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He stood there, leaning against the door, trying to decide what to do.
This is driving me nuts. What is it with this girl that’s making me act this way? Ach!
He shook his head, stepped back inside the car, pushed the button labeled L on the wall and sighed as the door mechanism clunked the doors closed.
Bayer spent a frantic twenty minutes checking the lobby of the hotel, then the sidewalk outside—going all the way to the street corner in both directions—then the lobby again, before taking a seat in the same upholstered chair in the lobby that Richard Koch had waited that morning before breakfast.
With his clear view of both the elevator bank and the front door, he watched a steady stream of guests going to and from the elevators. He even noticed that at least once the elevators had carried a guest or guests plural to the ninth floor.
But no Mary.
After about ten minutes, he had had enough.
He got up, walked to the elevators, and rode the left one back up to the ninth floor.
When Bayer stepped off of the elevator, he noticed movement to his right and looked toward it.
Standing in front of the door to the room at the very end of the hall was a heavyset man of about thirty, medium height, wearing a tight-fitting dark suit and a hat. He was also very hairy—he had almost fur overflowing his shirt collar and cuffs.
Bayer recalled seeing him get on the elevator in the lobby when he had first gone downstairs. Now the man apparently was having some difficulty getting his key to unlock the door to his room. When they exchanged glances, the man shrugged his shoulders. He looked embarrassed or anxious—or both.
Bayer turned in the other direction and walked to his room.
He unlocked the door of 909, turned the knob, and began to push open the door. As he did so, the first thing he noticed was the sound of soft sobbing coming from inside.
Mary!
He threw open the door.
There on the bed, he saw her curled in the fetal position, her back turned toward him.
She had kicked off her heels but still wore her winter coat. She had on a navy blue, knee-length skirt, white blouse, and, over her blond hair, a flower-patterned navy scarf.
“Mary!” he said, slamming the door harder than he meant.
She responded by sobbing more deeply, her body trembling with the effort.
Bayer quickly went to her and reached out tentatively to touch her. His right hand gently grasped her left shoulder. She recoiled at first, pulling free of his hand.
He softly sat on the bed and touched her shoulder again. This time, she did not pull away, and when he tugged gently she slowly—and with what was obvious pain—rolled toward him, stopping as she lay on her back. She had the scarf completely covering her face.
He reached down to pull back the scarf and give her a kiss. She held the fabric tightly, and he had to tug a couple of times before she let it slide back.
Bayer was shocked at the sight.
So horrible was her bruising and swelling that he automatically exclaimed in German, “Ach du lieber Gott!”
One of Mary’s eyes was swollen completely shut. The other had broken blood vessels. Her ears were bruised, as though she’d been repeatedly slapped. Her nose was bloody—he wondered if it was in fact broken—and she had a busted upper lip.
He was not sure but it looked like she might have lost one of the teeth that helped form her goofy little gap.
He looked away from her face and cautiously down along her body. It was then that he saw that her neck was also bruised—four horizontal stripes of blue-black on the left side of her throat, three on the right, that strongly suggested someone had taken both hands and tried to strangle her. And farther down, beneath the white blouse, dark shapes on her breasts that indicated the beating had been widespread.
He could not comprehend an act so vicious against a girl so beautiful.
His head spun.
He inhaled deeply.
