The barfly said to Keyes, “You through with your beer?”
“He’s through,” said Del Rio. “Let’s go.”
A couple of people looked up, then looked away real fast. They would say that they hadn’t seen anything.
With his hands still in the air, a former limousine driver named Tyson Keyes walked slowly through the crowd, escorted out the door by a former US Marine and the former California light-middleweight champion of 2005.
Tom Waits sang his signature song on the jukebox right behind them.
CHAPTER 107
A message from Justine was waiting for me when I got home.
“Jack. I want to stay at Private. That’s a definite yes. Also, if I was rude the other night, I’m sorry. I’m still feeling…bruised. See you tomorrow.”
I listened to the message a couple more times, strained it for subtext, listened for hidden meanings. All I got for sure was that Justine was staying at Private.
Was there still a chance we could reconcile?
Or were we done for good?
I heard her saying There is no “us,” Jack. I’m not sure there ever was.
I had showered and changed into jeans and a polo shirt when the intercom buzzed. I went to my new security system and checked the gate monitor.
Jinx was there with a tray in her hand, silver covers over the food.
She was right on time.
I buzzed her in, and when she came to the door, I took the tray and put it on the hall table.
Her face was sunny and beautiful, and her glasses were cute, the lenses a girly shade of pink. She was wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt.
Same color blue as her eyes.
Same color blue as the shirt I was wearing.
She said, “Hey, look at you.”
I said, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather look at you.”
“Okay,” she said.
We laughed and I wrapped her in my arms, gave her a long hug.
As I hugged her, she told me what she’d brought for dinner, heirloom tomato salad and crab cakes with mango salsa. She was excited, talking very fast.
I had already had dinner at Cody’s farewell banquet, but Jinx didn’t know, and she wasn’t going to hear it from me.
“I made the salsa myself,” she said, still holding on to me. “Specialty of the house.”
“I have a bottle of Pinot Grigio on ice.”
“I hoped you would,” she said, grinning up at me. She had a very pretty smile.
I got the wine and we took dinner out to the deck, settled into chairs, took a few breaths, and relaxed.
We toasted the setting sun as it did a fan dance with a bank of fat gray clouds. It was all speciaclass="underline" the view, the salsa, the wine, and Jinx, who was turning out to be very good company.
She kicked off her sandals, hugged her knees, and asked me to tell her more about myself, something that wasn’t on my corporate bio.
I could give a pretty good tour of my life using the map of scars on my body, but no. Not right now. I was thinking of a football story, something funny, when a musical ringtone came from the living room. Jinx’s phone.
She said, “I’m not answering that.”
“Good.”
When her phone rang the second time, it broke the mood for real. I closed the sliding glass doors, but we could still hear the phone when it called out again.
Jinx said, “It might be…Let me just get it. I’ll be right back.”
I stared out at the surf as Jinx opened the doors. I liked Jinx, was enjoying whatever this was, a date or just getting to know her.
I thought about telling her that I could make her cell phone disappear, that I could demonstrate my famous forward pass and send it into the ocean.
I thought she would laugh.
But then I heard her say in the next room, “Please. Just tell me.” And then, “Oh, no. No. I’ll be right there. Don’t touch anything.”
Jinx returned to the deck, a look of panic on her face.
“Someone else was killed in my hotel, Jack. Another man is dead.”
CHAPTER 108
I stood with Jinx just outside the Fellini Room on the second floor at the front of the hotel. It wasn’t the best location or the priciest room, but there was easy access by way of the stairs from the lobby.
The distraught young guy standing with us in the hallway was the manager, “Mr. Knowles.” His face was red, his lower lip quivered, and his eyes were swollen.
I looked beyond him into the room and saw a murder scene horrifying enough to shake up a kid with a degree in hotel management. It shook me up too, and I’d been through a war.
A man lay dead, half on the bed, half on the floor. A homemade wire garrote with two wooden handles had been pulled so hard around his neck an artery had been severed. The victim’s blood had splashed onto the unmade bed before he died.
“That’s Mr. Albert Singh,” said Knowles. “He checked in at one a.m. Had the ‘Do Not Disturb’ light on all day. He didn’t put any charges on his bill.”
Mr. Singh looked to be in his twenties, was wearing briefs and a white T-shirt. He had a wedding band on the ring finger of his outstretched hand.
“Ms. Poole, I said I’d wait for you,” Knowles was saying to Jinx, “and now you’re here. I’ve had enough, Ms. Poole. Here are my keys and my pass. I’ll send back my uniform, but I have to go home-”
I touched his arm, interrupting his exit speech.
“Mr. Knowles. I’m Jack Morgan, Private Investigations. I work for Ms. Poole. Talk to me for a minute. Tell me what happened.”
His voice was a screech. “Like I know? Housekeeping knocked on the door. There was no answer. The housekeeper came in and saw this.”
Old hotels, even those renovated in high style, weren’t designed with modern security in mind. If the killer was running true to form, he’d ducked the cameras. It might actually be impossible to secure this hotel and still keep it open for business.
If Mr. Singh was like the five other men killed in this manner, my theory was that he had hired a hooker. Sometime after she’d left, he’d let the killer into his room. Maybe a limo driver pretending that he was a hotel engineer investigating a leak, or hotel security. Most guests would let the guy in.
The LAPD was working the case, and we hadn’t gotten in their way. But we hadn’t helped them either. We had an unproven theory.
That was pretty much all we had.
Like Knowles, I felt like calling it quits. I was sorry I had taken the job. Sorry I had let Jinx down.
“Jinx, we have to call the police,” I said.
She had her fist to her mouth. I wasn’t sure she even heard me. I took out my cell phone and called it in.
Then I called Del Rio.
“I was just calling you, ” he said. “We’ve got breaking news on the hotel john killer. Come quick. We need you to talk to someone, Jack. Someone who needs convincing.”
CHAPTER 109
I had a clear view of the hotel’s entrance through the windows of the late Albert Singh’s room. Cops streamed into the Sun’s driveway, and sirens wailed as more sped up South Santa Monica Boulevard.
I put my hands on Jinx’s shoulders and made eye contact with her. I said, “I’ll call you as soon as I can. You’re going to be all right.”
I didn’t want to leave her, but Del Rio said he needed me urgently. I had to go.
I left the hotel by the rear exit, got my car out of the lot, and drove to Fifth Street. I found Del Rio and Cruz in a garbage-strewn alley called Werdin Place. A half block from King Eddy’s, Werdin ran between buildings and served as a parking place for owners of the businesses on the block. The shops were closed for the night, and Werdin was deserted.
Cruz greeted me at the top of the alley. Behind him, Del Rio held his gun on a forty-ish black man who was sitting on the ground, his fingers interlaced behind his neck. He was in what we called “Private custody.”
Del Rio said, “Jack, I’d like you to meet Mr. Tyson Keyes.”