DEADLY ACTS IN ROOM 306

Chapter 4

The Twists and Deadly Truth

Ethan Carter leaned in the darkened hotel security office, arms folded, gaze fixed on the bank of video monitors. Rows of grainy black-and-white video showed various views of the lobby, stairs, and corridors.

Behind the desk, Mark Alvarez, the hotel night security supervisor, shifted nervously as he scrolled through video files. "You said you'd pull the tape from the third floor, 9 o'clock to midnight,"

Ethan stated. "The evening Langley was murdered. Where is it?" Mark rubbed his forehead. "That's… the thing. It's not there." Ethan cocked an eyebrow. "Not there?" "Yup. I swear, it was there a couple days ago.

I double-checked the timestamp myself when the cops were done with me. But now it's just… vanished. Like someone erased it." "You're telling me the sole camera taping from the corridor outside Room 306 is gone," Ethan spoke slowly, voice steady.

 "The corridor where a man was found dead?" "I know how it sounds," Mark spoke quickly, glancing at the door as if someone could burst through. "But I didn't touch anything. Only three individuals have access to the archive system—me, the head of security, and management."

"Who in management?" Ethan demanded. "Ms. Voss—the manager of the hotel." Ethan took that one to heart. "And the head of security?" "Martin Colby. Though he's been on leave all this week." Ethan stretched over the desk.

"Give me the file logs. I need to know when the footage was deleted precisely." Mark did not want to comply. "Come on, man… I could get fired." "You're going to lose a hell of a lot more than that if someone's trying to cover up a murder and you're the one who'll be left with the bag," Ethan stated.

"Let me help you before it's too late." After a portentous pause, Mark worked a few menus. "Here—system log says the file was manually erased at 3:14 a.m. on the night of the accident." "That's three hours since Langley was found out," Ethan growled. "And well past the police had cleared out."

"Right. Someone came back after the fact." Ethan's head was reeling. "Was there a login?" Mark nodded. "Yeah… user ID associated with 'MGV-001.' That's Voss's user ID." "Of course it is," Ethan said, standing up straight. "Looks like our hotel manager's got more on her agenda than complaints from guests." Mark looked pale. "You think she's involved?" "I think she knows something," Ethan said.

"And she's not the only one trying to cover this up." The phone in the office rang at that time. Mark answered it nervously. "Yes? …He's in here right now… Okay." He looked up at Ethan, obviously shaken.

"That was Ms. Voss. She said she'd like to see you. Now." Ethan smiled. "Great. I was just about to go track her down." As he left the security office and out into the deserted hallway, Ethan felt the walls closing in.

The video was deleted, the cover-up bigger than he had thought—and the woman in charge was waiting. Which meant he was close.

The note was waiting for him. Tucked under his door at the Blackwood Grand, the slip of paper was folded twice and completely blank on the outside. No envelope. No name. Ethan frowned and unfolded it.

“You’re asking the wrong questions. Stop digging, or you’ll be buried next.” He read it again. And again. He felt a shiver run down his spine—not at the threat, per se, but because the note had been painstakingly neat.

Calculated. Not sloppy and panicked. Whoever penned this took their time. Confidence. A knock on the door startled him. He picked up the note from the ground and pocketed it as he opened the door a crack.

Natalie Reed, one of the maids who'd helped him out before, stood there with eyes wide open. "Be on guard," she panted, glancing over her shoulder.

"Someone is following you. I saw a guy hanging around the third-floor staircase—again. Same coat, same hat." Ethan guided her into the room and shut the door quietly.

"Was he following me?" "I think so," she said. "He vanished as soon as you walked out a while ago. I tried to catch another glimpse, but he used the service elevator." Ethan reached into his overcoat and handed it to her. "I had someone slip this under my door a few minutes ago." She read it, paling.

 "You think it's from him?" "Could be. Or someone else who wants me out of there." He paced. "We're closing in. The missing security footage, the burned letter, the midnight file deletions by the manager… Someone's panicked."

Natalie breathed softly. "Maybe you should resign." Ethan stopped. "You mean quit?" "I mean you're not a cop," she replied.

"You're on your own.

Whoever killed this person—whatever they're trying to hide—they won't hesitate if you get too close to the truth. Victor Langley ended up dead. You could end up the same." He looked at her, calm but resolute.

"Victor Langley died because he learned something. I'm not going to run from the truth." A sharp knock rattled the door again—harder this time. Natalie sprang. Ethan motioned for her to be quiet. He opened the door wide enough to peer through.

There was no one in there. But on the floor, a matchbook, opened. Blackwood Grand – Bar & Lounge was typed on the cover.

There was a single match and a new note inside: "Last warning. Burn it all, or burn with it." Natalie whispered, "This is serious." Ethan picked up the matchbook, turning it over.

Yeah, he growled, "but I know something else now." "What?" "They're careless. They want me scared. Which means I'm close." He folded the new note and stuck it in his pocket and looked back at Natalie.

"Say nothing we spoke. And steer clear of Room 306." Slowly, she nodded. As Ethan closed the door again, he locked it—top and bottom—and looked down at the notes in his hand. Whatever had happened in Room 306 wasn't just murder. It was a message. And now he was a part of it.

The note was waiting for him. Tucked under his door at the Blackwood Grand, the slip of paper was folded twice and completely blank on the outside. No envelope. No name. Ethan frowned and unfolded it.

“You’re asking the wrong questions. Stop digging, or you’ll be buried next.” He read it again. And again. He felt a shiver run down his spine—not at the threat, per se, but because the note had been painstakingly neat. Calculated.

Not sloppy and panicked. Whoever penned this took their time. Confidence. A knock on the door startled him. He picked up the note from the ground and pocketed it as he opened the door a crack.

Natalie Reed, one of the maids who'd helped him out before, stood there with eyes wide open. "Be on guard," she panted, glancing over her shoulder. "Someone is following you. I saw a guy hanging around the third-floor staircase—again.

Same coat, same hat." Ethan guided her into the room and shut the door quietly. "Was he following me?" "I think so," she said. "He vanished as soon as you walked out a while ago. I tried to catch another glimpse, but he used the service elevator."

Ethan reached into his overcoat and handed it to her. "I had someone slip this under my door a few minutes ago." She read it, paling. "You think it's from him?" "Could be. Or someone else who wants me out of there."

He paced. "We're closing in. The missing security footage, the burned letter, the midnight file deletions by the manager… Someone's panicked." Natalie breathed softly. "Maybe you should resign." Ethan stopped. "You mean quit?" "I mean you're not a cop," she replied.

"You're on your own.

Whoever killed this person—whatever they're trying to hide—they won't hesitate if you get too close to the truth. Victor Langley ended up dead. You could end up the same."

He looked at her, calm but resolute. "Victor Langley died because he learned something. I'm not going to run from the truth." A sharp knock rattled the door again—harder this time. Natalie sprang. Ethan motioned for her to be quiet.

He opened the door wide enough to peer through. There was no one in there. But on the floor, a matchbook, opened. Blackwood Grand – Bar & Lounge was typed on the cover. There was a single match and a new note inside: "Last warning.

Burn it all, or burn with it." Natalie whispered, "This is serious." Ethan picked up the matchbook, turning it over. Yeah, he growled, "but I know something else now." "What?" "They're careless. They want me scared.

Which means I'm close." He folded the new note and stuck it in his pocket and looked back at Natalie. "Say nothing we spoke. And steer clear of Room 306." Slowly, she nodded.

As Ethan closed the door again, he locked it—top and bottom—and looked down at the notes in his hand. Whatever had happened in Room 306 wasn't just murder. It was a message. And now he was a part of it.

Ethan Carter alone at the dark desk in Room 306. Rain falling softly against the glass, a rhythmic beat that somehow quieted the room. He unfolded the letter for the tenth time. The police had dismissed it as a partially written suicide letter.

But something had troubled Ethan ever since he'd read it—the disconcertingly abrupt phrasing, the ink smudges that didn't look like tears but seemed like careless revisions. He read it to himself: "I don't know how much longer I can keep this on the down low.

If you get this… it means they got to me first. I never thought things would get this far. I was trying to do the right thing. Please, don't let them—" The last sentence faded away, half-spoken. There was no signature, but the scratch of a broken pen line.

Natalie slipped in quietly, two mugs of coffee in hand. "Anything new?" Ethan displayed the letter. "It's not a farewell. It's a warning." She sat in front of him. "I thought the police said—" "They didn't look closely enough.

Victor was not farewelling the world. He was shouting for someone—calling for assistance." He pushed the letter towards her, pointing to the final line. "'Don't let them'… Who? The police took it that he meant his demons. But see here—'they got to me first.' That suggests he was hoping for assistance."

Natalie frowned. "So who did the letter address get sent to?" "That's the missing piece," Ethan grunted. "I think he was addressing someone who knew about whatever he'd discovered." He took Langley's financial papers out of his folder. "He sent a whole bunch of money to an unlisted account.

My guess? Hush money. Or protection." Natalie's eyes widened. "So he was in trouble. And he was trying to escape." "Right. And someone made sure he didn't." Ethan held the letter up to the desk lamp, squinting.

There were light impressions under the last line. Wait, he uttered. "There's more. Something was written underneath this, maybe on a second page." He pulled out a soft pencil and started shading the paper surface cautiously.

Gradually, eerie words appeared. "—trust Graham. He's not who he says he is." Natalie exhaled softly, "Graham? As in… Detective Graham Wells? Ethan looked at the page.

"Langley was trying to name his killer—or at least someone on the case. The head detective." Natalie looked shocked. "That is why he shut down the case so fast.

Why he wouldn't even entertain the tunnel. Why the video vanished." Ethan stood up, energized. "Langley didn't commit suicide. He was killed—just before he could say something." He folded the letter carefully.

"We have to go speak with the manager. I need to get Detective Wells' files, visitor logs—whatever." Natalie's voice shook. "Ethan… if he's involved…" Ethan gave her a steely stare. "Then we're not just investigating a murder. We're exposing a conspiracy."