Sue Grafton - L is for Lawless

"Where the hell have you been?"

I turned, astonished. It was Ray, his badly bruised face about six inches from mine. He'd removed the tape from his nose, but it still looked like his nostrils were packed with cotton. His skin smelled medicinal, the sort of aftershave you'd sport in an emergency room, composed of equal parts rubbing alcohol, adhesive tape, and suturing material. He still clutched me with his injured hand, his splinted fingers held stiffly.

"Where have I been? Where have you been?" Our voices seemed to ricochet up the stairwell like a flock of shrieking birds. Both of us glanced upward and lowered our tones to rasping whispers. Ray urged me into the cul-de-sac formed by the final flight of steps where it dead-ended at the wall.

"Christ, those guys are on to you," he hissed. "Some yo-yo with a walkie-talkie's been giving me the third degree. I'm waiting by the house phone and he asks if I'd mind 'stepping into the office.' What was I supposed to do? He knows who you are and he wants to know what you're doing here."

"Why'd he ask you?"

"He'd been checking around. The waitress must have told him she'd seen us together. I wasn't hard to spot. With a mug like this? I told him you were a private investigator working undercover on a case I wasn't at liberty to discuss."

"Who did he think you were, a cop?"

"I told him I was part of a witness protection program, being moved to another state. I had to talk like this was all very hush-hush, life-or-death stuff."

"They couldn't have believed you. How'd you get away?"

"They don't give a shit who I am. They just want me out of here. I said I'd go up to the room and get my things. They escorted me to the elevator, and as soon as they left, I turned around and came down. Is that the duffel? Give it here."

I jerked it out of his reach. "Listen, you piker. Do you swear on a stack of Bibles you've told me the truth? This is cash we're looking for, not drugs or diamonds or stolen documents, right?"

"It's money. I swear. You didn't find it?"

"I didn't find a thing. How much are we talking about?"

"Eight thousand dollars, maybe a little less by now."

"That's all?"

"Come on. It's a lot when you don't have a dime, which I don't."

"Somehow I got the impression it was more," I said.

Our voices had started to reverberate again. He put a finger to his lips.

"Where'd the money come from?" I whispered hoarsely.

"I'll tell you later. Let's see if we can find a way out of here."

"There's a service corridor below this one, but you can't access it from here," I said.

"What about the floor above?"

"I don't think so." He started up the steps, but I grabbed his arm. "Wait a minute. Slow down. We need a plan."

"We need the cash," he corrected, "before hotel security catches up with us again. Maybe this Huckaby woman left the money with the manager."

"She couldn't. I was standing in the same line when she checked in. She didn't deposit any valuables. I'd have seen her do that."

"Then where is it? She's not going to let the money out of her sight. If we figure out where she's got it, you can snag it and run."

"Oh, I can? That's nice. What about you?"

"I'm speaking figuratively," he said.

"Well, the cash isn't in her room because I've searched."

"Then she must have it with her."

"She does not. I told you that. Ah!" I heard the sound an idea makes when your brain ignites, a tiny implosion, like spontaneous combustion at the base of your skull. "Wait a minute. I got it. I think I know where it is. Come with me."

I knocked on Laura Huckaby's door. There was a pause. She was probably checking through the spy hole to see who it was. Ray was standing against the wall to the left of the door, with a look of suffering on his face. "I know how Gilbert got my release date," he said dully. "I didn't want to tell you unless I had to."

"Hush," I said under my breath. I couldn't figure out what his problem was, aside from the obvious. He'd been curiously reluctant to come up here with me, suggesting all kinds of reasons I should do it myself. I'd been adamant. For one thing, if we were caught, we could act like we were just leaving. For another, now that Chester was pissed off, I didn't want to take sole responsibility. As before, Laura opened the door a crack, leaving the chain in place.

I held up the duffel. "Hi, it's me. I'm off duty. I found this in the hall."

"Is that mine?"

"I think so. Wasn't this sitting in your closet last night?"

"How'd it get out there?"

"Beats me. I spotted it in passing and thought I'd knock," I said. "It is yours, isn't it?"

She studied it briefly. "Just a minute. I'll check." She left the door ajar, still secured by the chain, while she moved into the dressing area and opened the closet door. Ray and I exchanged a look. I knew she wasn't going to find her duffel, but I waited dutifully, playing out the charade. She returned to the door, her expression perplexed. "I guess it is mine." It was clear she didn't want to trust me, but what could she do? From her point of view, she'd been subjected to inexplicable occurrences. A lost key, a missing package, now the wandering duffel.

"I can leave it out here. You want me to do that?"

"No, that's all right." She closed the door and slipped the chain off its track. She opened the door again just wide enough for the duffel, holding her hand out as if to take it from me. I put a hand around the edge of the door, effectively preventing her from closing it.

She seemed startled by the gesture and said, "Hey!" irritably.

I hoped my smile was reassuring. "Mind if I come in? We need to talk." I pushed the door inward.

"Get away," she said, pushing back.

We grappled with the door, but Ray had moved into the picture by then, and after a mute struggle on her part, she relinquished control. She'd begun to realize that something was dreadfully wrong.

"I'm Kinsey Millhone," I said as we stepped into the room. "This is my friend Ray."

She backed up a step, taking in Ray's bruised and swollen face. "What is this?"

"We called a meeting about the money," I said. "Just between you, me, and him."

She pivoted, moving rapidly toward the bed table, where she snatched up the receiver. Ray intercepted her and banged down the button before she could press "0."

"Take it easy. We just want to talk to you," he said. He removed the receiver from her hand and dropped it in the cradle.

"Who are you? What is this, some kind of shakedown?"

"Not at all," I said. "We followed you from California. Your friend Gilbert stole some money, and Ray, here, wants it back."

Her eyes fixed on me and then jumped to him, comprehension dawning. "You're Ray Rawson."

"That's right."

She raised a hand rapidly as if to slap him in the face. Ray blocked the move and caught the blow on his arm. He grabbed her wrist with his good hand. "Don't do that," he said.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me!"

"Just give us the money and we'll leave you alone."

"It isn't yours. It belongs to Gilbert."

Ray shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Money belongs to me and a guy named Johnny Lee. Johnny died four months ago, so I'm passing his share along to his son and grandson. Gilbert tried to rip us off."

"You goddamn shit. That's not true! The money's his and you know it. You're the one who blew the whistle. His brother died because of you."

"That's bullshit. Is that what he said?"

"Well, yes. He told me it was some kind of sting and it was all set up. You tipped off the cops and Donnie was killed in the shoot-out," she said.

"Wait a minute, gang. What's going on?" I said.

Ray seemed unruffled, ignoring me altogether in his focus on her. "He lied to you, baby. Gilbert sold you a bill of goods. He probably had to do that to get you to participate, right? Because if you knew the truth, you wouldn't help. I hope."