Not Even Past (23 page)

He needed to see Martin. It probably wouldn’t be much of a wait anyway. This time of the morning, Martin was probably just out getting coffee.

Until then, Donne played with his iPhone. He checked Twitter, but found nothing interesting going on in the sports world. He played a game of Angry Birds, but got stuck. Then he checked his email.

They had sent him one. The hair on his arms straightened.

How is the real world treating you? Friday is coming.

Donne hit reply and sent a quick acknowledgment email. Things were moving quickly. It was already Wednesday.

The press conference to announce the merger between UNJ and Ben Franklin was going to happen, and there was no way to stop it. If someone had told Donne he was going to play a role in it three weeks ago, he wouldn’t have believed it. But now, it was his only way to get back at them.

Donne opened the console in between the seats of his car. The snub-nosed revolver, serial number scratched off, gleamed in the sunlight.

By Friday, Donne would take care of everything.

T
WICE WEEKLY
phone calls. Each one from a different disposable phone, and lasting less than a minute. She hadn’t heard them, but Eileen guessed they were check-in calls. Just Jeanne telling her parents she and William were okay. Bill believed that.

At first, Eileen didn’t think much of the calls. Wrong numbers, pranks, that sort of thing happens all the time. But there was a pattern. The calls kept coming from one of three motels along the Pennsylvania–New Jersey border. There was one just outside of Clinton and two in towns Martin didn’t recognize. They all circled around Route 78—the interstate highway that connected New Jersey to the Keystone State.

That’s where Martin drove after getting the information from Eileen. He wondered why Jeanne wasn’t being a bit cleverer. She switched motels every couple of days, but seemed to only vary it among three stops. Eventually someone would track her down.

Martin drove to the farthest hotel first. It was a Days Inn, ten miles over the border, just off the exit, and the last place from which the Bakers had received a call, according to the records Eileen had pulled up. He parked in the lot after circling it and seeing nothing suspicious, except a pool that needed to be cleaned. Leaves and dead bugs pocked the surface of the water. If the pool was that dirty, he dreaded seeing the sheets on the bed.

Jeanne had to be renting a car, though he was unsure how she got the money. It would be impossible to know if she was staying here without going inside.

The lobby was sparse. A long desk with an employee behind it. Tiled floors, a couch, two plants, and a setup for complimentary coffee. The receptionist smiled at him, and it was at that moment Martin had no idea what to say. Without a badge, he’d lost his most powerful weapon. There was no reason for this woman to talk to him, no question he could ask to get her to hand over information.

He pulled out his cell phone and brought up a picture of Jeanne. It was one he’d taken of her in the hotel room on Route 9, weeks ago. He pretended to be playing with an app but snuck a shot of her instead. It was blurry but would do the job.

“I’m looking for this woman. From what I understand, she’s been staying here.”

The receptionist looked at the picture for a moment, then said, “And who are you?”

Martin shook his head. “I’m a friend. She’s been missing and I’m worried about her. Her parents got a call from her from this motel the other night. They asked me to drive out here.”

The receptionist looked at the picture again and frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can help you.”

“Can’t help me because you haven’t seen her or can’t help me because you don’t want to?”

“Company policy, sir. I can’t tell you anything.”

“Listen, I’m a retired cop. That’s why her parents asked me to come. She has a small boy with her.”

“Sir, I—”

Martin held up his hand. As he spoke, his stomach curdled. “She is a drug addict. They’re worried about the boy. They want to get her some help. It’s almost kidnapping.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get the authorities involved.”

The coffee was burning and the smell was nauseating.

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m a cop.”

“You said you were
retired
.” The receptionist leaned in closer. “I’m sorry, sir. I would love to help, but this is my job. My only job. If I get fired, I’m not finding another one.”

He blinked. The word
fired
brought him right back to Russell Stringer’s office.

“Please. They don’t want her arrested. They just want to know she’s safe. That’s why they asked me to come here. My experience. I’m a friend of the family. Just need to talk to her.”

Leaning back, the receptionist looked at her computer monitor. She typed a few things. Martin waited, and hoped his begging worked some magic. It would make him feel better about pleading.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the receptionist said.

“She’s here, isn’t she?” Martin nodded as he spoke. “And that’s why you’re not denying anything.”

The receptionist took a deep breath. “If you’d let me finish, I haven’t seen her in days. The kid is cute, though. And if it makes any difference, the last time I saw her, she didn’t seem stoned. They were happy. Playing in the pool.”

“Do you know what name she used?”

The receptionist paused, and Martin realized he’d pushed too hard.

“That’s all I can tell you, sir.”

Martin smiled. “That’s enough.”

T
HE SECOND
hotel was more of the same. Tile floors, coffee, a receptionist who wanted nothing to do with him. He didn’t get much in the way of a response this time. The receptionist wanted to call the cops the moment drugs were mentioned, but Martin stopped him.

“We only need the police if she’s here,” he said. “If you haven’t seen her, there’s no reason.”

She hadn’t been there in two weeks.

M
ARTIN’S HEART
was hammering when he pulled up to the third motel. The Amaker Motel was about two and a half miles off 78, on the outskirts of Clinton. The town was known for its historic downtown area with small shops and boutiques. Great place for a walk on a warm summer evening.

But the motel wasn’t even close to capturing that culture. It was rundown, with a crumbling parking lot. The building was two stories high, and you had to walk outside to get to your room. There was a pool that appeared to be clean. Only six or seven cars in the lot. Martin tried to guess which one was Jeanne’s. None were marked as rentals, so he was out of luck on that account.

He wiped sweat off his brow before entering the lobby. A man in overalls stood behind the desk. There wasn’t any complimentary coffee. A sign offered hourly rates. He took a deep breath. If Jeanne was here, she was desperate.

Again the phone, again the picture, again stonewalled. This guy didn’t care that he was a former cop, and he didn’t care that Jeanne could be a drug addict.

He shook his head and said to Martin, “I don’t care what people do as long as they don’t destroy the furniture.”

“She’s here, then?”

“Didn’t say that. I’m just informing you of my policy.”

Martin moved his jaw back and forth. “I’m a former cop.”

“You said that.”

“She has a kid with her.”

“I know.”

Martin wiped his face, then put his phone away. “I’m trying to help her.”

“I’ve been in this business for a long time,” the man behind the desk said. “Almost forty-two years. And one thing I’ve learned, a guy like me does not beat out Holiday Inn and stay in business if you don’t take all comers. What do you think would happen to me if word got out that I’m talking to former cops and telling them about people who stay in my hotel? Hell, even if they’re not staying, I can’t give you any information. People will find out, and I will go out of business. And in this economy? That’s just not going to happen.”

Martin tried one more time to ask a question. He opened his mouth and was ready to beg, play the family card. Before he could get a word out, the man held up his hand and shook his head. Then he pointed toward the door.

“Let people do what they want to do,” he said.

Martin slapped his thigh hard. He thought about cursing, swearing, and making a scene. This guy wouldn’t call the cops on him. Whatever or whomever he was hiding was too important. But Martin was also pretty sure the guy would take steps to keep Martin from knocking on every door in the motel.

“Thank you for your time,” he said through gritted teeth.

The man kept pointing at the door.

The parking lot was treacherous. He had to step over crumbled stone and potholes to get back to his car. Instead of walking over the broken asphalt, he decided to take the sidewalk that swung close to the pool. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it didn’t break under his feet as he stepped. He wondered how he didn’t drop his suspension driving into the place. Maybe there was an easier exit.

As he walked, he heard a squeaking gate open and close. He looked up when he heard the voice—a familiar, feminine one—say, “Okay. But you can only go in for fifteen minutes. Then back inside for lunch.”

“We’ve been inside all day, Mom.”

“It’s for our own good. Just for another week, I promise.”

Martin looked toward the pool. She looked up at the same time. Jeanne and William were standing on the pool’s edge, towels slung over their shoulders.

As soon as she and Martin made eye contact, she said, “Oh no.”

“
W
HAT THE
hell did you do
?”

Marie Rapaldi stood at the door of Kate’s apartment building and started screaming the minute Kate got out of her car. Marie took a step forward and almost tumbled into the shrubbery next to the door. Kate glanced around, expecting to see a crew of reality TV producers to storm the building.

Kate said, “What’s the matter, Marie?”

“You’re destroying my life!”

It had been weeks since Kate had visited Marie. Before Kate could get any closer to her apartment building, Marie regained her balance and shuffled over to Kate.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Marie,” Kate said.

The woman jammed her index finger into Kate’s chest. When she spoke, he breath could have melted tree bark.

“Luca and I were happy. We’re on the verge of big, big things.”

“What big things?” Kate asked.

“What big things?” Marie’s voice was high and singsong. The attempt at mocking missed the mark when the
s
dragged out too long. “He was going to be in charge of this st-state. I was going to be Mrs. Gotti.”

Oh.

Kate’s fingertips tingled. “I—”

“Then you come along and he stops calling me. Tells me I’m a liability, and when things are copa—copa—copacetic, he’ll call me back. I haven’t talked to him in three weeks. I keep calling and he keeps hanging up. Won’t even let his voice mail pick up.” Her eyes welled up. “I miss him. My boo.”

“Marie, I’m sorry. I was just doing my job.”

Marie wobbled, then decided to sit down on the sidewalk. She wiped at her eyes, and makeup smeared across her cheekbones. Kate dug out a small package of tissues from her purse and handed them to Marie. It took her a few seconds to dig out a tissue because she had trouble with the little piece of tape that kept them in the plastic.

“You might be a nice lady,” she sniffled. “But your job is ruining my life.”

“If you tell me how, maybe I can help.”
Come on, you drunk. Give me everything.

“I don’t know how.” Marie wiped her nose. “All I know is Friday is circled on Luca’s calendar. I asked him why once. He said then we’re home free. This was just after Uncle Tony died. Luca was always on the phone. I thought it was people saying they were sorry. We’re supposed to go to Seaside on Saturday.”

And, with that, Marie turned her head to the left and vomited all over the sidewalk.

K
ATE CALLED
Marie a cab and went inside. She hoped the cab would get there before a roaming cop found her. Kate wasn’t ready to involve the police yet. Because what Kate was beginning to suspect meant anyone could be involved.