Out of the Past: A Reed Ferguson Mystery Part 17

I held up a hand to stop her, then walked slowly toward her as I talked. "Promise me you'll go in there, sit quietly on the couch, and help." I was now staring down at her, and my patience was clearly gone.

"Fine." She stood up and traipsed back into Cal's office.

Bennett and Aiden were still in the spare bedroom, unsure of what to do. I called them and they stood in the doorway as I grabbed Stephanie's arm and guided her to the couch. "Sit down."

She did so, murmuring "Ew," and waving a hand so I would know she noticed the dust cloud. She received a steely glare from me. I pointed to Bennett and Aiden, then to the couch. They complied.

"Reed," Cal griped. "They shouldn't be in here..."

"They're staying right where they are," I said, pulling up a folding chair and sitting down. "Now, let's figure out what's going on so they can all go home."

They all stared at me, hesitant to cross me.

"So if it wasn't Scott who was after us, then who?" Aiden asked tentatively.

"That's what we have to figure out, genius," I said. "When someone is murdered or kidnapped, they usually look to the most obvious suspects. In this case, the boyfriend made sense, but he's dead. I'd look next at the parents. Do you know anything about them?"

The three shook their heads. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cal start typing.

"We didn't know much about Rebecca," Bennett said. "She wanted to be part of our group, but the girls didn't like her, so Stephanie suggested we play a prank on her."

"You were in on it," she muttered.

"You, shut up," I jabbed a finger at her. Her mouth snapped shut. I turned to Cal. "What can you find on Rebecca Thorndike's parents?"

"Already on it," he said.

"What else can you tell me about Rebecca?" I asked the three on the couch as Cal worked. "When did you meet her? What was she like? Was she a part of your social set?"

Bennett shook his head. "We only met her in college, and she was okay, maybe a little radical, but all right."

"You had a crush on her," Stephanie said.

"Did not," he replied.

I held up a hand and they stopped. "Was she a trust-fund baby, like you all?" They all shook their heads. "How long have you all known each other?"

"Gawd, practically since birth," Stephanie said.

"Yeah, we kind of grew up together," Bennett said. "We weren't all in the same cities, but our families knew each other, so we spent a lot of vacations together."

"Just once I would've liked to go somewhere and not see you guys," Aiden said. "By the time high school rolled around, it was like every summer and winter break we'd be together."

"You loved it," Stephanie said. "Remember that time in the Bahamas, and that beach party?"

Aiden grinned. "Yeah, that was fun."

"And so was that vacation in Connecticut in '08, and the week in D.C," Bennett said.

"Yeah, but remember the time I wanted to go to Europe and we couldn't because my dad said we had to vacation with your families in Ohio? I mean, really, Ohio? Who gives a s.h.i.+t about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?"

Cal cleared his throat.

"Okay, enough of the stroll down memory lane," I said.

"Was Rebecca from Seattle?" Cal asked.

"That sounds right," Bennett said.

"Good, I've got the right family then." Cal turned to face us. "Rebecca's dad died of a heart attack her junior year of college, so he obviously can't be a suspect. Her mother, Elaine, still lives in Seattle, and Rebecca had a sister who was three years older. Her mother works at Microsoft and the sister, Sarah, worked at a hospital in a Seattle suburb."

"Can you find their work numbers?" I asked.

"Right here." Cal pointed at the monitor.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed one of them. "This is Franklin Hardy with HR," I said to the receptionist, using the fictional detective from The Hardy Boys series. "May I speak with Elaine Thorndike's supervisor?" I was bounced up the chain of command until I finally reached the supervisor. I explained that I was investigating some discrepancies with employee vacation days, and I needed to verify that Elaine Thorndike had not taken any time off recently. The supervisor complied and even stated that she was at work that day. Like I said, act like you have the right to be doing what you're doing...

I pulled the same stunt with Rebecca's sister's workplace, and got the same results. The three on the couch stared at me.

"That really works?" Stephanie asked.

"Yes, but it's a dead end," I said when I'd finished. "Neither Rebecca's mom nor her sister was in Denver the last few days, specifically when Brittany was killed or when Avery was killed. So if they are involved, it would be hiring someone to do their dirty work, someone we still need to find." I turned back to Cal. "Did you look into who rented the car that followed Stephanie and me on Sunday?"

He shook his head. "You figured the name was faked, so I it didn't worry about it."

"Yeah, but it matters now," I said. "Can you find out anything about whoever rented the car? What state was the driver's license from? Was it a stolen ident.i.ty? How does one go about getting a fake ident.i.ty? And is there a way to search hotels and see if that same ident.i.ty was used to check in somewhere?"

Cal nodded. "I gotcha. Let me see what I can find out."

"Is all that legal?" Stephanie asked.

"Reed," Cal pleaded. Stress lines crossed his face.

I stood up. "Let's go to the kitchen."

"Yes!" Aiden said, out the door in a flash.

We left Cal alone and went into the kitchen. The three chatted while I stared out the window, pondering all this new information. We were getting close; I could feel it.

A while later, Cal came in, holding a sheet of paper.

"Alex Jones is the person who rented the car that you chased. He checked into a Holiday Inn on 6th and Union Sat.u.r.day afternoon, but he checked out Tuesday."

I thought about that. "Those places have video, right? So when he checked in, they might've got a picture of his face."

He nodded. "But what good will that do?"

I gestured at the three at the table. "Maybe those yahoos will recognize him."

"Maybe. But how're you going to access the video feeds? I don't think even I can get that."

"I've got another connection that might help."

Cal shot me a bemused look as I pulled out my cell phone and dialed.

I winked at him as the call was answered. "Detective Spillman," I said. "It's Reed Ferguson. I need a favor."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

"I need to speak with your manager," Sarah Spillman asked the woman at the Holiday Inn front desk, then flashed a badge at her.

"Uh, sure, ma'am," the woman said. She was young, college-aged, and was fl.u.s.tered by the badge. She ducked into a door just around the corner from the front desk and a second later returned with a chubby man with thick gray hair.

When I'd called Detective Spillman, she'd pressed me hard about what I knew about Avery and Brittany's deaths. I'd told her I probably knew less than she did, but that I wanted help tracking down a woman. She'd pushed even harder for why, but I didn't tell her much, just that this was a person of interest in a case I was working. She didn't like me throwing 'person of interest' at her, but she relented when I said that I'd get the information somehow, using her was just easier. After threats about arresting me if I broke the law, she agreed to meet me at the Holiday Inn at three, the earliest she could make it, then threw in a parting shot about how I amused her.

"I'm Todd Larson, the hotel manager," the chubby man said, extending a hand to Spillman.

She shook it perfunctorily. "I'm interested in a guest that was registered here this last weekend."

"Is there a problem?"

"No, I'm just interested in verifying a particular guest," Spillman said as she pulled him aside so that a new guest didn't overhear.

"Of course." Larson tried to gauge her without looking like he was. But Spillman was too slick.

"I don't need a warrant to see the registry," she said.

"Yes, of course," he repeated. We walked over to the front desk and he paused at a computer. He glanced at me.

"This is Detective Reed Ferguson," Spillman introduced me. He never thought to ask for my badge, a.s.suming I was part of the department, which was fine by me.

"What's the name?" Larson asked.

"Alex Jones," I said.

He typed the name in, then pointed at the monitor. "He checked in on Sat.u.r.day at 4 o'clock, and checked out Tuesday morning."

Spillman glanced at me and I nodded. This concurred with Cal's research.

"Do you have video cameras?" Spillman asked.

"Sure," Larson said. "The video files are archived every two weeks, but I don't think that's been done to this last weekend yet. Let's go check."

He seemed too caught up at this point to ask about a warrant. We went with him into the manager's office. It was small, with a serviceable desk and swivel chair, a computer, bracket shelves on one wall filled with notebooks, two cushy fabric-covered chairs on the other side of the desk, and framed picture on the other walls, the kind you buy at Hobby Lobby or Target.

He waved for us to sit in the cushy chairs. "Let's see here," he said as he sat down at the desk. He pushed the computer monitor around so we could see it. "We've got everything digital now. It's so much easier than the old days with VHS tapes. Okay, what time did I say this guest checked in?"

"Four o'clock on Sat.u.r.day," I said.

"Right, right." He typed for a second and an image of the front desk displayed on the screen. "I'll forward through the footage slowly."

We watched as the front desk person a man moved around, and then a woman approached. She was tall with an athletic build, wore faded jeans, a dark coat and sungla.s.ses.

"Wait a minute," I said. "That's Alex?"

Larson nodded. "I a.s.sumed it was a man."

"I did, too," I muttered. I thought about the person I chased through the park. I'd a.s.sumed then that it was a man, but I suppose it could've been a woman.

We kept watching the monitor. Alex messed with her shoulder-length brown hair a lot, which served to block her face "It's like she knows the camera is there," Larson said.

"Smart, and yet not so much," Spillman said. "Stop the feed."

Larson hit a key and the screen froze.

"No, not there. Go back," Spillman ordered.

Larson backed up frame by frame. Alex, if this was indeed her, went from blocking the camera as she fussed with her hair, to a second when her hand wasn't in front of her face, and she was turned just right. We had a fairly clear image of her face.

"That's it," I said.

Spillman turned to Larson. "Can you print that out for us? Make two copies."

"I think so." He busied himself for a minute or two, talking to himself about capturing the screen and saving the image. A moment later a printer behind him kicked into gear and spit out two pieces of paper.

"Here you go." He handed them to us.

Spillman took them as we stood up. "Thank you for your time," she said.

He escorted us back to the lobby. "Glad to help. Is this woman in trouble? Should I be on the lookout for her?"

She handed him her business card. "If you see her again, call me right away."

"Of course," he said, watching as we left.

"You owe me," Spillman said as I walked with her to her car, a cla.s.sic blue '65 Mustang.

"I'll " I began but she cut me off.

"How about telling me what's going on?"

I shook my head. "When I know myself, you'll be the first person I call."