"How so?"
"Had this big red gemstone in the middle at the top of the gold ring. It sat out about an eighth of an inch. Really crappy looking thing if you ask me."
"Can you draw it?" I asked him.
Dorian nodded and sketched on a piece of paper from a spiral notebook that was off to the one side of the counter. He tore off the page and handed it to me. I looked at it. Reminded me a bit of Green Lantern's ring. Or at least how I imagined it way back in the day. The ring was a thicker gold wedding ring with a gemstone seated in the middle at the top covering the width of the band.
"How wide you figure that band was?" I asked.
"Just how I drew it man," he said.
"So around a quarter of an inch?"
I looked at Dorian, he nodded at me.
"Any markings, tattoo on him that stood out?" asked Dykes.
Dorian looked back at Dykes.
"Yeah, looked like he might have done some time. He had two spiders tattooed. One on each hand by the thumb."
Dorian squeezed the V fleshy part of his left thumb with this right thumb and index finger where it attaches to the hand.
"They were small, maybe half an inch and blurry, not good tattoos that's why I figure he was in jail," offered Dorian.
Dykes nodded. Jackson was taking notes. I was thinking about meeting this Jonathan Frakes character. Maybe I'd introduce myself as Jean-Luc Picard, or maybe Q. Hadn't decided yet. Although if we were using the real actors' names I'd probably be Patrick Stewart or John de Lancie.
"We'd like to take a look at the room he was in," said Dykes.
"Sure thing, man," said Dorian. "I'll just have to get the key and lock up the shop here."
Dorian stood up and turned around where he opened up a metal box that looked like an electrical box but was filled with room keys. Two for each room. One oh two had both keys side by side. Dorian took one off the hook and closed up the box and locked it again with the key he'd used to open it. He turned around and locked the cash register which was to his left.
"You keep two keys for each room?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said. "Had a problem before where we only had one key. This was before my time and some asshole lost the key. We had to call in a locksmith to open up the room. Since then we keep two and if one goes missing we get another done. It's cheaper that way. Still bill it back to the customer though. We have a master set that the cleaner uses, but that's kept locked up in the utility room."
"And has that happened often?" I asked.
"A few times since I've been here."
"And how long is that?"
"Couple of years."
"So you've got rogue keys out there that can open up some of your rooms and your customers are none the wiser for it?" I asked.
Dorian looked at me for a moment.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that. Never thought of it like that. But, I mean, the keys only have a tag with the room number on them, not the motel's name."
He showed me the example in the one he was carrying.
"That's very comforting," I said, ironically.
"Come on man, there's always someone on duty here in the office twenty-four seven. And we've never had a problem."
"Let's go," said Dykes, holding his arm out to encourage Dorian and the rest of us to leave.
We all followed Dorian out of the office. He closed the metal framed glass door behind us and locked it. Before he did so, he put a sign on the door from inside that had a clock on it with moveable hands that said he'd be back in fifteen minutes. If that, I figured.
The motel was shaped like a hockey stick. The blade end was the office and we followed it up towards the shaft. Along the way we passed an ice room with a couple of vending machines in it, a laundry room and another closed room with a push button locked door handle on it. That was probably for employees. Where the shaft started from the blade was one oh one. The next one on the main level was one oh two. A maid was just leaving as we got there. Dykes stopped her.
"You just starting or finishing?" he asked.
She looked at Dorian and he nodded at her.
"Just finishing," she said in a huff.
"Did he leave any garbage behind?"
"Only what's in my cart," she said. She pointed to the far end where a large black plastic bag was stretched over the cart. The front part held toiletry supplies and cleaning supplies. Dykes looked in. There was a bottle of whiskey and a couple of cans of beer, some used tissues, an empty bag of potato chips and a chocolate bar wrapper. Dykes helped himself to a couple of latex gloves in a box on the top of the cart. The maid gave him a hard stare that he ignored. Dorian caught it.
"It's okay, Isabella," he said. "These are homicide detectives. They're investigating the James Ensor murder."
Isabella looked over at him and nodded. That satisfied her. Dykes pulled out the whiskey bottle and the cans of beer. He looked at Isabella, she was wearing a set of latex gloves too.
"You touch these with your hands?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Without the gloves on?"
"No sir, I always have my gloves on when I'm cleaning a room. Sometimes there's liquids in the rooms that we're not sure the source of."
I understood exactly what she meant.
"What about one oh one? Is this the first room you've cleaned today?"
Isabella nodded.
"Yes sir, that one," and she pointed to one oh one, "was not rented last night."
She held up a clipboard that had the room numbers and check marks next to the ones that needed cleaning. One oh one had an X next to it, not a check mark.
"So no one else has touched this garbage before you?"
"Nobody who works here," she said.
Dykes nodded.
"You guys go in, I'm going to take this back to the car and meet you inside."
"Thank you, Isabella," said Dorian. "Are you finished with this one?" She nodded. "Okay, you can carry on."
Isabella took her cart a couple of doors down and opened up one oh four.
"You always try to keep a room between renters?" I asked.
"We do if it's possible," said Dorian. "It helps keep things quieter for our customers."
Dorian walked into the room and Jackson and I followed him. The room was one large square. There was a queen-sized bed in the middle with two bedside tables with lamps on either side. Each one had a lamp and an ashtray on it. The decor seemed late seventies and cheap particle board. The headboard was just a piece of veneered particle board. The bed had a slight sag in the middle. The mattress was probably a couple of decades overdue for replacing.
The smell was musty with an undertone of brewery and smoke. Like a sloppy drunks bar at closing time. Opposite the bed was a cabinet that held about a twenty-eight or so inch cathode tube TV. It was probably fifteen years old or more. Next to the cabinet was a small desk and a chair. Everything was cheap, but that's what this place got you.
The curtains were a beige, hard to tell if that was their natural color or they were just dirty. Similar to the thin carpet on the floor. The window overlooked the parking lot. The room was old and in need of a designer, but everything seemed to be working. The paint was not peeling, the popcorn ceiling wasn't stained with watermarks. It seemed like good value for your money.
"What's your usual customer like?" I asked.
Dorian stood and looked at me as Jackson looked around.
"We don't have a specific type," he said, "but we try and keep the criminal element away. We kick out people that are making a lot of noise or doing drugs. We turn a blind eye to traveling salesmen who bring hookers round so long as there's no problem. We get a lot of homeless folks looking for shelter in the winter. They'll often come in pairs and spend a night or two when it's real cold. We've had single mothers with their kids escaping what I assume are abusive husbands. On more than one occasion we've had to call the cops when the assholes come looking for their wives."
I nodded.
"And you work the day shift?"
"Yeah, you could say I'm the defacto manager for the guy who owns this place. He's had it over thirty years. We have three other guys who do the other shifts."
Dorian looked over at me steadily with keen eyes.
"Look, we try and offer something for the working people here that they can't find anywhere else. Like I said, I try and run a good business and keep that bad element out. We're mostly successful. If I came at you hard today it's because that's how I've gotta be with some of my customers."
I smiled at him and nodded. I patted him on the shoulder. He sure was tall and probably intimidating to a lot of folk.
"I get it," I said. "Just looks like you've got caught up in something you couldn't have known about."
"So you think this 'Jonathan Frakes' guy might have been involved in the murder?"
I shrugged.
"Don't know yet, but this is where it's taking us. But you need to keep this to yourself until someone's been arrested. You understand?"
I looked at him hard and steady. He nodded.
"Yeah, for sure, man."
Dykes came back into the room and joined us.
"Anything of note?" he asked.
I shrugged at him.
"Haven't been looking. Dorian and I have been talking. I wouldn't think so though, this place just got cleaned remember, and unless he left anything behind..."
Dykes nodded and walked around the room. Jackson had gone into the bathroom. I didn't join them, I walked back outside. I'd seen enough dingy motels like this in my life to know what the bathroom looked like. Shower, tub, sink, shitter and mirror. Nothing to it. Cracked tile around the shower maybe, maybe on the floor too. Who knew. What I did know was that this place wasn't gonna help us. 'Frakes' was in the wind, and if we wanted to catch him we needed to be on the lookout for him. But we had nothing on him other than he was seen with the vic's wife.
I pulled out a cigarette and stuck the filter end in my mouth. I walked up to Isabella's cart and found a stack of match booklets. The Nite Owl Motel logo was on the front of them. I helped myself to a pack and used it to light my smoke. I had to turn around and hug the wall of the motel and cup my cigarette for the damn wind.
It was fresh outside. The air was clear, my mind wasn't. I took a long drag and looked around. I was facing the main road, it was getting busy. I'd figure it for after three. I wondered what time 'Frakes' had left. I wandered what his rush had been and why he was here. I figured he was somehow connected to Celia and putting the squeeze on her for something. Why else would she be giving him an envelope of cash the weekend before her husband was murdered. Still didn't like him for the murder though. But you never know. I didn't know enough about him.
Dykes, Jackson and Bronitt came out of the room. Bronitt closed the door behind them. I looked over at them.
"Nothing?" I asked.
"Nothing," repeated Jackson.
"Pretty clean for a cheap motel," said Dykes, almost impressed.
Dorian smiled.
"We try to keep it that way," he said. "Anything else I can help you guys with?"
Dykes shook his head.
"I've got a question," I said. Dorian looked at me.
"Yeah?"
"You said earlier that 'Frakes' left earlier today. What time was that?"
"I can tell you back at the office the exact time," said Dorian, "I've got it on the papers he signed."
"Not necessary," I said, "give me your best estimate."
"Shortly after noon," he said.
I nodded.
"Good, thanks," I said.
I sucked on my cigarette and we watched the tall man walk back towards the office.
"What about checking out those papers for his signature?" suggested Jackson. "Maybe he slipped up and used his real signature."
"Not sure how that'll help us," I said. "We've got his license plate."
"What if the car was stolen?" asked Jackson.
I shook my head slowly.
"Nah, I don't think so. The guy's up to something. At the very least he was blackmailing the vic's wife for some reason. I don't see him holding onto a hot car from Indiana for a couple of weeks. If he was smart he'd have curbed it and picked up a local one."
Jackson nodded.
"Besides, we've got his fingerprints," I added.
"Maybe," said Dykes. "Or maybe he cleaned them off."
"Maybe," I said. "And maybe Chicago's not really the Windy City after all."
Jackson grinned.
"It was just an idea."
"Well," I said, before taking another drag, "we could always grab those papers for fingerprinting if you wanted. But I don't see the signature helping us."
Jackson shrugged and put his notebook back in his pocket. He was a keen detective. He'd probably been jotting notes about how the motel room looked. Dykes looked back over at the car.
"What I'd like to do is get back to headquarters and run the plate and get these bottles printed," he said.
I nodded. He looked back at me.
"You want to come with?"
"I'd sooner head back to the hotel. It's got to be five o'clock somewhere."
Jackson grinned.
"Alright," said Dykes as he walked back towards the car with Jackson and I in tow.
"But come and get me if anything transpires," I said.
Dykes nodded, but he was looking towards the car.
EIGHTEEN
Champs Bullpen
I was eating salted peanuts. I couldn't help myself, and they were making me thirsty. To solve that problem I was drinking a beer. I'd had a whiskey earlier. But then I got into the peanuts. Whiskey was no longer cutting it. Beer was washing the salt away.
I was in the hotel the CPD was graciously putting me up at. More specifically I was at Champs' Bullpen, the only bar inside. It was busier than a urinal at half time. I was squashed up at the bar minding my own business. It was noisy and rowdy with fans of mostly the Chicago Cubs. At least that's what I was making out. It was a little after four thirty when I noticed I'd missed a call on my phone. I looked at the number. It wasn't one I recognized but it was local. The only local people who knew my number were the cops.
I listened to the message. Dykes was telling me to get myself ready, he was coming to pick me up. There had been a major development in the case. I liked the sound of that. He said he'd be at the hotel in about fifteen minutes. I looked at my phone. That was about ten minutes ago. I had half a beer to finish. I drank it quick like it was evidence that needed hiding. I put a Jackson on the bar counter, drawing the bartender's attention. I didn't trust the young schmucks in here not to steal it. He nodded.
I headed out, putting on my trench coat and my hat. I turned up the collar and walked out into the dying day. It was bright enough to see, but the sun was low on the horizon like the watery eye of a rheumy old man. I'd taken the beer too quick. It wanted to come back up but I held it down. A belch helped, and I tasted the peanuts. I took a cigarette out of my pack and walked off to the side to take a smoke. I didn't have long. But a man never needs long for a smoke break.
The parking lot out front of the hotel was busy, but most folks were inside partying or out on the city getting ready for the game tomorrow. I liked the idea of breaking this case tonight. Maybe the Chief or Lane could make a camera appearance and let the public know it'd been solved with the help of a PI from LA. That last part wasn't gonna happen. Still, a guy's gotta dream.
I had been thinking about the case. There was something oddly suspicious about 'Frakes' being here just around the time of the murder and heading out so quickly today. Could be related. Could be coincidence. But I'd seen a guy marry his sister coincidentally. At the very least, 'Frakes' was taking money from a married woman whose husband was now dead. That wasn't cool any way you looked at it. I wanted to talk to Celia. She obviously knew more than she was letting on. As these thoughts trickled through my mind like light rain against a window pane, Dykes and Jackson p
ulled up. They were happy to see me waiting outside. I was happy to see them. It was getting cold.
I squashed my cigarette underfoot and got into the back seat. I could smell mint and I could see Dykes was chewing on one.
"We gonna crack this thing wide open tonight?" I asked.
"Could be," said Dykes.
He was driving and took off just as I closed the door. He was clearly in a hurry.
"Where we headed?"
Jackson turned around to address me.
"We're heading to Ensor's place. The old lady's been murdered."
"Celia?"
Jackson nodded.
"Shit," I said. "Didn't see that one coming."
"None of us did," said Jackson. "Best we saw, she might have been in on it."
I nodded somberly and looked out the window as Dykes sped along. He was speeding with lights and sirens.
"Where is their place?" I asked.
"North Howe Street in Lincoln Park," said Jackson. "One of the most expensive neighborhoods in Chicago."
"Of course it is," I replied. "How far?"
"'Bout ten minutes," said Dykes, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Tell me what you got?" I asked. "Did you run the license plate? Check the fingerprints?"
Jackson still craned his neck round to see me. I'd scooted over to sit behind Dykes to make it easier on him.
"Yeah, both the license plate and the fingerprints came back to the same guy. The guy we have the picture of, this 'Jonathan Frakes' is actually Forest Gilder."
I nodded. I felt like making a smart ass comment about the forest and trees. But I decided against it. This was no time for levity.
"What do we know about him?"
"Not much. Done some time, petty stuff. Robbery and assault. Most recently there was a domestic charge against him. He's a small-time asshole but hasn't had anything outside of Indiana."
"I wonder why he's here then?"
"Maybe he's a Cubby fan," offered Jackson jokingly.
I grinned at that.
"With that domestic, confirms he's married then."
Jackson nodded.
"What's the wife's name?"
Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 69
