Джеймс Паттерсон - The 18th Abduction

Chapter 47

Nancy Koebel, the housekeeper from the Big Four Motel, had taken off to parts unknown after finding Carly Myers’s dead body.

Not only had she discovered the body, but because of her presence around the motel on the days before the murder, she might also have information about Carly’s killer. So Conklin and I were surprised and very glad to see Koebel when she came through the entrance to Homicide on Tuesday morning and asked for me.

We escorted her into Interview 2 and asked her if she needed anything. She declined and told us that she couldn’t stay long.

Nancy Koebel was young, between eighteen and twenty-two, and thin, with choppy brown hair and dark circles under her eyes. She explained that she had come to San Francisco from Canada almost three months ago with her boyfriend, Roger Lewis.

“It was supposed to be a vacation,” she told us. “But we weren’t getting along. I said some things. Roger said some things. Then he ditched me. I had very little cash, no car, a used-up credit card, and my visitor’s visa was about to expire. I lived with my parents and had been raving about this jerk. I’ve been staying with my uncle, who lives in Pacifica, but I was too embarrassed to borrow money from him, so I decided to get a job and work until I had enough money to go home with a little dignity.”

Conklin and I commiserated and Koebel went on, telling us that she’d seen a HELP WANTED sign outside the Big Four Motel. She had taken the job for a couple of weeks, which expanded into a couple of months.

Conklin’s famous way with women wasn’t all about his good looks. He was kind, he listened, and he used the magic words. He’d taken the lead in the Koebel interview, and I was happy to sit back and let him do it. He said, “What can you tell us about finding the body and any information you may have about Carly Myers’s death? Don’t edit, please, Nancy. We’ll listen and ask questions.”

She nodded, and I sat on the edge of the rickety metal chair as she began to tell her story.

Inside the first hour, Koebel told us, “I was working my usual shift—from noon checkout time to 10 p.m.—and room 212 was supposed to be empty. But the ‘Do Not Disturb’ card was still on the door. I knocked a few times, and then I had to go in. The room had to be cleaned.

“I went to the bathroom first. That’s how I do it. I take the towels and toss them into the cart, then I go for the bedding. But the towels weren’t on the rack or the floor, so I opened the shower curtain.”

Koebel covered her face with her hands. I’d seen what she’d seen—so I knew that the sight of the victim had given her the shock of her life.

She told us what she’d done after that, and it matched Tuohy’s version of events. She’d gotten her bag from the office, run out to the street, and not been back to the Big Four since, not even to get her paycheck.

She said, “That’s how messed up I was about what happened.”

I showed her on my phone a photo of the man seen on Tuesday coming down the stairs at the back of the motel.

Koebel thought she might have seen him, but not on the day she found the body. She also said she had never spoken with Carly Myers. She claimed that she had done her job, kept her head down, and saved her money so she could go home.

“I just came in to tell you what I know. That when I opened the door to room 212, no one was there—only that poor woman hanging in the shower.”

Chapter 48

An hour and a half after first meeting Ms. Koebel, my hope that she was going to lead us to a killer, or two missing schoolteachers, had dimmed considerably.

Conklin said to our iffy witness, “But you recognize the man whose picture we showed you?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know. I didn’t pay that much attention.”

Conklin said, “Okay. It’s okay. Nancy, let me get you that tea I promised you.”

When he’d left the room, I said, “One more time, please, Nancy. You were working from noon until ten. Did you see Carly Myers check into her room last Tuesday night at around ten?”

“No, like I said, I didn’t see her at all on Tuesday. I’ve seen men going to her room on other days, two or three times. But I didn’t know her name until I saw her picture online.”

“Did you ever speak with her?”

“She asked for more towels once. She asked for batteries for the remote control. For the TV.”

“And what about these men you saw with her on separate occasions? What can you tell me?”

“Like I said, Sergeant, I didn’t look at their faces. They went to 212. She let them in, and a little while later they left. I didn’t look or try to remember any of the guests. It was none of my business, and Mr. Tuohy made sure he got his six dollars an hour out of me. I had stairs. I had vacuuming. I had laundry. I wanted to keep my job.”

“I understand. Did you ever hear or see any signs of violence? Broken furniture, bruises on Carly’s arms or face?”

“Never.”

“Did you ever find anything disturbing in Carly’s room after she checked out? Blood? Anything like that?”

She said “No” emphatically.

Conklin came in with a mug of tea for Nancy. I smelled Chinese herbs. Paul Chi’s private stash.

He pulled out his chair and said, “I know this is stressful, Nancy, and you’ve been very helpful. You’re our last hope to find Carly’s killer.”

She shook her head, out of desperation or regret, I couldn’t know. But the video camera was still rolling; the witness was still in her seat. And I still had questions.

Chapter 49

Conklin was right: Nancy Koebel was our last hope.

She’d seen Carly alive and then dead. And before Carly’s death Koebel had seen men coming and going from the victim’s motel room. One of those men might have been Carly’s killer. But might have was miles away from proof.

I didn’t want to admit it, but Nancy Koebel was believable and not panning out at all. But as my mother used to say, pressure makes diamonds. If I had to lean on Koebel, I would do it, because I wasn’t ready to give up on this witness.

I said to Koebel, “Nancy. Look at this picture once more.”

“Okay,” she said, resigned.

She blew on the tea, and I pulled up the best of the pictures the ATM had shot from across the street of the rear of the Big Four the night Carly Myers was killed.

“Here are some additional shots of him from a slightly different angle. Do you recognize him now?”

She took the phone out of my hand and really gave the images a good look.

She squinted, then said, “You know…let me see the other shot again.”

I complied.

Koebel took my phone and squinted at it.

“That could be Denny. I can’t swear on a Bible, but that might be Denny.”

Jake Tuohy had said Carly’s pimp was named Danny or Denny.

“You saw him a number of times,” I pressed.

“The time I remember, Carly checked in. He waited in the front parking lot near the office. They walked around back together.”

I said, “Go on,” and Koebel added a new layer to the story she’d been telling us all morning.

She said, “Carly waved and shouted out, ‘Bye, Denny,’ and he watched her while she went up to the second floor.”

Koebel clamped her mouth shut and closed her eyes.

She was probably thinking about the last time she’d been in room 212, a life-altering experience. And from the way Koebel was gripping the edge of the table, I thought she was ready to bolt.

If she did, we couldn’t stop her.

Conklin saw it, too. Fear of something. Maybe fear of us. She was in the USA with an expired visa.

Conklin said, “You’re not going to be asked to testify. We are trying to find this woman’s killer because two other women are still missing. You’re helping us, Nancy, and we’re very grateful to you for coming in.”