Chapter 5
The chambermaid had not changed the bed linen of Room 40, because the do not disturb sign was hanging from the door. It was not until later in the afternoon when she was vacuuming the corridor that she tapped on the closed door, and, receiving no reply, entered using her master set of keys. The curtains were drawn and the television set turned on, the sound so low it was hardly audible. The room was neat, except for the unmade bed, its coverlet bunched on the floor.
The maid fetched clean towels, sheets, and pillowcases, and went back into the room. She tossed the clean linen onto the chair, and drew back the curtains. She went into the bathroom, collected the dirty towels, and dropped them onto the floor. Two were bloodstained and she picked them up distastefully between finger and thumb. She then replaced the towels with fresh ones, and was washing down the sink and bath when a friend popped her head around the door to ask if she was nearly through for the day, as it was after three.
Both women got off at two-thirty, they each had other jobs in the evening. Together they began to clean the room, and one pulled the sheets back.
"It's not been slept in. Christ! it's freezing in here, they must have turned off the heat. Some people are weird."
Together they bent down to the rolled bedcover, and tugged it from underneath the bed. And screamed virtually in unison.
Tommy Kellerman's body rolled out of the cover, the section over his head dried hard with dark blood.
Screaming at the top of their lungs, the women ran down the corridor. A waiter carrying a loaded tray of dirty dishes was about to step out of the elevator when they appeared, shouting garbled words as they pointed frantically to the room. The man ran into the room and was in no more than a few seconds. When he came out, his face drained as he whispered: "Dear God, it's a child — somebody's killed a child in there!"
By the time the Polizei arrived, the corridor was filling with gaping onlookers and guests. The manager of the hotel tried to keep some semblance of order, shouting for people to stand back. He looked disheveled, having just been dragged out of his quarters. His collarless shirt hung out over his hurriedly pulled-on pants.
Polizei Oberrat Torsen Heinz pushed his way through the throng, holding up his badge. Three uniformed officers followed behind him. Torsen was the first of them to arrive at the open bedroom door. He asked if the doctor or forensic team had been there. He could see the tiny body, the small foot in the red sock, and his stomach turned over. He did not attempt to remove the congealed mess beneath the bed cover as he walked gingerly around the body.
The manager hung in the doorway, demanding to know who had torn pages out of his register.
The doctor arrived and took only a second to certify the body as deceased. The pathologist scuttled in, followed by two lab boys from the forensic department. They began yelling for everyone to clear out of the room.
Oberrat Heinz checked the room quietly, using a pencil to open a couple of drawers. The doctor looked over to him as he departed. "It's not a kid, it's a dwarf or a midget and he's taken one hell of a beating, but that's stating the obvious. G'night."
The pathologist carefully slipped plastic bags around the tiny red socks; he applied a bag to Kellerman's right arm and hand, then reached for his left. He stood up rubbing his knee and, looking down, realized he was kneeling on a set of broken dentures. He gestured to Heinz.
"I'm sorry, I think I may have broken them; my mistake, but someone should have checked this area."
Heinz stared at the broken teeth, and then stepped out of the way as the pathologist continued his work, about to wrap Keller-man's left arm in a protective plastic bag.
"Jesus, look at his arm, it's been hacked, a big chunk of skin removed, just above the wrist."
Heinz sent one of the uniformed officers out to check for any garbage that might have been removed.
The pathologist's team slipped a plastic sheet beside Kellerman, rolled him on top of it, then tied all four ends and lifted up the body.
"He booked in early yesterday, according to the chambermaid," Torsen Heinz said to no one in particular. He tugged at his blond hair, watched as two men dusted door handles and the mirror, then made his way down to the reception area. The manager, now wearing a jacket, insisted he had been on duty and had seen no one come in other than official guests. Heinz listened, knowing that local prostitutes used this hotel, but said nothing; he simply asked to see the guest book. The manager shoved it toward him, pointing with a dirty fingernail to the torn pages. He scratched his greasy head, and tried unsuccessfully to recall the dead man's name.
"What about his passport, did you see his passport?"
The manager was sweating. "I saw it and checked it. I know the rules. He had luggage, a sort of greenish carryall. Did you find it?"
"But you don't recall his name?"
"No... he just signed, and I gave him the key. I was on the phone when he checked in."
"What nationality?"
"American. Kellerman!" The manager beamed. "I remember, it was Kellerman!"
No one Heinz questioned had seen anyone entering his room. Heinz and his sergeant took off for the morgue.
The morgue had closed for the night.
Heinz returned early the following morning. Tommy Keller-man's naked body was even more tragic in death than in life, his stubby palms turned upward, his legs spread-eagled, his pride exposed. It was a wicked freak of nature to give this small, stunted body a penis any man would be proud to boast. The penis dangled virtually down to the kneecaps on his twisted legs.
The bed cover had to be cut away from his head, because the blood had congealed like glue. There was hardly a feature left intact; blood clotted in his eyes, his nose, his ears, and his gaping mouth; the bottom row of false teeth had cut into his upper lip, giving him the look of a Neanderthal man, a chimp, even more so as his thick dark curly hair was spiky with his own blood.
The pathologist was able to ascertain that Kellerman had died close to midnight and had eaten some four hours before he was killed. The pathologist had spent considerable time over the open wound on Kellerman's left forearm. He could tell that the skin cut away from Kellerman's arm was probably a tattoo, judging by the faint tinge of blue left along one edge. The pathologist added that whoever murdered Kellerman must have been covered in blood, since the main artery had been severed on the once tattooed wrist.
Kellerman's clothes were spread out on the lab tables; again they gave a tragic impression of the wearer, so small and childlike. His underpants were disgusting, semen stains mingled with the death throes of his bowels.
His pockets were empty, apart from a rubber band and a Zippo lighter. His clothes were labeled and listed, his body washed and tagged, placed in a child's morgue bag, and then laid on a drawer and pushed into the freezer.
Kellerman's terror of being shut in small spaces, his fear of the darkness couldn't hurt him now: It was all over for him.
Heinz hung around for a while, then returned to the hotel to question the janitor.
The toothless man could not recall anyone entering the hotel during his shift, or at least no one who warranted special attention. He did remember seeing a big man outside the hotel, wearing a black hat. In fact the man could possibly have just come out of the main entrance, he couldn't be sure, he had simply passed him on the street as he emptied the trash. He could not describe him in any detail, just that he was tall, wore a black hat, and that it was around eleven or perhaps a bit later.