“Hey, let me try that,” I said.
I took the card from him.
“Knock yourself out,” the kid said.
He turned to go back.
“Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “You go back there alone, you’ll piss her off. Better you stay with me.”
“I’m not supposed to leave the office.”
“So? You left the office. Big deal. Let me try the card.”
I dipped it in the slot, the green light came on. I twisted the doorknob counter-clockwise, pushed.
“Now it doesn’t work.”
“You twisted it wrong.”
“Huh?”
“Twist it the other way.”
“The other way?”
By now the kid must have concluded that if I got laid at all it would be a real miracle.
“Twist it this way,” he said, turning his wrist.
“Oh. I see.”
I did it right this time. The door opened.
“Okay. We’re all set.”
I couldn’t think of another way to stall him on our way back to the office. Tying my shoelace wasn’t going to work. The guy would just keep going. And bringing him down with a football tackle might have roused his suspicions. I walked along beside him, prayed for Alice to be quick.
As we neared the office I raised my voice. “I feel really stupid about this. Thanks for being a good sport.”
“No problem,” he said, but he didn’t break stride.
He went up the single step, flung open the office door.
“Oh, my god!”
“What’s the matter?” I cried.
I crowded in behind him.
Alice was sprawled out on the floor in front of the bathroom door.
“I fell,” she said. She struggled to her hands and knees. “I’m all right, I just fell.”
“What happened?”
Alice glared at me. “I tripped coming out the door. Do you have to make such a big deal out of it?”
“I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m all right, I’m all right.”
Alice twisted from my grasp, went out the office door.
I muttered a hasty thanks and followed.
I caught up with her halfway down the row. “What happened?”
“I was trapped at the computer. I couldn’t get back to the bathroom without being seen so I dived on the floor.”
“Good move. Did you find the files?”
“I didn’t have time.”
“Damn it. I tried to stall.”
“It’s okay. I got this.”
Alice opened her hand. Inside was a little gismo smaller than the door key.
“What’s that?”
“A chip. I downloaded the files onto it.”
“You got the files?”
“Yeah.”
“Will they play on our computer?”
“Sure. Let’s go home and take a look.”
I shook my head. “We can’t.”
“Huh?”
“The manager already thinks something’s funny. If we don’t use the room, he’s going to get suspicious.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, come on now.”
“Sorry. We gotta stay at least twenty minutes. Gotta use the unit, gotta muss up the sheets.” I smiled. “Think of it as method acting.”
42
“GOT IT,” ALICE SAID.
“Already?”
We were no longer in the motel room. That was all right. We’d been there long enough. And God was in his heaven and all was right with the world. Which, coming from an atheist, should give you some idea of my state of mind. For once, I could take exception to Mick Jagger’s assertion that you can’t get no satisfaction, while agreeing wholeheartedly with his assertion that if you try some time you get what you need.
At any rate, Alice was hunched over her computer, typing furiously on screens no one outside of the geek squad knew existed, and it appeared that her labors had born fruit.
“What have we got?” I said.
“Reservations on file for the last three years.”
“Three years?”
“Yeah. Apparently before that they weren’t using the system. Either that or they stored the files.”
“Three years should be fine. Do you have last week’s reservations?”
“Sure do. Your client’s husband, the guy you killed, registered in unit seven. Vinnie Carbone, the other guy you killed, registered in unit eight.”
“That’s nice. Can you tell if he ever rented a unit before?”
“Sure thing.” Alice opened the window of a search engine I wouldn’t have known was there. “I have nine matches.”
“Dating back how far?”
“They’re in the order of most recent. I’ll have to skip to the end of the document, search in reverse.”
“Never mind. What’s the most recent?”
“About a week ago. Make that ten days.”
“Same unit?”
“Yeah.”
“Who’s in the adjoining one? Or doesn’t it show that?”
“Sure. I just scroll up. The program doesn’t excerpt and list the entries, it just goes to them.” Alice scrolled up. “Harold Deerfield. He used his credit card. He’s from western Pennsylvania. You want the address?”
“Can I get it later?”
“Sure. I’ll teach you how to use the program. It’s easy.”
I doubted that. The last time Alice taught me how to use a program, I not only couldn’t learn it, but we nearly wound up in divorce court. Still, I wasn’t going to waste time with the address of someone from western Pennsylvania.
“What have you got before that?”
“That would go back about two months. Same room, different guy next door.”
Alice whizzed through the rest of the list. The entries went back about two years. As far as I knew there was nothing of any significance.
Alice reached the last one, read off the date.
Pulled up the unit next door.
Read off the name.
My mouth fell open.
Jersey Girl.
43
I HAD TO SEE HER. Don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t obsessed with the girl, no matter how enticingly her attributes might be displayed. But the case was all dovetailing together in a way I didn’t like.
Here’s a girl who stayed in the room with the murdered man. Granted, a few years earlier, but still. At the time, she had been next door to the other murdered man, who was her boyfriend, but wasn’t at the time she stayed in the motel, though he was there.
I grimaced. Everything Jersey Girl touches seems to die. Discuss.
That was unfair. She hadn’t touched my client’s husband, at least not that I knew of. And staying in the same motel room two years apart barely qualified as an assignation.
Besides, I was still alive. Though she hadn’t really touched me. Though not for lack of trying.
She opened the door in a sheer something-or-other that just cried out to be backlit. I could imagine pizza delivery boys fighting for the assignment.
“You’re not a cop,” she said, accusingly.
Astute of her to notice. Though I’m sure it was pointed out to her. In fact, drilled into her head. “The guy you gave the gun to is not a cop, he’s a murder suspect who probably killed your boyfriend.”
“Who told you that?”
“A cop.”
“He’s probably lying. What if I told you he wasn’t a cop.”
She crinkled up her nose. “Huh?”
“If someone’s trying to sell you a bill of goods, how do you know whether it’s him or me?”
“He’s a cop. He came with the cops.”
“How do you know they’re cops?”
“That’s stupid. You’re just trying to confuse me.”
Yes, I was. But I wanted to get in the door. And it wasn’t just the diaphanous negligee Jersey Girl was wearing. Though I had to admit she had perky nipples in it.
“You really want to talk in the door? You’re hardly dressed.”
“I don’t want to talk in the door. I wanna close the door.”
I knew she did. Which is why I had my foot in it. The old traveling salesman’s trick. I blamed myself for thinking traveling salesman. All door-to-door salesmen stuck their foot in the door. Traveling salesmen were the butt of numerous jokes, all of which involved a nubile young daughter. Which didn’t really apply in this case, but, hell, Jersey Girl was someone’s daughter.
The was no reason to shy away from physical contact. Aside from that touch-of-death thing. I squeezed by Jersey Girl into her house.
“Hey!”
“Sorry, but I don’t have time to be polite. Some very stupid policemen think I’m mixed up in a murder.”
“Yeah, right. You come around, say you’re a cop. Take my gun. Lie about it. But, oh no, you’re not mixed in anything.”
“Did you tell the cops you gave me the gun?”
“What do you think?”
“With you, I don’t know. You might have decided to deny having the gun.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Well, that would be mighty stupid, wouldn’t it? I thought I gave it to a cop.”
“What happened to disillusion you?”
“Are you serious? They hauled me in. Asked me questions. Wouldn’t let me go when they didn’t like the answers.”
“So you gave them answers they did like?”
“I told them the truth.”
“Cops don’t always like the truth. Sometimes you have to invent.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“Good. Telling the truth takes far less brain power. You don’t have to think so hard keeping your stories straight.”
Jersey Girl went for her purse.
“You got another gun?”
“Huh?”
“I’d hate to get shot in your kitchen. It would be embarrassing as all hell.”
“You’re weird.” She pulled a card out of her purse.
“What’s that?”
“The cops said to call if you showed up.”
“That’s a poor thing to tell me. If I were a bad guy, I might try to stop you.”
She drew back in alarm. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s free advice, which is almost as bad.” I flopped into a chair. “Go ahead and call if you want to. But think of what you’re doing. You’ll be calling the police, which is never a good idea under the best of circumstances, and these are not the best. If the cops connect you to the crime, you’re dead.”
“They don’t connect me to the crime. They connect you to the crime.”
“So you say. And they probably say so too. But do you always believe what you’re told? The cops are going to tell you I’m the suspect whether they suspect me or you. Because they’re not going to tell you you’re the suspect. They’re going to let you hang yourself.”
“I’m not the suspect.”
“You had the gun. You claim you gave it to me. Well, maybe that puts me in possession of the gun, but where did I get it? Think about it. What’s more likely. Did you give me the gun I used to kill your boyfriend, or did you give me the gun you used to kill your boyfriend?”
“Huh?” She crinkled up her nose again. I wondered if it was real or just an affectation. I might have to watch Jersey Shore, see if they did it too.
“Keep with me here,” I said. “Your boyfriend’s dead. By your own admission, you had the gun. That’s what the cops have now. If they get anything else that points to you, you’re dead meat.”
“What are you talking about? Nothing points to me.”
“Ever stay at the Route 4 Motel?”
Her face drained of color. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know? Then why does it bother you so much?”
“It didn’t bother me.”
“Something sure did. I wouldn’t expect even the Bates Motel to get a reaction like that.”
She crinkled up her nose again. “What?”
“Good God, I’m too old.”
“You’re talking funny again.”
“And you’re changing the subject. I asked you if you ever stayed at the Route 4 Motel, and you went white as a sheet. I happen to know you stayed at the motel, but the cops don’t know it yet. So, like I say, it would probably be a poor time to call them right now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. But she walked away from the phone and sat down.
“I’m talking about coincidence, the law of averages, and dumb luck.”
That got me a nose crinkle.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be enigmatic. Here’s the deal. Your boyfriend got killed, you wound up with the gun. Not good, but you could probably explain it away. However, Philip Marston got killed in the Route 4 Motel, in the room you stayed in. Right next door to the room your boyfriend stayed in.”
“What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying. When the cops connect you to the second murder, they’re gonna have some more questions. And they’re gonna be harder to answer than the first.”
“What second murder?”
“Oh, come on, give me a break. Didn’t you know Philip Marston?”
“Who?”
“You didn’t know he was dead?”
“I didn’t know he was alive. Who is he?”
“Damn.”
“What?”
“I’m inclined to believe you. But tell me about your stay in the motel.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything. You’re not the cops.”
“No. But if you don’t, the cops will get an anonymous tip, and they’ll ask you a bunch of questions you’ll have to answer.”
“Fuck you. You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve.”
“Two years ago you registered at the Route 4 Motel. Your boyfriend registered in an adjoining unit. With a connecting door.”
“Oh.”
I could see the wheels turning. Her eyes got calculating, shrewd.
“And you want me to tell you about that?”
“It would pass the time.”
“Huh?”
I sighed. “Sorry. I’m being facetious. I apologize. Tell me about the motel.”
“You want to know about two years ago when Vinnie and I registered in separate rooms?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“To see if it means anything.”
Her nose went again. If I were her mother, I’d have warned her it might freeze in that position.
“Vinnie and I had just started dating. I wasn’t going to stay in the same room.”
“Why were you there at all?”
“Huh?”
“Vinnie has a house. You have a house. Why would you have to go to a motel?”
“He was married.”
“Vinnie was married?”
“Well, maybe not married, but he was living with someone.”
“Were you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Actually, it is. I’m trying to figure out why you had to go to a motel.”
She thought that over. Once again, I could see the wheels turning.
“I wasn’t living with someone. But Vinnie was afraid his girlfriend would come by my house.”
“She know about you?”
“She suspected.”
“So you drove all the way up to Ft. Lee and went to a motel?”
“Yeah.”
“And registered in separate units.”
“Well, I didn’t know him that well.”
“So why was his girlfriend jealous?”
“Girlfriends are always jealous.”
“Anyway, you stayed in separate rooms.”
“That’s right.”
“Next time you only got one room.”
“Huh?”
“The next time you stayed with Vinnie it was in one room.”
“Well, I knew him be
tter. First time it might not have worked out. Turned out it did.”
“And then Vinnie got rid of his wife, or girlfriend, or whatever, and you became his girlfriend.”
“Yeah.”
“So you didn’t have to go to the motel with him anymore.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Vinnie kept registering at the motel. If it wasn’t with you, who was it?”
“You mean Vinnie was cheating on me? I don’t believe it. That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“Maybe I’m mistaken. When was the last time you were at the motel?”
“The last time?”
She was repeating my questions. A typical stalling device of someone thinking up a lie. I wondered what lie she could be thinking up. It was a perfectly straightforward question. When was the last time you and Vinnie stayed at the motel? It didn’t require a lie. Any answer would work. Why did she think it wouldn’t?
“It’s been a while,” she said.
“Over a year?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s been there since then. You’re saying it wasn’t with you?”
She snapped her fingers. “Business!”
“Huh?”
“He sometimes rented a room for business. He must have rented the same room.”
“Why would a guy like Vinnie need a motel room for business?”
“You forget who he worked for. He could have had business in that room.”
“With Tony Gallo?”
“Sure. He worked for Tony Gallo.”
“Why would he have to meet with Tony Gallo?”
“They could be meeting someone else.”
“Philip Marston?”
“Who?”
She didn’t know. I was sure of it. Though, as Alice points out, it would not be the first time I was wrong.
I was out in fifteen minutes, not sure if I was any wiser than before I came.
At least she hadn’t called the cops.
44
I SAT IN THE CAR and thought things over. No, not in front of her house. It would be just my luck to have a passing cop pick me up. The difference between a stalker and a detective on stakeout would be negligible. In either case I’d be screwed.
I was in the parking lot of a Route 4 mall. There was no shade anywhere in the lot, the sun was beating on the roof. I started the car, turned on the air conditioner, let it blast right in my face. Wondered how long it would be before a cop tapped on my windshield and told me I couldn’t have the car idling.
Stakeout (2013) Page 15
