Killer Look by Linda Fairstein Page B

himself who phoned the desk.”
    â€œThose were business appointments, or sexual assignations, would you guess? The nooners, I mean.”
    â€œI can’t answer that, Detective. We wouldn’t be in business very long if we traded in that kind of gossip.”
    â€œIt’s not gossip anymore, Mr. Wetherly. It’s actually evidence now.”
    â€œEvidence of what, Mr. Chapman? The man killed himself. You might consider letting him rest in peace.”
    â€œYou must have known him fairly well,” Mike said. “You sound very—well—protective of him.”
    â€œI became acquainted with him over the years,” Wetherly said. “He was a good customer. Very gracious to me.”
    â€œHe was a player, too, am I right?”
    â€œI wasn’t supposed to be quoted on that,” Wetherly said, looking to me to intervene.
    â€œIt seems pretty obvious from a glance through the pages of the
New York Social Diary
, even beyond just counting the number of failed marriages,” I said. “Look, how many of the other major designers who kept suites here used them in the afternoon?”
    Charles Wetherly was the soul of discretion. Or trying to be. He wouldn’t name names.
    â€œOscar de la Renta?” I asked.
    â€œI never had the honor of meeting Mr. de la Renta, ma’am. He was generous to his staff and his guests, putting them up here, but he never set foot in this hotel.”
    â€œDonna Karan?”
    â€œA lot of her models stay here during Fashion Week twice a year. But no, she doesn’t use the hotel.”
    We threw back as many names at him as he had listed to us, but none seemed to have used the Silver Needle for afternoon affairs.
    Mike backed away from the bedroom without going in. He turned and walked over to the door on the opposite side of the room.
    â€œWhere does this lead?” Mike asked.
    We both knew the answer. He was testing Wetherly.
    â€œThis suite, where Mr. Savage died, is 1008,” the manager said. “That door would open into 1009.”
    Mike turned the knob with his gloved hand, but it didn’t budge.
    â€œThey are individual units, detective. Mr. Savage liked to have the entire floor at his disposal. Twelve rooms. Two of them are one-bedroom suites, like this, and the rest are singles,” Wetherly said. “We’re a small hotel. A sliver building, if you will.”
    â€œI gotta say I’d be at a loss to know what a man would do with so many rooms, Mr. Wetherly,” Mike said. “My whole apartment would fit in that marble bathroom inside. And I like my womenone at a time, when I can even get that action going. Twelve bedrooms? That’s a big slumber party.”
    â€œI’m sure I can’t give you a good reason either, Mr. Chapman. And I’m no more interested in your social life than I was in his,” Wetherly said, frowning at Mike’s last remark. “Housekeeping said the other rooms on this floor were rarely disturbed, even on the occasions that Mr. Savage used this suite. They were dusted regularly and freshened up, but there was no sign of occupancy.”
    â€œSo what did you make of that?” I asked.
    â€œI think Wolf Savage liked his privacy respected, Miss Cooper. He didn’t want anyone else sharing the space with him. He told me that once when I tried to buy back two rooms at the end of this hallway for a week during the height of the fall buying season. He wouldn’t hear of it, no matter how high the price the prospective guests offered.”
    â€œBy ‘the space’ you mean the entire tenth floor?”
    â€œExactly. It was a luxury Mr. Savage could obviously afford.”
    â€œNow, if I remember correctly,” Mike said, twisting the knob again, “this wasn’t locked yesterday.”
    â€œThat’s right, Detective,” Wetherly said.
    â€œBut Mr. Savage liked them all open, you said.”
    â€œEntirely his