“Thank you.” Jake moved over to the chair, but didn’t sit down.
Two minutes later, a woman and a man came out of an unmarked door near the concierge desk, and walked over to him. The woman looked to be in her fifties and was dressed in a smart, dark gray business suit. The man was maybe a few years older, and wore a black suit and the unmistakable look of retired cop.
“Officer Oliver, is it?” the woman said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jake said.
She held out her hand. “I’m Toni Conway. I manage the Lawrence.”
Jake shook her hand.
She then turned to the man beside her and said, “This is Carl Evans. He’s head of security.”
“Mr. Evans,” Jake said, as he shook the man’s hand.
“What is it we can help you with?” Evans asked.
“A small matter, really,” Jake said. “I’m sure you’re aware of the airport transit robberies.” The robberies were real. Someone had been forcing Town Cars headed for the airport off the road, then robbing their passengers of whatever valuables they might be carrying. These were always cars heading to the airport, mostly from local hotels, but a few private homes, too. The police had yet to crack the case.
“Sure,” Evans said. “We’ve been taking every precaution to ensure our guests don’t become victims.”
“May I ask what those are?” Jake said. The question really wasn’t important other than to sell his own legitimacy.
Evans said, “We’ve encouraged most people to use van pools. Those who do go by Town Car, we always send a second car driven by a member of my staff to follow right behind. We haven’t had any problems.”
“Excellent,” Jake said. “That’s exactly what we’ve been encouraging other hotels to do.” He paused. “We could use your help on another matter.”
“What’s that?” Evans asked.
“A matchbook with your hotel’s logo was found at the scene of the latest robbery.”
Conway’s face scrunched up in question. “A matchbook? From here?”
Jake stepped over to a small table between the two chairs. He’d spotted a matchbook, just like the one he’d found at the crime scene, sitting on the table when he’d first come over. Now he picked it up and showed it to them.
“Just like this one.”
“Why would that be important?” Conway asked.
“It might not be,” Jake said. “But I’m sure you understand that we need to follow up on every lead.”
Evans was nodding. “I take it you think that the matchbook might have come from the robber?”
“It’s one possibility.”
“Those Town Cars go to all the hotels,” Conway said. “It could have been in there from a previous ride, and fallen out.”
“That’s also a possibility,” Jake conceded. “And it might already have been on the ground when the car drove up.”
Evans smiled in a way that told Jake the head of security was about to say the same thing.
“So what is it you’re hoping we can tell you?” Conway said.
Jake looked down, then back at them, his expression more relaxed than before. “I’ll be honest with you. I think this is a dead end, but, like I said, we have to follow up on everything. I was assigned to look through your security footage, with your permission, of course.”
“Our security footage?” Conway asked. “What do you expect to find?”
“You know who it might be, don’t you?” Evans said.
Jake hesitated. “We’ve…identified several potential perps. My focus would be to see if any of them was here.”
“Perps?” the woman asked.
“Perpetrators, ma’am.”
Conway looked at Evans. “Carl?”
Evans shrugged. “I don’t have a problem with it.” He looked at Jake. “How far back do you want to look?”
“Just the last forty-eight hours.”
“Easy enough,” Evans said.
Conway didn’t look completely happy, but Jake could tell she wasn’t going to stand in the way. “All right. But, Officer, we can’t give you any information about any of our guests. You can look at the footage, but that’s all the help we can give.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Jake said. “If we need anything more, we’ll get a warrant so that you’re covered in case any of your guests complain.”
That seemed to satisfy her. “I’ll leave you in Mr. Evans’s hands, then.”
8
“The car belongs to a guy named Jake Oliver,” Steiner reported over the phone as Durrie drove back into the city.
From the address Steiner read off, it was pretty clear this Oliver guy lived in either an apartment or townhouse.
“The birthday on his license puts him at twenty-two. Height listed at five-foot-ten, and weight one-sixty-five. You need hair and eye color, too?”
“No,” Durrie said. He’d seen the man’s hair and eyes.
“I was able to get a social security number and do a little more digging. I assume that’s what you wanted.”
It was. Durrie remained silent, waiting.
“I’m guessing you might already know this, but your guy’s a cop.”
“You mean crime scene investigator,” Durrie said.
“No. I mean cop.”
“He’s not a crime tech?”
“Is there a bad connection or something?” Steiner asked. “I said cop. As in police officer, with the gun and the badge and the cars with the lights.”
Steiner wasn’t Durrie’s favorite person in the world. He could be a bit of an ass when he wanted to be. Easy to do when you spent all day sitting around Venice Beach. Steiner owned a mailbox and packing store just around the corner from the boardwalk, but his main income came from forging documents and gathering information.
It was clear his specialized skills made him think he was above most other people. The problem was, he was good at his job. Hence the reason Durrie put up with him.
“Phoenix PD?”
“Yep.”
“How long’s he been on the force?” Durrie asked.
“Just over four months. Went to the academy first, graduated near the top, then right into the uniform.”
“Is that it?”
“Dude, I know I’m good, but you didn’t give me a lot of time. That’s all I got.”
“Send me the bill,” Durrie said.
“It’s already in your inbox.”
Durrie dropped his phone on the passenger seat.
He had two choices: go to the cop’s address and check it out, or go to where he was pretty sure Oliver was headed. The house he could visit anytime. Where Oliver was probably headed seemed more pressing.
Thirty minutes later, he parked a block away from the Lawrence Hotel, then walked up to the entrance.
The doorman smiled, and immediately opened the door. “Welcome back, sir.”
Durrie had stayed there the last two nights and was still technically a guest, but he had no intention of spending another night in the place, not now that a member of the Phoenix PD had tied it to the situation on Goodman Ranch Road. But he’d deal with that later. Right now the cop was his focus.
He slowed his pace upon entering the lobby and casually looked around, taking everything in. There were two women behind the reception counter, another woman at the concierge desk, and two older men at the bellhop station. One of the women at reception was helping a male guest, while the other was looking intently at a computer screen. Other guests were scattered throughout the rest of the lobby — some talking together, some sitting on the chairs, reading or waiting. But no Jake Oliver.
Maybe Durrie had been wrong.