Джонатан Келлерман - Night Moves

Milo took a turn without braking. The Dodge squealed in protest. He slowed down.

Two mile markers later, he said, “Six-hundred-dollar necklace. So he was in love or lust or whatever guys like him are in. Let’s check out the local hostelries.”

Nothing inn-like about the Hampton Inn by Hilton, just a four-story beige rectangle logo’d in tomato red.

The cheerful young woman at the desk lost her cheer when Milo showed her his badge along with Chet Corvin’s photo.

Samantha.

“Um, I don’t think I can talk about guests.”

“This guest is deceased.” He’d gentled his tone. That made it sound worse, which was probably his intention.

Samantha shrank back. “Dead?”

Milo said, “Murdered. So if you could help us, we’d really appreciate it.”

“Um... hold on.” Backing away, she opened a rear door and slipped through. Nothing happened for several minutes. The lobby was empty, no one checking in or out. Soft rock streamed from above.

A grave-looking woman in her midthirties emerged from the back. “How can I help you, Officers?”

Briana.

Milo repeated what he’d told Samantha.

She said, “I’d have to check with Legal Affairs to verify that we can divulge that and they’re gone for the day.”

Milo placed an arm on the counter and leaned in. “Appreciate your being careful, Briana, but we’re not asking for state secrets, just checking to see if anyone around here remembers Mr. Corvin.”

She looked away. Fiddled with her name tag. “Actually, I do. He’s been here a few times.”

“Three times, between five and eight weeks ago,” said Milo. “We have his credit card history.”

“Oh,” said Briana. “Well, I can’t tell you much more than that. I only remember him because he was kind of...” She sucked in breath. “I don’t want to... put anyone down. Certainly not a deceased person.”

“Of course not, Briana. But this was a particularly nasty cold- blooded murder, so anything you could tell us would be appreciated.”

Her eyes flicked upward. “One of those times, I checked him in. It’s not like I had a strong memory of it, but your picture reminded me.”

“He stood out.”

“Well,” said Briana. “More like he was... too friendly? I didn’t do anything special for him but he told me I was A-one, said he’d ask for me personally from now on.”

“Flirtatious?”

“He didn’t engage in inappropriate touch or use suggestive language and gestures.”

Someone who’d attended the corporate seminar.

I said, “But...”

“He acted as if we already knew each other. And now that I think about it, I guess he did use a suggestive gesture. Winking.”

“Did you find him creepy?”

“Not really, more like annoying. Too much of what my grandma calls being ‘forward.’ I feel kind of bad talking about him, now that he’s been...”

Milo said, “Did he stay here alone?”

“It was a single-occupancy reservation. All three times.” Her eyes shifted up again, then to the left.

Milo said, “That’s not exactly what I asked, Briana.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I can’t divulge those kinds of things.”

“Not even off the record?”

“I heard there really was no such thing in law enforcement.”

“From who?”

“My grandpa, he was a sheriff in Fontana.”

“Maybe in his day,” said Milo. “There sure is off the record, now.” He crossed his heart.

“Hmm. I should probably ask Grandpa to make sure.” Sudden, icy smile. “Just kidding, I believe you. Okay. Off the record.”

She looked around.

“The third time he was here, he checked in alone, also. But later that evening I did see him with someone and they were pretty friendly. She went up in the elevator with him. I can’t tell you if she stayed over. Not because I don’t want to, because I don’t know. But she definitely went up with him and they were kind of... affectionate.”

She blushed. Nice to see that was still possible.

I said, “Just that once.”

“I wasn’t on night shift for the other two, so I can’t tell you what happened.”

Milo said, “If you took a peek at the room-service charges, maybe we could figure it out.”

“You said you had his credit charges.”

“They don’t specify.” He opened his case, took out the records, showed her.

She said, “Oh. That makes sense, for guest privacy we don’t itemize... I’m sorry, I definitely can’t show you our paperwork without authorization from Legal.” Sly smile. “But I guess I could see for myself.”

She smiled. “Grandpa would tell me to stop pussyfooting and help you out. He’s always griping about the ACLU. Hold on.”

The lobby door swung open with an assisted whoosh, admitting a Doppler wave of traffic noise and a harried-looking couple in their fifties. Both wore baggy T-shirts, shorts, white socks and sneakers, pushed matching red roller bags toward the counter.

When they were ten feet away, the man announced, “Checking in.”

Briana said, “Be right with you, sir,” and walked through the door that had taken Samantha.

The woman said, “She disappears, that’s some idea of service.”

Samantha reappeared. “Hi! I can take care of you, here.” She motioned the couple to the far end of the counter.

“Not so bad,” muttered the man.

“We’ll see,” said the woman.

The check-in process commenced. One credit card declined, then a second. Incredulous looks from the couple. Card three was the charm. Lots of face-covering scowls as they race-wheeled toward the elevators.

Samantha typed on a computer, avoiding looking at us. Briana returned and told her to go back in the office and check “the monthlies.”

When the office door closed, she said, “Okay. What I can tell you is the second and third times, your Mr. Corvin either had a huge appetite or someone was with him.”

“Two steaks, et cetera,” said Milo.

Briana recited from memory. “Dinner was one surf and turf, one chicken salad, two garden salads, two ice cream sundaes, a bottle of wine. Breakfast was two omelets, two orange juices, and toast for two. Plus they used two vodka minis from the self-serve fridge.”

“Hearty breakfast plus screwdrivers,” said Milo. “Was the wine Chardonnay?”

Her eyes rounded. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. So what did this woman look like?”

“Can’t really say, sir. I barely had a look at her.”

“What do you remember?”

“Honestly, not much.”

“Age?”

“I guess like him but I couldn’t swear to it. Maybe a little younger.”

“Heavy, thin?”

“I’d have to say average.”

“Tall, short?”

Briana shook her head. “Nothing stood out. Probably average, again. Sorry.”

“You’re doing fine. What about hair color?”

She smiled. “That I can tell you. Dark and kind of longish. The truth is, the two of them walked fast. Straight over there.” Eyeing the elevators. “I mostly saw the back of her.” Deeper blush. “His hand was on her... tush.”

“Chummy,” said Milo.

“Pardon?”

“Friendly.”

“If that’s what you call it,” said Briana. “I just figured they were all heated up and raring to go.”

“She didn’t remove his hand.”

“Oh, no,” said Briana. “She kind of wiggled.”

Her response to photos of Hal Braun and Trevor Bitt was quick and serene. The easy questions on the test.

Never seen him. Not him, either.

Milo thanked her again. The “Anything else?” that sometimes provides pleasant surprises produced a head shake.