dispirited silence as Mike and Jason gathered their things and headed off on their adventure.
The next few hours proved his instincts correct. 'Get better acquainted', the words had a mocking quality as they slid through his brain afterward, taunting him. He thought there wasn't any part of his body Mitch wasn't acquainted with at this point and he tried to still the tremor of fear and disgust that slid through him at the thought. He felt a wave of relief when the man finally got up and pulled his clothes on. He watched from the bed as those dark, soulless eyes bored into him, while their owner said, "I'm going out for a little while. Don't move from that spot until I get back."
His body aching and deeply afraid, he stayed in the big bed for what felt like hours, long after he heard the apartment door open and close and he knew the man was gone. But then his body betrayed him and he felt the inescapable need to go to the bathroom. After a quick internal battle, he raced into the connecting bathroom, did his business then started back to the bed.
But he wasn't tired and he felt the resentment build in him at being forced to stay in bed while the others were out having fun. The contrary thought popped into his head that since no one had caught him going to the bathroom, why shouldn't he be able to make it into the other room for just a minute to get something to read while he waited without anyone knowing. There would be time to shove it under the mattress when he heard the man return, so he'd never know he'd left the room.
Bolstered by the thought of getting away with this small act of defiance, he tiptoed to the door, which was slightly ajar, and listened for any sounds from the rest of the suite, then took a tentative step into the hall. His heart was racing as he took another step forward and he was already thinking about which book he'd get, when a cold voice came from the shadows of Mike and Jason's room just a few steps ahead.
"I thought I told you to stay right where you were until I came back."
His body froze in terror at the sound of the cold voice. He tried to think of an excuse but could only stammer out the truth. "I . . . I wasn't tired any more so I wanted to get a book to read while I waited for you." But then he'd hung himself by adding the lie, "I . . . I didn't think you'd mind."
"You disobeyed my direct order and you . . . didn't . . . think . . . I'd mind," the man taunted as he moved farther into the hall. His hand appeared in a quick blur from the darkness and slapped the side of his head with bone-jarring force. A steady throbbing set in and he stumbled backwards through the bedroom door.
"I'm sorry! I won't do it again. I'm sorry! Please, please don't!" But the entreaties fell on deaf ears and the blows continued to rain down on him until there was no more backwards left and he stumbled against the side of the bed and fell onto it. Then the blows finally ended, only to give way to other, more inventive punishments. He tried not to scream and instead let darkness and cold settle around him. Then he was drifting again, drifting in the darkness far away from the pain and fear.
"Got it," Munch called out. "Sold and completely refitted five years ago. It's called the Regis Arms now."
"That's a pretty swanky place," Fin said, "You don't think Justin could have lured David there, do you? Where would he have gotten the money to pay for it? We've got all his credit cards covered."
Stabler thought for a moment, then said, "We've got all his cards covered, but what about the uncle's? What's the hotel's phone number?" he asked as he picked up his phone. Munch rattled off the number and he quickly tapped it in. When the phone at the other end was answered, he requested the manager.
"This is Detective Elliot Stabler of the New York Police Department Special Victims Unit, Shield #6313. I need information on a guest who may be staying at the hotel with regard to an ongoing police investigation."
He listened impatiently as the manager tried to give him the usual runaround regarding hotel guests' right to privacy and the need for a subpoena to release the information before he interrupted coldly. "Mr. Dupre, one of your guests may be committing a murder this very moment, quite possibly in your hotel. If you force me to wait until I have a body on my hands, you can be very sure your hotel is going to be shut down for a good long time while we investigate, and the press will have a field day with the information that the death happened because you were too busy obstructing my investigation to save the victim's life."
The man sputtered incoherently for a moment, then asked in a shellshocked voice, "What is it you need to know, Detective?"
"I need you to check your guest registry for the following names: Justin Graves, Phillip Beaumont and David Gallagher."
There were a few moments of silence broken only by the tapping of a computer keyboard before Dupre returned to the line. "Ambassador Beaumont is registered. He's in Suite 624."
"One more question. How far back do your registration records go?"
"Five years. From the day we opened."
"Do you have anything from when it was the St. Regis?"
"I don't believe so, although they may be in storage."
"Try to locate them. I'll be getting you a subpoena."
"Very well. What should I do about Ambassador Beaumont?"
"Nothing. He's not the one in the room. But you should start calling the other tenants of that floor and get them evacuated. Make up an excuse -- a gas leak or something like that. Our people should be there in about 10 minutes to seal off that floor."
"Dear, Lord!" Dupre muttered before hanging up.
The darkness was so close, and David wanted desperately to slip back into it, to escape from this horrible nightmare before the monster he knew was lurking just ahead could get him, but the darkness stayed just out of reach and a voice called out to him drawing him back into the dream.
"Hey. Hey, Danny, you awake?" came an excited voice.
Danny was the name he was going by this time, so he opened his eyes reluctantly and saw the little redhead perched on the side of the bed looking down at him. "Huh?" he muttered, trying to clear his exhausted brain and remember where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," the little boy frowned at him. "What's wrong with you? You okay?" The smile had disappeared from his freckled face and he looked worried. "Did you do something wrong? Did he hurt you?" he whispered, glancing furtively toward the door.
"I'm fine," he lied. "Just tired."
The boy looked down at him with worried eyes, but accepted the lie. "He told me to wake you up if you weren't up already. You need to get up now. Before he gets mad." The boy's eyes were wide and dark, filled with something beyond fear. "We ordered room service for dinner. It'll be here in a few minutes."
"Okay," he said automatically as he tried to figure a way to get up that would cause him the least pain. He didn't think his stomach would accept any food, but he'd been summoned so he knew he had to at least try.
He felt the boy's eyes on him as he moved stiffly from the bed. Jason had clothes on so he assumed that meant he should get dressed. He went to the bureau and pulled a t-shirt and some loose fitting sweatpants from one of the drawers and pulled them on quickly.
"I almost forgot," the little boy chirped nervously. "Uncle Mark and me brought you a present at Corny Island. Come see."
He couldn't help smiling a little at the boy's excitement. "It's Coney Island not Corny Island, and that was nice of you," he responded with a touch of warmth.
"Coney Island," the boy repeated intently. "Is that right?"
"Yes. That's right. What did you and Mark do at Coney Island?"
The boy's face broke into a bright smile. "We played games and went on rides and ate corn dogs and popcorn and cotton candy and lots of other good stuff. It was fun! I wish you could have come with us."
"I'm glad you had a good time," he replied, surprised to find that he really meant it. If Mitch had been doing the same things to Jason that he'd been doing to him the last two days, the kid deserved to have a little bit of fun in his life. "What rides did you go on."
The boy started talking excitedly and grabbed his hand instinctively as they left the room together. Jason kept chattering while he led him into the living room then to the sofa, where he plopped down beside him as he continued his story. He felt Mitch's eyes on him, but didn't look up, instead concentrating on the little boy and his excited ramblings. Finally, the boy ran out of story and looked excitedly to Mike. "Can I give him his presents now, Uncle Mark?"
He glanced over quickly as Mike laughed heartily and said, "Why not?" Mitch was sitting across from Mike at the dinette table. There was a pleasant smile plastered on his face, but his eyes were cold and calculating.
Jason hopped down from the sofa, grabbed a bag from one of the easy chairs, and eagerly dropped it in his lap. "It's not wrapped all fancy or nothing. Is that okay?"
"That's fine," he reassured the child. He felt a solid rectangular object settle against his thighs and felt a thrill of excitement. He gave the little boy a grateful smile and reached into the bag without looking to heighten the surprise. His fingers touched soft jersey material and he pulled it out.
"It's a t-shirt from Corny, um, I mean Coney," the boy corrected himself carefully, "Island. I have one too. We can be twins."
"It's very nice. Thank you," he said. "No one will be able to tell us apart."
The boy laughed delightedly. "There's more. Uncle Mark said you'd really like the other one a lot too."
"I'm sure I will," he said, casting a grateful look at Mike before reaching into the bag and pulling out a book.
"It's called 'Treasure Island'," the little boy said. "It's supposed to be really good. It's about pirates! Do you like it?" he added anxiously. "Uncle Mark said you like to read a lot. You haven't read this one already have you?"
"I love it. It's one I've been wanting to read for awhile. Thank you for getting it for me."
The boy smiled a big happy smile. "Can you read some to me?"
This time he did look to Mitch, knowing he'd need the man's permission because this would take time away from him. The man's eyes were still dark and cold, but he nodded imperceptibly. He felt a wave of relief as he smiled down at the little boy and said, "Sure."
Jason cuddled up against him and listened intently as he started to read.
Benson and Stabler led a team of officers into the hotel lobby and flashed their badges at the reception desk staff.
A distinguished looking African American man in his mid forties stepped forward. "I'm Edward Dupre. I believe I spoke to one of you on the phone."
"I'm Detective Stabler. This is my partner, Detective Benson."
"Detectives. What can we do for you?"
"Have you cleared the sixth floor?"
"Everyone's accounted for except the occupants of room 620, but they may have gone out at some point without anyone noticing."
"Get us a key to that room and to 624."
Dupre frowned but gave the order and the keys were quickly handed over. Stabler shouted orders to the officers acting as back up before he and Benson headed to the elevator banks with part of the team while the rest dispersed up the stairwells to cut off any possible escape routes.