A Stranger Lies There (11 page)

“I would have left you tied up,” I answered, shaking my head. “We should call the police, though.”

“Soon as I'm done,” he agreed, then disappeared down the hall past the kitchen.

I went to the phone sitting on the kitchen countertop and picked it up. Dialing my number, I recalled the way it had been marked in the phone book inside room 12. It rang three times before Deirdre answered. She sounded groggy, her voice thick with sleep.

“Deirdre, it's me. Are you awake?” I glanced at my watch. After one.

“Tim? Where are you? When did you leave?” she asked, perking up.

“I'll explain everything when you get down here.” Or the cops will, I thought.

“Down where? What are you talking about? You're scaring me.”

“Everything's fine,” I assured her, trying to sound less worried than I felt. “I'm just going to need your help.” I paused, looking for a way to put it. “I'll probably be in police custody within the hour.” That sounded bad.

“Under arrest? For what? Damnit, Tim!”

“Nothing serious,” I lied. “It won't stick. But I'd like you to be here.”

“Fine. Just tell me where you are. I'll get there as soon as I can.” Her voice hardened, all business now, no stranger to late night phone callers needing her help. Deirdre was always at her best under pressure and I relaxed with that thought.

“The Blue Bird Motel down in Indio. On Indio Boulevard as it turns into Highway 86.”

“Dillon exit?” she verified, on the ball as usual. God, I loved her.

“You got it. Make a right at the tracks and follow Indio Boulevard north. The Blue Bird is on your left, three miles or so. Can't miss it.”
Especially with the cops that will be crawling all over the place.

“Gimme thirty,” she said.

“Deirdre?”

“Yes?”

“Don't get a ticket.” I felt her smile at the other end.

“You either,” she countered. “See you soon. And stay out of Branson's face if he shows up. I don't want to get there and find you in a choke hold.”

“I'll try to be nice. I love you.”

“Oh, Tim,” she said. “I'm sorry about earlier.”

“I know. I'm sorry too.” A forgiving silence. “You better get going.”

When I hung up the manager was standing in the hallway. “Your wife?”

“Yeah,” I said, pushing the phone toward him.

He came over and picked it up, punching in the numbers. I heard him give his name—Ken Sutter—to the dispatcher as I walked back to the front office for a quick peek outside. It seemed as normal as it could be under the circumstances. I double-locked the door just in case. Went behind the front counter and took a look at the key rack on the wall. Sixteen rooms, two keys for each. Attached to big plastic tags with the room number on it but not the name of the motel. Probably for security. The credit card-type ones at the hotel chains didn't even have the room number.

I saw that room 2 had one key out. Both keys gone from the space for number 12. The guy I'd fought with had one of them, probably not legitimately. I looked around for the motel register, but didn't see it. No computer either. I went back into the living room.

Sutter was still on the phone. I took a seat on the couch, under a faded painting of Palm Valley, as it was called in the early days. There was a glass-topped coffee table in front of me, chipped, and the recliner next to it didn't match the couch. Between them, a small end table and lamp. A rickety entertainment center sat against the opposite wall, and the kitchen was separated by the countertop and bar. Faint light filtered in through threadbare curtains covering the room's one window.

“That's right, the Blue Bird,” Sutter said into the phone. “No, no, I'm all right … Yeah, I'm sure … Okay … We'll be waiting for 'em. Thanks.”

Sutter hung up, came over and sat down. “They'll be here in a few minutes.”

He was a big man with a paunch that hung over his belt and pallid, doughy skin. He told me that he'd been running the place for about ten years now, and lived here too, as I could see.

“Indio's stayed pretty quiet all this time,” he said, “'cept for the drug flare-ups every now and then.” There it was again, I thought.

“Hasn't grown around here like it has in Palm Desert and some of the other cities,” Sutter continued. “Shopping centers, golf courses.” He shook his head. “Just brings in a lot of traffic. 'Course, we see a little more with the casinos down here.”

“What about tonight?” I prompted.

“Well, everything seemed pretty normal up until about eleven or so,” he began. “That's when I stepped outside for a cigarette. I don't like to smoke inside,” he explained. “Smells bad enough in here as it is.”

“What time did you say?” I asked, trying to tie it in with what I'd been doing.

“After eleven, ten minutes after maybe.” I was in number 12 then, nosing around. “I usually step out around that time. Anyway, I'm just about to light up when I see this guy walking in like he owns the place.”

“Where, in the parking lot?”

“Yeah.”

“Toward room twelve, down at the other end?”

“I guess so. Could have been in that direction. How did you know?”

“I'll tell you later,” I answered. “Go on.”

“So he stops when he sees me, like he was surprised or something, and I could tell he was up to no good.” He shook his head. “I shoulda turned around right then and come back inside and locked the door. But I'd only gotten one puff, didn't want to waste it.” A chuckle. “Funny the little things that can screw you up. Tied up and gagged in my own place 'cause I wanted to finish my cigarette.”

“Ever seen him before?”

“Nope, didn't know him. But then again, it's not unusual to see strangers walking in and out.”

I wanted to ask what type of residents he normally got, short-term, long-term, out-of-towners, but knew we were pressed for time. The police would be here any second.

“What happened next?”

“He walks up to me and asks if I'm the manager, then wants a room. I tell him it's cash only, which is fine with him, so he follows me into the office. Never did get to finish my cigarette. Anyway, once we're inside, he pulls a gun, and I'm thinking ‘Oh shit, is he gonna rob me?' But instead he asked me about the guest register. Told him it was in a drawer below the counter. Next thing I know I'm on the floor with a knot on my head, tied up with that tape.”

“Can I take a look at the register?” I asked, hoping the guy hadn't taken it.

“Why?”

“Like to see who was in twelve.”

I could see he was about to ask why again, but instead he shook his head and got up. “Follow me.”

Sutter opened a drawer behind the lobby desk and put the book on the counter. It was big, too big to fit in a pocket or stick in the waistband of your pants. I opened it and found something that didn't really surprise me. The pages for the last few days had been ripped out.

“Jerk,” Sutter muttered, seeing what had been done.

“You wouldn't have this information somewhere else would you?” I asked.

Sutter shook his head no.

“Damn.” I thought a moment. Someone was going to some trouble to make sure the victim on my lawn wasn't identified, assuming the victim was the one who'd rented the room. Because after he'd died on my property, they'd spent a few seconds taking his wallet and ID. And the motel room key, most likely. Now this.

“I assume you're going to tell me what's going on eventually,” Sutter said, interrupting my thoughts.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The police arrived on the scene then. We heard their big engines in the parking lot outside as they pulled up, followed by the squeal of brakes and thumping doors. Red and blue shadows snuck through the gaps in the blinds, and seconds later they were pounding on the office door.

Sutter opened it.

“You the one that called in the assault?” one of the two officers asked. They were from the Indio Police Department.

“Yeah, that was me.”

“Who are you?” the officer asked, turning to me.

“I'm the one that found him. After it happened.”

“Hadn't been for him, I'd still be tied up down there,” Sutter offered, looking between both of them. “It was damn uncomfortable, lemme tell you.”

“You hurt?”

“No, I'm fine. Just a bump on the head.”

“How 'bout you?” he asked me.

“I'm okay.”

They both came in and gave the place a quick once-over, their gunbelts squeaking as they moved. The one doing the talking was in his late thirties, about my height and bulky, with a sun-worn complexion and light brown hair. His nameplate said “Regan.” His partner was younger and shorter. Slim, with gelled, jet-black hair and an Asian cast to his skin. I saw his last name was Roy.

“Where'd it happen?” Regan asked.

“In here.”

“The assailant took off right after, I assume.”

“I guess. He knocked me out. Asked me for the guest register first.” Sutter paused and continued. “Demanded, more like. With a gun.”

“He had a gun?”

“Yeah. That's what he used to knock me out. Cracked me on the back of the head with it. Gave me a hell of a headache,” Sutter explained, touching the tender spot.

“Actually,” I interrupted, “it's in my car right now.”

Everyone swung toward me with looks of surprise.

“The gun? You have it?” Regan asked.

I nodded.

“Show me,” he said, moving to the door.

We all followed him outside to my car. Both officers noticed the broken windows and Roy asked what happened.

“It's a long story,” I said, approaching the passenger side and reaching for the door.

Regan put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. “Don't touch it. It's in there?”

“Right on the seat.”

He found the gun using the flashlight he pulled from his belt.

“Come over here a second,” he told Sutter, shining the light on it. “That the same gun?”

Sutter leaned over and looked inside the car. “Looks like it. Yeah, I'd say that's it. Probably an impression of it on my head where he hit me,” he joked, but didn't get a smile from either cop.

They both straightened and Regan said, “Okay, we better start at the beginning. What exactly happened?”

“You may want to call the Palm Springs Police Department,” I advised.

Regan raised an eyebrow. “Why would we want to do that?”

I told them about the murder on my front lawn and why I thought it might be connected. “There's two detectives on the case. Branson and Tidwell. They'll probably want to hear about this.”

Regan turned to his partner. “Have dispatch contact the sergeant. See if he wants to bring in Palm Springs. And get some backup too.”

Roy nodded, then stepped away to make the call. Regan turned back to Sutter and me, taking out a notepad and pen.

Just then, I saw the light in room 2 come on over Regan's shoulder. Two people came outside, curious about all the commotion. Regan followed my gaze and saw them too. He didn't notice number 12 at the far end.

“How many guests you have tonight?”

“Just two rooms booked,” Sutter answered, lifting his chin at number 2. “Room two over there, and twelve farther down—” That's when he caught sight of the splintered door hanging open, dim lamplight visible from inside. “Hey…”

Regan turned around again and saw the damage. “You had a break-in too?”

“Same guy that assaulted him,” I explained, nodding at Sutter.

“This gets better every time you open your mouth,” Regan said, as Roy finished calling it in and rejoined us. Sutter was eyeing me questioningly, wondering what exactly had gone down over there.

“Sergeant's coming out,” Roy said. “He's getting Palm Springs over here too.”

“Okay. See about those people over there,” Regan directed, gesturing toward number 2. “Find out if they saw or heard anything. Then check out twelve.”

“You got it,” Roy said, wheeling around.

Another patrol car arrived then, adding to the kaleidoscope of red and blue light splashing over the old motel. Regan told us to wait while he conferred with the other officers.

Sutter leaned toward me when Regan was gone and lowered his voice. “What the fuck happened over there?”

“You'll find out in a second,” I said, with an urgent hand on his shoulder. “But I need to ask you something first. It's very important. Was it a young man who rented that room?”

“Yeah.”

“Early twenties?”

“I guess so.”

“Yes or no?”

Sutter stopped to think. “Yeah. That seems about right.”

“When did he check in?”

“Saturday night. Eight or nine probably.”

It had to be him, the same guy on our front lawn.

Sutter interrupted my thoughts. “What's this all about? You know the guy who rented that room?”

Before I could answer, Regan came back. The two newcomers were rummaging around in the patrol car's trunk. One of them handed his partner a roll of yellow tape and took his own toward number 12. The other one headed to the front office.

“All right, somebody tell me what happened,” Regan prompted, then turned to Sutter. “We'll start with you. You called in the assault.”

“Right.”

“Go ahead. From the beginning.”

Sutter recounted the story he'd told me, from the time he saw the man in the parking lot to when I discovered him tied up on the office floor. Regan got a description of the assailant and verified a few things about exactly what the man had said and the time it all happened. At that point, Roy rejoined us after talking to the other tenants. They were standing in the doorway of room 2 in bathrobes, an older couple disturbed from their sleep by the unexpected activity.