“What can I do ya for?” he asked with a friendly growl.
Ben took the business card from his shirt pocket. “Hi. I’m Paul Gulletti, and I’m a reporter with the Weekly. I was hoping you could tell me something about one of your guests. He had a—an unscheduled early checkout. His name was Ronald Craig.”
The old desk clerk frowned at him. “Gulletti, that’s Italian, isn’t it? You don’t look Italian.”
“I take after my mother’s side,” Ben replied. “Now, about this guest.”
“Yeah, about that,” he said. “I think your ‘early checkout’ crack was in bad taste. I hope you don’t write that kind of smart-ass stuff in your newspaper. The man’s dead.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” the woman piped up. “Give him a break, Walter. He’s cute.”
The old man shot her a look over his spectacles. “Down, girl,” he muttered. Then he glanced at Ben. “What is it you want, Mr. Gulletti?”
“I thought you might tell me something about this Ronald Craig. For starters, I was wondering how long he’s been staying here.”
The gruff old man didn’t respond.
Ben shrugged. “And, of course, you’d know if he made any long-distance phone calls. And maybe you’ve seen him with someone.”
“The police already asked me all that.” The desk clerk cocked his head to one side. “They’re down the hall right now, poking around in Room 29. Why don’t you go talk to them?”
Ben tried to smile. “Well, it’s always tough getting a straight answer from those guys. You look like a smart man. I thought you might know something more than what the police could tell me.”
Stone-faced, the old desk clerk stared at him. Ben could tell that he wasn’t going to get anything from him. He’d thought the slick-reporter angle might give him an in, but no such luck.
“Looks like I’m barking up the wrong tree,” Ben said finally.
“And you’re digging around the wrong yard,” the old clerk grunted.
“Well, good night.” Starting for the door, Ben caught the woman’s eye again. “Thanks for trying to put in a good word. You’re pretty cute, too.”
She grinned and let out a startled little laugh.
Ben retreated outside. He didn’t know what he’d expected to learn from the desk clerk. It wasn’t like the old buzzard would know anything about the Ronald Craig investigation.
Ben glanced around the gloomy parking lot. No sign of the taxi. It had driven off.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He trudged toward the highway and stopped at the curb. The traffic on Aurora was sailing by at about forty-five miles an hour. He tried in vain to wave down one cab, and then another.
“Need a lift?”
Ben turned to see the long-legged redhead from the hotel lobby. Standing, she was nearly as tall as he was. Her black dress hit her at mid-thigh. She held a big purse with a red garment draped over it. She smiled. “You can’t just tell a girl she’s cute, then walk out the door, honey. Where are you going?”
“I thought I’d head home.”
She nudged him. “I’ll give you a ride if you buy me a drink.”
Ben hesitated. A semi truck whooshed by, and he stepped back a bit.
“Well, don’t leave me dangling too long, honey. It’s not very flattering. Plus, I’m cold.” She took the red garment from around her purse strap, then shook it out. She donned a red vest with little anchors all over it. Her name tag was on the lapel: Wendy.
“You work at the hotel?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m Wendy. You were talking to the wrong clerk in there, hon. Grandpa Walter started about fifteen minutes ago. He missed all the excitement. But I’ve been stuck in this dump since two o’clock this afternoon. There’s been a lot of weird stuff going on today, too. I let the cops into Room 29 about a half hour ago.”
“Why didn’t you mention anything back there?” Ben asked.
Wendy shrugged. “Well, that was before you said I was cute.” She turned and strolled to her car, an old red Ford Probe.
Ben followed her. “So—can you tell me anything about Ronald Craig?”
“Hmmm, I have some stuff you might use in your newspaper, as long as you don’t mention my name.” She unlocked her car door. “And as long as you buy me that drink.”
He nodded. “I’ll buy you a whole bottle of champagne if you want.”
Wendy stared at him over the roof of her car. She smiled coyly. “Ha! All of a sudden I’m not so sure I should get into this car with you. Maybe you’re some kind of serial killer or something.”
Ben managed to laugh. “Well, I’m some kind of something.”
Wendy giggled. “Yeah, you’ve got a killer smile, all right. C’mon….”
She ducked into the car, leaned over, and unlocked the passenger door for him.
“I don’t get it,” Scott said. He was sitting at the kitchen counter with a glass of wine in front of him. “What terrible crime did you commit that you can’t get involved with the cops now?”
“You said you weren’t going to ask.” Hannah stood across the counter from him. She was too wired to sit down.
“It’s just that I can’t see you ever doing anything really bad. How can it be so awful that you’d let these murders go unreported?”
“Scott, please,” she whispered. “I think you’d better go.”
He sighed. “All right, all right, I’m sorry. I’ll stop asking about your deep, dark past.”
“I still need to be alone,” Hannah said. “It has nothing to do with you.”
“Are you kidding? After what just happened you want to be left alone? I mean, God, look at me. I’m still shaking. We’ve both just experienced something really horrible, Hannah. If you don’t want to go to the police, I think we have to approach this in the only other sensible way. We should both get incredibly drunk.”
Hannah let out a little laugh, but she started to cry at the same time. She held back her tears. “You’re sweet, but I drink too much already. Anyway, you really need to leave. I’m kicking you out.”
Climbing off the barstool, he gave her a wary smile. “You sure that’s what you want?”
Hannah nodded. She walked Scott to the door, opened it, then impulsively hugged him. “Thank you for being a good friend,” she managed to say. “Call me when you get home. Let—let me know you made it back safe.”
She watched Scott retreat toward the stairwell. He turned to glance back her. She waved, knowing that she would never see him again. She would miss him. She’d even miss the stupid video store.
Hannah ducked back inside. She took a napkin from the counter on the way to her bedroom. She wiped her eyes and nose. Opening the closet, she pulled her suitcase from the top shelf. She tried to be quiet about it. She didn’t want to wake Guy—not until she was finished packing.
For now, he needed his sleep. In a couple of hours, they would be leaving Seattle, probably by bus. Hannah didn’t know yet where they were going. But they had a long journey ahead.
“Those tits are fake,” Wendy said, gazing up at the stripper on stage. “Pure silicone.”
Wendy slipped out of her anchor-logo vest, unfastened a couple of shirt buttons, then leaned back in the corner booth.
Ben started to sit down across from her, but she patted the spot next to her and winked at him. “C’mon a little closer. I won’t bite you. That’s for later. Ha!”
Wendy had driven him to a strip joint with the name “CLUB FOXY” in pink neon script above the door. “NIGHTLY SHOWS,” it said on the illuminated yellow sign by the parking lot. “12 BEAUTIFUL PUSSYS & NO DOGS!”
Wendy seemed to know the doorman, and he’d let them in without the ten-dollar cover charge. Apparently, she also knew the stripper, who at the moment wore only a silver G-string. She wrapped herself around a pole at the end of the stage’s catwalk. Despite her sexy gyrations, she appeared bored. She was a trim blonde with a hard edge, and breasts that seemed a bit too perky.
“If
you came in this dump about three years ago,” Wendy said, lighting a cigarette, “you’d have seen her as a brunette, and flat as a pancake. Two peas on a breadboard. She says it’s because she had a baby two years ago that suddenly she’s got a rack. But I know a boob job when I see one—or two, rather. Hell, I’ve had a couple of kids, and it didn’t give me a pair of headlights like that. The kids are in high school now, living with their dad.” She cleared her throat, then said in a loud voice. “So, who do we have to fuck to get a drink around here?”
She had chatted nonstop ever since they’d pulled out of the Seafarer Inn parking lot. Ben had tried to ask her about Ronald Craig, but she’d insisted, I’m not talking about him until you buy me that drink, handsome.
A thin, blond waitress sauntered up to their booth. She wore a pink tube top and silver shorts. “Hey, Wendy,” she said, with a tired smile. “What are you having tonight?”
“You mean, besides this tall drink of water?” she asked, nudging Ben. “Ha! I’ll take an Absolut, hon.”
“A light beer, please,” Ben said.
The waitress rolled her eyes, then sighed. “I’m supposed to find out who the hell you are, and what’s going on.”
“Well, tell Rick to mind his own goddamn business,” Wendy piped up. “If it’s okay for him to bang Miss Silicone Tits up there, I can certainly step out for a drink with whomever I please.” She turned to Ben. “Is it whomever or whoever? I can never remember.”
“I think you’re right: whomever,” Ben muttered.
“He’s a journalist,” Wendy pointed out. “You can tell that to Rick. And tell him not to water down my goddamn drink. Thanks, Charmaine.”
Once the waitress stepped away, Ben turned to Wendy. “So I’m here to make your boyfriend jealous. Is that it?”
“Soon to be ex-boyfriend.”
Ben nodded. “Okay. Well, I just bought you a drink a minute ago, so it’s payback time. What can you tell me about Ronald Craig?”
“Put your arm around me,” Wendy said.
Ben complied. “How long was Mr. Craig a guest at the hotel?”
She snuggled up to him. “A little over a week.”
“In all that time, did you ever see him with anyone?”
“Nope. A lone wolf that one was.”
“Did he get any faxes at the hotel?”
Wendy shook her head. “No phone records, either. I saw him walking in and out of the lobby a couple of times, talking on a cell phone.”
“Did you take any messages for him?” Ben asked.
“Nope.”
“Until today, did anything—unusual happen with him?”
“Until today?” She shook her head again. “Not really.”
“Back at the hotel, before we even got in the car, you said there was a lot of ‘weird stuff’ going on today. What did you mean by that?”
“Well, the maid reported that when she went in to clean his room at eleven o’clock this morning, it looked like somebody had broken into the place. The window was open. Someone had screwed with the lock.”
Ben frowned. “Could she tell if anything was missing?”
“There was a laptop carrying case, and a cord, but no computer and no computer discs. He also had a briefcase, but it had been emptied out.” She suddenly kissed Ben on the cheek. “Heads up. Charmaine’s back.”
The waitress set the drinks down. “Rick said these are on him. And he asks you to please come talk to him. He wanted me to be sure to say please.”
“Well, tell him ‘thanks,’ and I’ll think about it,” Wendy replied.
The waitress nodded, then walked away. Ben took a sip of his beer. On stage, the silicone blonde was lying on the floor with her legs in the air, forming a “V.”
Ben put down his beer. “Sounds like Rick wants to make up.”
“Well, let him suffer a bit longer.” She reached for her drink.
“Did you report the break-in to the police?”
She sighed. “Yeah, but all they did was send over some rookie to make a report. When three of them came back tonight, I figured it was about the break-in. But then one of the cops said this Craig fella was killed in a hit-and-run.”
“Did they tell you anything else?” Ben asked.
“No, but I stood in the doorway for a couple of minutes while they went through the room, so I heard a few things.”
“Like what?”
“Like he was a private detective, working out of some agency in—um…”
“Milwaukee?” he said.
“Yeah, that’s right. How did you know?”
“I spent some time listening to the cops, too. Did you get the name of the detective agency, by any chance?”
“Huh.” She frowned. “Great Something. It was written on the tag on his computer case…Great Lakes Investigations, that’s it.”
She took another sip from her drink. “Y’know, they must have forgotten about me, because they just started talking like I wasn’t there. One of them said that whoever this Ronald Craig was tailing—or is it whomever?”
Ben quickly shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I get it. Go on. Whoever he was tailing…”
“Yeah, well, apparently this guy’s pretty damn crafty. The cop said everything this Ronald Craig fella had written down—on his laptop, in his briefcase—it all just vanished, went up in smoke. They said where this hit-and-run happened, Craig’s car was broken into and cleaned out.”
“Did you hear anything else?” Ben asked.
“Nothing worth remembering,” Wendy replied. She sipped her drink, then studied her glass for a moment. “Think I should go talk with him?”
“You mean Rick?” Ben asked. “Sure. I need to scram anyway. You can tell him we had a lovers’ quarrel.”
“Ha! I like that,” Wendy said. “You’re good!”
“Thanks,” Ben said. “You sure you don’t remember anything else the cops might have said? Anything?”
She shook her head.
“Did they mention any names? For example, Hannah Doyle?”
Wendy shook her head again. “Sorry.”
“What about the name Rae Palmer?”
“Nope, never heard of him.”
“Rae’s a woman. R-A-E. She was a friend of mine. She’s been missing for about five weeks now.”
Wendy shrugged. “Wish I could help ya, hon.”
“It’s okay, you already have.” Ben stood up, pulled out his wallet, then set a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Next round is on me, okay? Thanks for your help. Hope you and Rick work things out.”
She raised her glass to toast him. “You’re sweet.”
Ben headed out of the strip club. Outside, the cool night air felt good. There was a pay phone at the edge of the parking lot. He called Hannah’s number. After three rings, he wondered if maybe she’d given him a fake number.
Then her machine came on. “This is 555-1007,” Hannah announced on the recording. The voice didn’t sound quite like her. “No one can come to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the beep.”
“Hannah?” he said, after the tone. “Are you there? Okay, well, listen, whoever this stalker is, he covered all his tracks. He broke into Ronald Craig’s hotel room and his car, cleaning out all evidence of the investigation. I don’t think the cops have anything yet. My guess is it’ll take another day before they can—”
He heard an abrupt click on the line. “Hello?” she said.
“Hannah?”
“Yes. I was just down the hall.”
“I’m glad,” he said, leaning against the pay phone enclosure. “I was worried something had happened to you. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. You said there’s no evidence of Craig’s investigation—at all?”
“That’s right. I’m guessing it’ll take at least another day for the police to get any information from Ronald Craig’s detective agency. Even then, I’m not sure how much help they’ll be. The agency might not even know anything. Craig could have been freelancing
. Anyway, I really need to talk with you. Can I come over there?”
“Now?”
“Yeah, I can be there in a few minutes,” Ben said. “I won’t stay long.”
“No, I’m sorry. It—it’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow in class, okay? We can talk then. We’ll go out afterward. All right?”
Ben hesitated. “Okay, I guess. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Hannah?”
There was a click on the other end of the line. She’d hung up.
Ten
The phone rang, and Hannah felt her insides tighten up like a fist.
For the last several hours, she’d been expecting—and dreading—a call from the police. Perhaps they wouldn’t phone; they’d just show up at her door. Either way, she knew they’d be coming for her eventually. She was living on borrowed time.
The telephone hadn’t rung since Ben’s call around midnight last night. That had been nearly twelve hours ago. At the time, Hannah had thought she’d be long gone by now—on a bus with Guy, on their way to another city.
For every minute she stayed, Hannah knew she was pushing her luck. She risked exposure, arrest, and having her son taken away from her. But the police weren’t her only concern. That maniac was still out there, stalking her, and last night she’d seen what he was capable of.
She stood by the kitchen counter, staring at the phone. Her stomach was in knots.
Joyce was unloading a small bag of groceries. “Aren’t you going to answer that?” she asked, a bottle of Children’s Tylenol in her hand.
Hannah shook her head. “I’m screening.”
The answering machine picked up. Hannah anxiously waited for the beep.
“Hello, Hannah? It’s Britt, calling from work. Are you there?”
Despite her relief, Hannah still couldn’t move. She tried to get her breathing right again.
“I’m wondering how much longer you’ll be, because I’m supposed to get together with Webb today. I really don’t mind filling in, but if you won’t be coming in for another hour or so, I just need to call him….”
Watch Them Die Page 13