by Sam Ripley
‘Gloria Smith, I’m never going to believe anything you tell me ever again,’ said Cassie, trying to sit up. ‘And to think that you’re a Bible-reading woman.’
‘Well, I’m sure there’s something in the good book that would justify a little white lie like that. Something about committing little sins in the fight against a greater evil. Some shit like that, anyway.’ She switched on the air-con. ‘Jesus, I’m hot. How are you two prison breaks doing back there?’
The two women quickly scrunched up the blankets and stored them by their feet, laying the paintings over their laps.
Kate took a deep breath. She had to remind herself that none of this was a joke. As she stared down at one of her father’s portraits of her as a small girl she felt relieved that he was no longer around. He wouldn’t have been able to bear to see her like this. A broken relationship with a man she had loved. Pregnant with his child. Her life in danger. Hiding in the back of a car in order to escape police protection with the thought of tracking down a deranged – and dangerous – criminal.
But it was the only thing to do, she told herself. She tried to rationalise the situation to herself. She was sure the guy in the motel by LAX was him, she felt it in her gut. Imagine the look on Josh’s face if she turned out to have found the creep. God – why did she always have to seek his approval? Even now, even after everything that had happened she was still trying to win his love. It was pathetic.
But she was not going to put herself in any danger. Well, not much, anyway. There was an element of risk involved in her plan. But she couldn’t bear the thought of this thing – this not knowing, this torture – dragging on any longer. She was pregnant for god’s sake. In addition to alcohol, tobacco, drugs, hot dogs, tap water, fish, soft cheese, and raw eggs, the books said she should avoid unnecessary stress. And what was she doing? Driving out to knock on the door of a psychopath and potential serial killer? Great. Just what the doctor ordered.
After their initial high spirits, the three women fell silent. As Gloria drove south on La Cienega Boulevard, Kate noticed the comparative lack of traffic. This was a classic example of why surface roads were always preferable to freeways, she thought. Josh always believed in taking the 110, the 105, the 10, the 405 and the 101 if he wanted to get anywhere in LA. But, in her opinion, freeways sucked. End of story. No argument. The last time they had argued about this – was it really a year ago now? - they had ended up in bed together. God, would she ever be able to get him out of her system?
As Gloria drove south, Kate was reminded of all the times she had taken the road down to LAX. There had been the trips for work, the conferences in New York, Dallas, Miami, London and Manchester. The occasional break with Josh – the few days in Hawaii, a fun weekend in Austin, Texas. And the times she had driven to the airport to collect friends from out of town. When this was over she would call her girlfriend Lisa, who was now living in Britain.
Kate smiled to herself as they passed a Buggy Whip sandwiched next to a sex shop. The name of the diner had always been a standing joke of her dad’s and she pictured him hooting with laughter at the thought of the clients moving from the fast food outlet to the sleazy ‘erotic showcase’ next door. She imagined him putting on one of his myriad funny voices – he used to do a great Groucho Marx – and imitating a customer walking up to the counter of the sex shop: ‘Give me a buggy whip, straight up, and hold the chocolate.’
They turned into Aviation Boulevard and took the exit that led directly into public parking lot B. Gloria found a space and pulled in.
‘All set?’ Gloria asked.
‘All set.’
‘You nervous?’
‘I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.’
‘You still want to go through with this?’
Kate thought for a moment, before she nodded her head; a gesture which served to convince herself that she was ready more than anybody else.
‘Sure am. Let’s get this thing over with.’
Cassie reached over the touched her hand.
‘Kate. I know you think you can handle this, but I’m really scared,’ said Cassie.
‘I know. But it’s going to be fine. I promise you.’
‘But what if -?’
‘I told you before. There are no what ifs here. I’m going to walk to the motel, you follow on at a safe distance in the car. I’m going to check at reception and just make a few inquiries about the wannabe Bobby Gleason. If there’s any trouble you know what to do. You’ve got Josh’s cell. You’ve got the number for his investigation team.’
‘Why don’t we just call Josh now? Would that be so bad? Or at least 911.’
‘I told you. I can handle this. And anyway, I feel somehow responsible. I don’t know, like I started it in some way.’
‘If that’s the case then why not let me come in with you?’
‘No way, Cassie. It’s just that –‘
‘You think because I’m blind I stand a greater risk of getting hurt?’
‘Yes, frankly, I do. Sorry, but –‘
‘How come every single girl that Gleason attacked died apart from me?’
‘I don’t know. You were –‘
‘And don’t tell me I was lucky, Kate. What happened had nothing to do with luck.’
‘I’m sorry, Cassie. I didn’t mean to denigrate what you did, but –‘
‘But what?’
‘There is no way I’m going to allow you to come in with me. Thanks for the offer. And I know you mean well, but I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. You’ve suffered enough as it is.’
‘And what about you? What about the baby?’
Kate didn’t know what to say.
‘It’s something I’ve got to do,’ she said, opening the door.
She knew Cassie was pissed with her.
‘Okay?’
‘Okay, but take care.’
‘Just give me a few minutes, that’s all I need. And Gloria? Do not let Cassie out of your sight.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said in a mock-serious fashion, ‘we’re in lockdown mode here.’
Kate took a small compact out of her purse and checked herself in the mirror, forcing herself to make a tough, don’t-fuck-with-me face. Was she ready? She had to be. And there was no way she was going to back out of this now.
She checked the address one more time and quickly got out of the car. She took a deep breath and walked through the parking lot towards the exit. She turned around to check that Gloria and Cassie were following her.
At the end of West 104th situated nearest the airport she passed Sea Dwelling Creatures, at 5515, and then at 5420 there was Drexler’s Marine Fish. Weird. What was it about this neighbourhood that seemed to attract so many fish lovers? She made a note to Google it when she got back home.
If she got back home.
34
If this is what crazy felt like then I’m well and truly loco, thought Josh. Anxiety was clawing at the back of his skull, eating away his mind like an ants’ nest lodged in the brain. His mouth was dry. His skin felt itchy, somehow not his own. And his vision was blurred, foggy. He took another sip of black coffee, hoping that the caffeine would help him concentrate. But it was no use. He couldn’t think about the case. All he could think about was Kate.
He had left twelve messages on her voicemail now and still no reply. He’d called Cassie, but also no pick up. He got the feeling that something else was going on that had nothing to do with “them”. What the fuck was Kate up to?
He dialled the house in Beverly Hills, his fingers shaking as he did so.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Mrs Cramer, it’s Josh.’
No response.
‘Look, I know I’m not exactly your best friend now, but –‘
‘But what Detective Harper?’
The use of his surname stung him.
‘Have you seen Kate? Do you know where she is?’
‘After how you have treated her I don’t think it’s any
of your business anymore. And now I’m going to hang up. Good-‘
‘No, listen. I’ve just been on the phone to Naylor, you know the guy stationed outside your house? He told me that Kate and Cassie are having a nap. Could you check for me please?’
‘Well –‘
‘I think Kate may have put herself in danger.’
There was silence again. But he could tell that she was concerned.
‘Just stay on the line. I’ll go and check.’
Josh heard the old lady shuffle her way across the room. He pictured her slowly climbing the wide staircase, passing the framed portraits of herself that lined the walls, images from her movie star days, walking down the grand corridor towards Kate’s room. The first time he had gone in there to make out with her he had felt like some stupid teenager. He’d never forget that sense of anticipation, of excitement.
As he waited he felt his heart beating furiously. Was he going to have a coronary as well as be certified insane?
He heard a muffled sound on the phone. She had picked up an extension upstairs.
‘Josh?’ Her voice was weak. ‘They’re not here. They’ve gone.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘Well, I’ve just woken up from my nap. It must have been - it was earlier today. A lady came over, a rather larger black lady who Kate said worked down at the public record office.’
‘I didn’t even know she had a friend who worked in public records.’
‘Gloria, that’s right. A friend of Cassie’s. She came over to help them with something, I don’t know what.’ Her voice sounded distant, vague somehow.
‘You’ve got no idea where they’ve gone? I’m sorry to bother you, but I truly believe that Kate may be about to do something really dumb. As in dangerous.’
‘I don’t know. They were messing about with a computer. They kept mentioning names, doing researches or whatever you call it. All beyond me, I’m afraid.’
‘Listen. Can you check to see if Kate’s laptop is still there?’
‘Her laptop?’
‘Yes, you know her computer, the one she carries around with her. If you go downstairs I’ll call you back in two minutes. Okay?’
‘Oh, my. I wouldn’t know –‘
‘This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to ask Naylor – the police officer – to come in and check the computer. And you’ll let him in. Okay?’
‘Very well. You don’t think Kate’s in any danger, do you? I thought that monster – that Gleason – was dead.’
‘He is. And let’s pray she isn’t. But we haven’t much time.’
35
Kate walked into the hotel to find no-one at the reception desk. Not that the dirty, litter-strewn, coffee-stained table really warranted that term. She looked up and down the windowless hallway. No sign of life except for the sound of a TV set blaring away in one of the rooms. She wrinkled her nose as the faint odour of urine inveigled its way into her nostrils.
As she walked behind the desk she noticed a bin full of empty Jack Daniels bottles. I wonder what came first, she thought, the shit job or the drink. Then she remembered how much she used to put back. Easily a couple of vodka tonics and a bottle of wine a night. But her drinking was related to stress relief. Yeah, right, she said to herself, who are you kidding? If she hadn’t had been forced to give up alcohol what state would she have been in now? Maybe her pregnancy was a life saver after all.
Under the rim of the desk was a series of black metallic discs each bearing a number ranging from 1 to 33; some of the spaces were empty, others had keys dangling from hooks that reminded Kate of a row of hanging men. She started to search the desk for a clue. Obviously, the owner of this joint didn’t hold much care for order. His booking and reservation system seemed to consist of scraps of paper covered with spidery handwriting and illegible scribbles. Kate managed to decipher some names – there was a Jon Louther in room 23, who was staying for five days; a Maria Juavez in 10, who was here for two weeks; and a Mr Smith in room six, next to which the manager had drawn a question mark.
She ran her hands over a clutch of unpaid service bills, a couple of court orders, a threatening letter from an angry ex-wife, but nothing that told her the room number for Bobby Gleason. Just then she heard someone flush a toilet down the end of the hallway. She moved away from behind the desk just as the door swung open.
A large, heavy-set man started to walk down the corridor towards her. His eye sockets looked like they were in the process of closing up, lost in the fat of his face, and as he came closer he fixed her with a hard bead of an eye.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for a room - just for a night,’ she said.
‘Sorry, we’re full.’
Even if she hadn’t snooped around his desk she would have known that he was lying.
‘Oh, really, that’s a shame,’ she said, trying to adopt a more lazy way of talking. ‘I could sure do with a room for the night.’
He assessed her coolly, as if she were a specimen that he had only ever encountered before at a distance. As he approached, she smelt a mixture of stale sweat and cheap bourbon.
‘Look, lady,’ he said, walking around his desk and dropping his 200-pound frame into the chair. ‘I don’t know what you want, but let’s not talk shit here. You don’t need a room. If you needed a room you’d go and check in at the Marriott, the Hilton or one of those other places on West Century Boulevard. Even if you were on a budget – which from your two hundred dollar jeans I doubt very much - you wouldn’t chose to come to this shithole. Why would you?’
She played with her purse, nervous now.
‘What are you? You’re not a cop, I can see that. Let’s see. A private investigator? No, way too classy for that. I got it - you’re a goddamned reporter. What you after? I might be able to help – for a small exchange of some sort.’
‘You’ve busted me,’ she said, smiling. She thought of Cynthia Ross. ‘Yeah, I’m a journalist – freelance - working on a story for the Times.’
‘So how can I help?’ he said, standing up again, and coming closer.
‘I’m Gruen, by the way, Dave Gruen,’ he said, stretching out his hand. The touch of it – all slimy and wet – made Kate think of an enormous carp her dad had once caught when they’d gone on a fishing trip. She couldn’t bear the thought of it wriggling in her palms and so when he had given it to her to hold she’d tossed it back into the water.
‘Hi, I’m Donna. Donna Davies.’ It was the name of a friend from high school.
If he laid a finger on her she would – what? What could she do? She needed that information.
‘I’m trying to find a Robert – or Bob, Bobby – Gleason. I believe he’s staying here?’
‘That’s right, honey.’
‘Could you tell me which room he’s in?’
‘Could do.’
Kate started to open her purse.
‘Look, I can’t stretch to much – this is my own money here – but I can give you – what? – twenty bucks?’
‘You’re kidding me, right?’