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Fitzgerald said something else, but I wasn't taking it in. I removed the ice pack and checked the soggy terry cloth with its blush of blood in the loops. I rearranged the fold and laid the fresh cold of a new spot against my poor banged-up head. I was shivering, but I couldn't bring myself to ask for another blanket. "Sorry. Could you repeat that?"
"Had you ever seen these men before?"
"Not to my recollection. I thought they were on their way to meet someone else. They were coming right at us, but it's like a stranger waving in your direction. You turn around and look back, assuming it isn't you they mean. Reba might remember more than I do. Can I talk to her?"
He debated, wanting to press for information, trying at the same time to appear compassionate and concerned, hotel liability being what it was. "As soon as the police are finished, I'll have her come in."
"Thanks."
I closed my eyes again. I was tired and I didn't think I'd ever want to get out of this bed. I felt a touch on my arm. Reba now sat in a chair she'd pulled over close to the bed. Fitzgerald wasn't in the room.
"Where'd Fitzgerald disappear to?"
"Who knows. I told the cops to call Cheney and he'd fill ' em in. I didn't want to put my foot in my mouth with the FBI involved. How's your head?"
"Hurts. Help me up and let's see if I can sit up without passing out or puking." She held my outstretched hand and eased me into an upright position. I pushed the blanket aside and placed my other hand on the bed table for stability. It really wasn't as bad as I'd thought.
"You're not pla
"Not until I know what kind of shape I'm in. You ever see those guys before?"
She hesitated. "I think so. In the pickup truck on the way down from Reno. They're probably Salustio's goons. Beck must have told him I took his twenty-five grand."
"But why snatch Marty? He had nothing to do with it."
"I don't know what's going on. Shit, I wish I'd never told Marty the feds were closing in. All that did was scare him into ru
"What about the claim check he gave you? What was that about?"
She blinked. "I don't know. I'd forgotten about that." She rooted through her bag, pulled it out, and turned it over in her hand. "Hotel luggage claim. I should talk to the bell captain and see what this is. Will you be okay? It shouldn't take me long."
"Sure. Why don't you wait for me downstairs? As soon as I've talked to the cops, I'll meet you in the lobby."
She said, "Great."
I waited until she was gone and then made my way into the bathroom, where I washed my face and ran my head under the faucet to wash away the dried blood that was matted in my hair. I took a bath towel and blotted gingerly until the strands were dry enough to comb. Really, I was doing better than I'd expected, now that I was on my feet.
By the time the uniformed beat officer arrived, I was sitting in a chair, feeling somewhat restored. He was a clean-cut fellow in his twenties with a serious demeanor and a slight, disarming lisp. I repeated what I knew, watching him scribble in his notebook. We went over the sequence of events until he seemed satisfied that he'd wrung as much from me as I was able to remember. I gave him my Santa Teresa address and my phone number, as well as Cheney's. He gave me a card and said I could request a copy of the crime report if I wrote to the Records Section, though it would take about ten days for processing.
Once the door closed behind him, I slipped on my shoes. Bending down to tie the laces was not a happy occasion, but I managed it. I found my shoulder bag and let myself out into the hall, then located the bank of elevators and went down.
In the lobby, I looked across to the bell captain's desk, expecting to catch sight of Reba. No bell captain and no Reba. I'd been talking to the officer for a good ten minutes, so it didn't surprise me to think she'd already retrieved whatever Marty had left for her. I circled the area, peering into the cocktail lounge, the ladies' room, and the corridor near the public phones. I tried the gift boutique and the newsstand next door. Where the hell had she gone? I kept expecting to spot her, and it a
"Of course. She picked up the rolling bag and then she left."
"Do you know where she went?"
He shook his head. "Sorry. I wish I could help." He excused himself to tend to an incoming guest and left me standing there perplexed. Now what?
A car pulled up, the parking valet delivering the vehicle to a waiting guest. The driver got out and as the valet closed the door, he caught my eye. I realized he was the same kid we'd seen when we first arrived. "You looking for your friend?"
"Yes."
"You just missed her," he said.
"What do you mean, 'missed her'?"
"The doorman whistled her up a cab a few minutes ago."
"You mean she left the hotel? Going where?"
"I didn't hear. She gave the driver instructions and then the taxi pulled away."
"Was she alone?"
"Looked like it. She had her suitcase with her so maybe she was headed for the airport."
"Thanks."
Now what?
I couldn't figure out what she was up to. I was anxious to hit the road, but how could I leave the hotel when I had no idea where she was or if she meant to return? Had she left on an impulse or had she intended to ditch me from the moment we left Reno? Whatever the reality, I felt I had to hang around for a while, at least until I was convinced she was gone for good.
In the meantime, there must be something I could do. I returned to the lobby, where I took a seat in the same chair I'd occupied when we first arrived. I closed my eyes and went back over the entire sequence of events. I pictured Reba crossing to the desk. She'd removed a mailing pouch from her purse, printed something on the face of it, and left it with the concierge. She'd then asked for and received an envelope. Which suggested what?
I got up and approached the concierge's desk. There was only one man on duty – Carl, according to his name tag – and he was in the process of setting up di
"Is the manager available?"
"I can certainly check. Are you a guest of the hotel?"
"Well, no, but I seem to have a little problem and I could use his help."
"I see. And will he know what this is in reference to?"
"Probably not. You can tell him the name is Millhone."
He picked up his desk phone and punched in a number, gaze fixed on me. When the line was picked up on the other end, he turned away from me and conducted his conversation with a hand across his mouth like someone trying to be polite while picking his teeth in public. "He'll be with you in just one moment."
"Thanks."
He smiled and his gaze slid past me as he busied himself. For some minutes he was occupied with a ledger and the phone. I started to speak, but he held up a finger – denoting, One minute, please – and then went on with his task. Was I being stonewalled? I remembered the comment the manager had made about the hotel's liability in light of Marty's (alleged) abduction and the assault on me. Perhaps he'd put a call through to corporate and his boss, or his boss's boss, had warned him to avoid any further contact with me. Anything said might be used against the hotel in a court of law. I might as well have had a flashing sign on my forehead: LAWSUIT * LAWSUIT * LAWSUIT. "Excuse me. Sir?"