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“But everyone here,” he said, pointing to the line of five college kids manning the reception desk. “All of them were on duty that night. I’ll pull the records for you. See how cooperative I am?”
A thin, distracted desk clerk by the name of Gary Metz had checked Alex Logan into room 2021.
“I think I remember this Mr. Logan,” Metz told us. He drummed his fingers on the desk, looked past my shoulder into the lobby, then focused on my eyes again. “He was with another man.”
I think I may have stopped breathing for a moment; I was that hopeful that we’d run this lead to ground.
“If I’ve got him right, he was about my height, kind of regular size. Maybe he was Chinese,” said the clerk.
“Alex Logan? He looked Chinese?”
“I think so. Maybe part Chinese. The other guy was a bruiser. Six two, two thirty, and blond. He’s the one that said he wanted a smoking room. Both of them looked straight, if you want my opinion.”
“And how do you figure that?” I asked.
“They wanted a room with a king-size bed, but they didn’t dress well enough to be gay. The bigger guy’s haircut looked like he did it himself.”
“Do you remember if they had any luggage?”
“The big guy had a large rolling bag. I noticed because it was leather. Maybe Tumi? Looked expensive.”
“Thanks, Mr. Metz,” I said, doing my level best to keep the excitement out of my voice. “We need to see the room.”
Chapter 61
ROOM 2021 WAS TWO DOORS DOWN from the elevator, and it had the same whimsical decor as the lobby: a checkered-fabric headboard, three-legged chairs, a starred royal-blue carpet throughout. The current occupants had been hustled out at our behest, leaving their suitcases open on the bed and toiletries in the bathroom. There was an opened mini-bottle of Scotch on the night table.
I tried to imagine how the murder had gone down. The Chinese guy answering the door. Sandy Wegner saying hello. Throwing her coat down on the chair. The first guy spiking her drink with Rohypnol. The second guy, the bruiser, coming out of the bathroom for the kill.
I felt as if I could sense the murder happening around me. Sandy Wegner, helpless as she was raped, killed by two freaks.
The inexpressible horror grabbed me as I looked around for anything that might jump out. But the room had been slept in and cleaned many times since Sandy’s death.
“I hate hotel rooms,” I said to my former partner.
“The carpet probably has a million pubic hairs, none of them matching anything.”
“Thanks for putting that image in my head, Jacobi.”
The manager came to the door, said he was upgrading the current occupants and would keep 2021 free for as long as we needed. I thanked him, said we’d be leaving soon, but that CSU would be arriving shortly.
“CSU could find a print or, God willing, a hair with a skin tag,” I said to Jacobi.
“Doesn’t hurt to hope,” he said with a shrug.
I said, “Doesn’t hurt to pray.”
Chapter 62
DUCKS HUNG BY THEIR NECKS in the front window of Wong Fat, a Chinese restaurant a five-minute walk from the Triton. “I like this place already,” I said.
Inside, the eatery was bright, fluorescent light bouncing off the linoleum floors and Formica tables. The menu, written in Chinese letters on strips of red paper, hung against the walls.
It was good to be in out of the dark and the chill at least. The tea was hot. The hot-and-sour soup was excellent.
As we waited for our entrées, Jacobi laid down the printout of Alex Logan’s charges at the Triton.
“Here’s the phone call to Top Hat,” he said. “Lasted four and a half minutes. Logan and his buddy also raided the honor bar. Champagne, nuts. Pringles for Christ’s sake. They ordered pay-per-view at nine. What do you think? Football or porn?”
