Becoming Quinn (6 page)

He made a stop at a gas station before he reached the hotel, and changed into his uniform in the restroom. It would provide him instant credibility, and open doors that his civilian clothes wouldn’t.

He parked around the corner so no one would see the car he arrived in. At the entrance, a doorman in black tails and bowtie opened the glass door and said, “Welcome to the Lawrence, Officer.”

Jake gave him a nod as he passed inside.

The lobby was smaller than he expected, but was still large enough to encompass several ornate couches and chairs, a water fountain aged to look like it had been uprooted from an Italian piazza, and a coffee bar with the most elaborate coffee maker Jake had ever seen. At the far end were the reception counter, the concierge desk, and the bellhop station.

Jake headed straight for reception. Both of the people working the desk were with customers, but when the woman nearest him caught sight of him in his uniform, she picked up a phone. A moment later, a third woman came out of the back room.

“Can I help you, Officer?” she asked with a smile.

As he approached the counter, his first instinct was to smile back and put her at ease, but he kept his expression neutral, knowing the uniform would be a more effective tool than a smile. “Yes, thank you. I’d like to speak to the person in charge of security.”

Her brow darkened. “Yes, of course.” As she picked up a phone, she said, “Is there a problem?”

“Just a routine matter.”

She nodded, then said into the phone. “I have an Officer…” She looked at Jake’s uniform, reading his nameplate, “…Oliver at the front desk. He says he needs to speak to Mr. Evans…yes, yes…okay. Sure.” She hung up, then motioned to one of the chairs in the seating area behind him. “If you’d like to wait over there, he’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Thank you.” Jake moved over to the chair, but didn’t sit down.

Two minutes later, a woman and a man came out of an unmarked door near the concierge desk, and walked over to him. The woman looked to be in her fifties and was dressed in a smart, dark gray business suit. The man was maybe a few years older, and wore a black suit and the unmistakable look of retired cop.

“Officer Oliver, is it?” the woman said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake said.

She held out her hand. “I’m Toni Conway. I manage the Lawrence.”

Jake shook her hand.

She then turned to the man beside her and said, “This is Carl Evans. He’s head of security.”

“Mr. Evans,” Jake said, as he shook the man’s hand.

“What is it we can help you with?” Evans asked.

“A small matter, really,” Jake said. “I’m sure you’re aware of the airport transit robberies.” The robberies were real. Someone had been forcing Town Cars headed for the airport off the road, then robbing their passengers of whatever valuables they might be carrying. These were always cars heading
to
the airport, mostly from local hotels, but a few private homes, too. The police had yet to crack the case.

“Sure,” Evans said. “We’ve been taking every precaution to ensure our guests don’t become victims.”

“May I ask what those are?” Jake said. The question really wasn’t important other than to sell his own legitimacy.

Evans said, “We’ve encouraged most people to use van pools. Those who do go by Town Car, we always send a second car driven by a member of my staff to follow right behind. We haven’t had any problems.”

“Excellent,” Jake said. “That’s exactly what we’ve been encouraging other hotels to do.” He paused. “We could use your help on another matter.”

“What’s that?” Evans asked.

“A matchbook with your hotel’s logo was found at the scene of the latest robbery.”

Conway’s face scrunched up in question. “A matchbook? From here?”

Jake stepped over to a small table between the two chairs. He’d spotted a matchbook, just like the one he’d found at the crime scene, sitting on the table when he’d first come over. Now he picked it up and showed it to them.

“Just like this one.”

“Why would that be important?” Conway asked.

“It might not be,” Jake said. “But I’m sure you understand that we need to follow up on every lead.”

Evans was nodding. “I take it you think that the matchbook might have come from the robber?”

“It’s one possibility.”

“Those Town Cars go to all the hotels,” Conway said. “It could have been in there from a previous ride, and fallen out.”

“That’s also a possibility,” Jake conceded. “And it might already have been on the ground when the car drove up.”

Evans smiled in a way that told Jake the head of security was about to say the same thing.

“So what is it you’re hoping we can tell you?” Conway said.

Jake looked down, then back at them, his expression more relaxed than before. “I’ll be honest with you. I think this is a dead end, but, like I said, we have to follow up on everything. I was assigned to look through your security footage, with your permission, of course.”

“Our security footage?” Conway asked. “What do you expect to find?”

“You know who it might be, don’t you?” Evans said.

Jake hesitated. “We’ve…identified several potential perps. My focus would be to see if any of them was here.”

“Perps?” the woman asked.

“Perpetrators, ma’am.”

Conway looked at Evans. “Carl?”

Evans shrugged. “I don’t have a problem with it.” He looked at Jake. “How far back do you want to look?”

“Just the last forty-eight hours.”

“Easy enough,” Evans said.

Conway didn’t look completely happy, but Jake could tell she wasn’t going to stand in the way. “All right. But, Officer, we can’t give you any information about any of our guests. You can look at the footage, but that’s all the help we can give.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Jake said. “If we need anything more, we’ll get a warrant so that you’re covered in case any of your guests complain.”

That seemed to satisfy her. “I’ll leave you in Mr. Evans’s hands, then.”

8

“The car belongs to a guy named Jake Oliver,” Steiner reported over the phone as Durrie drove back into the city.

From the address Steiner read off, it was pretty clear this Oliver guy lived in either an apartment or townhouse.

“The birthday on his license puts him at twenty-two. Height listed at five-foot-ten, and weight one-sixty-five. You need hair and eye color, too?”

“No,” Durrie said. He’d seen the man’s hair and eyes.

“I was able to get a social security number and do a little more digging. I assume that’s what you wanted.”

It was. Durrie remained silent, waiting.

“I’m guessing you might already know this, but your guy’s a cop.”

“You mean crime scene investigator,” Durrie said.

“No. I mean cop.”

“He’s not a crime tech?”

“Is there a bad connection or something?” Steiner asked. “I said cop. As in police officer, with the gun and the badge and the cars with the lights.”

Steiner wasn’t Durrie’s favorite person in the world. He could be a bit of an ass when he wanted to be. Easy to do when you spent all day sitting around Venice Beach. Steiner owned a mailbox and packing store just around the corner from the boardwalk, but his main income came from forging documents and gathering information.

It was clear his specialized skills made him think he was above most other people. The problem was, he
was
good at his job. Hence the reason Durrie put up with him.

“Phoenix PD?”

“Yep.”

“How long’s he been on the force?” Durrie asked.

“Just over four months. Went to the academy first, graduated near the top, then right into the uniform.”

“Is that it?”

“Dude, I know I’m good, but you didn’t give me a lot of time. That’s all I got.”

“Send me the bill,” Durrie said.

“It’s already in your inbox.”

Durrie dropped his phone on the passenger seat.

He had two choices: go to the cop’s address and check it out, or go to where he was pretty sure Oliver was headed. The house he could visit anytime. Where Oliver was probably headed seemed more pressing.

Thirty minutes later, he parked a block away from the Lawrence Hotel, then walked up to the entrance.

The doorman smiled, and immediately opened the door. “Welcome back, sir.”

Durrie had stayed there the last two nights and was still technically a guest, but he had no intention of spending another night in the place, not now that a member of the Phoenix PD had tied it to the situation on Goodman Ranch Road. But he’d deal with that later. Right now the cop was his focus.

He slowed his pace upon entering the lobby and casually looked around, taking everything in. There were two women behind the reception counter, another woman at the concierge desk, and two older men at the bellhop station. One of the women at reception was helping a male guest, while the other was looking intently at a computer screen. Other guests were scattered throughout the rest of the lobby—some talking together, some sitting on the chairs, reading or waiting. But no Jake Oliver.

Maybe Durrie had been wrong.

He checked his watch. He’d give it twenty minutes, then he’d retrieve his bag from his room and find another place to stay. He picked up one of the complimentary newspapers off a nearby table, then took a seat in a wingback chair that afforded him a view of both the hotel entrance and reception. He was just finishing up the front section when the cop made his appearance.

Durrie was surprised to see that Oliver was now dressed in a police uniform. It certainly explained the delay in his arrival, but why wear it now when he wasn’t wearing it at the scene? Then the answer, so obvious, hit him.

Authority. People responded to it, and the uniform reeked of it.

For a split second, Durrie wondered if the cop was actually here officially with the full knowledge of his superiors, but quickly dismissed the thought. If that had been the case, Oliver would have turned over the matchbook to the investigators at the scene. Instead, he’d slipped it into his pocket and driven off.

No, this visit wasn’t official. Durrie was sure of that. This was a wannabe detective trying to make a mark, and give his fledgling career an early boost. Durrie imagined that Oliver was hoping to gain some respect and maybe even a commendation. Maybe he even had ideas of becoming the youngest detective in Phoenix PD history. But the cop was young still, and didn’t quite know how the world worked. Initiative wasn’t always rewarded, especially if you looked like you were trying to show up someone else.

The argument, though, was purely academic. If Oliver’s little side investigation took him any further, he’d have bigger problems to worry about than the bruised egos of those above him on the force.

As soon as the cop passed by his position, Durrie got up and moved to an open seat on the other side of the lobby, closer to reception. It was angled away from the desk so he didn’t have much of a view, but he could hear well enough as Oliver told the woman at the desk he wished to speak to the head of security.

“If you’d like to wait over there, he’ll be with you in a moment,” she replied.

Durrie could then hear the unmistakable sound of the cop walking toward him, the uniform’s leather belt and attachments squeaking with each step. When Oliver finally stopped, he was just two chairs over from Durrie’s position.

Close enough to kill.

Durrie frowned at the thought. It was his dark voice, one that he seldom heard. But when he did, it was always throwing out ridiculous things like that. Easy to ignore, but disturbing nonetheless.

The truth was he might
have
to kill Oliver, but there would be none of the satisfaction the voice seemed to imply. In fact, there would be nothing at all. It would be part of the job. Unfortunate, maybe, but necessary.

When the hotel manager and the security man came out, Durrie listened closely to the conversation. He couldn’t help being impressed by the rookie cop’s resourcefulness. Using the cover of the robberies was excellent. It played right to the hotel’s biggest concern—the safety of its guests. Though he couldn’t see the kid’s face, Durrie could sense no hesitation or uncertainty in Oliver’s voice. It was as if the cop truly believed what he was saying. Durrie knew veteran operatives who wouldn’t have been able to pull off the deception as well as the kid did.

By the end, the cop had talked himself into a free look at the hotel’s security tapes without the need of a warrant or even confirmation from someone higher up in the force. Brilliant.

Also a potential problem.

There was no doubt that Durrie, Larson and Timmons—the two ops team members who’d also been staying at the Lawrence—would be on those tapes. But chances were slim at best that Oliver would peg any of them as people of interest. Like always, standard procedures had been in place, and the three men had acted as if they didn’t know each other while at the hotel.

No way the cop would spot them, but damn if Oliver wasn’t clever to get this far.

Durrie would give him a day. That would be more than enough to make sure the kid wasn’t a threat. And if, for some reason, it turned out he was, Durrie would undoubtedly be ordered to eliminate him.

There
was
a third possibility, but that barely even registered on the cleaner’s radar.

Slowly he stood up and lifted his arms, a man stretching after sitting for too long. He twisted at the waist, working out those last creaking muscles that weren’t actually bothering him, and took a look around. As he knew they would be, Oliver and the two hotel employees were gone. As for the others still in the lobby, none were looking in his direction.

Durrie was just another anonymous business traveler, here today, gone tomorrow. Or, in his case, here right now, gone in thirty minutes.

He went up to his room to get his bag.

9

There was a digital clock in the middle of the wall of monitors. Its numbers were red and impossible to miss, a quick reference for security guards tasked with keeping an eye on the feeds from the hotel cameras.