I asked, “Any idea why she waited so long to detonate the charge?”
He thought about it a few seconds before answering. “She might have made me from the balcony,” he said.
I remembered how she made a funny smile when she arrived at the room, standing near the balcony. Could that have been what made her smile? Quinn? Would she have reason to know him? If so, the terrorists had infiltrated our organization much deeper than I’d thought. “She saw you behind the hotel and then made you in the car afterward?” I asked. “That doesn’t seem likely.”
“No. When she came out the front of the hotel, we got stuck in traffic. I told Coop to just follow the beeps while I jumped out of the car to follow her on foot. She probably saw me getting out of the car ’cause she took off like a poisoned pig!”
“And you couldn’t catch her? Skinny little girl like that?”
“Runs like Callie,” he said.
“No one runs like Callie,” I said. “But I get the picture.”
Quinn said, “Last time I saw her, she was passing a Krispy Kreme Donut shop. Then I heard the blast and ran back.”
“What was that, two blocks? You call that a run?”
“Hey, you’re my size, two blocks is an Olympic event.”
“So Coop the driver followed the beeps, and we’ve got the address where she stopped,” I said, patting myself on the back for placing the tracking device in her purse.
“Might take us a while to get there,” Quinn said.
He was right. In fact, it took an hour to get the car and another twenty minutes to fight the traffic. Finally, after what seemed like forever, we spotted the miniscule split-level ranch with the peeling yellow paint on Vista Creek Drive to which Coop had tracked Jenine. Coop had parked his car a block away from the house, so we had our driver park a block beyond that. Then we signaled Coop and waited for him to return the signal. He didn’t, which meant either he was sleeping or …
He was dead. We knew it the minute we saw the bullet hole in the driver’s window. Coop had been shot from the blind side, just behind his left ear. His head hung down, his chin resting on his sternum. His blood was everywhere. Quinn opened the driver’s side door and lifted Coop’s head.
“What’s that in the bullet hole?” he asked.
I hated putting my face that close to poor Coop’s, but Quinn was right; there was something protruding from the bullet hole. It turned out to be the tracking device I had placed in Jenine’s purse.
Quinn backed out of the car, stretched to his full height, and looked at the house. “Any guess what we’ll find in there?”
“Jenine’s body,” I said.
Quinn gestured toward Coop and said, “Good thing our limo driver didn’t see this. Might have spooked him.”
“Ya think?” I said.
“I think you picked up that expression from the new girl, Kathleen.”
“I think you’re right.”
CHAPTER 28
We entered the house and quickly found two bodies wrapped in thick plastic. Both were attractive young women, one being Jenine. The other girl seemed vaguely familiar. She could have been anyone, but with two bedrooms in the house, my money was on her being Jenine’s roommate.
What we couldn’t find in the house was anything else.
No furniture, dishes, pots, pans, or silverware. No mops, brooms, cleaning supplies, paper cups, toilet paper. No computers, printers, phones, photographs, or paper of any kind. It was mindboggling. To rid an entire house of so much evidence in such a short period of time—even a small house like Jenine’s—would require a large, experienced crew. These guys were consummate pros. One or more hit men had killed three people while a full crew of crime scene cleaners waited in the wings.
In the refrigerator, there were two unopened bottles of water.
“For us?” asked Quinn.
“Apparently,” I said.
Quinn started to reach for one. “You think they’re poisoned?”
“I do.”
“What do we do now?” Quinn asked. “Talk to the neighbors?”
I didn’t think so. Surely someone spotted the dead driver before we did. They’d have called the cops. Fortunately for us, most of the police were either at the hotel or heading there. Whoever they could spare to check on our dead driver was probably on their way but likely stuck in traffic. Still, I figured we didn’t have much time.
“You got a laptop in your luggage?” I asked.
“I do.”
“Let’s get out of here and drive somewhere we can get Wi-Fi.”
“What about the water?” Quinn asked. “Should we leave them for the cops?”
“There won’t be any prints on them. On the other hand, some rookie’s liable to get killed drinking one.” We opened them and poured the water down the sink and took the bottles with us to the car.
When we got to Starbucks, Quinn remained with the driver and I took his cell phone and laptop inside. My first objective was to access the Web site where I’d discovered Jenine’s ad. I remembered seeing lots of girls on the site, and hopefully some were local. If so, I intended to contact them and see if they knew Jenine. Best case scenario, someone might give me a lead to follow.
There were two locals on the site, Star and Paige. Star wouldn’t be talking, since I recognized her as the other dead girl in Jenine’s house.
I called Paige and got her answering service. I left a message to return my call as soon as possible. Then I left the coffee shop and climbed into the front seat and waited. I looked at Quinn and tried not to smile. Times like these—his huge form crammed into the back seat, knees bent, head bowed, shoulders hunched—made me realize the effort it took just to be him. He was so large he could barely fi t in the back seat of the town car.
“You did a good job at the hotel today,” I said. “Probably saved a half-dozen people.”
Quinn shrugged. “I was on the clock.”
In time, we would learn that local hospital personnel labored for days to service the injured, and many of the bodies they received were charred beyond identification. The initial death toll was one hundred and eleven, but within a week the final count turned north of a buck fifty.
The phone rang, and I answered it.
“This is Paige,” she said.
“You sound gorgeous,” I said.
She laughed. “Maybe we should stick to the phone then, just in case.”
“Not a chance. I’ve already seen your picture.”
“Ah,” she said. “So what did you have in mind?”
“I was hoping we could meet for a cup of coffee, maybe chat awhile, get to know each other. If we’re compatible, we can take it from there.”
“My standard donation is five hundred dollars an hour.”
“I’ll double that if you can get here within the hour.”
“Don’t be offended,” she said, “but are you affiliated in any way with law enforcement?”
“I’m not. Are you?”
She laughed. “No, but I played a sexy meter maid in a high school play a few years back.”
“That might be fun to reenact some time,” I said, trying to guess where she might be heading with the comment. I wondered if her other clients sounded this retarded.
“I still have the costume, so maybe we can talk about it when I get there,” she purred. “You’re fun; I can tell. Where would you like to meet, and how will I recognize you when I get there?”
I told her and hung up. Then I told Quinn that Paige thought I sounded fun. He rolled his eyes.
Paige was plenty cute, but she didn’t look like an aspiring actress. She didn’t look like a hooker, either. What she looked like was a soccer mom, which, as it turned out, she was. I slipped her the envelope, and she palmed it and placed it in her purse. She excused herself and went to the restroom. When she got back, she said, “That’s way more than we agreed on. Did you want to book more time?”