Jonathan Kellerman - Heartbreak Hotel

Len Gottlieb said, “Landlord says nearly two years, paid his rent on time, no issues.”

“Doesn’t look as if he put down roots.”

“No, it doesn’t, Doctor. Maybe he bunked down in that hotel where he worked, considered that his real crib.”

Milo said, “Interesting thought.”

“Once in a while I come up with one. It’s not much of a crime scene, right? Visually and microscopically, not a single weird hair or print. That puzzles me because a serious cleanup doesn’t go with a burglary gone evil. But now that you’ve told me it could be something else, I can see it, if we’re talking psycho murderers. Anyway, feel free to go through whatever you want, I’ve done it twice but I won’t be offended. Anything else... oh, yeah, the guy didn’t read or listen to music. There’s not even a, you-know, sex toy so I can’t tell you if he’s straight or gay or something in between. Or into nothing. My wife claims there are people like that, have no interest at all. Though I never met one.”

Milo said, “Any financial documents?”

“Those I took back to my office,” said Gottlieb, “but they’re not much, the guy was no serious investor. We’re talking salary stubs and tax returns and an Ameritrade account with twenty K in it. Where his money went, I can’t tell you. He did pretty well, they paid him ninety a year.”

“He was Swiss, maybe he sent it back home,” said Milo.

Gottlieb frowned. “Now, that’s interesting, no passport showed up. But again, maybe the serious stuff is back at the hotel.”

“We’ll check and let you know, Len.”

“Ninety a year’s not bad, but if he could cash in mega-bucks from your vic, he’d have an incentive. You think they got a big haul from her?”

Milo said, “There was three grand in her room but that could be the small pile they missed, we just don’t know. She was mega-rich and if we’re right about four people involved there’d be enough to go around.”

Gottlieb said, “I’ve seen throats get cut for twenty bucks. Mostly back when I worked the west side of Philly, ghetto stuff. But in Brentwood, maybe you’re right, it would have to be serious dough.”

He flicked the red tie. “Hundred years old, living by herself, would she leave beaucoup green lying around?”

Milo said, “She’d been there for a long time, Len. Maybe she felt safe. But like I said, it’s still at the assumption stage, I really don’t know squat.”

“Whodunits, our curse.” Gottlieb took out his pad. “Give me what you know about your three suspects.”

Milo filled him in and Gottlieb took notes, printing meticulously like a draftsman. Doing it quickly, an impressive show.

When Milo finished, he said, “Prison buddies plus a chick, she’s messing with both of them. Sounds like she could be the motivator.” He grinned. “But maybe I’m biased, having a female boss.”

“Biased or not, Len, we’ve thought the same thing.”

Gottlieb said, “Let’s face it, lookers get their way because they have goodies to distribute. My second wife was Miss Downey before she got huge and sloppy, don’t ask.”

“ My big problem,” said Milo, “is I still haven’t identified this looker.”

Gottlieb looked around Kurt DeGraw’s characterless living room. “A manager setting up a guest, talk about Hotel Hell. If he did that, he’s a total bastard. You ever meet him?”

“We did,” said Milo. “Not Mr. Charming.”

“A bastard and a pain in the ass? Don’t like hotels, never did. Don’t like to travel, period, but my wife is always doing it, being brass, conferences and the like. She can take care of herself but those places she stays at, the ones near the airport? Every time she packs a suitcase, I tell her be careful and she reminds me about who shoots better at the range. She’s my third wife but I still worry about her, she’s a girl, right? And a cutie.”

He shook his head. “Airports always attract scum, we had time I’d tell you about Philly but we don’t. Still, in Brentwood you’d expect better. At least basic safety. Anything else I should know?”

Milo said, “Can’t think of anything.” He looked at me.

I said, “No computer, no phone, but not burglary. Maybe it was the data they were after.”

“You’re right, Doctor. Burglars find you, they might shoot you or hit you over the head, they don’t do that creepy culty thing with the plastic bag — remember those comet loonies in San Diego, Hale-Bob, whatever. So it bugged me. Now it makes more sense. And you’re suggesting I find out who his phone account is with. Already in the works, Doctor, I’m planning to subpoena.”

To Milo. “I find out anything juicy, you’ll be the second to know.”

“Who’ll be the first, Len?”

“Who else? Me.”

By nine A.M. the following day, we were back at the Aventura. The parking lot was even lonelier, what might’ve been one guest vehicle plus a limo driver sleeping openmouthed in his car.

Milo and I got out of the unmarked and he walked up to the driver.

Not Leon Creech. A young bearded Latino wearing a black polo shirt and matching jeans. iPad on the passenger seat. Angry Birds on the screen.

He snored.

Milo poked him awake gently. The guy roused, gave a wet cough, looked panicked.

Milo said, “Police, but no hassle. Just want to ask you why it’s so quiet.”

The driver rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, totally dead, it’s like they’re going out of business. Don’t know why the company sent me here. Actually, I do. They got a contract, get paid a flat fee. But we get shafted, no tips, it sucks.”

“Crap deal,” said Milo. “How long’s it been this way?”

“The guy they sent yesterday said it was the same.” He looked at the pad, like a kid wanting another bite of cookie.

“Thanks, good luck to you.”

“I’ll need it.”

As we approached the hotel, Alicia Bogomil stepped out from behind foliage, cigarette in hand.

Milo said, “Not much going on.”

“Not for three days, sir. No check-ins other than three snip tucks, all women.”

“Any idea why the slowdown?”

“Four days ago a bunch of Arabs marched through with DeGraw and they looked even more pissed off than usual and he looked even more stressed out than usual. Someone said they want the land for something else, the end is near. I asked DeGraw about it and he blew me off but I could tell something was bugging him.”

“When was that, Alicia?”

“Morning after the Arabs were gone, so three days ago,” she said. “Listen to this: They own the place but didn’t stay here. I heard some driver say he was taking them back to the Beverly Wilshire. There’s an endorsement for you.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“One thing you might want to know, sir. There’s demo notices on all The Numbers, went up yesterday. I was going to call you in case you still needed to preserve the crime scene. But then I had a look, saw everything was cleaned out, no tape, I figured you were already on top of the situation.”

Her shoulders tensed.

“You got it, Alicia, nothing to preserve.”

“Well, that’s good. I’m thinking more about getting back into the job.”

“Great,” said Milo. “Speaking of DeGraw, does he keep a room here for sleeping?”

“Sure, right behind his office. I thought that was his main crib. You’re saying he has another?”

“He always sleeps here?”

“Every time I’ve worked late, I’ve seen him go in there for the night. Are you asking about him because you think he was part of something?”

“Just following up, Alicia.”

“Oh, okay. Want me to page him for you?”