Chapter 3 - THE SCARF THAT LED TO A MISSING MAN
“Who saw whom?”
Marcelo's question cut through the Oak Room.
Boyd said nothing.
Sadi stared at her husband.
“Milton,” she whispered. “What happened to Milton?”
Boyd's face tightened.
“Nothing happened to him.”
“Then why do you have his scarf?”
“He gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Earlier.”
Sadi shook her head.
“Milton wouldn't give you that scarf. His granddaughter made it for him.”
Boyd glanced at the armed men standing beside the door.
“You're embarrassing yourself.”
Six months earlier, those words would have been enough to silence her.
Now she remembered something.
The bottom of Milton's scarf had been stained with yellow industrial paint.
Not hotel paint.
The thick reflective coating used on the safety railings beside the freight elevators.
She had noticed the stain when she repaired the fabric.
But Milton had told her he'd spent the previous Thursday helping a maintenance worker move boxes downstairs.
“Check the freight elevators,” she said.
Elias turned toward her.
“Why?”
“There's yellow paint on that scarf. Milton was near the loading area before his leave. Someone may have taken him there again.”
Marcelo didn't hesitate.
“Take two men. Check every service room.”
Boyd stepped forward.
“You can't search this hotel because my wife has an imagination.”
Marcelo looked at him.
“Watch me.”
A uniformed Pittsburgh police officer entered the Oak Room, followed by another.
Marcelo identified the captured gunman and explained the incident.
The officers secured the pistol and began separating witnesses.
Boyd tried to leave.
An officer stopped him.
“We need you to remain available for questioning.”
Boyd looked at Sadi.
His expression promised consequences.
She turned away.
For the first time, she refused to apologize.
Twenty minutes later, Elias returned.
His face was grim.
“We found Milton.”
Sadi stood.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Locked inside a linen-storage cage near the freight elevators. His wrists were tied. Somebody hit him hard enough to leave him dizzy.”
Sadi covered her mouth.
Elias continued.
“The door was secured from the outside. Nobody would have heard him from the dining floor.”
Marcelo looked toward Boyd.
The man had stopped pretending to smile.
“Who put him there?” Marcelo asked.
Boyd said nothing.
A police officer escorted him into the hallway for further questioning.
Sadi followed Elias toward the service corridor with Marcelo and a responding officer.
She barely noticed the broken wheels of her housekeeping cart as they passed.
She was thinking about Milton.
The man who always saved her a cup of coffee on Sunday mornings.
The man who slipped her extra sugar packets because he knew Boyd counted every dollar she spent.
When they reached the service floor, Milton was sitting on a folding chair beneath an emergency light.
His silver hair was disheveled.
A bruise was forming near his temple.
But he smiled when he saw her.
“Well,” he said weakly, “there's my favorite seamstress.”
Sadi rushed toward him.
“Oh, Milton.”
He squeezed her hand.
“I was getting worried about you, sweetheart.”
She nearly cried.
Somebody had hurt him, stolen his uniform, and nearly used his identity to murder a man upstairs.
Yet Milton was worried about her.
“What happened?” Marcelo asked.
Milton looked up.
“Two men came to my apartment this morning. Said the hotel needed me for a short emergency assignment before my surgery.”
“Did you recognize them?”
“One was wearing a freight-security jacket.”
Sadi went still.
Boyd.
“The other man?” Marcelo asked.
“Never saw him before. Young fellow. Nervous. Kept checking his watch.”
Milton swallowed.
“They said Mr. Vieieri had personally requested my assistance with a private delivery.”
Marcelo's face darkened.
“I never did.”
“I know that now.”
Milton rubbed his wrists.
“They brought me here through the loading dock. When I refused to give them my uniform, the younger man hit me.”
Sadi looked at the floor.
Another thought struck her.
“Milton, did you hear them talking?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
The elderly waiter hesitated.
“The younger one asked if the boss was already upstairs.”
Marcelo leaned closer.
“Which boss?”
“That's what I wondered.”
Milton took a breath.
“Then the man in the freight jacket said the arrangements were already made.”
“And?”
“He said somebody had opened the service elevator for them.”
Marcelo's voice hardened.
“Who?”
Milton looked directly at him.
“Mr. Vieieri, I recognized that man.”
Silence settled over the service corridor.
“I served him lunch for fifteen years. I know his face.”
Marcelo didn't move.
Milton's next words came slowly.
“It was Victor Salerno.”
Sadi remembered the silver-haired businessman who had been sitting two chairs away from Marcelo when the gun fell.
One of his closest partners.
One of the men who had turned pale when the waiter was captured.
May you like
Milton tightened his grip on her hand.
“Victor Salerno opened that elevator himself.”
