DEAD MAN'S JUSTICE - A Place of Evil (Stone & McLeish Thriller Series of Stories Book 2)

by Gregory Stenson

  ‘Hello Mr. Stone, it’s nice to see you,’ said Amy. Her politeness was lost on Stone at that very second he said hello back and told Amy that they wanted to ask her if she knew anything, anything at all.

  ‘She told me about the interview, she was so excited, but I’ve been away from school since last week and we only spoke on the phone, she didn’t say where she was going,’ explained Amy.

  ‘Would she have told anyone else? You’re her best friend, I know but, she must have...what about her diary, would she have put it in there?’

  ‘She doesn’t have a diary Brad, she...’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Yes she does Mrs. Stone, she writes everything in there, she may have,’ she said turning her head back to Stone.

  ‘Really? I’ve never seen a diary when I clean her room...’

  ‘Where is it Amy? You know where she keeps it?’ asked Stone.

  ‘It can't be in her room I...’ Eleanor tried to say.

  ‘She hides it.’ Amy looked a little embarrassed to say more in case she got Laura into trouble. ‘I can show you.’

  Stone’s optimism rocketed and he summoned Amy upstairs to show him where Laura kept her diary.

  As soon as she was in the bedroom Amy went straight to a shelf where Laura kept her school books and picked out a large hard backed book with Astronomy down the spine. Amy took it down and opened it up. Laura had cut out the middle pages of the reference book making it just the right size to fit the diary in between.

  Laura’s was a typical teenage girl’s diary; the outer cover had photographs from magazines pasted all over it. Zac Effron and Chris Colfer stared back at him and Stone wished they knew and could tell him where his daughter was.

  Amy handed the diary to Stone but he handed it back saying she should look at it, he didn’t want to invade Laura’s privacy. He told her to go to today’s date and see what she could see.

  Amy thumbed through the pages until she got to December and found the page. She read quietly and they could see her eyes moving back and forth across the page.

  ‘Here,’ she said. ‘It looks like an appointment. It says Prize Giving and Interview 2 p.m. Affinia Hotel, Seventh Avenue, New York.’

  Stone reached out and took the diary from Amy and red it for himself. ‘That’s it. Amy...I don’t know how to thank you...’ he ripped out the page and folded it over and put it in his inside pocket.

  ‘What are you going to do Brad?’

  ‘I’m going to go there of course. Somebody will have seen her, I know it, I’ll call you okay?’

  Stone didn’t waste any time, he kissed Eleanor goodbye, told her he’d be on his cell phone and told her not to tell anyone, especially the reporters outside.

  Stone looked into Amy’s eyes and said, ‘Would you keep this to yourself Amy, please? This is just between you, me, and Mrs. Stone?’

  ‘Sure Mr. Stone, just bring her back for me, I miss her.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Eleanor, with tears streaming down her face.

  Stone was almost out of the bedroom as he said, ‘that’s exactly what I intend to do.’

  Chapter 52

  When he was standing in the middle of the burnt out living room of the Deli apartment Mac could see directly into a hotel room across the other side of 11th St.

  He had managed to persuade the investigators who were still sifting through the charred furniture and debris to allow him access into the apartment. The six story hotel was of the budget variety and catered for seamier clientele and the ‘pay by the hour’ trade. This wasn’t a secret, the signs above the entrance spelled out the terms in neon lights that flashed non-stop night and day. Mac saw this for himself when he paid a visit right after leaving the apartment.

  Before he left the apartment he had studied the hotel building and had counted the number of windows from the main entrance to make sure he got the one opposite when he spoke to the manager.

  The shift manager was sitting behind a reception counter window wearing his customary white vest. White was stretching it though, it looked like it hadn’t been washed for days and if pressed, Mac would bet the guy had a weakness for Pizza, and also a weak right arm. It looked like most of it never actually reached his mouth.

  ‘Hi,’ said Mac. ‘I need your help.’

  The old guy coughed and spluttered into life and looked up over his bifocal glasses. ‘It’s twenty four fifty per night for a single unless...’

  ‘No. I don’t want to stop here, I need to have a quick look at one of your rooms.’

  ‘You take ‘em as you find ‘em Mister, the sheets are changed...’

  ‘No. You don’t understand me. I want to look at the fifth room back from the entrance, I’ll only be a few minutes, it’s very important,’ Mac explained.

  The guy looked into the air and was working it out speaking to himself silently and counting on his fingers. ‘That’ll be room 205,’ said Pizza man.

  ‘Can I have the keys? It won’t take a moment and I’ll be gone.’

  ‘That’ll be twenty four fifty for a...’

  Mac gave up and put the money on the counter.

  Pizza man gave him key 205.

  The inside decor was not a disappointment. It was all that the sleazy advertising signs above the front door promised. The stairs and corridor stank of cigarette smoke, sweat and cheap disinfectant. The overhead lights were so dim you couldn't tell whether it was night or day. Mac came to the conclusion that it didn’t really matter a great deal to the people who slept here, although again, ‘sleeping’ was stretching it.

  He found room 205 and slipped the card key into the slot, opened the door and slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. The room was a typical size, about ten by twenty, with a double bed against one wall and a counter and TV on the other. The bathroom was off the small lobby area where there was a closet with sliding doors. He could make out very little, the drapes were almost closed. He switched on the light and stood back to look the room over before he went any further, in order to disturb as little as possible. He put his hands in his pocket determined not to touch anything or any surface.

  He thought it was very strange that the drapes were closed. Not closed exactly, but something like two inches apart. He walked over to the window and peered through the gap.

  He could see directly across into the windowless, blackened room where the bomb had exploded. Mac was convinced it was a bomb. He’d seen and heard plenty in his time on active service in the Middle East to know the difference between a blast from a domestic appliance and an explosive device.

  Mac studied the room. The bed hadn’t been slept in and there was nothing underneath the bed. The bathroom was tidy and the surfaces of the washbasin and bath were dry. The bath and hand towels were still folded neatly.

  There was a table between the bed and the window, he crouched down low on his heels and thought he could see drag marks caused by the table legs in what was left of the carpet pile on the floor.

  Someone had possibly moved the table.

  The only chair in the room sat under the counter on the far wall but he could see no other sign of someone having been there. If they had, he thought, they had been very careful. A professional wouldn't leave evidence and to Mac, a remotely detonated bomb smacked of a professional hit man.

  He was still of the opinion that someone had been in the room and had used it as the base to stalk the apartment and then set off the bomb. He switched off the light and was about to open the door when his shoe crunched something on the carpet. He moved his foot away and below where it had been was a toothpick. It had been broken in two places and folded into the shape of a triangle. It was probably nothing, he thought, but it might be something.

  He put the toothpick into the middle of his handkerchief, folded it over and returned it to his pocket.

  Mac returned the card key to Pizza man and asked him about the last person to use the room. Pizza man was watching a horse race on a small black and white T.V. set.

  Mac
was hoping for a straight answer.

  ‘I need to know who hired the room last.’

  ‘We don’t give out that kind of...’

  ‘Who was he, was he tall, short, thin, fat, what?’

  ‘I told you, we don’t...’ Pizza man

  Mac reached under the glass window and yanked out the T.V. cable and waited for an answer.

  ‘Hey, you can't do that, I’ll call the police.’

  ‘I’ll save you the bother.’ Mac took out his cell phone and dialed Finch’s number.

  ‘Who ya calling Mister?’

  Mac said nothing.

  Finch picked up.

  ‘Hi. It’s Mac. I think I know where the bomb was detonated from. Right across the road is a sleazy hotel; we need to check out room 205. Could you get CSI out here?’

  Mac listened to Finch’s answer then closed the phone.

  ‘In thirty minutes, maybe less, the Police will be here to search the room. I want it sealed off; nobody’s to go in, especially you. You understand?’

  ‘I have a business to run...’

  ‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’

  Pizza man was almost blown of his chair; he adjusted his bifocals and nodded yes.

  ‘Now. Who was the last...’

  ‘ A tall guy, big. A foreigner. Didn’t say his name. Didn’t even see him leave.’

  ‘How do you know he was a foreigner?’

  ‘Had a strange accent, you know, A-rab or something like that, and something else, he had a scar on his face.’

  ‘Thanks. That wasn’t so difficult was it? You’ve got cameras? Can I see the videos?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Video. Security video.’ Mac was pointing up to the unit on the ceiling that was trained on the reception window.

  ‘Oh that. That’s just for show.’ Pizza man spat into a waste basket.

  ‘Shit.’ Mac beat his fist into the counter.

  ‘I’ve got a shot of him though,’ he said.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Hey buster, this is New York. We have a hidden webcam hooked up to the computer. We take a photo of every punter, just in case, you know. The guy fiddled with the computer mouse and a printer on a side table jerked into action. ‘We record the time when everyone books in. He came in at 11.15 a.m.’

  Mac was impressed.

  Pizza man stretched back in his chair and got the page from the printer tray and handed it to Mac. The grainy black and white picture showed a tall man at the counter. ‘Is that him?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s the guy.’

  The picture was clear enough to show the scar on the man’s left cheek, it ran from just below his eye to level with the base of his nose.

  ‘We’re getting somewhere,’ said Mac. ‘I need to find this bastard.’

  ‘What’s the big deal with this guy anyway?’

  ‘He almost killed me and my colleague. He killed Alfredo. You know him? The deli across the street?’

  ‘Yeah. The bomb you mean, he was killed in that explosion?’

  ‘It was meant for us, not Alfredo.’ Mac paced around the lobby. ‘I need to find this him.’ He went back to the counter. ‘How did he pay you?’

  ‘He didn’t.’

  ‘How’d you mean?’

  ‘Somebody booked the room over the phone. By card.’

  ‘Do you still have the details?’

  ‘Head office will.’

  ‘I need an address. You think they’ll have it?’

  ‘Not normally, but we have ways, you know, in case punters cancel the transaction or run up a high bill and vanish.’

  ‘Call them? Please, it’s important’

  ‘Okay Mister, give me a minute.’

  Pizza man spoke to Suzy in the accounts office and asked ther to do a special, he couldn't tell her why, but he said it was real important. In less than five minutes Suzy called back and gave him an address. Pizza man wrote it on a scrap of paper and handed it to Mac.

  ‘Here Mister, don't tell anyone where you got it, know what I mean?’

  ‘Sure.’ Mac stared at the note and then put it safely in his pocket together with the bomber’s photo. ‘You might just be saving a life. Mine.’

  Mac opened the door and started to leave.

  ‘Hey. Where are you going? You said CSI would be here soon, you should be here.’

  ‘Show them the photo, let them into the room. They will do the rest.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Mac turned before he closed the door.

  ‘Don’t talk to anyone till they get here right? And thanks. Pizza man. Thanks again.’

  The guy was mouthing pizzaman? pizzaman? to himself, and scratching his head, wondering what Mac meant, by the time he looked up again Mac was gone.

  Chapter 53

  Stone had a lead. It was somewhere to start, he thought. As he was driving back to town he was debating with himself whether to go it alone or to call Finch and let him know what was happening. He was worried that he and Ramirez would take over and keep him out of the investigation. He respected Finch, and remembered the day back in the precinct after the shooting at the funeral when he stood up to Ramirez. The department would have all kinds of resources and assistance available at their disposal, he said to himself, databases; SWAT teams; helicopters; and he was alone, being with Finch would open doors that he couldn't. He’d never forgive himself if he screwed up when he could have got help, and something happened to Laura.

  He called Finch.

  He answered his cell phone after three rings, ‘Finch?’

  ‘Is that you Stone? Where are you?’

  ‘Driving to town. I’ve got something Finch, I’m on my way to the Affinia Hotel over in Manhattan. Laura had made a note of where she was supposed to meet someone on the way to the studio, but she didn’t make it. I’m going there now to see what I can find out.’

  ‘I’ll meet you there okay?’

  ‘You're closer, you should get there before me, I should make it in...forty-five minutes or so.’

  Finch was waiting for him when he arrived and they went into the hotel together.

  The stylish four-star hotel was set back from the main road and accessed by a long tree lined drive. There was a canopy covering the forecourt where taxis and cars set down and collected guests. Plush, deep red carpet extended from the revolving doors to the curb and the entrance was emphasized by large ionic stone columns that supported the canopy at twelve foot intervals. The lobby had a warm, relaxed feel enhanced by the sound of light classical music playing in the background.

  The reception was over on the left of the lobby and the person who was on duty was a smart, middle aged man standing behind the reception desk who had the name Donald on his lapel tag. He gave a standard welcoming smile but when Finch flashed his badge and introduced himself as Detective Finch, it changed quickly to a worried smirk. Finch asked him if he had been on duty earlier in the day, he said yes and asked how he could help.

  ‘We’re looking for a young girl...’ Finch began, but in Stones anxiety he spoke over him.

  ‘Her name’s Laura, she’s my daughter. She’s only thirteen. My name’s Brad Stone.’

  ‘Is she a guest here Sir?’

  ‘No. She was supposed to meet someone here and then they were going to a TV Studio, she’s about five four, long dark hair and ...’

  ‘It doesn’t ring a bell with me Sir, we could ask Mario, the doorman, he sees everyone that comes and goes.’ Donald spoke into a small modern two way radio and a minute later Mario, a tall, Italian looking man dressed in tails, approached the counter.

  ‘Mario, these gentlemen, Detective Finch and Mr. Stone, are enquiring about a thirteen year old girl who apparently came here earlier today. Can you recall seeing her?’

  Mario spread his hands out and shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Hi gents, we get a lot of people in and out of here all day, if she’s a guest she may have come in when I was...’

  ‘She wasn’t a guest Mario,’ said Stone. ‘She was meetin
g someone, they were picking her up,’ he added.

  ‘I’m sorry fellas, sorry I couldn’t help you.’

  Donald said ‘thanks anyway’ to Mario and he started to go back to work on the forecourt.

  He got almost to the door and then walked back over to them.

  ‘Wait a minute, wait a minute...there was a young girl, about so high,’ Mario held his hand up around his chest height. ‘Long black hair? She was sitting on the seat over there for a while. She sat upright; she looked nervous and was checking her watch every now and then.’

  ‘Did you see where she went Mario? It’s so important, please?’ Stone implored the doorman knowing he was a possible lifeline to finding Laura.

  ‘I think she left in an SUV, I’m trying to remember, it was black...I didn’t actually see her get in though, I was busy at the time. You could check the cameras. They sweep the forecourt every six seconds.’

  ‘Could we?’ Stone asked Donald.

  ‘Sure.’

  Donald led them to a cramped little room behind the reception desk which had a bank of DVD machines on a shelf and several monitors on a counter below. The equipment was unmanned as the guy was on his break but Donald knew how to operate the machines. He asked Mario if he could remember approximately what time Laura would have left the lobby.

  ‘Close as I can make it, I hadn’t gone to lunch yet and Bert was still on duty with me, so it must have been around one o’ clock? Yeah about one.’

  Donald took a seat and fiddled with the controls of a DVD player and hit the REWIND button. The machine started to make a whirring noise and he watched the time indicator and stopped the machine as close as he could to one pm. It read 12.55 pm. He pressed the PLAY button and the monitor showed a jerky black and white video of the forecourt. As Mario had said, it swept from one side of the forecourt to the other and at that moment there was very little activity. Mario was pacing along the curb line and another doorman, Bert, could be seen standing by the revolving door, they appeared to be talking to each other.