20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20) - James Patterson Page 0,71
she could be at the Sleep Well in fifteen minutes max.
Cindy slipped her phone into her handbag, zipped up her baseball jacket, and slung the bag over her shoulder. Last, she tucked her radio under her arm and exited the office. Her curiosity and imagination caught fire. She overrode her throttled impulse and called Rich again. This time she left a message.
“Call me, Rich. Let me know that you’re okay.”
She unlocked her blue Honda, plugged the radio into the lighter jack, connected her phone to the Bluetooth app, and buckled in. It was normally a ten- to fifteen-minute drive from the Chronicle to Portola, but that didn’t count traffic jams.
Paying almost full attention to the road, Cindy took every shortcut, ran every yellow light, and when she finally arrived at the crime scene, there was nothing to see but tattered yellow tape.
Something had happened here, but what?
Cops were taking down the tape. Motel guests were pulling out of the parking lot.
She headed to the motel manager’s office.
CHAPTER 90
CINDY READ THE nameplate on the counter.
MR. JAKE TUOHY, MANAGER.
Tuohy was broad and balding, and his body language spoke loudly, conveying What now? and Who cares? But Cindy thought she could turn him to her side. She unzipped her jacket, tossed her hair, and introduced herself.
“I’m Cindy Thomas from the San Francisco Chronicle, and I wonder if you could—”
Tuohy interrupted. “Let me see your card.”
Cindy handed him one from her jacket pocket. She glanced over his head and saw the framed picture on the wall of a gutted deer hanging head down from a tree, Tuohy standing beside it, grinning.
Cindy zipped up her Windbreaker as he pinned her card to the bulletin board over the coffee station.
He turned around and patted down the flyaway hair in his horseshoe-shaped fringe. His smile was absolutely chilling.
“What do you want to know?” he said.
“Everything. Why don’t I just let you tell me what happened here?”
She pulled out her phone, pressed Record, and put it on the counter between them. She said, “Can you spell your name for me?”
He said, “I could, but I won’t. Turn that off.”
Cindy sighed, then complied.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s my job to cover this story.”
“Do not use my name. I will deny I ever spoke to you.”
“Deal. Let me start over. What can you tell me?”
“There was a guy staying here last night,” said Tuohy. “What I heard is that he shoved our cleaning woman down the stairs. We’re insured. But her papers are wonky. I don’t know for sure. Not my business. Oh. A couple of cops got injured.”
“Shot?”
“Shot? No. Who told you that?”
The manager wouldn’t give her the name of the cleaning woman or of the man who’d booked the room, or the names of the police officers, saying, “I don’t want to lose my job, understand?”
“Of course,” Cindy said. “I feel the same way. Thanks for your time.”
Cindy shook off the yucky feeling of the last five minutes and walked out to the street, where a couple of uniforms were taking down the tape. She didn’t know any of them, but she found one who didn’t look like a hard-ass. He was in his thirties, wore a wedding band, and still knew how to smile.
She checked the name on his badge—Officer S. Bender—and introduced herself to him, saying that she was head crime writer at the Chronicle.
She said, “By chance, do you know Inspector Rich Conklin of Homicide? He’s a close friend. Was he involved in the incident?”
The cop said, “Yeah, he responded to the call. He’s fine.”
Cindy exhaled her relief and asked, “Could you tell me what happened here?”
“I will because your close friend is on the Job, but do not quote me. I’m not authorized to speak to anyone about an open case, let alone the press.”
“All right, Officer B-e-n-d-e-r.”
“Ha-ha. No, I mean it. Really.”
“No problem. I promise to keep your name out of the story.”
He gave her a stern look.
“I swear.”
She extended her hand and they shook on it.
Then Bender told her what he had heard. None of it was firsthand, but it was a scoop. Big one.
“It was that guy Barkley, who fired at the cops, I think. And he escaped. The thinking is that he could be one of those drug dealer killers, but I have not heard that officially. ‘Unconfirmed, unidentified person says,’ right, Ms. Thomas?”
“Exactly.”
“Good. Word is that after this incident went down, he stole a squad car and disappeared again. I also heard that he used to be a Navy SEAL.”