to the south on the southeast corner, and a strip mall featuring a liquor store sat kitty-cornered across the intersection on the southwest corner. Both the Mobil station and the liquor store would have security cameras, but the angles wouldn't show the Home Away parking lot.
A 24/7 convenience store sat directly across Cahuenga Boulevard from the motel. The 24/7 would have cameras, too, and the angle might be better.
I trotted across Cahuenga. Two cars were tanking up at the pump island out front, with a heavy bass line booming from a little Toyota.
Inside, I joined three people in line at the counter. The clerk was a young guy with a neatly trimmed beard wearing a faded Mall Rats T-shirt. He checked out each customer mechanically and without interest. How are you today?… That will be six dollars and forty-two cents… Have a good evening. He had an unobstructed view of the Home Away parking lot. A security camera hung from the ceiling behind the counter, with a second camera at the back of the store. They almost certainly had cameras outside the store.
When it was my turn, the clerk said, "How are you today?"
"I'm investigating the murder of a man who was staying across the street. I have a couple questions for you."
"Wow. That's not something I hear every day."
I asked if their exterior security cameras showed the Home Away's parking lot.
"Sorry, dude, the cameras don't point that way. If you lean over here you can see what I mean."
He realized I wouldn't be able to see much by leaning, so he told me to come around behind the counter. A security monitor was set up on a shelf beneath the cash register. It showed grainy black-and-white views of us, the aisles, and the outside area between the gas pumps and the front door. The clerk pointed at the monitor.
"You see? The outside camera doesn't show the street. You can't see the motel."
We couldn't see the motel, but we clearly saw the cars at the pumps. Reinnike might have bought gas here, and his tag number might show on their tape.
"How long do you hold the recordings?"
"Twenty-four hours. It's not tape anymore-it's digital. The pictures stream to a hard drive, but the memory buffers out at twenty-four hours unless we put in a save."
"And you only put in a save if something happens?"
"Yeah, like if the store is robbed or an alarm goes off or whatever."
Reinnike had been murdered more than seventy-two hours ago. Twenty-four hours wasn't enough.
He folded his arms and looked at me curiously.
"I saw police cars over there last night. Was that what it was about?"
"One of their guests was murdered three nights ago."
"Right in the motel?"
"He was murdered downtown, but he was staying there."
I showed him the morgue shot. He studied the picture, then shook his head.
"They all kinda blend together. I couldn't tell you what my last three customers looked like."
"He was driving a brown Honda Accord with a bad dent at the left rear wheel. Maybe he bought gas."
"Sorry, dude. If their credit card clears, I don't even bother to look."
"He would have paid cash."
"A lot of people pay cash. I don't remember."
A construction worker grimed with white dust came in. He ordered two hot dogs, plain with nothing on them, and a large coffee with four sugars. I stood out of the way while the clerk took two hot dogs off the rotisserie and filled a large Styrofoam cup with coffee and sugar. The wall behind the counter was lined with a soft-drink dispenser, a coffee machine, a frozen-yogurt dispenser, and the rotisserie, but I didn't see an espresso machine. Nothing said "mocha."
When the construction guy left, I said, "Is there a coffee shop in walking distance?"
"Starbucks, up Riverside. It's ten or twelve blocks, though. We got coffee. What do you need?"
"It's not for me. A witness at the motel told me he crossed the street for a mocha. I was wondering where he got it."
"I get you. He could have come here. We got mocha, vanilla, and hazelnut-they're bullshit instant mixes, but we sell it. You know that stuff is mostly sand? You mix it with hot water."
The clerk's eyebrows suddenly arched with interest.
"Hey, was that the black dude?"
Just like that. You interview people, you never know what they're going to say, or why; sometimes, you kick over a stone like the thousand other stones you've kicked, and something glitters in the soil.