Random Revenge (Detective Robert Winter Book 1)

by William Michaels

  Winter grabbed a coffee in the break room and found Ryder at his cubicle in the bullpen. “Upton recently got a big deposit in her checking account,” Winter said. “Where do you think that came from?”

  Ryder didn’t look up from his computer screen. “And how did you come by this piece of information?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does if we need it in court.”

  “We’re not going to use it to get a search warrant. You already searched her place. Unless you think you missed something?”

  “She’s a victim, not a criminal.”

  “I thought you were pissed at her for lying to you.”

  Ryder finally looked up. “I am. But we need to do things by the book.”

  “Just trying to help.” Winter waited him out, sipping at his coffee. Even he could tell it was bad, again making him wonder about that expensive Starbucks blend.

  Ryder wrote something in his notebook. “How big a deposit?”

  Winter hid his grin behind the coffee cup. “I don’t know exactly, we’d need a warrant for that.” He waited a beat, then added, “But it was five figures.”

  “That’s a big range,” argued Ryder.

  “Let’s assume the low end. Did Upton look like she got a lot of ten thousand dollar jobs?”

  Ryder got up, stretched. “Probably not. You could ask her, seeing you are going to be talking to her.”

  “It could be a payoff. Maybe her friend Ayers got scared, thought she might actually nail him for attempted rape.”

  “That’s kind of a stretch, don’t you think?”

  “Just looking at possibilities. Maybe you should talk to Ayers.”

  “I already had it on my list,” said Ryder, gathering up his notebook and slipping into his jacket. “Cindy told me that most of the cast and crew from that tv show they’re filming are staying at the Hilton. Ayers probably is too. I’m heading over there right now.”

  “If it’s okay with you I’ll tag along and you can fill me in more on the Upton case. I can hang out in the lobby and show Gruse’s picture around while you’re with Ayers.”

  The Hilton hadn’t been remodeled since bright pastels were in style, but it was still the best hotel in Marburg. The regular bar was dark and roped off, closed at this early hour, but in the middle of the lobby the daytime café was open, down three steps, surrounded by a wall of planters with fake greenery.

  Winter pointed to the café. “I’ll be down there if you get in any trouble.”

  “Funny,” Ryder said.

  A few late risers were at the buffet grabbing the last of the eggs. Winter almost warned them; he’d eaten here a few times, and the eggs were definitely to be avoided. No staff were in the café, so Winter hung out by the buffet. The bacon called to him and he snuck a few pieces; it was hard to ruin bacon. A waitress came down the steps carrying a tray and started to clear a table.

  Winter ambled over, pulling out his tablet and clicking on Gruse’s photo. He’d clipped his badge to his belt. “Excuse me, I’m with the Marburg Police. Have you by any chance seen this man?”

  The waitress, her hair in a bun, pulled a cloth napkin out of the apron she wore over her dark blue Hilton skirt, drying her hands as she looked at the tablet. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Would he have been here for breakfast? I just have the morning shift.” If she’d noticed Winter swallowing the last of the bacon she didn’t mention it.

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  “It’s just a breakfast buffet during the week. The lunch staff comes on at eleven.”

  “Thanks,” said Winter. “I’ll try later.”

  The waitress tilted her head toward the bar. “There are some guests in there, they’ve been staying here a while, they might know.”

  “I thought the bar was closed?”

  “They’re just watching tv.”

  Winter glanced at the other patrons, figured them all for tourists, and decided to try his luck. Ryder wasn’t in the lobby, maybe he had found Ayers. Winter slipped past the thick rope into the dim bar. In the far corner, five guys dressed in jeans and tee shirts were watching highlights of last night’s baseball games on a television mounted on the wall. Winter crossed the room and watched a replay of a replay from a West Coast game, an ultra slow motion of a tag at second.

  “Told you, he was safe,” said a lean guy wearing a gray workout jersey.

  A man in a red Angels baseball cap said, “Let’s wait for another angle.”

  Sure enough, another replay, two of them, Winter wondering how they could have so many cameras able to catch plays at second but never one where he needed it for a murder investigation. If someone ever got stabbed at second base he could solve cases from the bar.

  “See, safe,” said the guy in the workout jersey.

  “Maybe,” admitted the Angels fan. He caught sight of Winter and asked, “What do you think?”

  “I think I’m glad I’m not an umpire,” said Winter. “All those cameras looking over my shoulder.”

  All the men nodded agreement. They watched another replay, and then Winter said, “I’m with the local police, and I’m trying to find information on a guy who might have been in this bar.” He offered up the tablet, let them pass it around the table.

  “He do anything wrong?”

  “No, not that we know of. I’m not trying to jam him up.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen him,” said the Angels fan, passing the tablet along. No one else had either. “Want us to keep an eye out for him?”

  “Thanks, but he’s passed away,” said Winter.

  “Shit, that sucks.”

  Winter thanked them and turned, then thought about the Angels cap, a rarity in New England. “You in from California?”

  “We all are,” said the man in the cap. “We’re with the Shock and Awe crew.”

  “Is that the tv show they’re filming here?”

  “Yep.”

  Winter pulled out a chair from the next table and straddled it facing them. “You know the cast members?”

  “Sure, why? You looking for Michael Stevens’s autograph?”

  “He’s in the show?” Winter had seen movies with Stevens.

  “Yeah, although he pretty much stays in LA, flies out every so often for the location shoots.”

  “Not him. But a woman in my office, she has a crush on some actor, Ayers?”

  “Don’t they all,” said a sad looking older guy with a soul patch and a droopy moustache.

  “Sid’s feeling his age,” someone said, and they all laughed.

  “I’m good friends with Jason,” said the guy in the jersey. “We grew up together, right around here.”

  “You and Ayers are from Marburg?”

  “Jason is. I’m from Northfield.”

  “No shit,” said Winter. Northfield was two towns over from Marburg. “I’ve got cousins there. How’d you meet Jason?”

  “We both ran track, I met him in the regionals one year. He ended up dating one of my friends.”

  “Guy was getting all the women he wanted before he even got on tv,” said Sid.

  “You’d do better if you’d shave off that dirt under your mouth.”

  “You’ve got one too, Carlo,” said Sid.

  “Yeah, but it looks good on me.” Carlo, the guy in the workout jersey, said to Winter, “Jason and I were out of touch, but we’ve been catching up since we got on the same show. I do his stunts. He’s cool, hangs out with the crew.”

  “Something you won’t see Stevens do,” said Sid.

  “Got that right,” said Carlo. “Anyway, I can get an autograph for your friend. Or bring her by some night there’s a Sox game on, Jason usually invites us up to his suite to watch the game, she can get a photo with him.”

  “If she’s cute that’s not all she’ll get,” said Sid.

  “Ayers does okay with the ladies, it sounds like,” said Winter.

  “We all do,” said Carlo. “Except Sid. Lots of women want to, you know,
be around the show.”

  Winter said, “I don’t watch much television, but my office friend I was telling you about, she said she saw some show where a woman claimed Jason has the hots for her?”

  “Yeah, we all heard about that,” said Carlo. “It’s bullshit.”

  “Jason’s been with Ashley Hanna,” said Sid. “This month, anyway.”

  “Why do you think it’s bullshit?” asked Winter. “If Jason is so—in demand?”

  Carlo leaned back in his chair. “Jason told me about that woman—she lives across the tracks. She claimed Jason hooked up at her place. Shit, I know that neighborhood, we used to go to bars there when we were underage to drink. It’s a pig sty. Jason wouldn’t be caught dead over there. He doesn’t even like staying in this Hilton, he’s more of a Four Seasons guy, you know what I mean?”

  Winter nodded. “But maybe if he had a history with her . . .”

  Carlo was already shaking his head. “I’m telling you, if Jason wanted some action, he’s got women lining up to give it to him. He doesn’t have to go over there.”

  “Maybe she came here,” mused Winter. “Any of you guys know what she looks like?”

  “We didn’t bother watching the show,” said Carlo. “Just some sorry assed chick looking for publicity. We get them all the time.”

  “I don’t,” said Sid morosely.

  Ryder thought he’d get some pushback from the front desk about privacy, but the clerk not only told him Jason Ayers was a guest, but that he was likely in his room, a suite on the Executive Floor. Ryder guessed it was no secret anyway. As he was crossing to the elevator his phone beeped; a message from Cindy with a link to a video of The Other Woman show. Ryder sat in one of the lobby couches and clicked on it, wondering if Cindy had committed some kind of crime by sending him a link to what must have been an illegally recorded show, and even whether he should be watching it. He’d need to look that up.

  In the background he could hear Winter laughing it up with some guys in the bar, Winter no doubt sneaking a drink while on duty. It was bad enough he was stuck with Winter on the Gruse case, and now he had to drag him along on the Upton investigation. The ride over had been a nightmare, Winter peppering him with all sorts of out of the blue questions about Upton, and then jumping to Ryder’s interviews with the women Gruse had photographed. Ryder could barely follow along, Winter’s mind was all over the place, even repeating questions, a lack of mental discipline that mirrored his unregulated investigatory style.

  If this Gruse case didn’t get closed soon he had a bad feeling he was going to be stuck with Winter. If that happened he’d try to get Winter bounced out of the department. He’d already seen a number of instances where Winter had broken the rules, or at least the spirit of them. No doubt his style of policing included many more infractions. Winter probably still roughed up suspects to get confessions.

  Ryder watched the intro of The Other Woman, Melanie Upton looking as good on camera as she did in person, oozing sensuality. Ryder fast forwarded through the parts where Melanie wasn’t on camera, keying in on the section where she got dragged by Jason at some party. The part about the possible assault was vague; Melanie never really came out and said it was Ayers, but she had just been talking about him, it was hard not to make the link. And nothing about it not being consensual. Still, she implied that something bad had happened, which was more definitive than what she had told Ryder.

  The video identified the date of the show, which was well before he had last seen Upton. Which meant that Upton had known all this when Ryder had visited her in her apartment. He clicked off the video, sure that she had lied to him, or at least had left much unsaid.

  In his experience, witnesses, especially victims, often had confused memories of crimes. Melanie Upton hadn’t appeared confused, but she had seemed ditzy at times. Maybe she just wasn’t too smart? Or couldn’t keep track of what she said when?

  He’d pin her down, once he convinced Logan he needed to interview her again. He didn’t trust Winter to figure it out.

  Ryder got on the elevator and pushed the button for the Executive Floor, but the light didn’t come on and the door stayed open. He pushed it again, then noticed a small sign which told him he needed a key card. Muttering, he went back to the front desk, where the same skinny clerk was clacking on a keyboard.

  “You didn’t tell me I needed a keycard to get to the Executive Floor,” said Ryder.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were going up. You just asked if Mr. Ayers was a guest.”

  Ryder figured Winter would have slapped the kid for being so dense, but he kept his cool, if for no other reason than to not respond like Winter. “I need to get up there.”

  The clerk hesitated, Ryder daring him with a stern look to ask if Ryder was a frequent guest or whatever it took to get access to the paradise of the Executive Floor. Finally the clerk pulled a card from a drawer and handed it to Ryder. “This will get you access. Should I call Mr. Ayers and tell him you are on your way up?”

  Ryder didn’t have any reason to surprise Ayers, but he wasn’t going to wait for an invitation. “Wait until I’m in the elevator.”

  The card worked, Ryder stepping out into a small lounge with a self serve bar filled with soft drinks and munchies. That’s what they needed to protect with the key card?

  Ryder knocked at the suite. Ayers opened the door, Ryder recognizing him immediately even though Ayers was wearing a hotel bathrobe, his hair tousled, his eyes bloodshot. He had one of those permanent three day beards that Ryder envied because it looked so natural.

  “You the cop?” said Ayers. Without waiting for an answer he went back into the room, leaving the door open.

  Ryder considered that an invitation and followed him in. The suite was bigger than he expected, a living area with two couches, a big screen television, a desk, even a bar.

  “Get you anything?” asked Ayers, pointing toward the bar.

  “No, thanks.”

  “How can I help you, Officer—?”

  “Detective Martin Ryder.”

  “This is about Melanie Upton, isn’t it?” Ayers plopped down in one of the sofas, rubbing his temples.

  To Ryder he seemed more tired than worried. “Mind if I sit down?” Ayers pointed to the other sofa and Ryder took out his notebook. “She’s implied—”

  “Melanie Upton is a liar.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything. About me touching her. About me being in a relationship with her. I’m with Ashley. You know who Ashley Hanna is? You think I’d mess that up for someone like a Melanie Upton?”

  Ryder could understand, Ashley Hanna was a big deal, really pretty in a Barbie doll kind of way, perfect features and hair, but to Ryder she seemed a little—plastic. She didn’t have Melanie Upton’s spark. On the other hand, Ryder knew first hand that Upton wasn’t always truthful. “I saw this clip on the show, you and Melanie at some party. You looked like you were grabbing her.”

  Ayers was shaking his head. “That’s bullshit. I think she crashed the party just to find me, she wanted me to get her a part on the show. She threatened to tell everyone we were a couple and that I had—acted inappropriately. I told her no one would believe her, and to prove it I showed her I was with Ashley. If anyone is a victim here, it’s me. And Ashley too—she’s really upset by all of this.”

  Ryder took a few notes, fascinated in spite of himself, this guy was sleeping with a famous pop star. He didn’t look so hot right now, what did he have that Ryder didn’t? Ayers probably didn’t even know how to use a gun. Maybe he’d interview Ashley Hanna, see if she liked cops. “We could straighten all this up easily, if you give us a DNA sample.” Upton’s SAFE kit had shown no obvious signs of force, but did have male DNA. The problem was that there was no one to match it to, other than the felon database, which was negative. If he could get Ayers’s DNA, and convince Melanie to name Ayers . . .

  “Some woman makes a half assed insinuation and I have to prov
e my innocence? It wouldn’t look good for my reputation if I gave DNA. You know how many woman go around telling people they’re sleeping with famous men?”

  Ryder didn’t know what to make of that, it could be possible. But he doubted many of them called the police and reported it. Or did they? He’d have to check, maybe not around Marburg, but in a big city like LA? “If we find out that you paid Miss Upton some money to not say anything—”

  “I’d never give Melanie Upton a dime.” Ayers seemed wide awake now, his face flushing right through his stubble.

  Ryder made a point of jotting something in his notebook, trying to see if he could get Ayers to sweat, let something slip, but Ayers appeared to be genuinely angry. Ryder didn’t really have much else to pursue at this point, not unless Upton named him directly, which made Ryder all the more interested in going at her again.

  Ryder stood. “I may be back with more questions.” And hopefully more leverage for a DNA sample.

  Ayers didn’t get up. “Anything to get that bitch off my back.”

  Ryder found Winter waiting for him in the lobby, chatting up a different front desk clerk, an attractive middle aged blonde whose blue hotel uniform looked downright chic on her. Just Ryder’s luck, he got the pimply faced kid, Winter connected with a beauty. Ryder waited impatiently while Winter finished his conversation.

  “How did it go?” asked Winter, as they walked to the parking lot.

  “Ayers denied everything,” said Ryder.

  “What a surprise. I didn’t have much luck either, with Gruse, I mean. But I ran into a few guys who know Ayers—they’re on the show crew. They claim that Ayers didn’t need any Melanie Uptons in his life.”

  “Yeah, him having Ashley Hanna and all,” said Ryder.

  “I’m going to stop back tonight when the bar is open, ask about Gruse. And hit the other clubs too. Cindy should have more names, you can work the street while I go do the Upton follow up.”

  “I’d rather come with you to interview Upton.”

  “Better not,” said Winter. “You heard Logan. Don’t worry, I won’t step all over you. Let me talk to her, you can tell Logan I forgot to ask some important questions, so you need to go back at her yourself.”