“Excellent,” Jake said. “That’s exactly what we’ve been encouraging other hotels to do.” He paused. “We could use your help on another matter.”
“What’s that?” Evans asked.
“A matchbook with your hotel’s logo was found at the scene of the latest robbery.”
Conway’s face scrunched up in question. “A matchbook? From here?”
Jake stepped over to a small table between the two chairs. He’d spotted a matchbook, just like the one he’d found at the crime scene, sitting on the table when he’d first come over. Now he picked it up and showed it to them.
“Just like this one.”
“Why would that be important?” Conway asked.
“It might not be,” Jake said. “But I’m sure you understand that we need to follow up on every lead.”
Evans was nodding. “I take it you think that the matchbook might have come from the robber?”
“It’s one possibility.”
“Those Town Cars go to all the hotels,” Conway said. “It could have been in there from a previous ride, and fallen out.”
“That’s also a possibility,” Jake conceded. “And it might already have been on the ground when the car drove up.”
Evans smiled in a way that told Jake the head of security was about to say the same thing.
“So what is it you’re hoping we can tell you?” Conway said.
Jake looked down, then back at them, his expression more relaxed than before. “I’ll be honest with you. I think this is a dead end, but, like I said, we have to follow up on everything. I was assigned to look through your security footage, with your permission, of course.”
“Our security footage?” Conway asked. “What do you expect to find?”
“You know who it might be, don’t you?” Evans said.
Jake hesitated. “We’ve…identified several potential perps. My focus would be to see if any of them was here.”
“Perps?” the woman asked.
“Perpetrators, ma’am.”
Conway looked at Evans. “Carl?”
Evans shrugged. “I don’t have a problem with it.” He looked at Jake. “How far back do you want to look?”
“Just the last forty-eight hours.”
“Easy enough,” Evans said.
Conway didn’t look completely happy, but Jake could tell she wasn’t going to stand in the way. “All right. But, Officer, we can’t give you any information about any of our guests. You can look at the footage, but that’s all the help we can give.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Jake said. “If we need anything more, we’ll get a warrant so that you’re covered in case any of your guests complain.”
That seemed to satisfy her. “I’ll leave you in Mr. Evans’s hands, then.”
8
“The car belongs to a guy named Jake Oliver,” Steiner reported over the phone as Durrie drove back into the city.
From the address Steiner read off, it was pretty clear this Oliver guy lived in either an apartment or townhouse.
“The birthday on his license puts him at twenty-two. Height listed at five-foot-ten, and weight one-sixty-five. You need hair and eye color, too?”
“No,” Durrie said. He’d seen the man’s hair and eyes.
“I was able to get a social security number and do a little more digging. I assume that’s what you wanted.”
It was. Durrie remained silent, waiting.
“I’m guessing you might already know this, but your guy’s a cop.”
“You mean crime scene investigator,” Durrie said.
“No. I mean cop.”
“He’s not a crime tech?”
“Is there a bad connection or something?” Steiner asked. “I said cop. As in police officer, with the gun and the badge and the cars with the lights.”
Steiner wasn’t Durrie’s favorite person in the world. He could be a bit of an ass when he wanted to be. Easy to do when you spent all day sitting around Venice Beach. Steiner owned a mailbox and packing store just around the corner from the boardwalk, but his main income came from forging documents and gathering information.
It was clear his specialized skills made him think he was above most other people. The problem was, he was good at his job. Hence the reason Durrie put up with him.
“Phoenix PD?”
“Yep.”
“How long’s he been on the force?” Durrie asked.
“Just over four months. Went to the academy first, graduated near the top, then right into the uniform.”
“Is that it?”
“Dude, I know I’m good, but you didn’t give me a lot of time. That’s all I got.”
“Send me the bill,” Durrie said.
“It’s already in your inbox.”
Durrie dropped his phone on the passenger seat.
He had two choices: go to the cop’s address and check it out, or go to where he was pretty sure Oliver was headed. The house he could visit anytime. Where Oliver was probably headed seemed more pressing.
Thirty minutes later, he parked a block away from the Lawrence Hotel, then walked up to the entrance.
The doorman smiled, and immediately opened the door. “Welcome back, sir.”
Durrie had stayed there the last two nights and was still technically a guest, but he had no intention of spending another night in the place, not now that a member of the Phoenix PD had tied it to the situation on Goodman Ranch Road. But he’d deal with that later. Right now the cop was his focus.
He slowed his pace upon entering the lobby and casually looked around, taking everything in. There were two women behind the reception counter, another woman at the concierge desk, and two older men at the bellhop station. One of the women at reception was helping a male guest, while the other was looking intently at a computer screen. Other guests were scattered throughout the rest of the lobby — some talking together, some sitting on the chairs, reading or waiting. But no Jake Oliver.
Maybe Durrie had been wrong.
He checked his watch. He’d give it twenty minutes, then he’d retrieve his bag from his room and find another place to stay. He picked up one of the complimentary newspapers off a nearby table, then took a seat in a wingback chair that afforded him a view of both the hotel entrance and reception. He was just finishing up the front section when the cop made his appearance.
Durrie was surprised to see that Oliver was now dressed in a police uniform. It certainly explained the delay in his arrival, but why wear it now when he wasn’t wearing it at the scene? Then the answer, so obvious, hit him.
Authority. People responded to it, and the uniform reeked of it.
For a split second, Durrie wondered if the cop was actually here officially with the full knowledge of his superiors, but quickly dismissed the thought. If that had been the case, Oliver would have turned over the matchbook to the investigators at the scene. Instead, he’d slipped it into his pocket and driven off.
No, this visit wasn’t official. Durrie was sure of that. This was a wannabe detective trying to make a mark, and give his fledgling career an early boost. Durrie imagined that Oliver was hoping to gain some respect and maybe even a commendation. Maybe he even had ideas of becoming the youngest detective in Phoenix PD history. But the cop was young still, and didn’t quite know how the world worked. Initiative wasn’t always rewarded, especially if you looked like you were trying to show up someone else.
The argument, though, was purely academic. If Oliver’s little side investigation took him any further, he’d have bigger problems to worry about than the bruised egos of those above him on the force.
As soon as the cop passed by his position, Durrie got up and moved to an open seat on the other side of the lobby, closer to reception. It was angled away from the desk so he didn’t have much of a view, but he could hear well enough as Oliver told the woman at the desk he wished to speak to the head of security.
“If you’d like to wait over there, he’ll be with you in a moment,”
she replied.
Durrie could then hear the unmistakable sound of the cop walking toward him, the uniform’s leather belt and attachments squeaking with each step. When Oliver finally stopped, he was just two chairs over from Durrie’s position.
Close enough to kill.
Durrie frowned at the thought. It was his dark voice, one that he seldom heard. But when he did, it was always throwing out ridiculous things like that. Easy to ignore, but disturbing nonetheless.
The truth was he might have to kill Oliver, but there would be none of the satisfaction the voice seemed to imply. In fact, there would be nothing at all. It would be part of the job. Unfortunate, maybe, but necessary.
When the hotel manager and the security man came out, Durrie listened closely to the conversation. He couldn’t help being impressed by the rookie cop’s resourcefulness. Using the cover of the robberies was excellent. It played right to the hotel’s biggest concern — the safety of its guests. Though he couldn’t see the kid’s face, Durrie could sense no hesitation or uncertainty in Oliver’s voice. It was as if the cop truly believed what he was saying. Durrie knew veteran operatives who wouldn’t have been able to pull off the deception as well as the kid did.
By the end, the cop had talked himself into a free look at the hotel’s security tapes without the need of a warrant or even confirmation from someone higher up in the force. Brilliant.
Also a potential problem.
There was no doubt that Durrie, Larson and Timmons — the two ops team members who’d also been staying at the Lawrence — would be on those tapes. But chances were slim at best that Oliver would peg any of them as people of interest. Like always, standard procedures had been in place, and the three men had acted as if they didn’t know each other while at the hotel.
No way the cop would spot them, but damn if Oliver wasn’t clever to get this far.
Durrie would give him a day. That would be more than enough to make sure the kid wasn’t a threat. And if, for some reason, it turned out he was, Durrie would undoubtedly be ordered to eliminate him.
There was a third possibility, but that barely even registered on the cleaner’s radar.
Slowly he stood up and lifted his arms, a man stretching after sitting for too long. He twisted at the waist, working out those last creaking muscles that weren’t actually bothering him, and took a look around. As he knew they would be, Oliver and the two hotel employees were gone. As for the others still in the lobby, none were looking in his direction.
Durrie was just another anonymous business traveler, here today, gone tomorrow. Or, in his case, here right now, gone in thirty minutes.
He went up to his room to get his bag.
9
There was a digital clock in the middle of the wall of monitors. Its numbers were red and impossible to miss, a quick reference for security guards tasked with keeping an eye on the feeds from the hotel cameras.
The monitor room wasn’t particularly large, but it was big enough for two to sit behind the laminated desk set back several feet from the monitor wall. There were eleven screens in all: a large one in the center, with ten smaller units surrounding it.
Jake was in the chair nearest the door. Beside him was a guard named Parker. After making introductions and giving Parker a quick rundown, Evans had left them alone, with a simple, “If you need anything else, Parker can find me.”
The guard had then routed the archived footage feed to the small monitor in the lower left corner, closest to Jake.
“We have everything on hard drive,” Parker explained.
“That must take up a lot of space,” Jake said. Most systems he’d come across still relied on tape backups, or DVDs.
“It does. Each day gets its own set of disks.” It was obvious Parker was enjoying his role as police assistant. “We have sixty sets in all, so basically we keep footage for sixty days before the set gets used again. The way the system works is that there are six disk ports. One contains today’s disks, four contain the last four days’, and the last one contains the disks from two months ago that will be used tomorrow.”
“Got it,” Jake said. “So the days I need to look at are still connected to the system.”
“Yep.”
Parker showed him how to access the older footage, then Jake got to work.
The hotel had thirty-six different cameras throughout the property, mainly covering the lobby, elevators, outside exits, and employee-only areas.
Even just skimming through the last forty-eight hours, it would take him forever to go through all the different feeds. So his first task was to narrow things down.
Two of the lobby cameras acted as overviews, covering large portions of the space. What one didn’t see, the other did. Deciding to concentrate on those first, Jake brought up one of the feeds, and began whipping through it as fast as he could manage and still make out what was going on.
The biggest problem was he didn’t know who he was looking for. Had the person who’d dropped the matchbook been a guest? Someone just passing through the lobby? Someone who worked there? Man? Woman? Old? Young?
He hadn’t been at it long before he realized how ridiculous this was. What the hell did he actually expect to see? The murderer walking through the frame wearing a T-shirt that said I DID IT?
Unfortunately, he couldn’t just get up and walk out. That would raise more questions than his request to view the footage had. Enough, most likely, to provoke Evans or Conway to call the department and ask what was up.
Jake definitely didn’t need that.
Having no choice, he focused on the screen.
It took nearly an hour to get through one day of one camera. Not surprisingly, no one stood out to him. He increased the pace, and got through the second twenty-four hours in only thirty-two minutes.
He decided to skip the other lobby camera and move to the one covering the front entrance. In and out, in and out. People coming and going and returning and leaving again. On the screen the day grew later, then night descended, but the flow of people never stopped. In and out, in and out, in and—
Jake tapped Pause, then leaned over the desk, bringing him a few inches closer to the monitor on the wall.
“See something?” Parker asked.
Jake stared at the image. Two men had just come outside. A doorman — not the one who’d let Jake in earlier — was holding the door open for them. They were both dressed casually, dark pants and dark shirts. One was even wearing a dark gray sports coat. They didn’t look like they were together, but there was something Jake couldn’t quite put his finger on.
The camera had captured a good shot of both men’s faces. Neither was remarkable. If he’d met either of them before, that might explain the feeling he was having, but he couldn’t place their faces, which meant this was the first time he had ever seen them. His memory was exceptional. He’d never forgotten a face before, and was sure he wasn’t forgetting one now.
So why did I stop?
“Hey, you all right?” Parker asked.
Jake pulled his eyes off the screen. “What?” he asked, confused.
“You were studying that pretty hard. I was just wondering if you’d seen something interesting.”
Jake quickly donned his neutral cop look. “Not sure. Maybe. Is there a way to print out images?”
“Sure,” Parker said. “We have a mavigraph. Gives you a nice glossy print. We’re not supposed to use it too often because it’s expensive, but I’m sure Mr. Evans wouldn’t mind.”
“Excellent.” Jake nodded at the screen. “Can I get a print of that?”
“You got it.”
Parker fiddled with a computer keyboard, then a few moments later a machine in the corner behind them began to hum.
“It takes a little while to print,” Parker said. “But it’s got the image now, so you can continue looking if you want.”
Jake nodded, then hit Play and watched the men walk out of frame. He stopped the footage, reversed it to just as they were
coming out the door, and noted the time stamp. He then switched over to the feed from a lobby camera right on the other side of the entrance. Using the time code as reference, he went to the corresponding point.
On the screen he could see the backs of the men as they were passing through the door. He began scrolling the footage backwards. As he noted from the other angle, though the men were leaving at the same time, they didn’t seem to be together. He followed them to the extent of the camera’s range, then found the next camera they were on, then the next. The lighter-haired one had stopped in the lobby, and put his cell phone to his ear. The other, dark-haired one had walked backwards all the way to the elevator where he entered/exited the number two elevator.
Jake turned his focus on the man in the lobby, until he, too, walked to the elevators and went up, in his case riding in car number four. Jake switched to the interior footage from car four, and followed the man in reverse all the way up to the eighth floor. No feeds covered the upstairs hallways, so he couldn’t see which room the man went to.
“Here you go,” Parker said, setting something on the counter beside Jake’s elbow.
Looking down, Jake saw the promised glossy print of the two men outside the hotel entrance. There was a wide white border around the edges that almost gave it a retro feel.
“Thanks,” he said.
He returned his attention to the screen, then hit Play, watching in normal speed, forward motion this time. The light-haired man reentered the elevator on the eighth floor, then headed down. The car made three stops before it reached the lobby: on the sixth, fourth, and third floor.
Jake hit Pause again, scrolled back a few seconds, then let it play once more. When a man entered the car on the third floor, it looked like the light-haired man had given him a tiny nod. Jake played it a couple of times. The movement was so slight it was hard to tell.
The man who had just gotten on turned and faced the door. It could be they’d only recognized each other from when they were checking into the hotel. Then again, maybe it hadn’t been a nod at all. Just a tick, or even a glitch in the camera.
Becoming Quinn (jonathan quinn thriller) Page 5
