by N. C. Lewis
He stopped and turned. "I wonder if I might have a word with you about that. This week I'm a little low on cash. I'm sure next week—"
"Payment is due tomorrow evening!" Ethel picked up a cheap plastic pen, jabbing it at a yellowed poster hung on the wall behind the reception desk. "See what it says up there? If you can't pay, you can't stay, no exceptions!"
The words hit Mr. Robinson like hailstones. He let out a low groan and shuffled with his bag along a hallway that led to the hotel bedrooms.
The three women watched him disappear. Ethel turned back to Danielle and Amy. "He won't be sleeping here tomorrow night. I've seen his type before, loser stamped on his soul." She grew thoughtful for a moment. "Eddie Yates, did you say?"
"Yes," said Amy quickly. "We want to speak with him on a matter of employment."
Ethel's eyes glistened with curiosity. "A job? Eddie's rent is due in a couple of days. From what I can tell, he is down on his luck." Ethel stared at a stain on the carpet, then gestured after Mr. Robinson. "Eddie is on the second floor, room 22b."
Chapter 31
It was only when they were climbing the shabby stairs to the second floor, holding on to a rickety rail attached to brown, stained walls, the air heavy with mold and decay, that the reality of what they were doing hit Amy with full force. She stood stock-still on a step, casting a backward glance toward Danielle. "Do you think we should continue?"
Danielle placed hands on her hips. "Hey girl, no one said this adventure would be easy," she puffed. "We are here now, let's chat with Eddie and report back to hospital HQ."
Just then, in the gloom of the stairwell, Amy's cell phoned buzzed. "Nick," she said, hurriedly searching her bag. "A text message."
Amy,
I am feeling a little better. Tests have all come back positive. They are keeping me in for one more night. The Five Star Motel is a flea pit. Most residents are down on their luck or passing through Austin. Ethel Babish runs the place with an iron fist. Don't let her age fool you, she is as sharp as a tack but much deadlier. Interested to hear what you discover.
Keep Safe,
Nick.
Outside the door to apartment 22b, Amy chewed her lower lip for a moment, then took in some air and released it long and slow, leaned forward and knocked.
Eddie answered on the first knock.
"Yes," he said, throwing open the door, half expecting the landlady or one of her little helpers. "What is it now?" A look of surprise crossed his face. He steadied himself on the doorframe. "Yes?" he said again. His breath reeked of cheap booze.
"Eddie Yates?" Amy asked, taking in his bloodshot eyes, dirty, stained clothes, mixture of sour body odor, and malty alcohol.
He hesitated, thinking they might be police officers and weighing his chance of escape. There'd be more officers waiting downstairs he reasoned. Better play it straight. Keep cool and play it straight.
"That's me."
Eddie sounded tired to Amy, but there was something else she detected in his voice. Eddie Yates sounded afraid. She glanced into his room, a single unmade bed, plastic desk, two wooden chairs, and an old-fashioned cathode-ray-tube television set perched on a tall chest of drawers. Could the man in front of her really be one of Alan Earl's main suppliers?
"Hello," Amy said in a business-like tone, "I'm Amy King, and this is Danielle Sánchez. We'd like to speak with you for a moment about A.E. Antiquarian Books."
This startled Eddie. They must be the police, he thought. He turned to Danielle, perhaps it was because she was younger or looked friendlier. "Are you the police?" He stopped breathing for a beat or two. "I… I want to speak with a lawyer."
There was a pause while Amy and Danielle considered a response. The silence was too much for Eddie.
"Listen, I don’t know what you've been told, but it was not my idea. I didn't want to get involved." He rubbed his eyes. "Alan Earl was the mastermind, not me. I'm just a pawn, as you can see." Eddie gestured behind him to his room.
"No," said Amy, after his outburst. "We are not police officers, but we would like to speak with you about Alan."
Eddie let out a breath. He looked at Amy, at Danielle, back and forth, with a look of confusion. "Why?"
"We are investigating his death." Amy watched him carefully for a reaction. She could tell he was surprised but not shocked.
Eddie rubbed his chin then cast a glance along the hallway. For the longest time he peered into the gloom as if trying to see around the corner. Finally, he turned his head a fraction of a degree, his eyes meeting Amy's. "Alan Earl… is dead?"
"Yes, haven’t you heard?"
A surge of red flushed his cheeks. He leaned forward like an old-time photo of a family gathered around a radio, his dull, reddened eyes growing wide with comprehension. From somewhere he pulled out a bottle of cheap gin, took a swig and smiled. " You mean someone got to Alan before me?" He took another sip. "Alan Earl dead—fancy that!"
Then he doubled over and laughed.
Chapter 32
Eddie held on to the doorframe, his body heaving up and down in uncontrolled mirth. "The old crook dead… ha-ha-ha… that's the type of news that makes a man's day, ha-ha-ha."
Amy and Danielle stood watching Eddie, waiting. At last, he straightened up. "How much?"
"For what?" asked Danielle.
"For everything about that low-down sleazeball, Alan Earl. How about five hundred?" He was beaming.
Danielle shook her head in response. She enjoyed negotiating and wanted to see how low he would go. "Uh-uh," she muttered.
"Two fifty?"
Silence.
"Come on; a man's gotta live. Okay, one hundred?" His rent was due in a few days, and he was out of cash. "I'll answer any question you got for a Benjamin."
Despite their apprehension, they were curious about what this man might tell them. "Okay," Danielle replied at last. "Tell us what you know."
Eddie stretched out his hand for the cash. "Payment up front," he demanded.
It was then Amy remembered an old hardboiled detective movie. "Payment after you deliver," the private investigator had said. "Tell us what you know first, payment later."
Eddie stepped back into his room, eyeing the two women with a cynical eye. "Okay," he said at last. "Payment after I talk. What do you want to know?"
Danielle spoke up first. "How long have you known Alan?"
"A few years."
They waited, but that was all he said.
"Okay," Danielle said, "How did you meet?"
"Alan sold antique books, I supply antique books. It was a perfect match, on paper."
"On paper?" Danielle quizzed.
Eddie cleared his throat; a waft of stale booze filled the air. "Alan sold physical products, just like a car dealer, or baker. He was always on the lookout for cheaper sources. The lower the price he paid and the higher the sale price, the more profit. Do you see?"
"I think so," Danielle replied.
"Now, Alan used me as his main supplier because I could source antique books and manuscripts cheaply. So, that's why I said it was a perfect match on paper. He sells a high-value product. I give him that product at a low price. He is happy, and I'm happy."
"So, you had a good business relationship?" inquired Danielle.
Eddie swayed from side to side, his eyes narrowed, and a vein pulsated violently in his neck. "No," he said raising a fist. "The man tried to shaft me. Cut the rate he wanted to pay for my product. I have expenses!"
"Why?" asked Amy, watching him closely.
Eddie exploded. "How should I know?" He took a swig from the gin bottle, draining it empty. "Alan said going forward he could only pay me ten percent of the going rate. Ten lousy percent; can you imagine that?" He turned into the room, raised his arm and threw the gin bottle like a baseball pitcher on the mound. It struck the wall with a thud, shattering into shards that glistened like darts of fire in the gloomy light of his room.
Amy and Danielle looked at each other nervously. They stepped away from the doo
r. "That… That is all… are you all right?" Amy asked, preparing to run.
"Alan Earl was a thief," he shouted holding his head in his hands. "He got what he deserved. Now, give me the money."
"One more question," said Amy, regaining her confidence. "Do you know who killed Alan Earl?"
Eddied gulped hard, his eyes narrowed to slits, again he curled his fists. "Ha-ha-ha," he laughed extending his hand for payment. "Ha-ha-ha-ha."
Chapter 33
Eddie continued laughing wildly. Danielle and Amy stared at him, stepping farther away from the door. It was a wild, insane laugh that sent a chill down their spines. But all the while, Amy thought she saw something calculating in Eddie's eyes. For his right hand remained outstretched as if signaling the laughter would stop when payment was received.
Realizing there was no more information to be had Amy handed over the cash, in twenty-dollar bills. Eddie's hand clasped shut. Instantly the laughter stopped, and his greedy eyes counted the money. Satisfied, he looked up, his eyes sliding back and forth over the two women, then he stepped back into his room, slamming the door shut.
As Eddie leaned on the closed door, his breathing was shallow and rapid. He looked through the peephole. The women were gone, but he realized that if these two women could track him down, so could others including law enforcement. It was clear to him that they'd be back, and this time they might not be alone. He tossed the cash on the little plastic desk and paced.
Sweat oozed from every pore as he thought about a plan. For years, he'd stayed off the radar, and now thanks to Alan Earl people were looking for him. How many steps behind were the police? His heart beat rapidly, a sense of nausea filled his stomach.
"I'm an artist!" he yelled insanely, beating his fists against the wall. "Eddie Yates lives in the shadows; he is a ghost that doesn't exist. Can a ghost be caught?"
Eddie looked down at his fists, bloodied, and raw. I've got to get away from here, disappear into the shadows of another city. Houston? He hurried around the room snatching up his meager belongings, tossing them into a worn, shabby duffle bag. Finally, he looked around the motel room. Except for the empty, fast-food cartons piled in a corner under the desk, there was little sign he'd spent weeks living here.
Satisfied, he stared at the cash on the little plastic desk. That wouldn't be enough to give him a fresh start, he thought. He tipped his head to one side as he tried to remember the name of Alan Earl's assistant.
"Tim Clark," he shouted at last. "I'll pay Tim a visit and get what is owed me."
Eddie glanced around the grimy room one final time as he stepped out into the hallway. There was only one thing he needed to do now.
Find out Tim Clark's address.
Chapter 34
Amy and Danielle hurried down the gloomy stairwell out into the dingy reception area of the Five Star Motel. Ethel's eyes appeared locked on a computer screen, and she typed something as they walked through the reception area, but Amy knew Ethel was watching them.
As they walked across the car lot Amy felt the seediness of the motel clinging to her body. "I'm going to have a long hot shower tonight. The grime of the place somehow sticks to you."
Danielle glanced nervously back at the motel entrance. "Amy girl, this lady is taking a bath!"
They climbed into Amy's car. She started the engine, and again they sat trying to make sense of what they had seen. It seemed everyone they met wanted Alan Earl dead, including Eddie Yates.
"Looks like Eddie Yates is a desperate drunk," Amy said.
"The man's unhinged and violent. He might be a drug addict as well," added Danielle. "What I don't understand is how such a desperate man was Alan Earl's main supplier?"
"The bookstore looks like a gentlemen's club on the outside," Amy added. "But Alan Earl, Eddie Yates, and Tim Clark are far from gentlemen. Sage Oats mentioned illegal activity of some sort. I'm beginning to think he was right, and Alan Earl was selling… stolen manuscripts?"
"You might be right, but the store was losing money. How do you account for that?"
Amy smiled. "Danielle, haven't you heard? Crime doesn't pay!"
Daniel rolled her eyes. Then glanced back toward the motel entrance. A stooped woman dressed in rags pushed a shopping cart full of plastic bags along the sidewalk. She wore a dirt-stained, yellow scarf tight around her head and worn-out pink slippers on her feet.
The woman paused for a moment and gazed at the motel as if it was a glittering castle from a fairy tale. She leaned forward picking out a plastic bag from the cart and peered into it for a moment, muttering to herself. Then she glanced across the car lot and stared for several moments at the two friends sitting in the car. They watched with curiosity as she shuffled away.
"This is a depressing place," Amy muttered to herself. "Do you think Eddie could be the killer?"
"Yes," replied Danielle. "Don't you?"
Amy nodded and backed out of the parking space. "Let's get back to the hospital, so you can pick up your car and I can see how Nick's doing."
Chapter 35
The sun had almost set by the time Amy pulled into the hospital parking lot. It was full.
"Guess people visit on the weekends," Danielle said.
They circled several times until Danielle spotted her car.
"There it is!" she said, in a tired voice.
They agreed to meet the following day to discuss their thoughts about the murder in the bookstore and develop a game-plan for Studio Shoal Seven's next staging event.
Amy spotted a parking space near the front entrance of the hospital, pulled in, and sat for several minutes collecting her thoughts. She had been so busy investigating the death of Alan Earl she hadn't had time to worry about Nick. But now, in the dusk, as the shadows crept in, so did her concerns. How long would it take him to get back to full health? Would he be on medication for the rest of his life? And what about his job as a detective; he hadn't handed his retirement notice in yet. What would happen there?
She remembered a time several years ago when a detective, one of Nick's mentors, fell ill on the job. Amy couldn't remember what the problem was but sensed it might've been a heart attack too. Then, she recalled, the detective had taken an extended period of sick leave, but never returned to work. Instead, he retired.
"Maybe that's a path Nick will take," she said aloud.
Nick was lying down, his eyes closed, when she walked into the hospital room. The past few traumatic days were etched in deep lines on his face which although healthier than on her first visit, remained pale and drawn.
His eyes opened when she sat down.
"Hello darling," he said in a faint voice.
"Hello Nick, how are you feeling?"
"Good, but tired." His voice sounded raspy, like sandpaper scraped against wood.
Amy leaned forward to kiss her husband on the cheek. "It's been a tough few days, that's for certain."
A slow smile tugged the corners of Nick's lips. "Oh," he said with enthusiasm returning to his voice," I get to go home tomorrow. That's good."
"Wonderful!" Amy said, leaning forward and giving her husband a hug. "Do you know what time?"
"Around ten a.m."
"Okay, I'll stay with you here tonight."
Nick sat up. "No, you go home; get some rest, but first tell me what happened today."
Amy told him about her meeting with Sara Earl, the argument between Sara and Sage Oats, the appearance of Tim Clark with his free-flying fists, and the drunken encounter with Eddie Yates which cost her a hundred dollars. Mostly, he listened in silence, occasionally interrupting when he was unclear.
"So, what do you think?" Amy said when she had finished.
Taking Amy's hand in his he said, "Well, it sounds like everyone had a motive for wanting Alan Earl dead." The weakness in his voice that had concerned Amy was now gone. He pushed himself into a more comfortable seated position. "Motive and proof are two different things. I've worked a lot of cases where we had a strong motive but couldn't
find any proof. If you can find proof, and there is a motive, you'll have a compelling case."
Amy wrinkled her nose. "It's all so dingy, dirty, and dark. Nothing is as it seems. Not the marriage between Sara and Alan, nor the bookstore which may be engaged in illegal activity. Everything is the opposite of what it appears."
Nick adjusted his position. "Go on," he said with encouragement. "What's your theory on the bookstore?"
"I don't really know. It's just that Eddie Yates' dress and demeanor didn't match what I expected of an antiquarian books supplier."
"How so?"
"He had a wild look in his eyes, drank cheap gin straight from the bottle, and dressed in tired-looking, worn-out, dirty clothes. Not to mention the motel, if you can call it that. You were right, it is little more than a flea pit. Whatever Eddie Yates' involvement with Alan Earl, I don't believe it was on the up and up."
Nick was silent for several moments. When at last he spoke, it was in a confident, self-assured tone that had first attracted Amy to him. "I'll pass on your information to Detective Wilson. She'll have someone check out Eddie Yates, see if he is on our radar."
"Do you think she'll speak with Eddie tomorrow?"
Nick shook his head. "Her team is working on three other cases, including the Congress Avenue jewelry store heist. The chief's under pressure to get that one solved."
Amy knew what that meant. She'd seen it over the years with Nick. When he was in homicide, he'd work cases on the side: evenings, weekends, early in the mornings, and late at night. It was as if the cases had a life of their own. Sometimes, she felt as if Nick was married to the cases rather than her, but she also knew Nick was a dedicated police officer, and with his job came certain responsibilities which often crowded family and social time.
When Nick was working on a big case, there were weeks when he came home, slept, showered, and went straight back to work the next morning. Amy grew to accept the life of a detective's wife, and no matter how busy Nick was, she always felt his love wrapped around her and the children.
Amy considered what to do next. "Maybe I should do a little more digging?" she said, looking at Nick for advice." I need this mess cleaned up before the press finds out that Danielle and I were the people who discovered the body. The publicity would be disastrous for Studio Shoal Seven."