The Suspect
One brutally winter Sunday years ago I found myself in St. Paul checking into an Embassy Suites.
I knew the drill having checked into hundreds of hotels and particularly Embassy Suites, since you could grab a hot breakfast the next morning.
The check in clerk went through his epistle about the complementary breakfast times and cocktail hour and pointed me to the right elevator.
I found the room, 402, held my breath as I waited for that tiny green light to come on, heard that click that tells you the key actually worked and entered the dark room.
I had a process in these hotel rooms. My process never varied .
I was like Monk that TV nut job that does everything the exact same way every time.
That's when I noticed the bed was unmade. The covers tossed on the side and the pillow all over the place!
I looked around the room, was I part of a Punk'd episode??
I was thinking a million different things, none of them good, I looked in the closet to see if there was a body!
I was dead tired since it was past 11:00 PM and if this mess was anything less gruesome I might have slept on the couch (that's how tired I was!)
I decided to call the front desk guy!
"Embassy Suites front desk how may I help you?" my friend from ten minutes ago (he of the breakfast times) exclaimed.
I tell him my name and room number, remind him I just checked in a few minutes ago, and I tell him, "I kind'a have a problem!"
There's a pool of blood in my bed and I guess I need housekeeping??
He asked me "to repeat what I just said", and asked me "if I was pulling his leg?"
I get my point across about being quite serious, and tired. He tells me to wait in the room and someone will be there shortly.
Who knew what critically important 3M window film stuff might have happened between 12 PM and 11 PM on a Sunday. Plus I had time to kill.
10 minutes later the knock on the door.
There's my front desk clerk friend and two of Minnesota's finest.
They ask me to step aside and immediately rush into the bedroom.
They look under the bed, in the closet and check out the bathroom behind the shower curtain. ( I missed that! I remember thinking that their investigative techniques were top notch)
One cop asks me "if I know what happened??"
I just looked at him and said , "how the heck would I know?" I just got here! (pointing out my carry-on bag still unopened since I hadn't gotten to that yet! (blood on bed, and all. . )
I stare at my front desk friend again hoping he'll confirm my alibi.
I interrupt their silence and ask them if "its possible that might get another room??"
20 minutes later I'm in room 602 and have to go through my process all over again.
The check in clerk went through his epistle about the complementary breakfast times and cocktail hour and pointed me to the right elevator.
I found the room, 402, held my breath as I waited for that tiny green light to come on, heard that click that tells you the key actually worked and entered the dark room.
I had a process in these hotel rooms. My process never varied .
- Light on- Check!
- Keys and Wallet on counter where the coffee pot waited- Check
- Head to bathroom- coat still on!- Check
- Coat thrown on couch that I never sit on- Check!
- Turn on TV since I hate quiet- Check.
- Laptop plugged in, cell phone charger plugged in-Check!
- Move into bedroom- turn on lights- Check!
That's when I noticed the bed was unmade. The covers tossed on the side and the pillow all over the place!
THIS WAS NOT NORMAL.
I looked down at the sheets and discovered (SERIOUSLY) a pool of blood.
I looked around the room, was I part of a Punk'd episode??
I was thinking a million different things, none of them good, I looked in the closet to see if there was a body!
I was dead tired since it was past 11:00 PM and if this mess was anything less gruesome I might have slept on the couch (that's how tired I was!)
I decided to call the front desk guy!
"Embassy Suites front desk how may I help you?" my friend from ten minutes ago (he of the breakfast times) exclaimed.
I tell him my name and room number, remind him I just checked in a few minutes ago, and I tell him, "I kind'a have a problem!"
There's a pool of blood in my bed and I guess I need housekeeping??
He asked me "to repeat what I just said", and asked me "if I was pulling his leg?"
I get my point across about being quite serious, and tired. He tells me to wait in the room and someone will be there shortly.
I checked my e-mails.
Who knew what critically important 3M window film stuff might have happened between 12 PM and 11 PM on a Sunday. Plus I had time to kill.
10 minutes later the knock on the door.
There's my front desk clerk friend and two of Minnesota's finest.
They look under the bed, in the closet and check out the bathroom behind the shower curtain. ( I missed that! I remember thinking that their investigative techniques were top notch)
One cop asks me "if I know what happened??"
I just looked at him and said , "how the heck would I know?" I just got here! (pointing out my carry-on bag still unopened since I hadn't gotten to that yet! (blood on bed, and all. . )
I stare at my front desk friend again hoping he'll confirm my alibi.
The moron nods- -but shakes his head.
I interrupt their silence and ask them if "its possible that might get another room??"
20 minutes later I'm in room 602 and have to go through my process all over again.
I did make one fundamental change- -I checked the bed out first!
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