Sole Witness (14 page)

“Right.”

“And that the only person who knew of this change
was you.”

Davis gripped the parking brake without responding.

“And that she called you directly, herself, with her
location.”

Itchy sweat trickled down Davis’s neck.

“And that you met her today, next to her motel.
Davis, are you still there?”

“Yeah.” The word came out choked.

“And that when she got back to her room, the killer
was inside.”

Nice work, Hamilton. He should have walked her back
like he wanted to. He should never have left her alone. “Is– Is she–”

“She noticed the door ajar and got the hell out of
there.”

Davis put the car in gear and made a U-turn on the
uneven grass. “Where is she now?”

“No idea. Wouldn’t say. Seemed to think trusting the
police—or at least, trusting you—was a direct line to trouble. And let me just
say, Detective Sergeant is not pleased.”

“He’s the least of my concerns right now. I’m on my
way to the motel. And Carver… thanks.”

Carver snorted a humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

Davis snapped his cell phone closed and sped back to
the motel, wishing his rig came with sirens. And maybe a sniper rifle. If
Lori’s stalker ever came within his sight, he’d–

Lights flashed in the Shell Motel parking lot. Davis
pulled up next to a squad car and strode inside.

Although almost empty now, the lobby looked like it
had been a major party scene scant moments earlier. The gangly motel clerk
speaking to one of the uniforms tried to surreptitiously kick a beer can under
a couch. Unfortunately for him, the can was half full and the contents drenched
his shoe.

Catching sight of Davis, the other officers melted
backward.

“What happened here?” Davis demanded as he stalked
up to the clerk.

“I don’t know, man, they were just unruly, that’s
all. I told ’em no drinking in the lobby, but they didn’t listen. I’m pretty
sure they were of age, but I’m not a bartender, man, I’m–”

“Making me crazy. What happened with Lori Summers?
The one whose room got broken into?” Davis raised an eyebrow and gave him a
pointed stare.

“Oh, her. Okay, first, this broad comes in. Sexy in
a slutty kind of way. Easy. Not Summers—this other chick. You know, the kind
with her shirt undone and everything just hanging out?

“Anyway, she feeds me this line about how she needs
some extra pillows—which, by the way, is a legitimate guest request—and how
she’ll do me and whoever once I get ’em. So, I bring back the pillows, and not
only is she gone, so’s half the keys.

“What am I supposed to do, knock on every door on
the north wing and ask if some blonde is throwing an orgy inside? I gotta man
the counter. Spring Break. How was I ’posed to know she’d be vandalizing the
place like a teenager?

“Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it really was a
teenager. Drunken assholes. Not that I condone underage drinking. I didn’t have
nothing to do with it, you know? I’m just the clerk.”

Davis finished counting to ten—twice—and tugged his
notebook from his pocket.

“Forget the kids. A woman stole the keys? What did
she look like? Besides blonde. Height? Weight? Eye color?”

The clerk shrugged. “I don’t know, man. She came in
and all I saw was nipples, red lipstick, and visions of sugarplums, you know
what I’m sayin’? Eye color? No idea.”

Gritting his teeth, Davis glanced over his shoulder
at the beat cops. One rolled his eyes, the other shrugged. They hadn’t had any
luck with this clown themselves, or they’d be sharing what they had.

Davis let his gaze wander around the lobby and he
took careful notes on everything he saw. Suddenly, something above the counter
caught his eye.

“You have a freaking video camera and you didn’t
mention it?” Davis demanded. “I need to see your security tapes.”

“Aw, man, there’s no tapes. It’s not even wired.
It’s a deterrent. You know, to crime.”

Davis clenched his jaw and stalked over to the
registration area. He slapped his notebook onto the cracked counter, flipped to
a fresh page, and motioned to the clerk. “Come here. Now.”

Tugging at his hands, the clerk shuffled over and
slumped against the counter.

“Okay. What did her face look like? Don’t tell me
you don’t know. I don’t want to hear it. Was she fat? Skinny? Freckled? Tell
me.”

The clerk closed his eyes and gnawed at his lower
lip for a moment.

“No freckles. Mostly skinny. In a way. Kind of a
round face, but not fleshy, you know? Like the skin was right over the bones.
Hard to describe. Cheeks like Michelle Pfeiffer. Real noticeable. Lots of
makeup. Don’t remember her eye color… but I do remember her eyebrows. Real
pointy. Like Scarlett O’Hara. My mom made me watch that movie. I think an
ordinary nose. It can’t have been all pointy or one of those snub pig-noses. I
notice noses when they’re weird.”

Davis’s pen flew across the paper, sketching as the
clerk spoke. “Mouth? Teeth? Haircut? Identifying marks?”

Eyes still closed, the clerk shook his head. “Sorry,
man. Red is all I can think of about her mouth. Real white teeth, though.
Remember that because of how red her lips were. Don’t know what kind of style
you call it, but she did have big hair. Don’t know if that helps.”

“Long? Short? Bangs?”

“I guess bangs. Long bangs. Teased up at the top and
over her ears.”

Davis tapped his pen against the notepad. “Earrings?
Tattoos? Help me out here.”

“Don’t remember, dude. Sorry. Seriously, all I was
thinking about was getting–”

“Look at this. Tell me if I’m close.”

The clerk opened his eyes and staggered backward in
surprise. “Dude! That’s pretty good. You should be an artist. Me, I can’t draw
more’n stick people.”

Davis jabbed a finger at the notepad. “Does she look
like this or not?”

“Mostly, yeah.” The clerk studied the sketch,
squinting at it from several angles. “Wrong expression, though. More sultry,
you know? Like she’d go home with anyone who asked.”

Blonde, red-lipsticked, and willing to go home with
anyone.

A perfect description of all thirty-two women Tommy
Turner had been involved in over the last two months.

Davis wished he’d at least gotten eye color. Less
than half of the women had high cheekbones, though. And maybe half of those had
white teeth. That left maybe eight potentials to re-interview and alibi.

But, first, he needed to check out the crime scene.

One of the uniforms led him to the room, not that
the yellow tape was a dead giveaway. The bed was slashed and the walls gouged.
Drywall particles and pillow fibers floated everywhere. He wasn’t sure if this
was an evidentiary wet dream or a forensics nightmare.

“Knife marks. Perp was armed. And angry,” one of the
cops piped up helpfully.

“Thanks,” Davis muttered, snapping on his gloves and
ducking under the tape.

Forensic techs were busy bagging everything in
sight.

Davis crossed over to one standing by the bed and
asked him to compare any hairs to the one found at Tommy Turner’s studio and
the exclusionary samples collected at Lori’s house.

Lori. Was she safe? Where was she? Why would a
groupie target her like this?

Even if she had been sleeping with Tommy—although
she’d sworn she had not—every single one of Tommy’s women had to have known
that he was far from monogamous.

Maybe Lori knew more than she was saying. Maybe she
could identify the killer’s vehicle at the studio. Maybe she could even
identify the killer.

No doubt Lori was scared. She was in real danger.

Davis was scared, too.

*          *          *

Trying not to freak out, Lori cruised southward down
Gulf Boulevard slow enough to get honked at.

Her bright pink boat was a beacon of conspicuousness
and she had to get it off the street.

Now.

Catching sight of Tiki Nation’s massive thatched
roof ahead on the right, Lori swung in and gratefully handed her car and keys
over to the valet. Wherever he parked her car, at least it wouldn’t be visible
from the road.

Strands of damp hair clung to her face in the sudden
humidity. Lori was sure the silhouette of her bag was outlined in sweat on the
back of her shirt.

She avoided the football field-sized “mingle” area
already packed with swimsuit-clad bodies and headed instead for the tiki bar.
She settled atop a tall barstool and dropped her bag beneath her feet.

With the gyrating crowd in front of her and the
ocean to her right, Lori had a clear view of the street to her left, only
obstructed by a few palm trees and scattered tiki torches.

Not that she had any idea what she was looking for.
The killer could be driving the Goodyear Blimp for all she knew. He was the one
with all the advantages.

At the motel, he’d come so close…

“What can I get you, honey?” asked the
platinum-streaked bartender in a husky smoker’s voice. “Daiquiri? Margarita?
Piña Colada?”

Lori realized her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since
she’d torn out of the motel like the devil himself was on her heels. Maybe he
was. And maybe a drink wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“Margarita,” she decided, giving the girl behind the
counter a grateful smile. “Rocks. Salt.”

“Coming right up. Want to start a tab?”

With the kind of week she’d been having? Why not.

Lori nodded, then jumped when loud music suddenly
blared from her army bag.

She hopped off her chair to fish in the front pocket
for her cell phone and frowned when she didn’t recognize the number. She
climbed back up her chair and leaned her elbows on the counter before
answering.

“Hello?”

“Thank the Lord,” breathed a soft, deep voice. “Are
you somewhere safe?”

Davis. Lori’s stomach clenched and the shaking in
her hands worsened.

“How did you get my number?” she stammered.

“Caller ID on my cell phone. You called me this
morning, remember? Lori, you don’t seriously think I have anything to do with
this, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Lori answered truthfully, shooting
the bartender a frazzled smile when her margarita appeared before her. “You
thought I killed Tommy. Seems to me you’re acting even more suspicious.”

“Come on,” Davis said, his agony plain in the
strained tone of his voice. “I never thought you killed anyone. I just thought
you might know more than you were saying, that’s all. Why else would a killer
come after you? Tell me where you are. I’ll put you up somewhere safe if I have
to pay for it myself. Why the hell would I want anything bad to happen to you?”

Lori traced the rim of her glass with one finger,
knocking some of the rocky salt into her drink in the process. She took a deep
breath.

“I don’t know, Davis. I wouldn’t think you did,
but…”

“But what?”

“But look at it from my point of view. Two people I
know were killed in two days time. Someone is clearly after me. I hide out in
the most disgusting motel I’ve been to in years, and the only person I trust
enough to tell where I am is you. An hour later we’re shifting uncomfortably in
the diner, and the killer magically appears in my motel room. You tell me what
to think.”

Davis sighed. “I’ll be honest. I have no idea what’s
going on. But I do know that I have nothing to do with it and that you’re just
as innocent. Not only that, but you’re in danger. All I want is to protect you.
Lori, I–”

Lori waited, but Davis didn’t complete his sentence.

“Look,” she said finally. “Despite… our past, I
can’t imagine any reason why you’d want to hurt me. I want to believe in you. I
did believe in you. But the facts tell me something is fishy. If you didn’t tip
off the killer, then you had to have told my location to someone who did.”

“The only people who knew where I was going were
cops, Lori.”

“Then there’s a leak in your department.”

“What? No way. I’ve known all of them for years.
Except the new guys, who, trust me, are too green to leak anything anywhere.
There’s got to be some other connection.”

Lori leaned forward and took her first sip of the
margarita. Man was that strong. She wiped salt off her upper lip with a small
square napkin and considered his point.

“Then you tell me, Davy. If the only people who knew
where I was were cops, how else could the killer possibly know where I was?”

Davis was silent for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “If you’ll let me come
to you, I’ll protect you any way I can. I won’t tell anyone where you are,
except my partner, and I’d trust her with my life. If it makes you feel better,
I’ll even let her ride with me without breathing a word about where we’re
going. It’ll drive her crazy, but she’ll let it go.”