Part 5 (2/2)
”To the Lucinda Hotel,” I answered.
”Hurry up and get there.”
I couldn't blame the guy. It was late and he was tired. But I knew all would be forgiven with one sentence about room 1701.
”The guy in the bathtub is the guy who killed Claire,” I said.
I could literally hear him sit bolt upright in his chair.
”Where are you right now?” he asked. No, demanded.
”Eighth Avenue and Thirty-Fourth.”
”Don't move, I'll have it radioed right now. A cruiser will be there shortly,” he said. ”I'll meet you at the hotel.”
”Hold on, there's one more thing,” I said.
I was back to talking a million words a minute as I tried to explain the guy with the magic pliers. The more I listened to myself, the more I realized how crazy it must sound to Lamont. If it did, though, he didn't let on. Instead, he cut to the chase, the only thing that mattered at the moment.
”Good guy or bad guy?” he asked.
”Bad guy,” I said.
He paused for a moment. ”Aren't they all?”
Click.
CHAPTER 17.
FROM THE moment I first got the call from Claire's sister, Ellen, so much had changed, and then changed again. Still, in some ways, I couldn't help thinking I was right back where I'd started. With more questions than answers.
The kid is still alive.
As I waited for the cruiser courtesy of Lamont, I kept repeating the line in my head. It couldn't literally be a kid, could it? I didn't think so, but anything was possible. The night so far was a testament to that, and here we were rolling into the next day.
A few minutes later, I caught a flash of red and blue lights out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see my escorts pulling up along the curb on Eighth Avenue. The officer riding shotgun stepped out. He looked like a very young version of Kiefer Sutherland, albeit on some serious steroids. The guy was ripped and he knew it. Had the sleeves on his uniform been rolled up any higher, he would've officially been wearing a tank top.
”Trevor Mann?” he asked.
”Yeah.”
He nodded at the door to the backseat. ”Let's go.”
I climbed in and answered a rapid-fire succession of questions from him while his partner, a guy who didn't resemble any actor I knew, took the turn onto Thirty-Fourth Street, driving slowly toward the front of the Lucinda.
Basically, I was confirming everything I'd told Lamont. The room number. The guy in the bathtub. The other guy who still might be in the room.
”And this other guy, you never actually saw him?” asked the officer.
”No, I just heard him through the door.”
”What did he sound like? Black? White? Hispanic?”
”White,” I said.
He turned to his partner behind the wheel and smirked. ”Shoot the white guy.”
They both chuckled as we pulled up in front of the hotel. Engine off, battery on. I reached for the door handle, thinking I was going inside with them. Silly me.
”Stay here,” I was told.
It made sense. Of the three of us, I was the only one who didn't have a 9mm pistol strapped to my belt. Besides, I was happy never to set foot inside the Lucinda again.
”Do me a favor, though,” I said. ”Could you turn off the flashers?”
The cop behind the wheel smiled and nodded. He understood. There might not have been a lot of foot traffic on the cusp of dawn, but there was still no need for me to look like a perp sitting in the backseat. Off went the flashers.
The two disappeared into the hotel as I did my best to keep my eyes open. I was exhausted, my lack of sleep suddenly cras.h.i.+ng down on me. Point being, I had no idea how much time had pa.s.sed when I was jolted awake by the sound of knuckles rapping on the window. Kiefer's doppelganger was waving for me to join him on the curb.
I stepped out, glancing quickly at his name plate. OFFICER BOWMAN, it read. The moment seemed to suggest that it was time I knew that.
”Was the other guy in the room gone?” I asked.
He nodded. It was the way he nodded, though. There was something else, more to it.
”How long did you wait before you called this in?” he asked.
”I didn't wait,” I said. ”It was right away.”
He nodded again. The same kind of nod.
”Follow me,” he said.
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