Stakeout (2013) (18 page)

“Oh.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Well, there’s been so many. I can’t remember which one was last.”

“Never mind. Just try to act like we’re not married.”

“How do people who aren’t married act?”

“Well, for one thing, they don’t have any luggage.”

“We
don’t
have any luggage.”

“Atta girl.”

We were driving over the George Washington Bridge. Alice was joking bravely in the face of danger, what with me on the hook for two murders and all, but I could tell she was scared. One false step and this could blow up in our faces.

I pulled the car into the motel, stopped opposite the manager’s office. Heaved a sigh of relief. It had sounded like a different guy on the phone, but I couldn’t be sure. But the young man in the t-shirt and the baseball cap wasn’t him.

“So, what’s the plan?” Alice said. “You want me to distract the kid with my feminine wiles?”

“Save your feminine wiles until we get in the room.”

“We’re going in the room?”

“If you want to do method acting, you gotta carry it through. We’re checking into a motel for an illicit affair.”

“I thought it was to get you off the hook for two murder counts.”

“That’s not what we’re
playing
. We’re
playing
illicit lovers.”

“What’s your plan?”

“You’ll see when we get in the room.”

“Stanley.”

“We check in, scout out the office. Actually,
you
check in.”

“Why?”

“So I don’t have to sign the register Stanley Hastings.”

“Couldn’t you check in as John Smith?”

“He’s already here.”

We went into the motel office.

Alice batted her eyes, said, “We need a room. Do you have something quiet?”

I swear the young man suppressed a smile. “Yes, ma’am, we do. I can give you unit twelve. It’s away from the highway.” He looked like he was going to add, “And prying eyes,” but he didn’t.

“That will be fine,” Alice said.

She paid with a credit card, signed the register.

We went out and got in the car.

“So?” I said.

Alice looked at me. “You saw it yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yes, you sign the register in a ledger book.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Ledger’s for show, computer’s for dough.”

“You sure?”

Alice gave me a look. “There’s nothing in the register but signatures. When you leave, you’ll get a computer printout of the charges. It doesn’t matter what name you checked in under, it’s billed to your credit card.”

“What if you paid cash?”

“Then it will be listed as paid cash. Which would look mighty suspicious.”

“So?”

“Let me at that computer.”

We pulled up in front of our unit and got out.

“Where’s the key?”

Alice handed it over. It was piece of plastic the size of a credit card.

“Excellent,” I said. “This key doesn’t work.”

“That’s a rather defeatist attitude.”

I slipped the key into the slot in the door, pulled it out. A green light flashed. I pushed on the door while pretending to turn the knob.

“See?” I said. “The door won’t open. Which is really bad news, because you have to pee.”

“Right,” Alice said.

We walked quickly back to the motel office.

“The key doesn’t work,” I told the manager.

“Huh?”

“We can’t get the door open. And my wife really has to go to the bathroom.”

“I really do,” Alice said, shifting from one foot to the other.

For my money, Alice could have won an Academy Award for Best Performance of a Woman Who Has to Pee. And I was no slouch in the Man Unused to Calling a Woman His Wife or Referring to Her Bathroom Functions category.

The kid, for his part, managed a dopey grin. “Yes, Ma’am. Sorry about that. I’ll give you another key.”

“The key’s fine,” I said. “It’s the door that won’t open.”

“What do you mean, the key’s fine?”

“When you slide the key in and pull it out the green light flashes. But the knob won’t turn. If the red light flashed, it would be the key. But when the green light flashes, it’s gotta be the door.”

“Don’t argue with him,” Alice said. “If he wants to give you another key, let him give you another key.”

“It’s not going to do any good if it isn’t going to work.”

“It’s gonna work,” the kid said.

“Oh, my God, I can’t wait!” Alice said. “Don’t you have a bathroom?”

“Right through there.”

Alice rushed in, slammed the door.

“Let’s get the unit open,” I said.

“I’ll make another key.”

“I can hear you through the door,” Alice said. “Are you just going to stand there and listen?”

“Come on,” I said. “Let me show you the problem.”

He hesitated a moment, said, “Yeah.”

We went outside and down the row to unit twelve. It was nice he’d given us one at the end of the row. I tried to take my time getting there, but it wasn’t easy. There was really no topic of conversation one could strike up under the circumstances. I considered faking a stroke, but that would just send him back to the office to call for help.

“Here you go,” I said.

I dipped the card in the slot, waited till the green light flashed, pushed on the knob.

“Oh, for goodness sakes. Here, let me show you.”

The kid took the card away from me, put it in the slot, pulled it out, watched the green light, twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open.

“See? You don’t just push. You gotta twist the doorknob.”

“Hey, let me try that,” I said.

I took the card from him.

“Knock yourself out,” the kid said.

He turned to go back.

“Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “You go back there alone, you’ll piss her off. Better you stay with me.”

“I’m not supposed to leave the office.”

“So? You
left
the office. Big deal. Let me try the card.”

I dipped it in the slot, the green light came on. I twisted the doorknob counter-clockwise, pushed.

“Now it doesn’t work.”

“You twisted it wrong.”

“Huh?”

“Twist it the other way.”

“The other way?”

By now the kid must have concluded that if I got laid at all it would be a real miracle.

“Twist it this way,” he said, turning his wrist.

“Oh. I see.”

I did it right this time. The door opened.

“Okay. We’re all set.”

I couldn’t think of another way to stall him on our way back to the office. Tying my shoelace wasn’t going to work. The guy would just keep going. And bringing him down with a football tackle might have roused his suspicions. I walked along beside him, prayed for Alice to be quick.

As we neared the office I raised my voice. “I feel really stupid about this. Thanks for being a good sport.”

“No problem,” he said, but he didn’t break stride.

He went up the single step, flung open the office door.

“Oh, my god!”

“What’s the matter?” I cried.

I crowded in behind him.

Alice was sprawled out on the floor in front of the bathroom door.

“I fell,” she said. She struggled to her hands and knees. “I’m all right, I just fell.”

“What happened?”

Alice glared at me. “I tripped coming out the door. Do you have to make such a big deal out of it?”

“I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m all right, I’m all right.”

Alice twisted from my grasp, went out the office door.

I muttered a hasty thanks and followed.

I caught up with her halfway down the row. “What happened?”

“I was trapped at the computer. I couldn’t get back to the bathroom without being seen so I dived on the floor.”

“Good move. Did you find the files?”

“I didn’t have time.”

“Damn it. I tried to stall.”

“It’s okay. I got this.”

Alice opened her hand. Inside was a little gismo smaller than the door key.

“What’s that?”

“A chip. I downloaded the files onto it.”

“You got the files?”

“Yeah.”

“Will they play on our computer?”

“Sure. Let’s go home and take a look.”

I shook my head. “We can’t.”

“Huh?”

“The manager already thinks something’s funny. If we don’t use the room, he’s going to get suspicious.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, come on now.”

“Sorry. We gotta stay at least twenty minutes. Gotta use the unit, gotta muss up the sheets.” I smiled. “Think of it as method acting.”

42

“G
OT IT
,” A
LICE SAID
.

“Already?”

We were no longer in the motel room. That was all right. We’d been there long enough. And God was in his heaven and all was right with the world. Which, coming from an atheist, should give you some idea of my state of mind. For once, I could take exception to Mick Jagger’s assertion that you can’t get no satisfaction, while agreeing wholeheartedly with his assertion that if you try some time you get what you need.

At any rate, Alice was hunched over her computer, typing furiously on screens no one outside of the geek squad knew existed, and it appeared that her labors had born fruit.

“What have we got?” I said.

“Reservations on file for the last three years.”

“Three years?”

“Yeah. Apparently before that they weren’t using the system. Either that or they stored the files.”

“Three years should be fine. Do you have last week’s reservations?”

“Sure do. Your client’s husband, the guy you killed, registered in unit seven. Vinnie Carbone, the other guy you killed, registered in unit eight.”

“That’s nice. Can you tell if he ever rented a unit before?”

“Sure thing.” Alice opened the window of a search engine I wouldn’t have known was there. “I have nine matches.”

“Dating back how far?”

“They’re in the order of most recent. I’ll have to skip to the end of the document, search in reverse.”

“Never mind. What’s the most recent?”

“About a week ago. Make that ten days.”

“Same unit?”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s in the adjoining one? Or doesn’t it show that?”

“Sure. I just scroll up. The program doesn’t excerpt and list the entries, it just goes to them.” Alice scrolled up. “Harold Deerfield. He used his credit card. He’s from western Pennsylvania. You want the address?”

“Can I get it later?”

“Sure. I’ll teach you how to use the program. It’s easy.”

I doubted that. The last time Alice taught me how to use a program, I not only couldn’t learn it, but we nearly wound up in divorce court. Still, I wasn’t going to waste time with the address of someone from western Pennsylvania.

“What have you got before that?”

“That would go back about two months. Same room, different guy next door.”

Alice whizzed through the rest of the list. The entries went back about two years. As far as I knew there was nothing of any significance.

Alice reached the last one, read off the date.

Pulled up the unit next door.

Read off the name.

My mouth fell open.

Jersey Girl.

43

I
HAD TO SEE HER
. Don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t obsessed with the girl, no matter how enticingly her attributes might be displayed. But the case was all dovetailing together in a way I didn’t like.

Here’s a girl who stayed in the room with the murdered man. Granted, a few years earlier, but still. At the time, she had been next door to the other murdered man, who was her boyfriend, but wasn’t at the time she stayed in the motel, though he was there.

I grimaced. Everything Jersey Girl touches seems to die. Discuss.

That was unfair. She hadn’t touched my client’s husband, at least not that I knew of. And staying in the same motel room two years apart barely qualified as an assignation.

Besides, I was still alive. Though she hadn’t really touched me. Though not for lack of trying.

She opened the door in a sheer something-or-other that just cried out to be backlit. I could imagine pizza delivery boys fighting for the assignment.

“You’re not a cop,” she said, accusingly.

Astute of her to notice. Though I’m sure it was pointed out to her. In fact, drilled into her head. “The guy you gave the gun to is not a cop, he’s a murder suspect who probably killed your boyfriend.”

“Who told you that?”

“A cop.”

“He’s probably lying. What if I told you
he
wasn’t a cop.”

She crinkled up her nose. “Huh?”

“If someone’s trying to sell you a bill of goods, how do you know whether it’s him or me?”

“He’s a cop. He came with the cops.”

“How do you know
they’re
cops?”

“That’s stupid. You’re just trying to confuse me.”

Yes, I was. But I wanted to get in the door. And it wasn’t just the diaphanous negligee Jersey Girl was wearing. Though I had to admit she had perky nipples in it.

“You really want to talk in the door? You’re hardly dressed.”

“I don’t want to talk in the door. I wanna close the door.”

I knew she did. Which is why I had my foot in it. The old traveling salesman’s trick. I blamed myself for thinking
traveling
salesman. All door-to-door salesmen stuck their foot in the door. Traveling salesmen were the butt of numerous jokes, all of which involved a nubile young daughter. Which didn’t really apply in this case, but, hell, Jersey Girl was
someone’s
daughter.

The was no reason to shy away from physical contact. Aside from that touch-of-death thing. I squeezed by Jersey Girl into her house.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, but I don’t have time to be polite. Some very stupid policemen think I’m mixed up in a murder.”

“Yeah, right. You come around, say you’re a cop. Take my gun. Lie about it. But, oh no, you’re not mixed in anything.”

“Did you tell the cops you gave me the gun?”

“What do you think?”

“With you, I don’t know. You might have decided to deny having the gun.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, that would be mighty stupid, wouldn’t it? I thought I gave it to a cop.”