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68
Pierre Hotel
Ray Bennett, the Pierre Hotel’s head of security, was roughly the same size as Capitano Luca Rossetti. Well over six feet tall, at least 225 pounds. Most of that weight remained in reasonably good shape for a man of his age, which was mid-fifties. His hair was metallic gray and well groomed, his face was wide and square. It was a face, thought Gabriel, that had been made to take a punch. He asked its owner whether it would be possible for them to have a word in private. Ray Bennett said he preferred to speak in the lobby.
“That would be a mistake on your part, Mr. Bennett.”
“And why is that, sir?”
“Because your colleagues will hear what I have to say to you.”
Bennett contemplated Gabriel with a pair of all-seeing cop’s eyes. “What’s this about?”
“A missing guest.”
“Name?”
“Not here.”
Bennett led Gabriel through a doorway behind Reception and down a corridor to his office. He left the door open. Gabriel closed it soundlessly and turned to face the larger man.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
Gabriel delivered a lightning-strike blow to Bennett’s larynx, then raised a knee to his exposed groin, just to keep things sporting. After all, Gabriel was the smaller and older of the two combatants. A generous point spread was in order.
“You were standing at the elevator when she came downstairs. You told her something that put her mind at ease and escorted her to the delivery entrance. A black Escalade was waiting outside. You forced her into the backseat.”
Bennett made no reply. He wasn’t capable of one.
“I have a feeling I know who put you up to it, Ray. Nevertheless, I’d like to hear you say his name.”
“S-s-s-s-s-s...”
“Sorry, but I didn’t catch that.”
“S-s-s-s-s-s...”
“Leonard Silk? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Bennett nodded vigorously.
“How much did he pay you?”
“H-h-h-h-h...”
“I beg your pardon?”
“H-h-h-h-h...”
Gabriel patted the front of Bennett’s suit jacket and found his phone. It was an iPhone 13 Pro. He waved it before Bennett’s face, and he was in. The same New York–based cellular number appeared three times in hisrecents. One incoming, two outgoing. The last call was approximately an hour earlier, at 6:41 p.m. It was outgoing.
Gabriel showed the number to Ray Bennett. “Is this Silk?”
Bennett nodded.
Gabriel snapped a photograph of the screen with his Solaris. Then he handed Bennett the receiver of his desk phone. “Tell the valet to bring Ms. Bancroft’s car to the Fifth Avenue entrance. Not the East Sixty-First Street doorway. Fifth Avenue.”
