“We get almost as many of those calls as we do reservations. Not likely they’d give me their name. It’s not like anyone would call them back, some loser trying to hook up by phone.”
Winter looked at Jake, who said, “Told you.”
“If he was calling to try to get with a waitress, he was probably here at some point,” said Winter.
“What did he look like?”
Winter pulled out his old flip phone and found a photo of Gruse that Cindy had stored on it for him.
“Jeez, they still make those?” said Kate, squinting at the small fuzzy image. “I don’t think I’ve seen him. Have you asked Tiffany?”
“She’s the other hostess,” explained Jake. “She’s out today.”
“She’s got an audition,” said Kate.
“She told me she was sick,” said Jake.
Kate winked at Winter. “So do I when I have an audition.”
Jake spread his hands. “See what I have to put up with?”
“I’ll come by at some point and see Tiffany,” said Winter. “And try to bring better photos.”
“Get a new phone,” said Kate.
“Yeah, yeah, everyone tells me that,” said Winter. He waited for Kate to head back to her station and then took a bite of his steak. It was pretty good and he said so.
“Yeah, fuck those greens,” said Jake.
A half hour later, outside the restaurant, Winter blinked in the bright sun, wishing he had said screw it to the rules and taken the beer. The steak had been spicy, a good spicy, but calling for a cold one. In the end he’d tried to pay for it, but Jake had said he couldn’t accept money if there wasn’t a bill, and since there wasn’t a bill, what was Winter paying for? Winter had left the money on the bar, a big tip for a glass of water, Jake couldn’t stop him from doing that. Cops got free coffee all over the city, maybe all over the country; Winter couldn’t remember the last time he’d paid for a cup. Was that off limits too these days? Ryder would know, but he’d be damned if he was going to ask Ryder. Ryder probably paid for his coffee, his sugar, and his creamer.
Winter felt the beginning of a thread on Gruse, a guy looking to meet models, calling around. It could be nothing, a new photographer in town, getting established. Or just some average guy who noticed an attractive waitress. As Kate said, it happened all the time.
He started back toward his car, stopped, looking up and down the street. Didn’t he have another address to check out? He mentally ticked off his stops, he was usually good at names and numbers, but was drawing an uncharacteristic blank. Was it six addresses or seven?
He shook his head, getting old, he’d have to start writing things down. Shit, pretty soon he’d need reading glasses.
CHAPTER 26
The Starbucks across the street from Winter was packed, a long line inside visible through the window. Winter idly wondered if they gave cops free coffees; the few times he’d gone in a Starbucks had been to use the john. He was more Dunkin Donuts than Starbucks, maybe it was an age thing. The Starbucks customers all looked young, but on the other hand, who else would be sitting outside drinking coffee in the middle of a workday?
Winter didn’t know if Gruse had called Starbucks, but it wouldn’t hurt to show his picture around at the coffee shop. He’d just learned that guys often called restaurants to try to hook up with waitresses they’d met, why not Starbucks?
Winter’s phone rang. He answered without checking to see who it was. He didn’t give the number out to too many people, if he got a call, it was from someone he wanted to talk to. Usually.
“Detective Winter, it’s Cindy. I’ve been going through Lenny Gruse’s photos with Dan. We’ve been trying to sort them in different ways, see if we can find patterns. We think we have something. A lot of the women only appear to show up in a few pictures. But others are all over the place, sometimes dozens of shots of the same woman in different locations. Dan thinks maybe Gruse was stalking them.”
Winter leaned against a street sign. “Or he just had more opportunities to photograph those women.”
“Maybe. It’s weird. Some of the photos are full on shots, close ups, like the women wanted to be photographed. Others are just taken on the street, at odd angles. Dan thinks Gruse might have been walking around, taking pictures of women without them knowing, with his camera on a strap and just shooting away.”
“Would he be able to focus? Or know what he was shooting at?”
“Dan says Gruse could have set the focus beforehand. And he could have deleted any photos that didn’t capture anything. Dan’s working to see if he can recover some of the deleted shots.”
Winter was still looking at the Starbucks. “You said you recognized some of the backgrounds in the photos. Can you group them that way? Pull all the shots that are taken near a Starbucks, for example?”
“Sure.”
“Do that. I want to see if Gruse was calling around, trying to connect with women who he’d met while they were working. Or a particular woman. Concentrate on restaurants, bars, coffee shops. Cross reference it to Gruse’s phone list.”
“Got it.”
“If you find any that match, make some copies of the best photos. Same goes for any women who show up a lot. We can try to identify the women, and see if they know Gruse.”
“No problem. You want me to send them to your phone?”
Winter was thinking of the hostess Kate’s comment about his old technology. “My screen is too small. Call me when you have something and I’ll stop by the station for prints.”
He thanked Cindy and rang off, punched up Ryder. “Any luck?”
“Nothing. One lady at the dry cleaner thought she recognized Gruse, but she was also sure she’d seen my niece and nephew who are on my screensaver, and they’ve never been to Marburg.”
“She the only person working there? I mean, the only person a customer would have come in contact with?”
“I don’t know, why?”
Winter explained his idea about Gruse maybe trying to hook up. “We need to start asking about who talks to the customers.”
“Man, don’t make me go back there, that old woman will bend my ear. And what do I ask her, is there someone else good looking who works here instead of you?”
“Just keep it in mind going forward, find out who works out front. We’ll go back if this idea pans out. Cindy and Dan are trying to identify spots Gruse may have photographed women. We’ll have a lot more places to hit soon.”
“Still doesn’t mean anything, if you ask me. What, you think some woman who Gruse photographed on the street was so mad at him for taking a picture she killed him?”
“Gruse might have been doing more than just taking pictures. Let’s stick with it for a while.”
“He had a lot of photos, what if there are a hundred women?”
“Then it will be longer than a while.”
“I still think it’s drugs. I’m going to work that angle instead.”
Winter pinched the bridge of his nose. Brooker better get better soon, he couldn’t take much more of Ryder. To mollify Ryder he said, “Anything’s possible. Nothing stopping you from doing both. Go by the station later, Cindy will print out pictures of any women who Gruse might have stalked.”
“Can’t she just send them to our phones? Easier than carrying a bunch of photos around. You’re not still doing that, are you?”
“Of course not,” said Winter. He hung up, feeling like a Neanderthal. Had another idea, called the station again. “Cindy, see if you can find any record of women reporting being stalked by an unidentified photographer out where Gruse lived in LA.”
“That might be a long list,” said Cindy. “Being Hollywood and all.”
“I know, but try anyway. And do it the other way around as well. Take all of the women Gruse took pictures of out there—the ones we have names on—and see if any of them reported being stalked.”
“I’m not sure if California has a statewide database of police reports.”
“That will take a while. But I’ll get on it. You think Gruse may have stalked women there and attacked them?”
“Just pulling at strings.” He was about to hang up, thought about Ryder. “Hey Cindy? If Ryder calls in, tell him you found a few photos of a woman that look like they were taken outside of the dry cleaner.”
“You want me to lie to him?”
“You’re looking at photos, right? Call it artistic license.”
Winter held the door open for two teenage girls who were adroitly carrying coffees while texting. The line at the Starbucks counter was seven deep, so he drifted toward the back to wait. Along the far wall a red-haired woman with a ring in her nose was kneeling on the floor, stacking bags of a coffee with a name Winter couldn’t pronounce. She appeared to be in her late twenties, making her the oldest worker in the shop.
“Be done in a sec if you want something on this shelf,” she said without looking up.
“That coffee any good?” Winter asked.
“Beats me. I drink herbal tea. But we can’t keep this one in stock.”
“Huh.” Maybe Winter needed to expand his coffee horizons. “I’m with the Marburg Police. Have you seen this man in here?” He pointed his phone toward the woman, feeling slightly embarrassed at the small screen.
The redhead didn’t seem to mind. She looked at Gruse’s photo, idly touching her nose ring, which gave Winter another idea, maybe they could identify the women by jewelry.
“I don’t think so. I mostly work in the back, you should ask at the counter.”
Winter didn’t want to wait. “Could you do me a favor and pass this around?”
Her green eyes narrowed on him. “I’m not going to get anyone in trouble, am I?”
“Nothing like that,” Winter assured her. Unless of course they happened to be the person who stabbed Gruse. “We’re just trying to get some information to help him out, he was the victim of a crime.”
The redhead stood up. “Better than stacking coffee.” She took Winter’s phone and slipped behind the counter. A series of head shakes told Winter he wasn’t going to learn anything here.
The redhead returned his phone. “Sorry.”
“No problem, thanks.” Winter took one last look at the unpronounceable coffee and actually considered buying some, until he noticed the price, fourteen ninety five for a small bag. It couldn’t be that good.
Instead he headed back to his car. He hadn’t learned anything about Gruse but he did discover one piece of information: apparently this Starbucks didn’t offer cops a free coffee.
At three o’clock Winter pulled into the parking lot of the Marburg Way, a modern chrome and glass throwback diner, everything made to look old except the prices. Not Winter’s favorite place, but he’d been there often enough, one of the few twenty four hour spots open on his route home.
Tired of having witnesses squinting at his phone, he’d run into the office with the intent of getting some large photos printed and to see how Cindy was progressing. She didn’t have much news for him but she did have a present—a tablet. Winter had eyed it warily, much like a stone age man might have studied a car. Cindy joked that it wouldn’t bite—Winter wasn’t convinced, but allowed her to patiently show him a few basic moves. She had loaded up pictures of Gruse as well as photos he’d taken of women working at restaurants and shops throughout Marburg. Winter actually recognized a few faces, especially now that he had a frame of reference for where he had seen them. He gingerly took the gadget.
Before going into the diner, Winter practiced on the tablet. He managed to get the photos on the screen and swiped his way through the collection, looking for patterns. He had some experience with stalkers, they tended to focus on a type, blondes, or petite women, even goths. Yet the women in Gruse’s photos were all over the map, tall, short, every color hair possible in nature and from a bottle, well dressed, in ratty jeans, the entire gamut. The only thing they had in common was that they were all young and attractive. Maybe Gruse was just looking for models after all. Or he was a lonely guy. Or both.
Cindy had organized the photos by location, and Winter pecked until he found the Marburg Way diner folder. He recognized one of the waitresses, a brunette with eyes that seemed too big for her face. The photos appeared to have been taken covertly, as if the camera had been set down on the table. The surreptitious nature of the images made them cringe worthy, Winter feeling a little sleazy just looking at them.
The diner wasn’t too busy. Winter spotted the brunette working one of the tables, so he bypassed the counter and slipped into a booth.
The waitress carried her tray to the kitchen, emerged a few seconds later, and without breaking stride picked up a mug and a pot of coffee on her way. At Winter’s table she set down the mug, poured the coffee, and smiled.
“You’re here early,” she said. “I usually see you at night.”
Winter was surprised, he didn’t think she had ever served him. Her chrome name tag said, Mandy. “My job,” he said.
“Don’t tell me, let me guess.” Mandy tapped her chin. “You’re a fireman, right?”
“No, I—”
“At one of the clubs downtown? You’re a bouncer?”
Winter must have frowned, because she kept going. “The late shift at the mill?”
“I’m with the police.”
“Oh. You got me, I wouldn’t have guessed that. You don’t look like a cop.”
Winter got that a lot, it didn’t bother him, it often helped. “How did you know I drank coffee?”
“Just because I don’t know where you work doesn’t mean I didn’t pay attention,” Mandy said.
Winter fumbled for the tablet. “Have you seen this man?”
Mandy did her chin tap as she looked at Gruse’s photo. “I don’t think so. We get a lot of customers.”
Winter didn’t want to tell Mandy her picture was on Gruse’s camera, which meant Gruse had to have been at the diner. Instead he prodded, “Let me show you another picture of him.” He swiped across the screen, overshot, had to go back.
“Nope, can’t say I have. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t here.”
“You seem pretty observant.”
Mandy gave him that smile again, her doe eyes widening. “You I remember. Him—I wouldn’t give him a second glance.”
Winter made four more stops at locations Cindy had identified. At the first two the women in Gruse’s photos were not working, but Winter showed the picture of Gruse anyway. He considered asking for a shift schedule, but it would require too much explanation, and someone would certainly get their nose out of joint and demand a warrant. Winter would go down that path later if he had to, although he wasn’t sure he had enough probable cause yet. No one remembered seeing Gruse, and Winter made a note to come back to both places later.
At the third stop, yet another Starbucks—Winter wondering how Cindy had figured out this was a different store from the one downtown, since they all looked the same—Winter spotted the woman right away, deftly pouring shots of espresso with both hands. She didn’t look at all like Mandy or any of the other women he had been trying to find; she was a bit older, her nose a little crooked, her body nondescript in her green apron. But when she looked up to hand a customer his drink her eyes flashed, her whole face brightening, a look that said, I’m so happy to serve you! Winter’s first inclination was that she knew the customer, but when she turned on the smile for the next person in line he realized it was a practiced look.
And suddenly a piece of the puzzle dropped in place. Gruse’s type wasn’t blondes or brunettes or redheads, it was a look, a hard to put y
our finger on expression, a glance that made the person they were speaking to feel special. This woman had it, the pixie Mandy had it, as did the hostess at Jake’s restaurant. Winter had noticed that skill in actors and actresses, the ability to turn an expression on and off while still making it seem natural. He’d go back through Gruse’s photos later with this in mind.
The woman behind the espresso machine didn’t look like she was going to get a break, so Winter stood in line and ordered a regular coffee. If he had any more coffee shops on his list he’d waste half his day pissing. When his drink was ready the woman called out, “Tall black,” and gave Winter the special smile when he picked it up.
“Excuse me,” Winter said, holding up the tablet, which he was finding surprisingly useful. “I’m a cop, and I’m looking for information on this man. Have you seen him here?”
Someone yelled, “Grande latte, extra hot!” The woman glanced at the tablet as she repeated the order. “Should I have?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s been in here.” Winter had studied the angles while waiting. He figured Gruse had been sitting in a small corner table when he had taken her photo, the counter blocking all of her below the neck.
“Can’t say I remember,” she said. “I only get a quick look when I hand out the drinks. Did you ask at the register?”
“Not yet, I will.”
“Next time tell them who you are before you order, they’ll give you regular coffee for free. If you’re really a cop, that is.”
Winter grinned. “You doubt me?”
The woman was already launching her prize winning look for the next customer as she said, “Cops wear uniforms or suits.”
Winter glanced down at his tactical pants and boots. He’d have to get way more than just free coffee to make him wear a suit.
At the fourth stop—a loud juice bar called Wholesome Drinks—two young women of indeterminate teenage years sitting at the bar mooning over a college aged boy squeezing oranges overheard Winter asking about Gruse. One of them, a blue eyed dimpled blonde, asked to see the photo. Winter spun the tablet their way, and they both agreed they had been stopped by Gruse one day in the Marburg city park.
Random Revenge (Detective Robert Winter Book 1) Page 30