BIRMINGHAM, AL — In the construction business, every old building has its quirks—settling foundations, creaky pipes, and drafty hallways. But for Marcus Thompson, owner of Thompson Construction, the Grand View Hotel was more than just a fixer-upper; it was a local legend whispered about in hushed tones by every contractor in the city. They called it “The Screaming Hotel,” a place where tools vanished, strange voices echoed from the second floor, and renovation crews walked off the job in fear.

On May 14, 2024, standing in the dusty lobby of the dilapidated six-story structure, Thompson didn’t believe in ghosts. He believed in saving his family business from bankruptcy. He had no idea that his decision to take on the $2.3 million renovation contract would lead him to unravel a four-decade-old mystery, exposing a gruesome double murder and a cover-up that had silenced a young couple’s cry for justice for 41 years.

The Room That Wasn’t There

The project began like any other “gut job,” stripping the building down to its studs. For two months, Thompson’s crew worked from the top down without incident. But when they reached the second floor, the atmosphere shifted. The temperature plummeted, lights flickered inexplicably, and a sharp, chemical stench—reminiscent of a hospital or morgue—permeated the air.

The crew was on edge, but Thompson pressed on. It was a discrepancy in the blueprints that finally stopped him in his tracks. Between rooms 236 and 238, the plans clearly indicated the existence of Room 237. Yet, standing in the hallway, there was nothing but a seamless, cream-colored wall. No door. No number. Just a blank space where a room should have been.

“Old buildings make noise. Angles don’t always line up,” Thompson recalled telling his crew chief, Darius. “But you can’t just lose 15 feet of building.”

Measuring the interior of the adjacent room, Thompson confirmed a five-foot void existed behind the wall. Despite the ominous reputation of the “phantom room,” Thompson made the executive decision to breach the wall from Room 236. With a few swings of a sledgehammer, the drywall crumbled, revealing a dark, dust-choked space that had been sealed off from the world since the early 1980s.

A Time Capsule of Tragedy

Shining a flashlight into the breach, Thompson discovered a hotel room frozen in 1983. Faded floral wallpaper, a rotary phone, and thick cobwebs set the scene. But as the crew widened the hole and stepped inside, they found something far more disturbing behind a second false wall at the back of the room.

Lying on a mattress on the floor were two bodies, mummified and perfectly preserved. They were a young Black couple, dressed in their wedding attire—a white slip and an undershirt. Their hands were intertwined, their faces peaceful, as if they had simply drifted off to sleep. Beside them lay a wedding dress, a tuxedo, and a leather journal.

The journal identified them as James and Michelle Carter, both 24 years old. The final entry, dated June 11, 1983, described their honeymoon bliss and a darker undercurrent: James was meeting with the hotel owner regarding a discrimination lawsuit.

The Investigation Unfolds

The discovery brought Homicide Detective Sarah Williams to the scene, a veteran officer with a chilling personal connection to the case. Her mother had investigated the Carters’ disappearance in 1983 but was stonewalled by the hotel’s powerful owner, Richard Dunore. Dunore had claimed the couple checked out early, and without bodies or evidence, the case went cold.

“For 41 years, my mother wondered what happened to them,” Detective Williams said, her voice trembling as she surveyed the scene. “She died never knowing the truth. But today, the walls finally talked.”

The autopsy revealed the couple had died of carbon monoxide poisoning, and their bodies had been treated with formaldehyde—explaining the chemical smell and their preservation. It was a calculated, professional job. The killer hadn’t just murdered them; he had entombed them.

Uncovering the Motive

Thompson, driven by a need to see justice done, didn’t stop at finding the bodies. He dove into archival newspaper records, piecing together the events of 1983. He found that James Carter, a recent Emory Law graduate, had filed a massive discrimination complaint against the Grand View Hotel. The lawsuit threatened to destroy Richard Dunore’s business empire.

The investigation quickly turned to Robert Dunore, Richard’s son, who had inherited the property. While the elder Dunore had died in 2019, investigators believed the secret couldn’t have stayed buried without help.

A search warrant executed on the Dunore family’s storage unit provided the smoking gun. Hidden in a safe was a cassette tape recorded by Richard Dunore himself on June 13, 1983. On the tape, a drunken Dunore confessed to gassing the room via the boiler system to stop the lawsuit, treating the bodies with formaldehyde, and building the false wall to hide his crime.

“I didn’t plan it… but he was going to destroy everything I built,” Dunore’s voice rasped on the recording. “It was self-defense.”

Even more damning was a letter from Robert Dunore, dated shortly after his father’s death, admitting he had found the confession tape. Instead of going to the police, Robert chose to sell the hotel and keep the secret to protect his inheritance.

Justice and Remembrance

Robert Dunore was arrested and charged with accessory after the fact and obstruction of justice. Confronted with his father’s confession and his own incriminating note, he pleaded guilty and was sentenced to 18 years in prison.

For Ruth and David Peterson, Michelle’s elderly parents, the discovery brought a heartbreaking but necessary closure. “You found my baby,” Ruth whispered to Thompson when he visited their Atlanta home to break the news. “You brought her home.”

Six months after the discovery, the Grand View Hotel—now under new ownership—unveiled a memorial designed by Thompson. It features photos of the couple, details of James’s civil rights work, and a plaque honoring their memory.

“They weren’t just victims,” Thompson said at the dedication ceremony. “James and Michelle were fighting for equality. They were silenced for 41 years, but their voices are louder now than ever.”

The “Screaming Hotel” is silent now, its ghosts finally laid to rest. But for Marcus Thompson, the renovation of the Grand View was more than a job; it was a resurrection of the truth. Through his newly founded Carter Initiative, Thompson now trains other contractors to recognize signs of hidden crimes in old buildings, ensuring that no other secrets remain locked behind the drywall forever.