The Russian - SETTING

by Patterson, James

  The hotel was six stories tall and tucked between two fifteen-story buildings, its exterior so bright and cheerful that it looked out of place in the city. This wasn’t a Ritz-Carlton or even a Marriott. This was the kind of place a family traveling on a budget stayed—or where a company put up a worker on extended assignment.

  There were two clerks behind the counter but no one else in the plain, practical lobby. I walked toward a middle-aged woman with neatly tied-back brown hair who looked to be the senior clerk, but she turned away and disappeared into a room behind the front desk. That left a young, hipster-looking dude with mismatched earrings and hair that looked like it hadn’t been combed in a couple of days.

  The young man looked up at the uniformed sergeant and me. We stepped all the way to the counter so we could look over into the space behind it.

  The clerk was clearly surprised. And not terribly happy to see us police officers inside the hotel. “What do you guys need?”

  I smiled and stayed polite. “Do you have a Daniel Ott registered here?”

  “Can’t tell you. Can’t tell the cops anything without a warrant.”

  The sergeant used a fatherly tone when he said, “Son, this is really important. We’re just asking if he’s here.”

  “And I’m just telling you, I can’t say anything without a warrant.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Both.”

  I asked, “Is your supervisor here?”

  “Nope. I’m the assistant manager. And I’m telling you to get a warrant. I’m also about to tell you to leave the hotel unless you have one.” He worked hard at leveling an intimidating stare at Sadecki.

  I put a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder. Sadecki was used to dealing with this attitude toward the police. But he clearly had no patience for it.

  I said with a smile, “We’ll call your corporate office and wait in the lobby here.”

  “You can’t wait in the lobby.”

  As we turned, Sergeant Sadecki said, “Go ahead, call the cops on us.”

  Chapter 89

  I stood with Sergeant Sadecki and Detective Raina Rayesh in the corner of the empty lobby farthest from the desk clerk.

  I had an idea.

  I called Terri Hernandez on the radio. “We’re having a problem with the clerk. Can you turn your raid coat inside out, then come through the lobby and go up the stairs? Just wait there for me to call you. Don’t take any action or do anything.”

  All she said was “Give me thirty seconds.”

  That’s why I like working with my friends. They never give me excuses.

  A minute later, I had the big sergeant block the clerk’s view of me while I pulled out my cell phone and called the hotel. The clerk picked up on the first ring. As soon as he said his standard welcome, I kept my voice very low and raspy.

  I said, “Dude, I’m glad you answered. This is Daniel Ott. Cops might be looking for me.” I glanced over my shoulder.

  The clerk was working hard to keep a neutral face. All he said was “Okay.”

  I continued on as Daniel Ott. “Can you get to my room right now?”

  “Not this second.”

  “I got a thousand bucks if you can come up and help me for less than a minute.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll be right up.”

  I smiled at the way the clerk tried to keep his tone professional and efficient.

  Just then, Terri walked past us. She turned and took the stairway like she’d been staying at the hotel for weeks. No one gave her a second look.

  The clerk called for the woman from the back room and asked her to watch the front desk. He made a point of saying loudly, so we all could hear him, “And don’t tell the cops anything. They don’t have a warrant.”

  I watched the clerk get into the elevator. When it stopped on the third floor, I called Terri quickly to tell her what floor to check.

  “I’ll swing by,” she said. “Call you back in a minute.”

  Less than a minute later, my phone rang. Terri said, “Ott’s there, in room 319, on the west side of the building. The clerk was talking to him as I walked past. All I saw was a white male in a short-sleeved white shirt and blue pants. Almost like uniform pants. Very average-looking.”

  Concise yet thorough. As good a report as I had ever heard. Sounded like our guy.

  Today was the day we’d finally meet. I was sure of it.

  Chapter 90

  Through running water, Daniel Ott heard the knock on his door. He was at the sink, sanitizing the tool he had used to kill the barmaid. His last New York City kill.

  Ott looked through the peephole and immediately recognized the scraggly hotel clerk. He twisted his head and could see there was no one standing next to the man. He opened the door slowly.

  Ott stared at the young man but got no response. Finally, he said, “Yes?”

  The clerk said, “You just called the front desk and said the cops were looking for you. I couldn’t answer you because they were standing nearby. I played them like fools.”

  Ott assessed the clerk’s bad posture and dirty fingernails. He doubted the young man had played anyone for a fool.

  Just then an attractive woman with dark hair walked past in the hallway. Her eyes cut into the room for just a moment. Ott immediately pegged her for a cop. Detective Michael Bennett couldn’t be far behind.

  Ott stepped over to the table where his work pouch sat. He pulled on a fresh pair of rubber gloves, replaced the freshly washed tool, picked up the kit, and clipped it onto his belt.

  “The cops are downstairs in the lobby right now?” he asked.

  The clerk looked confused. “Yes. Isn’t that why you called me?”

  Ott could put the pieces of this puzzle together. He knew they had tricked this dull-witted clerk, and he knew he had to get moving right now.

  The clerk said, “You said there’d be a thousand bucks in it for me if I helped you.”

  “You haven’t figured out that wasn’t me on the phone? They were just trying to trick you into giving away my room number.” Ott almost felt bad for the clerk. The young man’s look of confusion turned to disappointment.

  Ott pulled out his wallet. He had withdrawn some extra cash in preparation for his trip home. He handed a fistful of twenties and tens to the clerk. “I don’t know how much is there, but I’ll try to get you some more. I need you to do something that will help me out and piss off the cops at the same time.”

  The clerk smiled. “All right!”

  “Is the woman who passed us still in the hallway?”

  The clerk looked in each direction. “I don’t see anyone.”

  Ott stepped into the hallway and shut the door silently. He whispered as they walked to the stairwell, “Run down the stairs and shout, He’s out on the fire escape, climbing to the roof! Make sure the cops hear you,” Ott stressed to the clerk.

  “Then what do I do?”

  “Run out the front door. Don’t stop for anything.”

  “How will I get the rest of the money from you?”

  Ott was surprised the clerk had thought that far ahead. “I’ll leave it in an envelope at the front desk later.”

  The clerk said, “What do the cops want you for?”

  Ott paused, then said, “I burned down an ICE building.”

  “Cool.”

  “Do what I said and we’ll both be heroes.”

  Ott sent the clerk scurrying down the main stairs. He looked in every direction and saw no sign of the woman from earlier.

  Ott headed for the rear stairway. The door was locked, but it took only a couple of twists with the screwdriver to pop it open.

  He hoped his hasty plan would work.

  Chapter 91

  I was startled by a shout. I looked up at the wide staircase and saw the hipster clerk rushing down. It took a moment to realize what he was saying.

  The scrawny clerk yelled, “He’s on the fire escape! He’s climbing to the roof!”

  Sergeant Sadecki said,
“What?”

  When the clerk reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned and ran right out the front door of the hotel.

  Instantly, I called Terri on her cell phone. “The clerk just ran out of here shouting that Ott is on the fire escape climbing to the roof.”

  Terri said, “Stand by one sec.” She came back on the phone and said, “The door to 319 is closed and locked.”

  “Can you see the fire escape from anywhere?”

  Another few seconds later and Terri said, “I can see most of it from a window at the end of the corridor. I don’t see anyone on it from this vantage point.”

  I said, “Stay on the door in case it’s a trick. Listen on the radio.” I wasted no time in turning to the sergeant. “Alert your guys outside. Call in some more help. And while you’re at it, call Grissom. Ott might be anywhere by now.”

  I raced up the stairs as the others started to fan out and search for our suspect.

  I found Terri Hernandez in front of 319. I pulled my gun, and she did the same. Without a word, I turned and kicked the door to 319. With a loud crack, it snapped open and slammed into the wall.

  We entered the two-room suite with our guns pointed in front of us. I swung to my left to make sure the bathroom was empty. Terri kept moving forward into the small living room. She waited for me to catch up as we moved into the bedroom.

  Terri cleared the second bathroom.

  I did a quick sweep under the bed and in the closet. Nothing. The windows were all closed and locked from the inside.

  I tried to think where Ott might have gone.

  I got on the radio. “The room’s empty. It doesn’t look like he got on the fire escape. There are at least two levels underground. Mostly for maintenance and storage. Has anyone seen anything there?”

  The uniformed sergeant came on and said they had covered the entire outside and he had someone searching the roof.

  Detective Raina Rayesh came on the radio and said, “The other clerk tells me Ott checked in six weeks and three days ago. She gave me a set of passkeys so we don’t have to kick in any doors.”

  Terri Hernandez mumbled, “Too late.”

  Terri and I met the cops from the roof and we searched each floor, stairwell, and elevator carefully. We found nothing.

  More cops arrived, including my lieutenant, but we still had no idea where Daniel Ott had disappeared to. Harry Grissom put his arm around my shoulders, knowing how I must feel.

  He said, “This is a win. We know who this guy is now. What he looks like. For once we can use the media to our advantage.”

  Chapter 92

  I sat with Harry Grissom in the hotel lobby as for the second time in days we crafted a news release revealing the identifying details of a serial killer.

  By the time we’d announced Jeffrey Cedar’s crimes, he was already dead.

  This was a far more sensitive situation. We would be getting a murderous fugitive’s name and picture out into the public in the midst of an active hunt for him. Plus, there was an incoming report of a fresh homicide, done at an apartment in Queens, that fit Ott’s profile. The public needed to understand that anyone who got in his way could be in danger. Or, for different reasons, anyone who had helped him.

  Raina Rayesh had questioned the male clerk when he returned to the hotel. Under a little pressure, he confessed that he’d helped Ott escape. He said he did it for money and admitted that he’d come back to look for the balance of his payout.

  When Raina told him his actions amounted to aiding and abetting a fugitive, which made him an accessory to Ott’s crimes, the clerk tried to walk it all back, saying he thought Ott was only involved in some kind of antifa bullshit, not the murders that had been all over the news.

  As she cuffed him, Raina had said, “Tell it to your lawyer.”

  We never did need to call on the retired Detective Lynch from SFPD, but Harry and I did have to prepare for a talk with the bigwigs at One Police Plaza. But first, while Harry finished the details on the press release, I wanted to take another look around the hotel.

  Raina gave me the ring of passkeys, and I went down a level to a dark storage area. The same key opened all the locked maintenance doors. Behind one of the doors was the maintenance stairwell. It went down another level.

  I couldn’t be sure if someone had searched here, so I took the stairs down. It was about as I’d expected: dark and musty, with an unused workbench covered with tools sitting in the corner. Seemed like the kind of place a killer on the run might hide out. Especially one who used tools only as weapons.

  I thought about calling Terri Hernandez to come down and give me a hand, but I realized I could see the entire level. Especially now that it was becoming clear that Ott had somehow given us the slip, I didn’t need any help. I took a few minutes to look in the corners and under a couple of cabinets, but there was nowhere to hide here, and no street exit. The only way in or out of this room was via the maintenance stairwell or the elevator.

  As I turned back to the stairwell, I noticed a familiar structure. One of those big, wall-mounted circuit boxes. Maybe they were called junction boxes.

  Where had I seen one of these before?

  I hesitated, looking at the box.

  Chapter 93

  Ott couldn’t see his watch, but by counting his breaths, he knew he’d spent at least thirty minutes crammed inside a junction box on the bottom floor of his extended-stay hotel. This one hadn’t been nearly as hard to get into as the one at the library. But between the conduit and wires streaming through the box, it was just as uncomfortable.

  The question was, how long would the cops search? His escape plan hinged on the cops thinking he had left the area. Enough time had probably passed to make them believe it.

  Noises buzzed through the junction box. He heard a couple of air conditioners cycling. He also heard the distant sound of a toilet flushing. And then, for the past few minutes, silence.

  He was preparing to open the door and slide out of the box when he heard a noise so close that it could only have been made by someone looking for him. But it couldn’t be. The quick glimpse he’d gotten of the room had told him it was rarely used.

  He thought about what he had on him. Tools, his wallet, his burner phone, and his personal phone. Not that he could use the personal phone again. Ever. Or his credit cards. He hadn’t even thought about never seeing his daughters or wife again. But those were the facts laid out in front of him.

  Once he escaped from this hotel, he’d have to leave his whole life as Daniel Ott behind.

  Ott shifted his weight. He stayed in place for a moment, listening. Then he raised his left arm enough to move the sliding lock and open the door to the junction box.

  He let it swing wide. In the glow from the single light on in the corner, the room appeared to be empty. He sat there for a moment, listening. Then he stretched his legs out and let them drop over the side of the box, giving himself a moment to let the blood return to his limbs. Finally, Ott slid out of the box and landed quietly on the rough concrete floor.

  He had to smile. The cops may have figured out who he was and where he was staying, but they had not caught him. He was still smarter than them.

  Ott turned to close the door to the junction box. He didn’t want anyone getting any ideas about how he had escaped. He might use a similar hiding place again.

  As he turned from the box, Ott was startled to see a tall man casually leaning against the door to the stairwell. It took a moment, but he recognized him as Detective Michael Bennett.

  “Nice try, Ott,” Bennett said, “but you already used the same trick at the library. I’m slow, but I still pick up on patterns given enough chances.”

  Ott’s eyes darted around the room, and he reached for a tool from his pouch.

  Bennett didn’t change his tone. “Don’t even think about it.” He moved his right hand and showed Ott he was holding a pistol. “And I already sounded the alarm. You’re not getting away from NYPD this time.”
r />   Ott raised his hands slowly.

  Chapter 94

  I arrested Daniel Ott without incident.

  Arrested without incident. That’s always the best line in a report.

  With Harry Grissom’s help, we soon had Ott ensconced in an interview room at the Thirteenth Precinct. It might’ve been the fastest I ever got a murder suspect from the field to a full-blown interview.

  The room was wired for sound and video, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. He was a tech guy, probably studied engineering. That meant he would be working the room, looking for an escape hatch. Not this time.

  I sat behind a cheap wood-veneer table on an uncomfortable plastic chair facing Daniel Ott, who was struggling to get used to the constraint of having his hands cuffed behind his back. He kept knocking the metal against the back of his plastic chair.

  I pulled out my notebook and my tape recorder.

  There was also an old-style two-way mirror. We couldn’t see anything in the outer room, but I could imagine how many people were crammed in there to hear this interview of a killer who had bested law enforcement for nearly a year, though his streak could’ve been even longer.

  I had already gotten a few calls, with increasing frequency, from Emily Parker at the FBI. She probably wanted to tip me off that the FBI was about to horn in. Typical. She’d been too busy to access FBI resources when I needed them, and now that I’d found our suspect without her help, I was too busy to talk.

  It’s unusual to interview a suspect solo. Partners practice the substance and order of their questions, who will do the asking and who will take notes. This was not a usual situation. Thank God I had a boss who had faith in me. He realized I’d be better off on my own.

  I read Ott his rights and made sure he understood each of them. I asked him the usual questions, like name, age, and marital status. He didn’t seem to hold back any information. He told me about his wife and two daughters in Omaha. Then he surprised me by saying, “I read that you have ten kids. How does that work?”