“Maybe. But how’re you going to access the video feeds? I don’t think even I can get that.”
“I’ve got another connection that might help.”
Cal shot me a bemused look as I pulled out my cell phone and dialed.
I winked at him as the call was answered. “Detective Spillman,” I said. “It’s Reed Ferguson. I need a favor.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“I need to speak with your manager,” Sarah Spillman asked the woman at the Holiday Inn front desk, then flashed a badge at her.
“Uh, sure, ma’am,” the woman said. She was young, college-aged, and was flustered by the badge. She ducked into a door just around the corner from the front desk and a second later returned with a chubby man with thick gray hair.
When I’d called Detective Spillman, she’d pressed me hard about what I knew about Avery and Brittany’s deaths. I’d told her I probably knew less than she did, but that I wanted help tracking down a woman. She’d pushed even harder for why, but I didn’t tell her much, just that this was a person of interest in a case I was working. She didn’t like me throwing ‘person of interest’ at her, but she relented when I said that I’d get the information somehow, using her was just easier. After threats about arresting me if I broke the law, she agreed to meet me at the Holiday Inn at three, the earliest she could make it, then threw in a parting shot about how I amused her.
“I’m Todd Larson, the hotel manager,” the chubby man said, extending a hand to Spillman.
She shook it perfunctorily. “I’m interested in a guest that was registered here this last weekend.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No, I’m just interested in verifying a particular guest,” Spillman said as she pulled him aside so that a new guest didn’t overhear.
“Of course.” Larson tried to gauge her without looking like he was. But Spillman was too slick.
“I don’t need a warrant to see the registry,” she said.
“Yes, of course,” he repeated. We walked over to the front desk and he paused at a computer. He glanced at me.
“This is Detective Reed Ferguson,” Spillman introduced me. He never thought to ask for my badge, assuming I was part of the department, which was fine by me.
“What’s the name?” Larson asked.
“Alex Jones,” I said.
He typed the name in, then pointed at the monitor. “He checked in on Saturday at 4 o’clock, and checked out Tuesday morning.”
Spillman glanced at me and I nodded. This concurred with Cal’s research.
“Do you have video cameras?” Spillman asked.
“Sure,” Larson said. “The video files are archived every two weeks, but I don’t think that’s been done to this last weekend yet. Let’s go check.”
He seemed too caught up at this point to ask about a warrant. We went with him into the manager’s office. It was small, with a serviceable desk and swivel chair, a computer, bracket shelves on one wall filled with notebooks, two cushy fabric-covered chairs on the other side of the desk, and framed picture on the other walls, the kind you buy at Hobby Lobby or Target.
He waved for us to sit in the cushy chairs. “Let’s see here,” he said as he sat down at the desk. He pushed the computer monitor around so we could see it. “We’ve got everything digital now. It’s so much easier than the old days with VHS tapes. Okay, what time did I say this guest checked in?”
“Four o’clock on Saturday,” I said.
“Right, right.” He typed for a second and an image of the front desk displayed on the screen. “I’ll forward through the footage slowly.”
We watched as the front desk person – a man – moved around, and then a woman approached. She was tall with an athletic build, wore faded jeans, a dark coat and sunglasses.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “That’s Alex?”
Larson nodded. “I assumed it was a man.”
“I did, too,” I muttered. I thought about the person I chased through the park. I’d assumed then that it was a man, but I suppose it could’ve been a woman.
We kept watching the monitor. Alex messed with her shoulder-length brown hair a lot, which served to block her face
“It’s like she knows the camera is there,” Larson said.
“Smart, and yet not so much,” Spillman said. “Stop the feed.”
Larson hit a key and the screen froze.
“No, not there. Go back,” Spillman ordered.
Larson backed up frame by frame. Alex, if this was indeed her, went from blocking the camera as she fussed with her hair, to a second when her hand wasn’t in front of her face, and she was turned just right. We had a fairly clear image of her face.
“That’s it,” I said.
Spillman turned to Larson. “Can you print that out for us? Make two copies.”
“I think so.” He busied himself for a minute or two, talking to himself about capturing the screen and saving the image. A moment later a printer behind him kicked into gear and spit out two pieces of paper.
“Here you go.” He handed them to us.
Spillman took them as we stood up. “Thank you for your time,” she said.
He escorted us back to the lobby. “Glad to help. Is this woman in trouble? Should I be on the lookout for her?”
She handed him her business card. “If you see her again, call me right away.”
“Of course,” he said, watching as we left.
“You owe me,” Spillman said as I walked with her to her car, a classic blue ’65 Mustang.
“I’ll –” I began but she cut me off.
“How about telling me what’s going on?”
I shook my head. “When I know myself, you’ll be the first person I call.”
“It’s your ass,” she said. Without another word, she got in the Mustang and drove off.
***
As I drove away from the Holiday Inn, I called Ace.
“Hi Reed, what’s up?” he asked in his characteristic drawl.
“Just checking in,” I said. “I’ve made progress. Have you noticed anything unusual since yesterday?”
“I’ve been watching like you said, and I saw a Toyota parked down the street last night, and Willie said she saw it there this morning.”
“Is the car there now?”
“Hold on.” A pause, then a loud noise rushed through the phone, and I heard a car driving by.
“You’re going outside?” I asked.
“Yeah, to look for the car.”
“Don’t make it obvious!” I said. “Act like you’re checking the mail or something.”
“You know our mailbox is right by the door,” he said. “Besides, it doesn’t matter because I don’t see the car.”
“Good.” I shook my head. If Alex Jones was out there, no sense in telegraphing that we knew she was watching us. “The other times you saw the car, was it the same person inside?”
“Someone with a hoodie.”
“A woman’s been stalking us, so that must’ve been our girl. Way to be attentive,” I said.
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Let me know if you see the car again,” I said. “And call the police if she looks like she’s going to threaten you in any way. And watch out for Willie.” He agreed and we hung up.
I was flush with excitement as I headed back up 285 to Cal’s house. Piles of dirty snow edged the road, and dark clouds had returned, ominously signaling more bad weather. But I didn’t care because I felt like we were closing in on Alex. She was getting more desperate, and thus more careless, letting herself get spotted more than once. But that meant she was more dangerous as well.
“What’d you find out?” Cal asked as I let myself in his house.
I held up the picture. “This is Alex Jones.”
He took the picture and studied it, stunned. “It’s a woman.”
“Yeah, how’d you miss that?”
“The driver’s license ID looks like a guy,” he protested.
&n
bsp; The expert in minutiae missed that the driver’s license listed gender. That was a first. “I should’ve checked the license myself,” I said.
“I don’t recognize her, do you?”
I snatched the paper from him. “I didn’t expect you to. This is for the society simpletons. Where are they?”
“In the kitchen. Reed, I do not like being a babysitter.”
“You survived,” I said.
We went into the kitchen, where the three remaining members of the inauspicious secret Smith organization were huddled around the table, looking decidedly bored. Before I left, I’d taken all their cell phones and given them to Cal for safekeeping. This way, they couldn’t blow our cover by texting someone their current location. They weren’t happy, and neither was Cal, who’d implored me not to leave him alone with them.
I sat down and put the picture on the table. “Do you recognize her?”
“Who’s that?”
“Alex Jones. She’s the one who’s after you,” I said.
They stared at me, as shocked as Cal had been.
“Why’s she after us?” Aiden asked.
I looked at each one in turn. “You don’t know?” Shrugs.
Stephanie took the picture first and studied it. She scrunched up her face. “I don’t know.” She handed it to Aiden.
He stared at it, then passed it to Bennett.
“Anything?” I asked hopefully.
They all shrugged.
I cursed.
“Hey, it was a long time ago,” Bennett said.
I thought for a moment. “Okay, let’s go back to Rebecca. Maybe something will jog your memory.”
“What do you want to know?” Aiden asked.
“You said Rebecca was pretty radical,” I began. “And she lived in your house.” I pointed to Stephanie. “What kinds of activities were you all involved in?”
“There’s stuff like Friday tea, and dances,” Stephanie said. “But Rebecca didn’t care too much about those. I mean, she went, but she was more politically active.”
“Like what?”
“She was involved in that one group,” Aiden said. “The ones that supported gays and lesbians.”
“Yeah,” Stephanie said.
“Was Rebecca a lesbian?” I asked. “Scott Robinson was her boyfriend, right?”
Stephanie threw me a look of impatience. “Hello. People can be bi. Besides, Smith’s really into that and…” her voice trailed away.
I stared at her. “What?”
“Give me that picture.” She swiped it off the table and studied it again. “Was this girl in that group?” she asked as she slid the paper to Aiden and Bennett.
“Yeah,” Bennett said slowly. “Her name was Emily, no…Em. Something with an ‘m’?”
“Melissa,” Aiden said.
Stephanie slapped the table. “Megan!”
They all fixed me with a triumphant gaze.
“Megan? Megan what?”
Blank looks. Almost like the Goofball Brothers … plus one.
They muttered among themselves, then shrugged.
“She was in one of those lesbian activist groups with Rebecca,” Stephanie said.
“Okay,” I said. “Progress. The clandestine information specialist and I will find her last name.”
Cal’s lips twitched into a small smile.
“Clandestine what?” Stephanie asked.
I pointed to Cal. “We’ll figure out Megan’s last name. We have her first name, and we know she was involved in some gay-lesbian organization. Let’s start by checking to see what organizations Smith has listed, and then see if we can find rosters, pictures or anything else that might list Megan as a member. And that should give us a last name.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” Cal said. I couldn’t believe I had to walk him through how to find Megan’s last name. He was really starting to come undone.
He must’ve sensed what I was thinking because he whirled around and stomped out of the kitchen.
“You’re slipping,” I murmured to his back as we went down the hall to his office.
“Yeah, so sue me,” he said. “Babysitting is hard and I’m tired.”
I laughed as we all settled into his office.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Got it,” Cal said a few minutes later. “It’s either Megan O’Reilly or Greene.”
“Greene!” the three kids said at once.
Cal grinned.
“Not bad,” Stephanie said.
“It was easy.” He carefully ignored me rolling my eyes – sure, it was easy once I told you what to do. “I checked what groups Rebecca Thorndike belonged to, and then I was able to find the members of each group. Those are the two Megans who are also members.”
“That’s great work,” I said.
Cal tapped the monitor. “And I’ve got a search running right now, checking hotel registrations.”
“Man, I’m going to introduce my father to you,” Aiden said. “He could use all this insider information.”
“Reed,” Cal said. The pleading tone was back.
I gestured at the three. “Hey, why don’t you go watch TV?”
“Fine,” Stephanie said. All three managed to huff out of the room.
“They’ll probably turn me in,” Cal muttered as he turned back to the monitor.
“No, underneath all the posturing, they’re scared.” I sank onto the couch. “If Megan is using another alias, do you think you can find it?”
“I don’t need to. There’s a Megan Greene registered at a Regency Inn off Hampden and Wadsworth.”
I pumped a fist. “Yes!” Then I paused. “Why’d she stay under her real name?”
“She must not have had time to get another alias,” Cal said. “Hotels usually ask for a credit card to keep on file, and some kind of ID.”
“Why not stay at a dump? Unless she didn’t have cash.” I shook my head. “If I had to guess, she’s desperate and not thinking clearly – and more dangerous.”
“Now what?” he asked.
“It’s time to turn the tables on her.”
“What does that mean?”
“Here’s the plan,” I said. “We’ll go to her hotel room. If she’s gone, which is likely the case because she’s out looking for us, we’ll get into her room and see if we can find anything incriminating.”
“Why not call Detective Spillman?”
“And tell her what? I can’t prove anything yet.”
He sighed. “How are you going to break in? Most hotel rooms have electronic locks.”
“Can you rig something up?”
“I read something about that recently…” He typed something. “Yeah, here.”
“So can you?”
“Yeah, I think I have everything here to rig something up.”
“Good, then we can get into the room and look around.”
“What’s with the ‘we’?” Cal’s focus stayed on the screen. “You can break into the room without me. You now know how.”
“I need you to be the lookout. You can stay in the lobby and if she comes back while I’m in her room, you call me and I can get out.”
He whirled around. “I told you, I don’t want to do field work.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said. “You’ll be in the lobby. There’ll be other people around. Perfectly safe.”
“And if we go there and she’s in her room?”
“Then I’ll call Detective Spillman and let her handle the arrest.” I smiled. “She’ll be pleased I didn’t do things on my own.”
He stared at me, then stood up. “Let’s get this over with.”
I pumped my fist again.
***
A little after six o’clock, we parked in the Regency Inn lot.
“Megan’s not there,” I said, putting my cell phone away. I’d just called the hotel and asked for her room number and they connected me, but the phone rang with no answer.
“Unless she’s ignoring it,” Cal said.
“Always the optimist,” I said as we got out. “Okay, you sit in the lobby, and if you see her come in, call me.”
“Be careful.”
“I’ve got my gun,” I said.
Cal rolled his eyes as we went inside. High-back chairs sat in a room near the front desk, and a few people milled about, but otherwise the lobby was quiet. I strolled to the elevators, got in, and punched the number for the 6th floor. A few moments later, I emerged from the elevators and glanced around. All was quiet.
I went to 601, at the end of the hall, and put my ear to the door and listened. Nothing. I knocked and braced myself in case Megan answered. Still nothing, so I took out the device Cal had rigged up, inserted it into the lock, and presto, I heard a click and the doorknob gave.
I let myself into the room and shut the door. Darkness enveloped me and I let my eyes adjust. I waited a moment, then flicked on my flashlight. The room was small, stuffed with two queen-sized beds covered with teal comforters. Across from them were a small desk with a laptop and backpack on it, a desk chair, an armoire with a TV, and a nightstand between the beds.
I went to the desk and fired up the laptop. It was password-protected, which didn’t surprise me, but it was worth a try. I opened the backpack. Inside was a journal. I opened it, and as I shuffled through it all, I was flabbergasted. Megan had been in a relationship with Rebecca, and it was clear from her journal that she’d been madly in love with Rebecca. Whether Rebecca had felt the same way was unclear, but what was obvious was that Rebecca had told Megan about her initiation into the secret group. And after Rebecca’s death, Megan knew who to blame. She’d obsessed about what she’d do to the secret organization. And obsession had turned to madness as she plotted and planned how she would take out each member of the group.
“This is it,” I muttered. I pulled out my phone and called Cal, knowing he’d be worrying, not so much about me, but about when he could leave.
“What?” he said.
“I’ve got it, all the information. Megan kept a journal. It’s all written out.”
“Then get out of there and let’s call your detective friend.”
“I’m going to take pictures of this and then I’ll be –”
“What?”
“She’s back!” I hissed, hearing someone outside the door.
Out of the Past: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 5) Page 13