35

OPENING THE DOOR TO Room 606, Ryder was surprised by what he saw. He took an immediate step backwards and looked again at the number on the door to be sure he was in the right place. Lights were on in both the living and bedroom areas of the suite, and in the bathroom as well.

He closed the door quietly behind him and walked in. A man’s black raincoat was thrown over one of the wing chairs in the living room, close to the large armoire in which the TV was located. Ryder unfolded it just enough to see a Burberry label on its plaid lining. The initials “DF” were inscribed in heavy black ink on the bottom of the label. Two glasses, both empty, were on the coffee table, and an open bucket of ice, half melted, sat on the lower shelf of the armoire. A dark brown briefcase rested on the floor next to the chair holding the raincoat. The initials “D.A.F.” were embossed in gold lettering on its side. Ryder recognized it immediately as belonging to Doug Fiore.

In the bedroom, the bed was unmade. Both the blanket and bedspread were lying on the floor, at the foot of the king-size bed. The top sheet was pulled back on both sides.

Ryder walked into the bathroom. He saw two used bath towels on the side of the tub and a tube of lipstick, its cap off, on the vanity. One face towel, still wet, was on the edge of the sink. His eye caught a piece of paper that was thrown into the wastebasket next to the toilet. It stayed near the top where it landed on the plastic liner that was placed inside the receptacle. He picked it up and saw that it was the wrapper from a package of Trojan brand condoms. He bent down again and put it back exactly where he found it.

When he used the room on an earlier occasion, Ryder left a suit hanging in the hall closet. It was still there. Next to it he saw a woman’s beige raincoat. It had a Saks Fifth Avenue label but no other identification. The toilet kit he put on the closet shelf was there also.

Ryder was suddenly concerned that Fiore might return to the suite while he was still there. He hurried out and walked to the stairway at the end of the hall. It was closer to Room 606 than the elevator. He opened the fire door, went down two flights of stairs, entered the main corridor on the fourth floor and took the elevator to the lobby.

When Brad Hanley gave Ryder a key to the suite, he told him to be sure to notify someone at the front desk when he stayed there overnight. “That’s the only way a maid will get instructions to clean up the next day,” Hanley said. “I sure as heck don’t want to bring a customer into a dirty room.”

Ryder showed his key at the desk and asked if anyone checked into the room that day. The clerk was an athletic-looking young man who appeared to be close to six and a half feet tall. Ryder was tempted to ask him whether he played basketball at one of the area colleges, but didn’t. He watched as the clerk went over to a stack of cards that were inserted into separate slots on a rotating column behind him.

“Yes, sir,” he said, after fingering several of the cards. “Mrs. Hanley is occupying the suite right now.” Ryder thanked him, walked up the lobby staircase to the hotel mezzanine where he could take the crosswalk to the garage, and drove back to West Warwick. His short stay at the Biltmore gave him a lot to think about.

* * *

Doug Fiore and Pat Hanley sat in a booth on the far side of the L’Apogee Restaurant. It was across the room from the picturesque view out the eighteenth floor windows of the Biltmore Hotel. Pat’s face was still somewhat flushed, a sign of lovemaking that always stayed with her for at least an hour afterwards, sometimes to her severe embarrassment. They had each finished a cocktail and were sharing a Caesar salad. Doug ordered a small steak while she decided that a cup of clam chowder would be enough for her at that time of night.

Pat told him what Brad was saying in the past week about the negotiations. She related how pleased he sounded that afternoon when she called him at the plant and learned that the Union committee was probably getting ready to walk out of the meeting. “He’s definitely thinking in terms of a strike, Doug. The deadline is just a few weeks away, but nothing has changed. Brad has programmed himself to win this fight at all costs, and he seems to be getting even further out of control. When I ask him what George Ryder thinks about the Company’s proposals, he says that it makes no difference. Brad’s convinced that Ryder doesn’t have the same feel for Ocean State’s problems that he does.”

“That doesn’t tell us much,” Fiore said. “Did you try and pin him down on what exactly Ryder was advising?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Once after last week’s meeting and again when I talked to him today. As far as I can tell, Ryder hasn’t warned him that anything he’s pushing for is either outright ridiculous or something the Union would never agree to. He’s only told Brad that what he wants to come out of the negotiations with may be very hard to get. But for God’s sake, that’s just a challenge to Brad in the frame of mind he’s in. If anything, that’s egging him on.”

Fiore poked at the salad with his fork. “You’re right,” he said.

“Has Ryder told you what he thinks the Company will have to do for the Union to keep the employees from striking?” she asked.

“No, Pat, but I haven’t seen him since a week ago Monday. That’s the last time I was in the office. He knows damn well he’s supposed to be keeping a lid on this thing. I told him that I expect him to use his expertise and let Brad know if he’s asking for too much or risking a strike on some proposal the Union would never buy. As soon as I get back in there next week, I’ll find out what the hell’s going on.”

Pat started to reach for his hand, but remembered where they were, and stopped. Doug caught the movement and they smiled at each other.

“Trust me,” he said. He was already looking forward to seeing Ryder on Monday.