And even if it ended up making him some money, it was going to fuck up his weekend, that was for goddamn sure.
19
The low buzzing of her cell phone startled Tess out of a deep sleep. She looked at the bedside clock-the digital readout said it was 6:47 A.M.-then fumbled for the phone, kept in her purse on the nightstand. She dropped it, had to grope for it under the bed, and finally managed to answer.
"McCallum," she said.
"What the hell’s going on with you? I had to let your damn phone ring fifteen times." It was the unmistakable, slightly nasal, ever-welcome voice of the Nose.
"I’m a sound sleeper," she told Michaelson.
"Then you might want to consider turning up the goddamned volume on your phone."
"I wasn’t expecting any calls."
"You weren’t expecting any calls. Perfect. Then I guess you weren’t expecting another dead body. But guess what? We’ve got one."
She sat up. "Where?"
"MiraMist Hotel, Santa Monica. Be there ASAP if you don’t want to get shipped back to Denver on the next flight."
She really disliked this man. "I’ll be there," she said tightly.
"That’s big of you. Oh, and, McCallum? You ever make me wait more than five rings to get through to you again, I’ll have your ass."
Click. He was gone.
She had fallen asleep fully dressed and had no time to change. Quickly she ran a toothbrush over her teeth and gums to get rid of the morning taste, then placed a DO NOT DISTURB sign on her door. There was a chance she would have time to come back for a quick shower later this morning, and she didn’t want the maid busy in the room. She could live with an unmade bed, anyway.
Before leaving, she switched on the air conditioner, setting the thermostat to seventy-two degrees. The room was getting stuffy, and the day was already warm.
Tess met Andrus in the lobby of the MiraMist. "Sorry," the AD said, "you can’t go up there just yet."
"Why not?" She had rushed in from the Valley, violating every municipal traffic law at least twice. The last thing she’d expected was a delay in visiting the crime scene.
"Michaelson called you too soon. He should have waited."
"Waited for what? Where is he, anyway?"
"Still on his way over. Look, grab some breakfast, relax for a while-"
"Relax? I’m not in the mood to relax. One of these rooms is a crime scene, and I want to look at it."
"Not yet. It’s…off-limits." Andrus said it with a light flutter of his eyelids that told her he was concealing something.
She drew him aside, into a shadowed alcove. "What’s up, Gerry?"
Using his first name was a signal. It meant they could talk as friends, not bureaucrats. But he merely looked away.
"Just be patient, Tess. Things are taking a little longer upstairs than expected."
"What things? You mean somebody’s already up there?"
"Another investigative team is working the room."
" Another team? This is a RAVENKIL crime scene."
"It’s more than that."
"More? Come on, Gerry, I have a right to know what’s going on. I’m part of the task force."
"You’re part of it because I pulled rank to violate bureau policy and bring you here. Don’t make me rethink that decision."
There was steel in his eyes, as chilly as the steel temples of his eyeglasses. Tess took a step back.
"You can’t take me off this investigation."
"I wouldn’t want to." His voice was noncommittal.
"No, I’m saying you can’t."
"Your personal feelings-"
"My personal feelings are not the issue. He sent me a new postcard, remember? He’s been in contact with me. Has he made contact with anyone else?"
The question was unnecessary. She took Andrus’s silence as her answer.
"Exactly. Which is why you need me working this case. So don’t try to threaten me, and don’t act like you’ve done me a favor bringing me to LA. Violating bureau policy…We’re dealing with a multiple lust murderer, and bureau policy is to catch him, and that’s why I’m here."
Andrus stared past her, his jaw working silently, and Tess wondered if she’d pushed too hard. Everything she’d said was true-but there was some truth on his side, as well. Under normal circumstances she would not have been part of this detail. Andrus had expended some of his carefully hoarded political capital to get her to LA. The fact that he’d done it out of self-interest, in the knowledge that a resolution of the case would reflect well on his leadership of the LA office, didn’t mitigate the debt she owed him.
"Things are complicated, Tess," he said finally. "I’m not at liberty to go into all the ins and outs. Let’s just say that I do need you on the task force-you’re right about that-but I need the cooperation of other elements within the bureau, as well."
"What elements?"
He shook his head and smiled. "Loose lips…You know how that goes."
"They sink ships. Old wartime slogan. But this is a crime scene, Gerry. Not a war zone."
When he looked at her, she saw something flicker in his ash-gray eyes. "You sure about that?" Andrus asked.
20
Tess wasted an hour in the lobby, stealing doughnuts from a spread laid out by the Santa Monica PD. Nobody would tell her anything, and after a while she eased up on her paranoia enough to decide that nobody knew anything worth telling. All she could learn was that the hotel room had been entered by the local SWAT team, who’d found a woman dead and no sign of her killer. How the room had been identified in the first place, why the police department’s SWAT guys had been brought in for what should have been a federal bust-these were questions without answers. The SWAT squad had been isolated for debriefing, the incident commander wasn’t around, and the street cops guarding the lobby had nothing to say.
She slipped into the rear office behind the registration desk and found clear indications that the office had been used as a temporary command post. Coffee mugs and chocolate bars were scattered around, extra phones had been jacked into the walls, folding tables and chairs were set up in available corners. The nature of the work done here was a mystery. All wastebaskets had been emptied. Any computer gear had been removed. But under a desk, she found a wadded scrap of paper that had been overlooked, covered with scribbled writing. Most of it was indecipherable, but one string of words, circled and recircled by an insistent hand, stood out from the rest. tox (aer) ~. 01 mg/kg
Tox must mean toxic. Aer probably stood for aerial or-no, aerosol.
Aerosol toxicity? A gas?
Had to be. A gas with a toxicity of approximately point zero one milligrams per kilogram.
Lethal stuff. The tiniest droplet would be deadly.
Tess stared at the piece of paper for a long moment.
Another investigative team, Andrus had said. A team dealing with hazardous substances?
If there was a hazmat squad upstairs, and if they were keeping their presence secret, then they wouldn’t use the main elevator when they left. They would take the freight elevator and exit through a rear door.
Tess left the office and headed to the back of the hotel, passing several ballrooms named after local flora-the Bird-of-Paradise, the Oleander, the Bougainvillea. She went through an unlocked door marked HOTEL STAFF ONLY, into a hallway decidedly shabbier than those intended for public use. Corrugated cartons were piled against cinder-block walls. Bare fluorescent tubes flickered overhead.
She found the freight elevator and waited to see if anybody came down.
Andrus had been secretive and uptight about whatever was going on. And last night, when she’d overheard him on the phone in his office, he’d sounded agitated, stressed.
Damn it, Tennant, you can’t afford to screw this up.