“Right,” Maura said. “That’s by design. The hotel markets itself as prizing guest privacy so the only places that have cameras are just outside the hotel and in the main lobby.”
“What about receipts?” Jessie asked.
“What do you mean?” Maura asked, not getting it.
“If I don’t have video as a way to reconstruct who was where when, maybe I can use drink receipts to identify when people were in the bar. Then I can eliminate them as suspects if they were in here during the window of the murder.”
She could tell from the apologetic frown on the bartender’s face that that was going to be a dead end too.
“For hotel guests, we don’t record transactions in real time,” she said. “Any time a guest orders a drink, we put it on their room tab. But we don’t tally the charges until the end of business that night. The bar usually closes at two a.m. so every receipt would read that time: two a.m. We closed early tonight, around midnight, because of the incident, so every receipt for tonight will have that time, regardless of when the drink was ordered.”
Jessie groaned involuntarily. It increasingly seemed like it would be impossible to get an accurate account of the evening’s events from non-human sources.
“It gets worse,” Maura said hesitantly.
“Go ahead,” Jessie told her, closing her eyes in pained anticipation.
“Because the drink is charged to the room, not the guest, there’s no way to know who ordered it. A couple staying here might hang out for a few hours while the husband orders six drinks and the wife orders four. But all we see is ten drinks for room twenty-four. Unless the bartender specifically remembers that, say for example, the husband wasn’t in that night and the wife ordered all ten, there’s no record of who ordered what.”
“You’re killing me here, Maura,” Jessie said, though not too harshly.
“There is some good news,” she offered hopefully.
“What’s that?”
“I’ve got a pretty decent memory for this sort of thing. If you tell me what you’re looking for, I might be able to narrow that timeline down for you a little.”
Jessie decided that an incomplete picture was better than none at all and agreed.
“Okay,” she said. “Before I get into specifics, how many people do you think were in the bar last night between nine and eleven?”
“Saturday nights are always packed,” Maura said, “and this one wasn’t any different. The numbers went up and down but we probably never got under thirty patrons. It might have been double that at the peak.”
“Do you remember either Steve and Gabrielle Crewe or Richard and Melissa Ferro being there?”
“Sure,” Maura said. “They come here a couple of times a year, along with their friends, so I know them by name and sight. They were all in here last night at one point or another.”
“Can you nail down those ‘points’ a little more specifically?”
“I remember they came in as a group around nine twenty-five. They wanted a table but the only one available was being reserved for a party at nine thirty. I remember looking at the clock and deciding there wasn’t enough time left to justify giving it to them if they’d have to give it up in a few minutes.”
“That’s actually incredibly helpful,” Jessie said, writing down notes in her pad. “What then?”
“After that, it gets hazy. The rest of their group was only there a little while. I remember the Landers and Mr. Aldridge all being gone by about ten. I don’t recall seeing Mrs. Aldridge at all, now that I think about it. The Crewes and Ferros stuck around longer than that, though I couldn’t give you exact times. Folks tend to drift back and forth from the bar to the adjoining courtyard, to be near the fire pit. People disappear for bathroom breaks or go back to their room for a quickie before coming back down again. I know that both Gabby Crewe and Melissa Ferro left before their husbands. The guys were bellied up to the bar in ‘close down the joint’ mode when things went off the rails.”
“You mean when the security guard yelled out for someone to call the police,” Jessie confirmed. “What time was that?”
“I couldn’t say exactly,” Maura said. “But after that happened, everyone piled out to get whatever gossip they could. The bar was basically empty by eleven thirty-five, so all the madness happened maybe five or ten minutes before then.”
Sensing that the woman had provided all the time-specific detail she knew, Jessie went in a different direction.
“What did you think of them?” she asked.
“Who?”
“The Crewes and the Ferros,” Jessie said. “Give me a sense of them.”
Maura sighed heavily at the request as if it was a daunting challenge.
“I’m a bartender, Jessie, not a psychiatrist,” she said, seeming to get great pleasure out of calling her by her first name. “Besides, I don’t know these people very well and I usually only see them in various stages of drunkenness. Anything I could tell you would only be surface stuff.”
Jessie smiled at the attempt to deflect.
“In my experience, bartenders are often just as insightful as psychiatrists. And that’s coming from someone who’s seen a lot of the latter. I’ll give your analysis the proper weight.”
Maura shrugged, as if she’d met her ethical obligation, and dived in.
“The Ferros are okay. The wife, Melissa, is a bit of a drama queen. When I heard she claimed she had discovered a body, I was a little skeptical. Some part of me wondered if she had just overreacted to someone who passed out; you know, for attention. She likes attention.”
“There you go,” Jessie said encouragingly. “That wasn’t so hard. What about her husband?”
“They’re a good match. Mrs. Ferro likes attention and Mr. Ferro likes to give attention.”
“To her or others?”
“Both,” Maura said. “He’ll give her long, deep, meaningful stares. But he also gets a little flirty when he’s had a few. Both he and Steve have gone a little over the top from time to time.”
“What does that mean?”
Maura gave an exhausted half smile that Jessie knew well.
“After their wives have left and they’ve had a few drinks, they each tend to get a little handsy with the waitresses, even with me; never to ‘toss them out’ levels but enough that I once had to elbow Ferro in the gut to get my point across.”
“You didn’t tell management?”
Maura gave another smile, this time one Jessie couldn’t identify.
“The management here is, what’s the word I’m looking for—relaxed—when it comes to guest-staff interaction. There’s an openness to intermingling which guests sometimes try to take advantage of. I made it clear that I wasn’t into doing any mingling, at least not with folks of their particular persuasion. Now maybe if you wanted to mingle, I might reconsider.”
She smiled slyly. Jessie could feel her neck start to burn.
“I’m flattered,” she said, “but I think my boyfriend might object.”
Maura shrugged.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
Jessie didn’t but she did feel an obligation to bring the conversation back to the professional level.
“And yet,” she noted, “despite your lack of interest in their advances, you still have the hair flip in your arsenal.”
“Just because they can’t touch, doesn’t mean they can’t dream,” Maura said with impressive confidence. “The dream of touching is what generates those big tips. The hair flip is a big part of the dream.”
Jessie couldn’t argue with the woman’s logic. Besides, she got the sense that Maura could handle herself if someone tried too hard to make his dream into a reality.
“So Steve Crewe got gropey too?” she asked, moving on.
“Yeah, but he a little clumsier about it than his friend,” Maura said. “Rich Ferro always managed to seem like he was playing a game. Steve was a little more furtive about it, and a little more hangdog if he was
shot down. Unlike Rich, I got the sense that he would have felt bad if his wife caught him.”
“Speaking of his wife, what was your impression of her?”
“You’re asking me to give a cold, hard take on a woman who was apparently just stabbed to death?” Maura asked incredulously.
“That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
The bartender sighed heavily for the second time in as many minutes and rubbed her scalp with her hand as she thought how best to answer.
“She was nice, I guess,” she began, before adding, “I mean, she was always nice to me. I even saw her shame some guy once in the bar that was being a bit too crude with a waitress. She started asking what his daughter would think if she saw him in that moment. He backed right off. It was actually pretty impressive.”
“Then why do I hear what sounds like a ‘but’ in there?” Jessie asked.
“She just had an air about her, like she knew she was hot shit and didn’t mind flaunting it. Don’t get me wrong. I do the same thing sometimes. But there was a dismissiveness that I found off-putting. And she was less nice to her husband. To be honest, I thought she treated him like a cuckold.”
“How so?” Jessie pressed.
“Nothing overt, just a general vibe. I can’t really explain it.”
Jessie wanted to pursue the issue more but Colby Peters dashed in, breathing heavily and looking agitated.
“Is something wrong with the crime scene investigation?” Jessie asked anxiously.
“No, that’s going fine. They’re working away,” he said. “The problem is with the guests. We’ve got a mutiny on our hands.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
As they rushed to the second floor, Peters explained the problem. The guests were complaining about being cooped up without any sense of when they’d be able to leave.
“Some of them want to go back to their rooms and pack so they can catch the first ferry back to the mainland. They just want off the island.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Jessie said, unable to hide her irritation as they hurried up the stairs. “These people are all potential witnesses and suspects. No one’s going anywhere until we talk to all of them.”
“I’m not sure we have the power to prevent them all from leaving,” Peters said. “There are only so many of us and my captain is big on keeping visitors happy about their time here. Remember, in one way or another, tourism employs over half the island’s population. We can’t afford to alienate a bunch of visitors in one night.”
Jessie was about to read him the riot act, but before she could reply, they reached the top of the stairwell, where she was dismayed to find a half dozen people milling about in the hallway, talking to each other. Tommy the bellboy stood helpless in the corner, clearly beaten down by being assigned a responsibility well above his pay grade.
“Where’s Deputy Heck?” she asked Peters, trying to keep her voice even.
“He’s still outside the Crewe suite providing security.”
“I think Long Beach CSU can handle things up there,” she said. “Get him down here. We need him more than they do.”
As Peters spoke to Heck on the radio, Jessie strode into the center of the crowd and shouted in a booming voice.
“I need everyone to move into the Catalina Ballroom, please,” she ordered. “Everyone in the hall here and everyone in the Wrigley Ballroom, please make your way into the Catalina.”
A few people walked up to her, looking annoyed, but she held up her hand.
“Please move into the ballroom, folks,” she insisted. “We’ll deal with your concerns once everyone has assembled in there. And remember, no discussion amongst yourselves.”
People, some grumbling, shuffled through the doors. Jessie poked her head in and got the attention of Stone the security guard, who was still more focused on his phone than keeping folks under control.
“Tommy,” she said to the bellboy, “can you please get the guard from the other ballroom?”
They left the doors open to keep an eye on the crowd as all the security personnel arrived. She looked around to see what she had. In addition to Detective Colby Peters, Tommy, and Stone, there was Deputy Heck, who had just jogged down from the fifth floor, and another chunky, red-cheeked security guard whose name tag indicated he was called Dooley. She didn’t know if that was his first or last name and she didn’t care. The time for polite, deferential interactions was over, as she was determined to make clear.
“Listen up,” she said to the assembled men in a hushed, urgent voice, feeling her cheeks flush with anger. “In case you forgot, a woman was murdered just a few floors above us. I’m here to catch whoever did it. And any one of you who makes that job more difficult is going to pay a steep price. I’m here on behalf of the Los Angeles Police Department’s Homicide Special Section. We don’t mess around in HSS. And whether you’re a cop, a security guard, or a bellboy, you will do your part to make sure we get justice for this woman. If you’re law enforcement and you don’t do your duty, expect sanctions. If you’re a civilian, I’ll find a way to get you charged with something. Do we understand each other?”
Peters looked like he wanted to object but when he saw the fire in her eyes, held his tongue. The others were too stunned to do anything other than nod. She continued.
“That means no more looking at your phone when you’re supposed to be handling crowd control,” she said, boring a hole into Stone with her eyes. “That also means no more letting people wander around, chitchatting, sharing details with each other that could undermine this investigation. There are twenty people in that room, including an infant. There are six of us out here. We should be able to contain a bunch of half-asleep tourists for a few hours.”
“Most of them aren’t sleepy though,” Stone said. “They hyped up.”
“You all have radios,” she reminded him forcefully. “Use yours if you need backup. Stone—you and Dooley walk around these ballrooms like you give a damn. If someone starts jabbering, firmly remind them that it’s not allowed. I also want you to radio the hotel’s night manager that some security folks from the day shift need to come in early. If he balks, tell him to take it up with me. In fact, send him my way. I want to have a word with that guy.”
“What do we tell people who want to go back to their rooms?” Dooley asked.
“I’m about to address that with them in a second,” Jessie said. “For now, Detective Peters and I will split up the remainder of the interviews. Deputy Heck will supervise the whole floor. Stone and Dooley will patrol the ballrooms, switching back and forth every five minutes. Stay moving. Tommy, just do your best. Stay in the hall. Escort people to interviews when asked. Try to look more pissed than scared.”
She looked around the entire group, glaring at each of them in turn. She was so incensed that she spat the last words more than said them.
“Are we all on the same page?”
Everyone nodded, even Peters. Jessie gave them what she hoped was an encouraging smile and motioned for them to follow her into the larger ballroom, where every eye was on her. A woman near the front tried to soothe her crying baby. As Jessie opened her mouth, a man in the back waving his hand started to call out. She ignored him and launched in as if he didn’t exist.
“Folks, I want to update you on where things are,” she began loudly but without the venom she’d used moments earlier. She thought she sounded like a tour guide at a historic landmark. “As you all surely know, a woman died here tonight. We’re trying to get to the bottom of that and you are essential to that process.”
The guy waving his hand again tried to interject and again, Jessie verbally plowed through him, proceeding as if he wasn’t there.
“Some of you knew the victim. Many of you happened to be staying on the same floor. I understand that spending your night stuck in a sterile ballroom instead of in your bed is not ideal. I get that you’re exhausted and in some cases, drunk; maybe even hung over. I know that some of you just want to leave Cata
lina entirely and go home. I recognize all that, and while I sympathize with your plight, I want to be forthright with you: no one is leaving this island until I authorize it.”
There was aloud chorus of dissent with a few distinct phrases emerging, including “who the hell…?” and “…calling my lawyer.” She ignored it all.
“This is a murder investigation,” she declared over the noise, “and your temporary discomfort will not take precedence over getting justice for the victim. Anyone who tries to leave Avalon before they have permission to do so will be arrested and end up spending a lot more time here than just a few extra hours.”
“I have work tomorrow!” someone she couldn’t see shouted out.
She didn’t even bother to look for the source of the comment.
“Now that you understand my priorities, I think we can all work toward some kind of accommodation that will meet our investigative needs and allow you to get back to some kind of normalcy soon. Would you like that?”
A collection of mostly cowed headed nodded. The crying baby screeched in general rebellion.
“Excellent. Then this is how we’re going to proceed. Everyone will return to the table they were at before. We will work with hotel management to find additional hotel rooms so that people who have already been interviewed can get out of the ballroom, but still be isolated so they don’t interact with other witnesses. For those remaining here, we will expedite your interviews. Now, if you were asleep prior to the incident and came out of your room because of the disturbance, raise your hand.”
About a dozen people did. Jessie realized she was accepting people’s words about their status, but hoped that Peters might be able to suss out any obvious deception when he questioned them.
“You folks will be interviewed by Detective Peters, starting with you, ma’am,” she said, pointing at the woman with the baby.
“Thank you,” the mom mouthed silently.
“Of those who were awake when the crime occurred,” Jessie continued, “how many have not yet been interviewed?”
The Perfect Impression Page 5