Blind Faith (31 page)
"Teddy Luna."
She watched him closely and saw no reaction other than a lift of his eyebrows.
"Never heard of him.
Who is he?"
"A man you knew a long time ago under the name of Enrique Vasquez."
"Ah." He nodded. "Yes, the infamous Enrique Vasquez. Your friend Nick
Mcbride
was interested in him as well. Why are you calling him Teddy Luna?"
"Because that's the name he now goes under. Or at least it was when he left
"I went to
He nodded and walked around the room, giving a passing glance at the file cabinet along the wall. "And so, because I once hired Enrique Vasquez to perform at my
Chenonceau
?"
Even with the experience she'd had getting caught in hopeless situations, she found it difficult not to fidget. "I was told he had moved to
"I see." He took his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger and pulled on it lightly. "This Enrique Vasquez killed a man, if I recall."
Kelly nodded.
"And you think I would knowingly employ a fugitive from the law." He paused. "Then you must suspect me of some kind of conspiracy in that
crime,
am I right?"
Kelly swallowed.
"Not in the Steve
Marquant
murder, no."
"In something else then?"
He came to stand in front of her.
"Jonathan's disappearance?
Is that what this is all about? You think I had something to do with what happened to Jonathan?"
When she didn't reply he shook his head in disbelief.
' "
Dear God, Kelly. What kind of man do you think I am? I thought you and I were friends. I thought you believed in me. At least that's the impression you gave me the other night." He waited for an answer. When there was none, he raised his arms by his sides and let them fall again. "What reason could I possibly have to harbor a man like Enrique Vasquez, a man wanted for murder?"
"I don't know."
"So you decided to sneak into my casino in the middle of the night to see how you could incriminate me?"
"I wasn't out to incriminate you,
Syd
. I just wanted to find Enrique."
"May I ask how you got this far?"
"
"Wouldn't it have been easier to just ask me to see the files?"
"I didn't think you'd let me."
"You're wrong." He dug into his pocket and brought out a set of keys similar to Jonathan's. He selected one and held it out to her. "This key opens every drawer. Go ahead.
Search."
"
Syd
, I ..."
He gave the ring an impatient jingle. "What's the matter? This is what you came here for, isn't it?"
She extended her hand, half expecting him to yank the keys away and yell "Gotcha." To her surprise, he let them go and leaned against the desk, folding his arms across his chest.
She felt completely awkward, but he was right. Getting into the
Chenonceau's
personnel records, was the reason she was here, so why not finish the job? Walking over to the file cabinet again, she opened the drawer marked L and walked her fingers through several files. Leonard,
Lingstrom
, Lombard,
Lyndros
. There was no Luna.
"You might want to check under the Vs for
Was
quez
,"
Syd
suggested in a mocking tone.
"Just to be sure."
She did, not expecting to find anything there either. She felt like an utter fool. She had never suspected him in the first place, and now that she had, the whole thing was blowing up in her face.
"No one named Vasquez." She pushed the drawer shut.
"I could have told you that and saved you a lot of embarrassment. Not to mention a night in our city jail."
At the thought of sharing a cell with some of
In my place?"
She was tired and didn't feel like playing games. "I suppose I would."
"Then it's lucky for you that I'm not you, isn't it?" He took her arm and escorted her out of the personnel office, barely giving her time to grab her bag.
"Not exactly."
He didn't release her until they had reached his office.
"I'm going to put you up in one of my best suites," he said, picking up
the
phone. "And let both of us have a good night's sleep. Tomorrow--"
"I can't stay here," she protested.
He gave her a steely look. "You don't have any choice, Kelly. / I'm calling the shots now."
Syd
spoke into the phone. "Art, would you come to my office. I need you to escort a friend of mine to the Fleur-de-Lys Suite. But before you do, call Elaine at the boutique and tell her to send nightwear, for a woman, yes, toilet articles as well, and a change of clothes--daytime clothes." He glanced at Kelly, his eyes traveling up and down her body.
"Oh, I'd say a size six. Thanks, Art."
Syd
hung up. "I'll meet you in your suite at eight tomorrow morning--or shall I say this morning?" he corrected after glancing at his watch.
"If that's all right with you."
As long as he was asking her opinion, she might as well give it to him.
"No, it's not. I don't appreciate being held against my will."
"You should have thought of that before you broke into my personnel office."
She wondered if he was detaining her because he had to check with an accomplice before taking further steps.
Tony
Marquese
maybe?
"Why do you need six hours to decide what to do about me? Why can't you make up your mind now?"
"Because I've been on my feet for the last eighteen hours and I need some rest."
From the hall, they heard the ping of the elevator.
"That's my night manager. He'll take you up to your room. Your things will arrive momentarily, but don't hesitate to let him know if there's anything else you need." He smiled. "Good night, Kelly. I'll see you in the morning."
* * *
Standing in the middle of the luxurious suite, Kelly looked around her, and gave an angry kick to the desk. Not only was
Syd
holding her prisoner, he had also taken her purse with him, which meant she had no phone, no money, no car keys, no means to go home. One look outside the peephole had confirmed what she had already suspected. Another very large man, this one in a suit and tie, sat across from her door reading a current issue of Wrestling World.
She looked around her, searching for a phone.
None.
What kind of suite had no phone?
There was a light knock at the door, and she went to open it. A smiling,
well-dressed
young woman stood in the hall holding a garment bag. "Good
morning
, Miss.
Robolo
. My name is Elaine. These are the items Mr. Webber
asked
me to select for you. Would you like to take a look? I'll be glad
to
exchange--"
Kelly took the garment bag from her. "I'm sure everything is fine, Elaine. Thank you, and good night." It was easier to accept the items than to ask her to take them back, which she probably was under strict orders not to do.
Inside the garment bag
were a black pantsuit
in light wool, an ice-blue turtleneck, black socks, a black shoulder bag, white panties and a pink lacy nightgown. In a zippered compartment, she found a toiletry bag with everything from toothpaste to Chanel bath soap and even perfume spray.
Kelly helped herself to the toothbrush, the tooth paste, the cake of soap and the panties. Everything else, including the nightgown, was left inside the bag. Tonight she would sleep in the raw.
If
Syd
thought he was going to win her over with a few expensive trinkets and a three-thousand-dollar per-night suite, he was in for a rude awakening.
At exactly eight o'clock the same morning, there was another knock at her door. This time it was a room-service waiter pushing a table that held breakfast for two--coffee, a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, fruit, croissants and an assortment of English preserves. Behind the waiter, looking well
rested,
was
Syd
.
"I trust you slept well," he said when they were alone. He took in the charcoal stirrup pants and black sweater she had worn yesterday and frowned. "You didn't like the clothes Elaine selected? Were they the wrong size?"
"They were fine," she said, putting as much frost in her voice as possible. "I just feel more comfortable in my own clothes."
"I understand." He poured coffee for both of them and held out a cup to her. She thought about turning it down but didn't. She always thought more clearly with a shot of caffeine pumping through her system.
"Croissant?"
He held up a plate. "I have them flown in daily from
Poilane
in
"No, thank you." She took a sip of coffee, which was strong and hot.
She noticed that he had brought back her purse. Had he gone through it?
Not that it made any difference. Except for the tools of her trade--a miniature camera, a voice recorder and about a hundred dollars in cash--she didn't carry anything he'd find interesting. "Am I free to go?"
He tore a piece of croissant with his fingers and chewed it slowly. "You are, though I would love for you to stay. I was hoping we could spend some time together. There is still so much we need to iron out, don't you think?"
He was still charming, still the incorrigible seducer. It was easy to
understand
why Cecily had fallen prey to his charms. "Look,
Syd
, it was
wrong
of me to break into your personnel office and I'm sorry--"
He smiled. "Sorry you broke in, or sorry you got caught?"
"A little bit of both, I suppose."
"But you won't stay."
"No." She put her cup down, picked up her bag from the desk and walked out.
Thirty-Eight.
Kelly stood under the
Chenonceau's
broad portico, deserted at this early-morning hour, and took a deep breath of frigid air. Seven hours ago, she had arrived here full of hope and bravado. She was leaving with nothing except a bruised ego.
Syd
was no murderer. If he was she would have been dead long ago.
Rather than let the valet take her car the previous night, Kelly had parked her Beetle in the
Chenonceau's
open lot on
Mcbride
had been stabbed.
Without questioning why, she let her steps take her toward the last two rows marked Security Employees Only. Her gaze swept over the parked cars, trying to visualize what had happened that morning. It would have been easy for someone to hide behind any of these vehicles, wait for the right victim to appear and pounce.
But why that particular victim?
And why kill him? If robbery had been the motive, why not just hold Patrick
Mcbride
at knife point take his money and run? The police had assumed that Patrick was killed because he had put up a fight, but no one had actually seen him fighting off his assailant.
Or even being attacked, for that matter.
A scraping noise behind her made her spin around. Nerves raw, she surveyed the lot, recoiling slightly as a pair of eyes peeked at her from behind a green Dumpster.
"Good morning." She tried not to sound nervous. This was broad daylight and traffic was beginning to pick up along
The eyes glanced away, and a man slowly stepped out from behind the
Dumpster.
He was thin and scruffy and rather harmless-looking. A knit
cap
hid most of his hair and a three-day stubble made him look older
than
what he probably was. A coat, two sizes too big for him, hung over
his
body like a tent. Scuffed shoes and wool gloves with the tips torn
off
completed the outfit
He looked at the paper bag in Kelly's hands. Inside was a Danish she had bought at the
Chenonceau's
cafeteria before leaving, intending to eat in the car on her way home. Without a word, she held the bag out to him, even though what he really needed was a hearty meal, something that would stick to his ribs until the next handout. "It's a cheese Danish.
When he didn't move, she set the bag on the trunk of a blue Buick. "Go ahead. Please."
The stranger took a tentative step, then another, watching her with distrusting eyes. Kelly felt herself relax. He was just a hungry man, most likely home less, who went around the city from Dumpster to Dumpster in search of food. She remembered reading that at the time of the investigation, the
Hoping to earn the man's trust, Kelly remained perfectly still while he continued to shuffle toward the Buick. Once he was within reach, his arm shot out and he grabbed the bag, tearing it open.
"What's your name?" Kelly asked gently.
He stuffed half the Danish into his mouth, pushing it with the palm of his gloved hand. "Ralph."
"Hello, Ralph. I'm Kelly."
He watched her as he chewed and said nothing.
"Do you come here every morning?" She kept her voice low and unthreatening.
He nodded.
"That's good, because I'm looking for someone who comes to this parking lot regularly."
"Why?" His voice was rough but not unfriendly.
"Because that someone committed a murder."
He tensed.
"I
ain't
seen
nothin
'."
A defensive reaction, Kelly thought. If you didn't see anything, you couldn't get in trouble. "I don't mean today. I mean a year ago."
He took another bite of the Danish and continued to watch her.
"A murder took place right here, in this parking lot a year ago next month.
A stabbing.
Did you hear about it?"
She could see from the fearful expression on his face that he had. "I'm not saying you did it," she added hastily. "I'm here to try to find out what happened that morning. But to do that, I need help."
She rummaged through her purse and pulled out two twenties. It wasn't much, but for a homeless man it was a small fortune. "If you agree to answer a couple of questions, this money is yours."
"What
d'you
want
to know?"
"Were you here the morning that man was killed?"
"No."
He was afraid. Or maybe he was telling the truth, in which case she had struck out.
Again.
"Are you sure,
Ralph
?"
"I didn't see
nothin
'.
I wasn't here." He paused. Then, his tone bitter, he added, "Last year at this time I still had a job, food in my stomach and a warm bed to sleep in."
"I'm sorry." Her apology sounded hollow, and she read the disdain in his eyes. Kelly understood it. What did she know about the homeless except what she read in the papers?
Ralph shifted from one foot to the other. "But I know someone."
Kelly jerked to attention.
"Someone who was here?
At the time of the murder?"
He nodded.
Kelly started to walk toward him then stopped when he took a step back.
"Why didn't that person tell the police?"
Ralph laughed.
"The police.
They treat us like we was criminals and they lock us up like we was animals. We tell '
em
nothin
'. Let '
em
earn their keep, that's what I say."
A break.
Maybe.
"I tell you what, Ralph." She extended her arm. "You take this money. You've earned it. And if you take me to your friend, I'll give him some money, too."
"He won't talk to you. He's scared." He gave no sign of taking the two twenties.
"You tell your friend he has nothing to be scared of," she said, desperate not to lose this lead. "I'm not a cop."
