Random Revenge (Detective Robert Winter Book 1)

by William Michaels

  Maybe she had been adopted . . .

  An old blue Toyota slipped past into the back lot, a woman driving, Ryder turning to look. He recognized her immediately, Melanie Upton. She was probably going to see Jason Ayers. So the front desk woman had lied to him. Ayers must be in, or on his way, why else would Upton be here?

  Ryder thought about stopping Upton to talk, but he didn’t really have a good question to ask, and besides, he’d already been blown off by one woman today, he couldn’t deal with another one, especially if she was on her way to see her boyfriend.

  Cindy had called him earlier and asked what Melanie Upton had been wearing when he had interviewed her. He remembered very clearly, but had been a little vague with Cindy. He’d sound like a pervert if he described Melanie’s outfit—or lack of it—in detail.

  Cindy said Winter thought Gruse may have photographed Upton, implying the two cases were connected, which sounded ridiculous. Winter had Cindy looking through Gruse’s photos, trying to find women in skinny jeans.

  Which was exactly what Melanie was wearing right now, Ryder admiring her very attractive rear end as she disappeared through the back door of the hotel.

  Ryder was surprised to see Cindy still at the station, she must be dragging out her overtime. The old school—the dinosaur—way of taking advantage of the system must have rubbed off on her, or else she just figured she could get away with it, no one would notice. No respect for the job, right down to her irreverent hair color.

  “Any luck with Ayers?” she asked.

  “He’s out.” Ryder had been in such a hurry to leave the Hilton he’d forgotten to ask the front desk clerk to call him when Ayers returned. Or when Ayers was finished with Melanie Upton. “Does Winter really have you here on a weekend looking through Gruse’s photos?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Did Winter catch you at the Hilton?”

  “Yeah. He’s out for lunch with his daughter.”

  “Did you meet her?” Cindy gushed. “She’s great.”

  “I saw her. What’s her name?”

  “Audrey. She works in Boston.”

  “I figured as much. She didn’t look local.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing.” Ryder couldn’t let it go. “She seems kind of—defensive, about her father.”

  “Don’t see why she should be. Proud maybe.”

  “He’s just a cop, same as me.”

  Cindy gave Ryder a long look. “Not to make any kind of comparison, Detective, but Winter is not just a cop. He’s an incredible cop.”

  “Of course you’d say that, you work for him.”

  “I work for all of you. He’s broken cases that everyone had given up for hopeless. He’s special.”

  Ryder didn’t see anything special about Winter, other than his flouting of the rules and dress code. “We all get lucky now and then.”

  “It’s not luck. Or if it is, you should all have it. Read his case files, if you don’t believe me.”

  Ryder shrugged. “My files sound pretty good too. Anyone can sound good in a closed case file.”

  “Don’t read his, read the files from the other detectives whose cases he solved. Not just in Marburg, sometimes even cases in Springfield and Boston. Detectives he doesn’t even know come looking for him to get help.”

  Ryder couldn’t remember another cop ever asking him for help on a case, a good case, anyway. “Like what?”

  “A few years ago they found this homeless guy dead at the bus station in Boston. Not too uncommon, he died from acute alcohol poisoning. The dead guy didn’t have any identification, he was a John Doe. They got some dental, but didn’t have anyone to match it to. Anyway, in Florida someplace, a real estate developer disappears after going belly up in the stock market bubble. Turns out his investor was a drug lord laundering money through the real estate. Everyone figured the real estate guy had run off to South America, or had been killed by his gangster partner. Winter figured out that the dead homeless guy was actually the missing real estate developer. He drunk himself to death.”

  Ryder was intrigued despite himself. “How’d he figure that out?”

  Cindy tapped the computer. “It’s a long story, read the file. The point is, the two cases didn’t even remotely look to be connected, and yet Winter found the link. Across states, mind you. You know how rare that is? I’m telling you, he’s special.”

  Ryder drifted away, still thinking it had to be luck, Winter somehow stumbling on the connection. But at his cubicle he pulled up the case histories, maybe because of what Cindy had said, or because he had just met Winter’s very attractive daughter.

  Ryder found the case file. Not surprisingly, given Winter’s casual attitude, it wasn’t written in formal cop speak, the written language every cop used without even being trained. Sentences meant to cover your ass in case events turned out differently than they had appeared at the time the notes were taken, or if they had to be used in court. Ryder wrote his case files up after the facts were pretty nailed down, which is why he kept a separate set of working notes. He suspected most cops did the same thing.

  What was surprising was that Winter’s notes were absent the usual subtle bravado which implied that the detective had been a veritable Sherlock Holmes to solve the crime. Ryder had read cases that were open and shut from the minute the crime had been committed, but where the detective’s notes had sounded like he’d been superman, instead of being handed a security video showing the criminal act in living color.

  The case was complicated, but the notes laid out the connection, which was easy to see after the fact. Ryder saw a few places where Winter might have caught a lucky break. The homeless guy was always near busses on their way to Florida, for instance. Any detective might have noticed that.

  Ryder read through a number of other case files, some written by Winter, some by Brooker, the old fart who was out on sick leave and hopefully to be forcefully retired. Ryder found files from other detectives, a dozen from Logan about cases Winter had worked on as part of inter agency task forces, three with the FBI. Ryder had never worked with the FBI, he’d heard they were a pain, but it could get you noticed.

  Ryder had to admit there were a lot of closed cases, tough cases. He didn’t like Winter any more than he had before, but obviously the guy had a knack for connecting unseen dots.

  And he had a really pretty daughter.

  Winter was whistling as he went into the station, he always felt good about spending time with Audrey. She had a good job, a real career, and he hated for her to have to break away from it for him, but was happy when she did. He wished they didn’t work her so hard so he could see her more often . . .

  A beefy cop named Daniels was coming out as Winter went in, they nodded to each other, Daniels holding the door for Winter. Winter stopped, something about doors . . . he was forgetting something. Doors, a guy guarding a door . . . Shit, he’d forgot to show the photos to the bouncer at the Marquee.

  Daniels, still holding the door, frowned at him. Winter mumbled, “Sorry,” and went past. How had he forgot that? Maybe he’d have to start taking notes like Ryder.

  Nah, that wasn’t going to happen.

  Inside, Cindy said, “Give me your tablet, I have some more photos for you. And we just got a call from Linda at the Hilton, she says to tell you that Ayers is in the building.”

  “You mean Elvis,” said Winter.

  “Costello?”

  “Don’t pretend I’m that old.”

  “I’m not pretending. And this Linda, she a special friend of yours?”

  “You’re not the only one with contacts at the Hilton,” said Winter, admitting nothing. “Does Ryder know?”

  Cindy jerked her head toward the detective squad room. “I just told him. He’s back there.”

  Winter found Ryder in the hall, pulling on his jacket. “Ayers?”

  “Yeah. I’m heading over now to brace him about that new video.” Ryder he
sitated. “Want to come along?”

  “I should just get a room there,” said Winter. “But sure.”

  Winter had never been on the Executive Floor of the Hilton, it was pretty nice. Even the hall carpets were plusher. Ayers had a multi room suite, and from the look of it, he did his share of in room partying.

  Ryder was taking the lead on the questioning, which was fine with Winter. It was Ryder’s case. Winter had been a little surprised when Ryder had asked him along, maybe Logan had pressured him into it.

  Ryder, his jacket still buttoned, tapped his phone and said, “Mr. Ayers, you have to admit this video doesn’t look good for you.”

  “It’s all out of context,” said Ayers. If Ayers was worried about the cops, he wasn’t trying to impress them with his outfit. He was wearing loose sweatpants, a muscle tee, and loafers with no socks.

  “Well, give us the context then. Otherwise we’ll go ask the people at that party.”

  Ayers glanced away, then said, “Look, I admit I was closer to Melanie than I might have let on. It wasn’t like we were dating, we’d just hook up. But it was over between us a really long time ago. A year or two.”

  “That’s a long time?” asked Ryder.

  “Shit, you know how many women I hook up with in a year?”

  Winter was walking around the suite, trying to get a peek into the bedroom. “Miss Upton has implied it’s more recent than that.”

  “She’s full of it,” said Ayers.

  Winter would have kept quiet at that point, just given Ayers the silent, disbelieving treatment, but Ryder kept prodding. “If you have something to tell us, Mr. Ayers, you best do it now, before we find a witness who says otherwise. At that point it goes beyond he said, she said.”

  Ayers shrugged. “Ask anyone you want. Like I already told you, Melanie is doing this all for publicity. You think that new video just showed up out of the blue? Melanie must have staged the whole thing.”

  “You saying she made you grab her?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She’d playing everyone, don’t you see? It’s a big act.”

  Ryder flipped a page in his notebook. “Why don’t you give me a few names of the people at the party, we can talk to them, see if your story checks out.”

  Winter had finished his circuit of the room. Other than the messy bed, clothes thrown everywhere, three empty champagne bottles, and a heap of Starbuck’s cups in the trash, there wasn’t much to see. He leaned against the bar. “Why don’t we start with Ashley Hanna.”

  Ryder glanced at Winter, nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’m sure she’ll back you up, right Mr. Ayers?”

  “Of course she will. But I wasn’t with her the night Melanie claims to have been assaulted.” Ayers pointed a finger at Ryder. “Wait a minute. Melanie put you up to this, didn’t she?”

  “Put us up to what?” said Ryder, miffed.

  “To talk to Ashley. That way Melanie can leak it to the press that the cops were questioning Ashley about me and her. It would play right into her story.”

  Winter saw Ryder about to argue, so he cut in, “We can avoid the—negative publicity—if you can just give us someone to talk to who knows where you were the night Miss Upton was assaulted.”

  “I can’t believe I have to prove my innocence against an unfounded accusation. You know what kind of problem you are causing?”

  Ryder said, “I’m sure you don’t want us wasting our time and yours on this accusation by Miss Upton if it isn’t true. As soon as this gets cleared up, the better it is for everyone.”

  Ayers looked away. “The bitch is killing me,” he muttered. His eyes darted from Winter to Ryder. “Look, you understand, I got all kinds of women coming on to me, especially since the show hit the top of the ratings. And Ashley, man, I’m telling you, every time there is another story about me and Ashley, I get women crawling all over me.”

  “Sure, sure, we get it,” said Ryder. “They want to know what you got, how you managed to snag Ashley Hanna.”

  Winter winced, but Ayers pointed at Ryder. “You got it. I’m getting more action than Michael Stevens. In fact . . .”

  “What?” prodded Ryder. He put down his notebook. “Just between us guys.”

  Ayers looked around as if someone else might be listening. Then he leaned toward Ryder. “You know why I couldn’t have assaulted Melanie that night? The night she said she was watching the Tony Awards with me? Because I was watching the Tony Awards on tv, but with another woman. Suzanne Mance.”

  “Wait,” said Ryder. “Isn’t that Michael Stevens’s live-in girlfriend? The woman he had a kid with?”

  “Exactly,” said Ayers. “Now can you understand why I haven’t told you? I’d get creamed by Stevens, he has a lot of pull. Not to mention it would screw up my thing with Ashley.” He looked back and forth from Winter to Ryder. “You guys got to keep this between us.”

  Ryder glanced at Winter, who shrugged, non committal, he wasn’t going to promise Ayers anything, and hoped Ryder was smart enough not to either. “Maybe if we talk to Suzanne . . .”

  “Sure, I can make that happen. She’s in LA but I can get you her private number, you can call her direct. No need to make it public, right?”

  “Everything we do is confidential,” said Ryder. “Unless of course some charges are filed and it goes to court.”

  “That won’t happen,” said Ayers. He picked up the hotel notepad, scribbled, and handed it to Ryder. “You can call her right now, so you don’t think I prepped her or anything.”

  Winter was sure if Ayers needed Suzanne Mance as an alibi he would have already warned her, but unless Ayers was an idiot, he would have chosen a different woman as his alibi. Or maybe he was really smart, finding the one person who’d have no reason to lie about Ayers’s whereabouts, since it would obviously put her in a really bad situation.

  “Maybe you could step into the bedroom for a few minutes,” said Ryder. “We’ll call her right now, clear this up.”

  “Sure, anything,” said Ayers.

  Winter stopped Ayers before he left the room. “One other question, it’s not related, but since we’re here . . . I’m working this other case, there’s this guy,” Winter was pulling out his trusty tablet, “he seems to be tied into the acting scene, he’s a photographer.” He showed Ayers Gruse’s photo. “Do you know him?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Ayers. “He doing shots for the show?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Winter. “But he used to be in LA, now he’s here, I thought maybe you might have crossed paths.”

  Ayers sounded indignant. “Shit, I’ve crossed paths with almost as many photographers as I have women.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Winter hated riding shotgun, so he’d convinced Ryder to let him drive his personal car to the Hilton, Ryder grumbling all the way about how unofficial it looked. Ryder appeared less perturbed on the way back to the station, filling Winter in on his conversation with Suzanne Mance. He sounded downright star struck.

  Winter never understood the general infatuation with famous people, especially actresses, but he had to admit, Mance was good looking; he’d seen her in a few movies. “Did she sound surprised you were calling?”

  “Maybe a little. I couldn’t swear to it that Ayers hadn’t tipped her off. She backed him up about being with him the night of the Upton assault. She said she was in Boston for an interview and she and Ayers hooked up in some romantic little inn. Should be easy enough to check out. I think she’s in love.”

  “So much in love she’d lie for him?”

  “Who knows,” said Ryder. “Maybe I should fly out to LA, interview her in person.”

  “Yeah, try that out on Logan, see how far it gets you.”

  “If she’s Ayers’s primary alibi, and Upton clearly identifies him as the man who assaulted her, then we’ll have to get a statement.”

  “If and when Upton does that,” said Winter, “and I’m not sure she will, then we’ll just get a subpoena for Suzanne Manc
e to appear here. That by itself might change her story.”

  “She probably wouldn’t have to comply with a subpoena across state lines.”

  “If she’s so into Ayers, she should be willing to come voluntarily.”

  Ryder said, “If she’s telling the truth, then Ayers is off the hook for the assault.”

  “I don’t get these Hollywood people. You said Mance is Stevens’s live-in girlfriend. And yet Ayers is sleeping with her, all while he’s supposed to be dating Ashley Hanna, and at the same time, Upton is claiming Ayers is with her.”

  “The way the other half lives, I guess,” said Ryder.

  Winter glanced over at Ryder. He was looking out the window, almost dreamily, making Winter think Ryder was envious rather than making a moral judgment about the other half. “Ayers got pretty worked up when he was talking about Upton. His history with her might have been more recent than he let on, or more intense.”

  “Maybe they can’t stand each other but they’re addicted to each other. And all this talk about other women is just that, talk.”

  “Could be,” said Winter. “If Upton is suggesting she and Ayers are involved, but not making a false assault charge, she hasn’t really done anything legally wrong.”

  “Right. She could be fabricating the whole thing just to get a job, as Ayers said.”

  As Winter pulled into the station lot, Ryder asked, “Why did you show Ayers the picture of Gruse?”

  “Why not? Gruse took photos of actresses, Ayers is an actor. As good a connection as any. We just found out they’re all sleeping together. Maybe they all get their pictures taken by the same photographer.”

  A sticky note on Winter’s computer screen from Cindy directed him to look at a file folder, so Winter dutifully clicked on it. Inside were other folders of images, each labeled with a style of clothing, skinny jeans, yoga pants, tights, leggings, skirts, skorts . . . Winter had no idea what a skort was.

  He began at the top, and up popped Gruse’s photos of women in tight jeans. Winter started to work through them, stopped, and since there was no one else in the detective room except Ryder, called out, “Hey, come look at these pictures.”