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“Not unless you’re up for a hike. There’s a Walmart and some fast-food places, but they’re all a good ten-minute drive.”
Cooke thought of the gift shop. It was unoccupied except for a female clerk behind the counter. He returned to his car and drove back around to the rear of the building. The Lexus was still there. He parked next to it, got out, confirmed the number on the license plate, and leaned against a window with his hands cupped around his eyes. No one was in it. Anne’s clutch purse lay on the front passenger’s seat. Her leather train case and matching overnight bag were in back.
He went back inside and found the clerk stacking complimentary newspapers on the end of the desk.
“Sorry to bother you again,” Cooke said. “Are you sure Anne Plevin hasn’t checked in?”
The clerk looked up, frowned. “Sir. Every guest here is entitled to the same courtesy as all the rest. I can’t see why this one should attract so much attention.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yesterday a guest came to the desk at least five times to ask the same question you did, about the same guest. By the fifth time, we’d received notice from Mrs. Plevin that she was delayed and wouldn’t be here until this morning. I told him that, but instead of thanking me he was quite rude. Frankly I was glad when he checked out this morning.”
“What was his name?”
“I can’t tell you that. It’s the policy of Hilton to protect the privacy of our guests.”
Cooke chewed the inside of his cheek, in lieu of chewing the clerk’s impassive face. “Look at mine.”
“Sir?”
He repeated it, and his name. “I included the model of the car I’m driving and the license plate. Look up the number of the Illinois DMV and ask who the car was originally registered to. I’m sure you’ll recognize the name—and understand the scope of his influence. I’ll wait over there while you make the call.” He tilted his head toward an arrangement of deep suede leather chairs in the lobby.
The clerk opened his mouth as if to protest, then shut it and lifted the handset from a console beside his computer. Cooke drew a newspaper off the top of the stack and carried it over to a chair.
It wasAmerica Now,the paper Plevin had rescued from bankruptcy and placed in every hotel chain in the US. Opening it, he made sure the masthead on the front page was visible to the man behind the desk. He would know who owned it.
Cooke wondered if he’d been had. Anne’s story had been convincing, and of course he was predisposed to accept it, given the effect she had on him. Knowing her car contained a homing device, she’d make arrangements for a replacement, probably a rental, abandon the Lexus, and meet up with her lover. That would explain the man’s frustration when she’d failed to check in yesterday. The Hilton had been their place of liaison all along, the Reno divorce a blind to put Cooke off his guard. He’d proven a prize ass, unworthy of compensation.
But he could redeem himself by presenting Todd Plevin with his rival’s name, giving him ammunition to place in the hands of a professional detective. Anne would get her divorce, whether she wanted it or not.
The clerk spent some minutes murmuring into the receiver. Then he replaced the handset as carefully as if it were made of fine crystal. He turned from the desk, opened a file drawer, and thumbed through the folders. Turning back, he caught Cooke’s eye over the top of the newspaper. He had a sheet in his hand.
CHAPTER 13
HE SAT BEHIND the wheel twenty minutes, trying to dredge up the courage to do the only thing that could be done. Finally he called Todd Plevin.
The media titan had not gotten as far as he had without instincts. There was no arrangement in place for his man in surveillance to check in unless something had gone astray. His greeting sounded cautious.
Once again, Cooke had been holding his breath without realizing it. He let it out, and reported Anne’s disappearance in the rush of exhalation, with no breaks between the words. It was like a little boy confessing to a broken window in one gust, to get it over with before he lost his nerve.
He said nothing about their meeting in the bar. The story she’d fed him was a blind, to throw him off the trail; there was no use in repeating it, and he was afraid of the reaction if he found out they’d made contact and he’d kept the information to himself. A man in Plevin’s position was capable of destroying a disgraced employee just for spite.
Silence on the other end. Drops of sweat prickled along his hairline. But when the response came it was deadly calm.
“What else?”
That part at least was easy. “The desk clerk told me a guest pestered him all last night asking if your wife had checked in. Apparently he was expecting her to arrive on time. He hadn’t thought of the storm delay.”
“Tell me you got his name.”
The paper on which he’d recorded the information from the registration sheet rattled in his hand; it was shaking so badly the writing was a blur. He used his other hand to steady it. “George DeWitt.”
“I don’t know him. How’d he pay for his room, credit card or cash?”
“Cash.”
“What I thought. Nobody does that today unless he doesn’t want to be traced. George DeWitt my ass. Anything else?”
