Lady 52: A Jack Daniels/Nicholas Colt Novel

by Jude Hardin

  Half an hour later, after fighting traffic only slightly denser than lead, I steered into the parking lot of The Valiant Inn.

  It didn’t look very valiant.

  “I’ve never heard of this hotel,” Laurie said.

  “It’ll be fine. It’s only sixty-two dollars a night. Continental breakfast included.”

  “Can’t we stay at the Sheraton or the Hyatt or somewhere?”

  “We’re on a budget, remember? Anyway, this place has some good reviews. Mostly three stars.”

  “Out of how many? Four?”

  “Five.”

  “Yippee. I can’t wait.”

  “I’ll go grab a cart for our bags,” I said.

  I ran inside, looked around the lobby, couldn’t find a luggage caddy anywhere. The place smelled like an ashtray full of cheap cigars.

  I stepped up to the front desk, a long wooden countertop with some fancy carvings along the borders. There was a sign that said PLEASE RING BELL FOR SERVICE, although the bell itself appeared to be missing. The keys to the rooms, which were actual metal things with teeth, dangled from hooks on the back wall.

  A guy wearing a green t-shirt with sweat stains on the armpits tried to ignore me until it became obvious that I wasn’t going away.

  “May I help you?” he said.

  “Yeah, I need to check in. I was wondering—”

  “Name?”

  “Nicholas Colt.”

  He typed my name into his computer. Clicked the mouse a few times, started tapping frantically on the Enter key. Like he was sending Morse code or something.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But there’s no reservation in that name. You know what I mean?”

  “I made the reservation last night online. I have the confirmation number right here.”

  I handed him the printout from the website I’d used to book the room.

  He clicked some more, tapped some more.

  “I see the problem,” he said. “Someone keyed in the wrong date. You’re all set to check in exactly one hundred years from now.”

  Great. I did feel as though I’d walked into some sort of time warp, only in the opposite direction. I kept expecting Al Capone to walk in with a couple of dames.

  “Can you fix it?” I said.

  “I’ll have to make you a new reservation. Unfortunately, we don’t have anything available until Monday. You know what I mean?”

  “Monday? Where are we supposed to sleep until then? On the street?”

  “Sorry, Mac. But there’s really nothing else I can do. You know what I mean?”

  I felt like grabbing him by his greasy shirt, pulling him over the counter, and beating his face in. Sorry about your broken nose, Mac. Know what I mean, Mac?

  And I might have done it if Laurie hadn’t been waiting outside. I was furious, but I decided it might not be a good idea to get arrested for assault and battery, especially so far from home.

  “Can you check some of the other hotels in the area?” I said through my teeth.

  I stood there and waited while he did some searches on the computer. He went at it for a good five minutes or so. At least he was trying. A line had formed behind me, people with suitcases anxious to get settled into their rooms.

  “Sorry, Mac,” the clerk said. “Everything’s booked up. There’s a big convention in town. Actually, there’s a big convention in town every weekend. Pretty much impossible to get a room without a reservation. You know what I mean?”

  I took a deep breath. “Yes, I do know what you mean,” I said. “Go ahead and put me down for fourteen days starting Monday.”

  I didn’t think I would be in Chicago that long, but better to err on the safe side. I didn’t want to be stuck without a room again, and I could always cancel the extra days.

  The clerk did his thing on the computer, printed out a confirmation.

  “Here you go,” he said. “And I made sure it’s for the right century this time.”

  “Swell. See you Monday.”

  I turned and headed toward the door, the weary travelers behind me visibly relieved that I was finally out of the way.

  I walked back out to the car, climbed in and told Laurie the bad news.

  “Great,” she said. “Now what are we going to do?”

  “I’ll call my friend. The cop I told you about. Maybe she’ll—”

  “We’re not staying at someone’s house, Nicholas. I’ll get on a plane and fly straight back to Florida before I’ll do that.”

  “Did I say we were going to stay at anyone’s house? I was just thinking she might know of some hotels outside of town. Something not too far away. Why are you being such a grouch?”

  She leaned over and rested her head on my arm.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just tired. And cold. And hungry. That little bag of peanuts they gave us on the plane didn’t do the trick.”

  “Once we get settled in, I’ll take you out for a nice steak dinner. How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful. I’m just going to stretch my legs for a minute.”

  Laurie buttoned her jacket, climbed out of the car, walked over to the sidewalk, and lit a cigarette. I flipped open my cell phone, punched in Jack’s number. She answered on the second ring.

  “Daniels.”

  “Hey Jack, Nicholas Colt again.”

  “You’re in town now?”

  “Yeah, my girlfriend and I flew in just a little while ago.”

  Silence on the other end.

  “You still there, Jack?”

  “I was waiting for you to say your arms are tired.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You flew in a little while ago, and your arms are tired.”

  Maybe I really was in a time warp. That joke was at least a hundred years old.

  “Funny. The thing is, the hotel screwed up our reservation, and I was wondering if you might be able to recommend something for the next couple of nights. Not too far from the city, if possible.”

  “You’re probably not going to find anything this late on a Saturday, unless you want to travel to Gary.”

  “Indiana?”

  “They usually have rooms available. But I wouldn’t recommend it. They’re the type of places where the check-out counter is behind bullet proof glass.”

  “We’ve got some places like that in Florida. It’s to protect the manager from guests who stayed there the previous night and were unhappy with their accommodations. Look, I don’t want to impose…”

  “You’re not imposing at all. You’re not staying with me.”

  “We only need a couch until Monday.”

  “So go buy a couch. I have a very busy social life, and a very mean cat.”

  “A cat? Cats love me.”

  “This one loves nothing but destruction and causing pain and terror. Try my old partner.”

  “That guy you said might loan me a gun?”

  “Rent you a gun. He doesn’t do favors.”

  “So why would he let us stay with him?”

  “He probably won’t. But he’s a private dick, like you are, so he knows all the low-lifes and brothels and dives where you could maybe shack up.”

  “Thanks, I guess. Any word yet on getting me in to the Cook County Morgue?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, when you hear anything…”

  But suddenly I was talking to a dial tone.

  First the hotel clerk, and now the police lieutenant. Welcome to the big city, I thought.

  Laurie opened the door, climbed back into the passenger’s seat, folded her arms across her chest.

  “It is freezing out there,” she said.

  “It’s a little nippy, that’s for sure.”

  “So did you find a place?”

  “Maybe. I think we should go ahead and eat first, though.”

  “Sounds good. I’m starving.”

  We drove to four different restaurants.

  Each was packed and required reservations. Fortunately, we finally foun
d a place that would serve us.

  “Chicago sucks,” Laurie said.

  “Quiet and eat your KFC,” I told her, cranking up the heat in the car and finishing off a wing.

  Then I called up Jack’s old partner, Harry McGlade.

  “This is Harry McGlade, private investigator, whose exploits were the basis of the hit television movie Fatal Autonomy.”

  “Harry, this is Nicholas Colt. I’m a friend of—”

  “I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message after the beep.”

  BEEP.

  “Harry, this is—”

  BEEP.

  “Harry, it’s—”

  BEEP.

  “Are you just saying the word beep?”

  “Gotcha! I’m just saying the word beep. But now you can go ahead and leave your message.”

  BEEP.

  “I think he just said beep again,” I said to myself.

  “Ha! I just said beep again!”

  How the hell did this guy stay in business?

  BEEP.

  That final beep sounded legitimate, so I quickly told him who I was, and gave him my number to call back.

  Laurie didn’t seem pleased. Our mini-vacation in the Midwest was turning into a disaster of titanic proportions.

  Speaking of Titanic, I knew that Laurie loved movies, and I thought going to see one might cheer her up.

  “Want to catch a movie?” I said “There’s a new Adam Sandler flick out. I bet he gets into some wacky misadventures. Maybe he dresses up like a woman. Maybe he uses funny voices.”

  “Just leave me alone.” The anger was coming off of her like steam.

  “Or there’s that new Nicholas Sparks movie. The depressing one with the unrequited love and the death.”

  Laurie brightened a little. “I thought you said you’d shoot yourself before you saw that.”

  “Anything for you, babe.”

  And the night was still young. I still had plenty of time to shoot myself if it came to that.

  Provided that Harry called me back and rented me a gun.

  DANIELS

  SATURDAY, 4:55 P.M. CST

  On the way to Dr. John Boggan’s residence, Herb asked who I’d just spoken to on the phone.

  “Him? Nicholas Colt.”

  “So you’re dating again?”

  “What? Colt? No. I met him down in Florida. I told you about it, remember? The armed robber with the shotgun at Kelly’s Pool Hall?”

  “You’re dating an armed robber?”

  “No, goofball. Colt helped me catch the robber. He’s a private investigator.”

  “You’re dating a private investigator?”

  “I’m not dating anyone. Colt is in town, he asked for a favor.”

  “A dating favor?”

  “A work favor. He’s investigating a death from twenty-six years ago. Homeless lady who died in a house fire.”

  “Is he working for an insurance company?”

  “The woman’s daughter. She seems to think her mother was murdered.”

  Herb grunted. “Twenty-six years. That will be tough.”

  “Yeah. Which reminds me.” I called the Cook County Morgue and told them to expect Colt and give him access to whatever he needed.

  “Wow, pulling out all the stops,” Herb said. “You must really like this guy.”

  “He needed a place to stay, so I sent him to McGlade.”

  “You must really hate this guy.”

  “Haven’t you heard? It’s Hate A Private Eye Day.”

  “I thought that was every day.”

  John Boggan lived in a high-rise called One Museum Park, close enough to the lake to hear the boats blowing their horns. A doorman let us in, and the elevator operator used his key to get us to our destination, the 60th floor. The elevator ride took almost as long as the Muzak version of “Copacabana” that was playing inside. We were let out in a plush hallway, and found Boggan’s penthouse at the far end.

  Herb rang the doorbell.

  “Nice place,” he said.

  “Yeah, if you like wealth and opulence and beautiful things.”

  “I might be living in a place like this sooner than you think. I’m considering investing in the company that makes the SuperSlim 5000.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No, really. It’s going to be the next big thing. Watch and see.”

  Dr. John Boggan answered the door. He’d been expecting us.

  “Come on in,” he said, smiling, looking me directly in the eye. He was the kind of guy whose presence you felt comfortable in right away, which was an automatic red flag for me. I’d met too many con men in my day, too many manipulators. Boggan was one to keep an eye on.

  But I had to admit, he was—physically—one of the most beautiful men I’d ever laid eyes on. Very fit, with one of those rugged, craggy Marlboro faces. If he hadn’t been a doctor he could have modeled.

  We all introduced ourselves and shook hands. The apartment was furnished in a style they call mid-century modern. A white leather sofa anchored the living room, its two long sections coming together to form a V, and a pale green area rug covered the hardwood floor under the coffee table. The place was spotless. Sterile, almost.

  The three of us sat on the sofa, Herb and I on one section and Dr. Boggan on the other, facing a balcony and an impressive view of Lake Michigan.

  “Where does your daughter play soccer?” I said.

  “She plays for her school. The team isn’t very good, but they try. They lost today.”

  “Seems like you could have a soccer game right here,” Herb said, gesturing to indicate the vastness of the space. “It’s certainly big enough.”

  “Well, my friend Kevin might have something to say about that.”

  “Kevin?” I said.

  “Old college pal. I’m leasing the place from him until I find something permanent. My wife and I separated a while back.”

  “So you live here alone?”

  “Yes. Tina—that’s my daughter—stays with me every other weekend. Otherwise, it’s just me.”

  “Is Tina here now?”

  “Actually, she went for pizza with some of her teammates, but they should be back soon. I kind of wanted to have this wrapped up before then, if possible.”

  “We’ll try not to take up much of your time,” I said. “I know you’re busy, and I know you’re grieving.”

  He nodded. “It’s terrible. I can’t believe Bill is gone. Just like that. We’d been friends since third grade. We grew up together, you know? We really were like brothers. Closer than brothers. We had a pact. Made promises to each other. We…”

  Boggan’s voice trailed off and his eyes got glassy.

  “I really am sorry for your loss,” I said.

  “Same here,” Herb said. “And we do know your time is short, so we’ll get right to the point. You and Dr. Shipman left the pizza place together Thursday night. Is that correct?”

  “Well, we walked out of the door at the same time, if that’s what you mean. He went to his car, and I went to mine.”

  “Did he mention to you that he planned to stop for cigarettes on the way home?” I said.

  “No. Maybe he did. I don’t recall. He only started smoking recently. I mean, we all did when we were young. You know teens.”

  “Why do you think he took it up again?” I asked.

  “Stress, I suppose. As doctors, we see the effects of tobacco all too often. It was a foolish habit.”

  “Was there a lot of stress at the office?”

  “None more than usual.”

  “You and Dr. Shipman were getting along?”

  “We had our differences. What long-term friendship doesn’t? But yes, we were getting along.”

  “Did Dr. Shipman also get along with Dr. Renke?”

  Boggan leaned forward, his biceps showing through his tailored shirt. “The three of us, we grew up together. We were like brothers. You have to understand how difficult this is. Mark and I
are… shattered. Have you ever lost someone close to you, Lieutenant?”

  I thought about my mother, in a coma.

  “It’s like a betrayal,” he continued. “One minute they’re with you, and the next minute they’re gone, and you’re left wondering what went wrong. How this could have happened.”

  “Wrong place, wrong time,” Herb said. “People talk about destiny, but life is really just a series of random events. In the next five seconds, an earthquake, or a hurricane…”

  Or a shrimp festival, I thought.

  “…might bring this whole building down, and that would be it. Lights out. We’d never know what hit us.”

  Boggan turned to me and smiled. “I hope it happens before my daughter gets home,” he said, winking again.

  He was charming and attractive, and he knew it. Rich didn’t hurt, either.

  “Okay, so let me get this straight,” I said. “You and Dr. Shipman walked out of Genario’s together. This would have been about nine thirty-five or so. He went to his car, and you went to yours. Did you come straight home from there?”

  “Do you think I murdered my friend, Lieutenant?”

  “These are just routine questions. All part of a thorough investigation. Our goal is to find the killer, and ruling out as many people as possible will go a long way in helping us achieve that goal.”

  “Have you talked to Bill’s wife yet?”

  “No, but we will. Do you have any reason to believe that she was involved?”

  “Let’s just say they weren’t getting along. In fact, Bill had been thinking about moving in here with me. We’d talked about it. Brenda—his wife—even hired a private investigator to follow him around a while back. Thought he was seeing another woman or something. I don’t think anything ever came of it, but that seemed to be the direction the marriage was going.”

  “I’ll make a note of that,” I said. “But you still didn’t answer my question. Did you come straight home after leaving Genario’s Thursday night?”

  “Straight home? No. I made one stop. I’d left my running shoes at the office, and I wanted to get them so I could do my usual two miles Friday morning.”

  “You run two miles every morning?” Herb said.

  “Every weekday morning. On weekends I try to do three or four. It’s my way of staying in shape. You know, so I can have some pizza and beer when I feel like it.”

  “There’s an easier way. Have you heard about the SuperSlim 5000?”