“You think she came here on her own?” Kelly asked.
“Maybe she had more to tell us.” I checked my phone for messages, remembering I’d turned off the ringer when we went to visit Helmut. There were two missed calls and two voice messages. I put the phone on speaker. Pressed play.
“Mr. Fischer?” Lori’s voice sounded thin and scared and came in quick bursts. “This is Lori Kostoch. I thought of something else…” Then a pause and a sharp intake of breath. “Please, call me back.” I could hear traffic noise as if she was still on Main Street where we left her that afternoon. The message had come at two thirty, roughly thirty minutes after we had dropped her off.
“She sounded desperate. Like someone was watching her,” Kelly said.
“There’s another message. This one came twenty minutes later. Almost three o’clock.” I pressed play.
“Mr. Fischer, this is Lori again.” Her voice came in a whisper, the phone pressed against her lips. “Can you please call me as soon as you get this?” There was a five-second pause. “You’re probably at Oktoberfest,” Lori continued. “There’s something I need to tell you. I’ll wait for you at your motel.” She disconnected.
“Did she have a car?”
“She had to have a car. She had a job, and her mom lives at least five miles out of town. She said she drove Maya to the party on the river.”
“You think someone followed her here?”
The door to the adjacent room was open.
“He got in from the next room,” I said, pointing at the broken lock. “Check the front desk. See if they saw anything or if they have surveillance cameras. Ask who checked in next door.”
Kelly dressed and left.
I checked my watch. It was six thirty. I searched the small room. Nothing under the bed or in the open closet. In the bathroom I found Lori’s clothes in a pile by the tub. They were the same items she wore that afternoon. I also found three lengths of rope. It was cheap yellow-nylon cord, the kind they sold at every convenience store in Texas.
I walked through the broken door. The adjacent room was trashed. Clothes everywhere. Bathroom stuff scattered around the sink. Both queen beds had been slept in. I remembered hearing the two boys bouncing off the walls the night before. The occupants hadn’t checked out.
I went back to our room and studied Lori’s body. There were no bullet holes or knife wounds. There was no blood on the white sheet. I checked her fingernails and hands for signs of a struggle. There were no abrasions. She hadn’t put up a fight. There was a lump on her forehead. Someone had put her lights out with a single powerful blow to the head. Someone with prison muscles and a dragon tattoo. I pulled the sheet over her body and left the room.
Kelly met me in the parking lot. The surveillance system was offline. Something about vandals breaking one of the cameras. It wouldn’t be fixed until next week. The girl on duty in the lobby had talked to Lori. Lori told her she was going to wait for us to return.
“Did you tell her Lori was dead?” I asked.
“She didn’t take it very well.”
“What about the room next door?”
“Still occupied by the family with the teen boys. They went to the festival early this afternoon. Haven’t been back. He could have stolen their key.”
I found Les Zeller’s number and hit dial. He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Les,” I said. “Sorry to bother you, but there’s a dead body in my motel room. Her name’s Lori Kostoch.” I paused for him to respond. He didn’t say anything. He probably didn’t get too many calls like that working on a small-town police force. “Les, can you hear me? This is Nick Fischer. Lori Kostoch is dead. I found her in my motel room about ten minutes ago.”
“Don’t touch anything,” he insisted, regaining his composure. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up without saying goodbye.
“Now we wait for the cavalry,” I said.
Chapter Nineteen
The police arrived with sirens blaring and lights flashing as if an active shooter was on the scene. Six cruisers—every officer not working traffic on the Marktplatz for Oktoberfest—converged on the Best Western. The cavalry had arrived.
Zeller was the first one out of his car. For a big, well-fed guy in his forties, he was surprisingly quick on his feet. He shouted orders to his team and quickly spotted Kelly and me standing on the second-story landing.
“You’d think we were giving away free kolaches,” I said.
Kelly rolled her eyes. “Hey, there was a murder.”
“Was a murder. You don’t think this is an exaggerated response? Zeller and the JP could have handled it.”
“Not everybody is as jaded as you.”
“I’m not jaded. I’m a realist.”
She rolled her eyes.
Zeller hustled toward us with two officers in tow. The sun was already down, but they all still had on wraparound mirror sunglasses as if they expected the sun to reappear at any moment. They also had matching high-and-tight haircuts that must have been the latest in lawman hairstyle. I knew Zeller wasn’t ex-military. I didn’t know about the others.
Kelly and I met him at the bottom of the steps.
“Is this your motel?” he asked. He was as sharp as a razor.
“I think it belongs to Best Western.”
“Are you gonna start shit, Fischer?”
“I called you, Les. There’s a dead girl upstairs. We’re not throwing a party. Lori’s body is in my room. Number two thirty-six. Top of the stairs. It’s open.”
Zeller scowled, telegraphing his intent to throw me in jail, but he couldn’t think of a reason yet, so he headed up the stairs.
“The adjoining room door was jimmied. Looks like he used a screwdriver or a crowbar,” I called to him.
Zeller stopped and looked at me over his shoulder. “We’ll do the investigating, Fischer. Don’t leave. I’ll need an official statement from both of you.” Zeller yelled at the nearest officer. “Secure the premises. No one in or out.” He turned to the younger one, who stood next to me. “Get their IDs,” he said, then jogged up the steps.
“Were y’all at the festival?” I said to the young cop, trying to be friendly. His eyes were small and too close together, and he seemed a little nervous, like it was his first week on the job.
“Could I see some identification?” he said.
“Relax. I’m the guy who called you, Officer Markey,” I said, reading his name from his name tag.
“Sorry, sir. It’s part of the procedure.”
I sighed and handed over my driver’s license along with my private eye creds and my concealed carry permit, hoping the kid wouldn’t freak out.
“I am armed, Officer,” I said.
Kelly showed her ID, which included her police badge from Lubbock.
“We’re both armed,” she said.
He looked at our IDs as if he was not sure what to do next.
“Markey, get up here!” Zeller yelled down from the second floor.
Markey jumped. “Yes, sir,” he said and ran up the stairs two at a time.
Zeller ordered him to secure the room, then stomped back down the stairs.
“All right, Nick. Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Zeller pulled out his notebook.
I went over my meeting with Lori, starting at the beginning and including the fight with Owen. I added the part about my interview with Mike Bauer and Russell. Zeller seemed to dismiss all of them as suspects before I had even finished.
“When did you see her last?” Zeller asked.
“This afternoon. She tapped on my window while I was going through the drive-through at Whataburger,” I said. “She said she drove Maya to the party on the river. Owen was there and so was Russell Stevens, Mike Bauer’s security guard.”
“She never said anything to me,” he said.
“Scared, probably. She called again this afternoon. I didn’t get the call because I’d turned my ringer off.”
“Turned off your ringer,” he repeated and made a note.
“We went to visit Helmut, and I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
He made another note. “Any other reason?”
“You think I’m a suspect?”
“I just wanna get everything straight. Did she leave a message?”
I got out my phone and played the messages. Lori sounded even more desperate than I remembered. “The last message came at two fifty-five. We got here at about six.”
“And y’all were with Helmut all afternoon?”
“Call him if you want. We went to talk to him about Maya.”
He looked at his watch. “I’ll call him in the morning. It’s past his bedtime. I don’t wanna piss him off. Busiest weekend of the year…” Zeller let his sentence trail off.
“You have two obvious suspects,” Kelly said.
He looked at her, still annoyed. “I get that you’re a police officer in Lubbock, but we have our own procedure here.”
“Just trying to help,” she said, meeting his snarky response with a cold seriousness perfected from her years as an MP.
“This has everything to do with Maya’s disappearance,” I said.
Zeller bristled. “This isn’t your case. I know you’re working for old man Geisler, but this is a murder investigation.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“We’re professionals,” he said, implying that I wasn’t.
“You don’t think Maya’s disappearance and Lori’s murder are connected?”
“Maybe, maybe not. We have our own investigators. They’ll be here soon, along with our CSI team and the JP. I’ll need you both to come down to the station to sign a statement.”
“Set up an appointment,” I said. “Right now, we’re tired, and our room is double-booked, so we need to find another place to stay on Oktoberfest weekend.” I took out a business card and handed it to him. “Here’s my number. I’m not hard to track down.”
Zeller’s jaw muscles clenched, but he didn’t say anything.
“You gonna call Lori’s mom?”
“Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” he said.
“I don’t envy that job. First her husband, and now her only daughter.”
“Her husband?” Kelly asked.
“KIA in Afghanistan. He was a Marine.”
A moment of silence passed between us, then I took Kelly’s hand, and we walked back to my pickup. Zeller seemed like he wanted to protest, but I didn’t give him a chance.
“Does he really think we’re suspects?” Kelly asked after we’d climbed into the cab.
“He just likes to give me shit. Been doin’ it since the sixth grade.”
I called Skeeter to get an update and fill him in on the new developments.
“What have you got for me?” I put my phone on speaker so Kelly could hear.
“Russell Stevens did five years for manslaughter. Convicted at seventeen for killing his stepdad. Since then he’s kept his nose clean.”
“That or he learned how to stay under the radar in prison,” I said.
“He has some scary known associates,” Skeeter added.
“Get me names and addresses. We need to track this guy down and find Maya before she ends up like Lori.”
“I hope we ain’t too late,” he said.
Chapter Twenty
The Dragon’s trailer was abandoned. The front door was open, the lights were off, and the driveway was empty. I clipped my cap light onto my baseball hat, and Kelly and I searched the perimeter. Nothing. Inside, the trailer smelled like marijuana and sour milk. The only thing left was a half package of bologna Kelly found in the refrigerator. The plastic garbage sacks I’d seen through the back window were gone. Russell Stevens and his gang had moved out.
My phone rang. Skeeter.
“The Dragon’s favorite hangout is a strip club in San Antonio,” Skeeter said. “Out on Loop 410.”
“I’ll meet you there in two hours,” I said.
“Ten four,” Skeeter said. “No guarantee he’s there.”
“It’s a start.” I disconnected.
We got back in my pickup and drove over the cattle guard and turned south on the gravel road. “There won’t be any rooms left in the county tonight. You can stay at the ranch.”
“Don’t even think about dropping me off. I’m coming with you.”
“But you have to go to work tomorrow in Lubbock. I don’t know how long this will take.”
“I’m calling in sick. Besides, you and Skeeter are recovering from gunshot wounds. I’m the only one any good in a fight.”
“You keep this up, I’m going to have to put you on the payroll.”
“I was thinking more like a partner. Hoffman and Fischer – Private Investigators.”
“Why does your name come first?” I asked. “I’m the company founder.”
“Obviously, I’m the brains of the operation,” she said.
•••
The strip club was located on the northwest side of San Antonio off Loop 410. I drove around the crowded parking lot until I found Skeeter’s Dodge Ram 4x4 pickup. He was in the passenger seat with his head leaning against the glass.
“Looks like he’s taking a nap,” Kelly said.
“We’re keepin’ him out past his bedtime.” I got out and tapped on his window. He didn’t move. I tapped a little harder. Finally, he opened his eyes and unrolled the window.
“What’s up?” he asked, and pulling off his headphones. Old-school rap music was pumping through tiny speakers. His bulk filled the open window.
“Nothin’. What’s on the iPod?”
“The Fat Boys,” he said.
I had no idea who that was and didn’t want to ask. If I did, he’d lecture me on how rap was once great and how the new generation had ruined it. He could go on for hours.
“Hey, Clarence,” Kelly called to him. She was the only one besides his mother that I ever heard call him by his real name.
Skeeter smiled and unfolded himself from his pickup seat. At six-foot-seven and three hundred pounds, he made Kelly and me look like sixth graders. The metal hook he wore as a prothesis was the only reason he wasn’t playing in the NFL. He’d been in a car wreck the day he got drafted.
“Kelly!” His big baritone voice vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest. “What’re you doin’ here?” He grabbed her in a bear hug, and she kissed him on the cheek. It felt like a family reunion.
“Nick put me on the payroll,” she said playfully.
Skeeter raised his eyebrow at me. “Sounds like we need to have a business meetin’.”
“What business meetin’?” I laughed. “I’m the boss. It’s Fischer Investigations. I’m Fischer.”
“You’re resisting the expansion?” Kelly said, taking my arm.
“This is more like a hostile takeover,” I said.
“It’s about time all our names were on the business cards,” Kelly said.
“Yeah, Davis, Hoffman, and Fischer,” Skeeter said. His baritone chuckle rumbled from deep down in his massive chest like a volcano before an eruption.
Kelly smiled and kissed me on the cheek. “I like it.”
“So, now my name’s last.” I wasn’t sure what had just happened. My new business had suddenly tripled its payroll without increasing its revenue.
“Does that mean I get a raise?” Skeeter asked.
“Sure, you can have half of my salary. Helmut agreed to pay with a hog and a goat.”
“You kiddin’ me?”
“Actually, we didn’t talk numbers, but he is a pretty good butcher.”
“You should have talked that over with your partners,” Skeeter said.
“I didn’t have any partners until a minute ago,” I argued.
“Obviously, I will have to renegotiate our fee with Mr. Geisler,” Kelly said. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“That will
be a lot easier to do if we find Maya,” I said. “Let’s go see if Russell’s home.”
The three of us walked through the full parking lot toward the entrance. The music pulsed louder as we approached. It was a few degrees warmer in San Antonio, but still a pleasant sixty-five degrees. Not bad for fall in South Texas. The sky reflected city lights instead of stars, one of the things I missed most when I wasn’t living in the country.
Two chunky bouncers wearing too-tight black T-shirts sat on barstools by the door. They were checking the IDs of two boys who looked like they were in high school. A row of Harley choppers lined the north wall of the building. The rest of the parking lot overflowed with pickups and utility trucks. The dress code was casual.
“You think Maya’s here?” Kelly asked.
“Lori said something about that crowd on the river expecting them to dance,” I said.
“You plannin’ on goin’ all Afghanistan and shit?” Skeeter asked.
“I wasn’t planning on keeping a low profile. After Lori’s murder, we don’t have time to be discreet. Somebody upped the ante.”
We waited behind the high school boys while the musclemen pretended to study their fake IDs. One of the boys passed a bill to the bouncer. The kid nudged his friend with his elbow. A moment later, the friend produced a bill that the bouncer quickly palmed. I checked the entrance for surveillance cameras and saw two on the corner of the building. One facing the parking lot and the other trained on the entrance. Either the cameras weren’t working, or the two clowns didn’t care they were being filmed. Maybe they were new on the job. The bouncers let the two teens pass.
I glanced at Kelly, who had her phone out with the video app recording. I stepped forward. Skeeter stayed a step behind us. Both bouncers focused on him.
“You really take bribes when the surveillance cameras are rollin’?” I asked. I was there to shake things up. That’s what I did best. The neck-tattooed bouncer smiled nervously and glanced at Skeeter. “He’s with me,” I added.
“What’re you talkin’, dude?” He managed to say.
“Those two boys were probably sixteen. You let ’em go in. I saw them slip you a bill. What’s the price of admission for kids? Fifty? Or was it a hundred?”
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