California Motel (Spencer and Miller Book 1)

by Roach Spell

  “You know, sir,” said Spencer, “you heard Miss Rose ask me to come to her room that same night, just before the murder. I am your prime suspect, no matter what I say to you.”

  Miller put one hand behind his neck, the other hand holding the coffee, masterfully joined by the smoking cigar.

  “I don't think that you are too familiar with the anatomy of the body,” he replied, with a grin “Not above the waistline, at least.” Ashamed, Spencer said, “Yes, I was there with Rose all night, and I did please her as she desired. We got all drunk, or at least I did. She was so satisfied and kept telling me stories about this motel, this region. She told me about the Gold Rush, and Hollywoodland. She spoke in a soft, sweet voice, of a hidden gold coin treasure, offloaded, from a ship called the Pilgrim, and this or that, is in relation to the name of Dana Point. I did not hear everything, since I nestled, between her legs and tasted bourbon mixed with…you know. Miss Rose wanted me to hear about a treasure. I do think it all leads to this place, and I think that those coins might be hidden here at the Villa somewhere.”

  Miller walked to the doorway and leaned against it slightly. He shifted his eyes around as far as he could see, listening as Spencer went on.

  “She told me that at one point she was working in the restaurant as a waitress,” he continued. “She was still very young and dreaming about becoming a dancer with a role in Hollywoodland. Unexpectedly, she had an offer to move here and take over that job. While she was living at this premises all through the thirties she met many wealthy man. They spent their weekends here, playing golf, sailing, and sneaking away from the crowd with their mistresses. You know whatever. I was not born then, so I do not know all the details, but I am sure there are plenty of historical publications at the library if you need them for the investigation. I did not kill her, and that is what is counting for me. You have to go out there and find the bastard who did it.

  Moreover, a motive! We have that. Gold, right?”

  Spencer thought for a moment, Miller inhaled.

  “Yes, she had a necklace with a hanger that was not flat, as I recall. It looked like a locket, one of those necklaces that people wear to keep something inside, like a photo or–” ended Spencer.

  “A treasure map, perhaps” said Miller, who then turned and took a sip of his lukewarm coffee.

  13

  Terry, who appeared paler than ever, showing up at the reception facing Miller, said, “This is terrible, and is not good marketing for us. Who is the killer? What will be next? Can we use that room, or is it going to be sealed? Police presence is bad for the Mexican restaurant; those kinds of guests dislike the police. We will lose money this weekend. Can you make sure that your people stay invisible?”

  Terry had been the owner of the Villa Motel since the late seventies, but he did not like to invest much into the property. He avoided renovations, and aside from being careless with the gas cookers, he did not pay attention to fire hazards. Spencer only knew of two little fire extinguishers behind the reception, and he had changed many batteries in the rooms where he would found those cheap smoke detectors on the ceiling. Terry did sign for the flowers, but he told Spencer

  Not to make decisions like that without consulting him first. Terry was very stingy. Jim even told Spencer that all the previous managers had left after one year. There were no paid holidays or chances for a raise, and Terry did not even give his staff gifts to go under the Christmas tree. Other managers’ wives knew that Terry was a bad boss, and that Bertha, his left hand, was not much better. Those wives encouraged their men to leave.

  However, Spencer’s thoughts were elsewhere. ‘What if we told Terry? About the possibility of hidden gold coins, somewhere here on property?’ He wondered. ‘Would he start digging everything up?’

  Spencer looked at Miller. Both understood not to tell aloud, to anyone about that hidden treasure theory.

  14

  Loud noises were coming from Spencer’s little home. His apartment was rather comfortable, actually. He had everything he needed, including a bedroom he hardly used because he usually fell asleep on the couch. He was on duty twenty-four hours a day and it happened quite often that the bell rang late after midnight. Guests who were too drunk to drive would stop by for a room, or those who wanted a quiet place to have sex, especially over the weekend, when those beach boys loaded themselves up with alcohol and other dope. They could hardly control their hormones with all the blonde, sexy chicks in the area, hanging down by the harbor bars.

  Spencer had been collecting many vinyl records lately; British steel was hammering out, listening to “Breaking the Law.” Those Judas Priest dudes had some of the best tight guitar sections. Spencer lifted the needle after that song and put the record back in its cover.

  Enough, he thought, recalling the night with Miss Rose. Was there anything he had missed? She did indeed mention that to her surprise, she had seen someone who looked very familiar to her at the motel. Miss Rose was seventy plus years old. Born before 1920. The ship she had mentioned was a California hide trade sailing brig, but it actually went down in a fire out at sea in 1856. Therefore, it is not in connection to those gold coins she had mentioned. That is, unless there was a treasure map dating back in a relation to it. Had he misunderstood Miss Rose that night? He pondered. After all, he was drunk enough to get things a bit mixed up. There is maybe a place. Leading right to the grounds of the Villa Motel.

  Spencer decided that he needed a walk to clear his memory, so he called Jim, who was asleep, as it was two a.m.

  “Jim, please come to the reception and handle it for some hours,” said Spencer. Spencer knew that Jim would not argue, since he was such an easy, cool going Texan. It seemed that nothing could shake him up. Spencer opened the side door for him so that Jim could sit down on the couch and watch TV. “Why do you always carry a pistol, Jim?” asked Spencer. “Is that a John Wayne gun?” “It's an original Taylor 1875 Remington,” replied Jim. “Ya know this aren’t a gun for those youngsters today. You need skills and passion to keep it nice and shiny, so that the six bullets find its target smoothly.”

  Spencer smiled. “Well Jim,” he joked, “that's great, but please don't shoot any paying guests that will ring the bell tonight. I’m taking a walk to the harbor; I need some fresh air.” Jim nodded and said, “I hear you are the main suspect for the murder of Miss Rose.”

  “Who told you that?” asked Spencer.

  “Well, Esperanza was very upset,” explained Jim. “She was saying that you acted very strangely, ran away and left her all alone up there with the dead body.” “I was calling the police, and of course I had to run down to do that,” said Spencer in a slight sarcastic tone.

  “Anyhow, she is a suspect herself, and so are you, Jim. In fact, we all are. No one here can escape the investigation until the murderer is found.” Spencer took a small flask of whisky and borrowed two cigarettes from Jim, putting them, behind each ear. Then he set off for his walk.

  Just as he crossed the street, Yuki stepped outside, just as she was waiting for him. “Oh, you’re still awake,” he said. “Want to join me for a walk?”

  Both of them went off into the dark sprinkled star night, toward the harbor.

  15

  They approached the Pilgrim replica, and Spencer was very fascinated. He had heard about the ship from Miss Rose for the very first time. He imagined how it must have been a great adventure in those days. Yuki told Spencer that she had a book for him to read, titled, Two Years before the Mast. Apparently, it described many of the events that took place on the Pilgrim. Richard Henry Dana was the original writer, and he had sailed for two years on the Pilgrim ship. Spencer was glad that he had brought her along because she was very smart. “Did you ever hear that they transported gold or other precious goods? “ He asked, and interrupted. “Wait, Yuki!” cried Spencer. “Come back here. Let’s hide behind the trees.”

  Spencer had spotted Scarface and his Shadow.

  They talking to someone, exchangin
g money for something; that was very clear. Yuki and Spencer walked in safe distance and sat down on a bench. “He is a fucking drug dealer, you know,” said Spencer. “This two, staying at my motel, and Detective Miller told me to report any suspicious activity. Actually, I wonder why he is handling this if he is responsible for the homicide as well. Isn’t the DEA a special force? Anyhow, I suppose that’s just how it is.” Yuki was holding her arm beneath his elbow and rested her head on his shoulder. She was a good girl; he should marry her.

  Later, she handed him the book and gave him a long goodnight kiss. Spencer felt very horny, but decided not to invite her over to his place that night. He knew that if he finally had sex with Yuki, he would have to commit; that is how appealing these Asian girls were. As he crossed the street, Spencer recalled a girl from Tokyo he had lived with for a month. His guitar player advised him to go to UCLA and take some classes, as it was easy to hook up with foreign Students. Spencer, desperate for food, shelter and money, signed up for English lessons, and met this short, limping girl from Tokyo within days.

  Her father, a rich factory owner, spoiled with a huge monthly funding. He moved in to her place right away, and she gave him everything he required: pocket money, plenty of food, and a motorbike. Every night she turned off the lights and made it all dark, and he had to give her hours of his manhood. She was insatiable, and eventually she turned into a Nazi of sorts. Spencer had to run off one morning when she took a big kitchen knife and hunted him down. She had looked all over the campus to find him. Days later, he went back to collect his belongings, joined by three friends, as he was scared to go alone. She was at home with another Japanese girl. It happened that two of his friends stayed on, and one even got married to the friend of the crazy knife girl just a month later, however, Spencer was happy to leave and he never returned. She was truly evil, and she had taught him one good lesson about women, back then, in his early days in L.A. Now he went across the road, and then returned to release Jim off duty and back to bed. Spencer had a hard time falling asleep, but opening that sailor book with those tiny letters really helped him, to drift off, sailing into sweet dreams.

  16

  “Buenos dias,” Esperanza said. Spencer, writing at the reception answered with; “You still think I killed Miss Rose?”

  “No senor, por favor.” “Well, okay bonita. What do you have there in your hand?”

  Esperanza handed over some big, wet paper. It was a magazine – a damn porn magazine – and one of the real bad ones.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “It was thrown out of the shower window on the second floor, from the Anderson family’s room. I heard a man’s voice talking, and a child was with the man in the shower. Oh dios, Mr. Spencer, maybe you had the right impression about this person.”

  “Okay, that’s it,” Spencer replies. “I will get that sucker. I will get him, and this will be the first time in my career as a Bates Motel manager to get someone locked up. He can eat cockroaches for years to come. Esperanza, go knock on the door and clean that place immediately. Rush on over there, and I will follow you for a room inspection.”

  They went up, Spencer carrying the vacuum and Esperanza holding the bucket with cleaning supplies inside. No one answered the door for a while, and after some minutes, the strange unshaved person appeared wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, with one of the children standing right behind him. He was very shocked, caught by surprise, to see Spencer and the house cleaner together.

  He looks like that terrible person in ‘The Goonies,’ and he was not the only one at this motel who seemed to have a part in that. Mary, scary-looking Stan’s sister, would have fit right in that old-time classic movie as well, thought Spencer.

  “Sorry,” said Spencer, “but we have to check the gas and clean your place. Do you think that’s proper clothing to wear around children?”

  The hairy scum gave Spencer a slight aggressive look. Angry Spencer could have knocked him down that very second. Spencer was not tall, but the motel manager knew how to fight.

  Especially when it came to abusers and child hitters. Spencer believed those kind of people had no right to walk above the earth. Anyway, the scumbag disappeared into the bathroom and came back dressed in shorts and a shirt. In the meantime, Spencer started talking to one of the boys, and then he and his little sister followed him, watching what he would do, while the other two children sat in front of the TV. “Here is the gas line in the kitchen. I have to make sure there are no leaks and that the cooking flame is working correctly,” explained Spencer.

  He turned to the children. “What do you kids do all day? I have never seen you, playing outside. You don’t like the sunshine?” The girl said, “We’re not allowed outside. They say it’s dangerous, but I don't know why.” Her brother jabbed her in the side and said, “My dad told us that there was a murder, so we have to stay inside.”

  Then the scumbag babysitter walked in and opened the refrigerator for a Budweiser. He stroked the girl’s hair and told her to go watch TV. To Spencer, he said, “Is everything working correctly?” he asked in a suspicious tone.

  “Oh yes, everything is splendid, and I will report that and other issues to the Andersons this evening,” Spencer replies. “When do they usually return?” Spencer made it unequivocally clear, that he was suspicious too.

  17

  Miller kissed his wife on the forehead. “I will call you every evening, my darling,” he said, loading a small suitcase into the trunk of his Peugeot. “I have to stay down in Dana Point for several days to get that investigation done. It’s a homicide, the murder of Miss Bernadette Rose, and it has priority now.”

  For his entire life, Detective Miller had lived in Long Beach. He had seen many things come and go. His home was near the airplane, the “Spruce Goose,” one of Howard Hughes’s big vision, and the nearby Queen Mary, an old retired passenger ship, now a museum hotel and restaurant. Miller’s career as a detective was not always easy; he had witnessed some very bad crimes, while he was usually successful when it came to finding the offender. His lovely wife, a former Hollywood actor. She had never made the big roles, but she had played some good parts on TV and in several movies.

  They first met on a Halloween night long ago, when some kid died from poisoned candy. The disturbed neighbor who committed the crime lived right next to Gloria, Miller’s wife. Detective Miller was not able to forget about her, after that first encounter. He sent her, daily flowers, before she finally accepted a dinner invitation. Shortly after, they got married and she moved to his home at Long Beach. They never managed to have children, as Gloria was not able to. Miller never regretted that, though. His love for his wife was overpowering.

  Now on his way to Dana Point, he could feel a tremble. His car went out of control for a second, but he managed to get back in the right lane on the road. It was an earthquake, a rather light one. Miller remembered the 1971 earthquake, the Sylmar quake, which was a 6.5 on the scale. He was just a young detective then, attending the downtown L.A. trial of Charles Manson. He had gotten involved in that brutal Tate-LaBianca murder case, that eventually brought him an award for his exceptional investigation results.

  He had to call his wife now from a telephone booth just to make sure she was all right and not afraid after this mild earthquake. Both were aware that the big one would come someday. They also knew that a very large earthquake had already hit Long Beach in 1933, but that was before their time. Therefore, Miller stopped in Newport Beach and called Gloria. She was fine, not to mention thankful that he had given her a quick call.

  He drove on to Dana Point thinking of all the suspects in the Rose case.

  Could he really exclude Spencer?

  How could Spencer not be a suspect after the time he spent alone with Miss Rose just hours before her death? Nevertheless, yes, he can exclude Spencer, Miller decided. Spencer was not the type to commit murder. Perhaps he would murder someone for justice, to uphold his terms of right or wrong, this was no
t the case here.

  He wondered if it was Jim, Harper, Esperanza, Terry, or even Bertha. He also considered the fact that it could be one of the long-term tenants, or maybe a guest that signed in after Miss Rose’s arrival.

  That evening, Miller pulled into the Villa Motel at around six p.m. Spencer stood by the reception door, talking to a man and a woman.

  “Very good, Detective Miller,” Spencer said. “You arrive just in time. I need your advice. The Andersons here rented a family room, and they have this suspicious male child sitter. Today he was in the shower throwing a porn magazine out of the back window, and my housekeeper Esperanza recognized by sound that he was in the bathroom with a child. I strongly suspect him of child molestation. He is a pervert that I can tell.”

  Miller lit a cigar. “Did you feel the earthquake?” he asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, he continued, “How long have you known this child caretaker, Mrs. Anderson?” She seemed nervous, and she waited for her husband to step in and react to the accusation. He looked her sharp in the eyes and said, “We’ve known him for about eighteen months, ever since we both started working again. He is a friend we met in church, and we’ve trust our ‘brother’ because we shares the same religion.” Miller raised his eyebrows and said, “Trust is a good start, but now this evidence and a witness here have come up with doubts. I am sure it is in your best interest to see if any of what they are saying is true. How many children are there?”

  “Four.”

  “I suggest you go get them immediately down here and we will ask them some simple questions. Children do not lie, and when they do, you can always tell and see it within their eyes, and in their way of behavior.” Shortly after, an armed police squad surrounded the Andersons’ room. The child sitter had locked himself inside, together with Mrs. Anderson. The children were safe, sitting in Spencer’s living room, along with Mr. Anderson, who did not seem to understand what was going on. At the time, when Miller asked for the children to come down. Mrs. Anderson went upstairs, sent them down, and she did not return to the motel office. It did not take long before the two older kids told Miller everything. Explaining that it had been going on for a painful lasting time. Apparently, their mother had told them to be quiet about all the abuses; she had known all along, and sometimes she had even watched it. The police broke through the door. Several shots fired, and window glass shattered from the back wall of the room. That was when the body fell.