Читать книгу Snow Blind - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Frustrated by the lack of evidence, Brady wished he had other officers he could deploy to search, but he knew that calling for backup would be an exercise in futility. For one thing, the sheriff’s department was understaffed, with barely enough deputies to cover the basics. For another, the sheriff himself was a practical man who wouldn’t be inclined to launch a widespread manhunt based on nothing more than Sasha’s allegations. Brady hadn’t even called in to report the possible crime. Until he had something solid, he was better off on his own.

But there was no way he could search this whole complex. The hotel was huge—practically a city unto itself. There were restaurants and coffee shops, a ballroom, boutiques, a swimming pool and meeting areas for conferences, not to mention the stairwells, the laundry and the kitchens—a lot of places to hide a body.

Sasha tugged on his arm. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

He guided her away from Chandler. “Give us a minute.”

In a low voice, she said, “There’s really no point in going to the ninth floor. The man I saw wasn’t Mr. Reinhardt. He was taller and his hair was darker.”

“How do you know Reinhardt?”

“From the same meetings where I met your uncle.” She shook her head, and her blond hair bounced across her forehead. “There are four investors in Arcadia—Uncle Dooley, Mr. Reinhardt, Katie Cook the ice skater and Sam Moreno, the self-help expert.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Mr. Reinhardt isn’t what you’d call a patient man. He’s going to hate having us knocking on his door.”

Brady didn’t much care what Reinhardt thought. “What are you saying?”

“It might be smart for me to step aside. I don’t want to get fired.”

He tamped down a surge of disappointment at the thought of her backing out. During the very brief time he’d known Sasha, he’d come to admire her gutsiness. Many people who witnessed a crime turned away; they didn’t want to get involved. “Have you changed your mind about what you saw?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Then I want you to come to room 917, meet this woman and make sure she isn’t the person you saw being attacked.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I think you know the answer.”

“Without my eyewitness account, the investigation is over.”

“That’s right.” He had no blood, no murder weapon and no body. His only evidence that a crime had been committed was the lingering aroma of Chinese food in an otherwise spotless room.

“A few hours ago,” she said, “everything in my life seemed perfect and happy. That’s all I really want. To be happy. Is that asking too much?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. She understood what was at stake. As she considered the options, her eyes took on a depth that seemed incongruous with a face that was designed for smiling and laughter.

“It’s your decision,” he said.

“I’ve always believed that life isn’t random. I don’t know why, but there was some reason why I was looking into that room at that particular moment.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I have to see this through. I’ll come with you.”

She was tougher than she looked. Behind the fluffy hair and the big blue eyes that could melt a man’s heart was a core of strength. He liked what he saw inside her. After this was over, he wanted to get to know her better and find out what made her tick. Not the most professional behavior but he hadn’t been so drawn to a woman in a long time.

Chandler rushed toward them. Accompanying him was a solidly built man with a military haircut. He wore heavy boots, a sweater and a brown leather bomber jacket. Though he had a pronounced limp, his approach lacked the nervousness that fluttered around the hotel manager like a rabble of hyperactive butterflies.

“I’m Grant Jacobson.” The head of Gateway security held out his hand. “Chandler says there was some kind of assault here.”

When Brady shook Jacobson’s hand, he felt strength and steadiness. No tremors from this guy. He was cool. His steel-gray eyes reflected the confidence of a trained professional with a take-charge attitude. Brady did not want to butt heads with Grant Jacobson.

“Glad to meet you,” Brady said. “I have some questions.”

“Shoot.”

“What can you tell me about your surveillance system?”

“It’s going to be state-of-the-art. Unfortunately, the only area that’s currently operational is the front entrance.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “By Friday everything will be up and running with cameras in the hallways, the meeting rooms and every exit.”

If the hotel security had been in place, they’d have had a visual record of anyone who might have entered or exited room 621. “Was there a security guard on duty tonight?”

“There should be two.” Jacobson swiveled his head to glare at the hotel manager. “When law enforcement arrived on the scene, those men should have been notified.”

Chandler exhaled a ragged sigh. “I contacted you instead.”

“Apparently, we have some glitches in our communications.” Jacobson looked toward Sasha. “And you are?”

“A witness,” she said. “Sasha Campbell.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sasha.” When he returned her friendly grin, it was clear that he liked what he saw. “And what did you witness?”

Wanting to stay in control of the conversation, Brady stepped in. “We have reason to believe that a woman was attacked in her room. Right now we’re on our way to see someone fitting her description.”

“Where?”

“Room 917.”

“Reinhardt’s suite,” Jacobson said. “I’ll come with you.”

With a terse nod, Brady agreed. He could feel the reins slipping from his grasp as Grant Jacobson asserted his authority. The head of security was accustomed to giving orders, probably got his security training in the military, where he had climbed the ranks. But this was the real world, and Brady was the one wearing the badge.

Jacobson dismissed the hotel manager, who was all too happy to step aside as they boarded the elevator. The doors closed, and Jacobson asked, “Where did the assault take place?”

“One of the suites on the sixth floor,” Brady said.

“I assume you’ve already been to that suite.”

“We have, and we didn’t find anything.”

“What about the Chinese?” Sasha piped up.

He shot her a look that he hoped would say Please don’t try to help me.

“Chinese?” Jacobson raised an eyebrow.

Brady jumped in with another question. “What can you tell me about the key-card system?”

“Why do you ask?”

“No one was registered to stay in that room.”

“And you’re wondering how they could get access,” Jacobson said. “The hotel has only been open a week on a limited basis, which means the new employees are being trained on all the systems. In the confusion, someone could have run an extra key card for a room.”

“You’re suggesting that one of the employees was in that suite.”

“It’s possible.” Jacobson shifted his weight, subtly moving closer to Sasha. He looked down at her. “Are you staying at the hotel?”

“I’m in a corporate condo,” she said. “I work for the Denver law firm that’s handling the Arcadia ski-resort business.”

“Interesting.” His thin lips pursed. “How did you happen to witness something on the sixth floor?”

Before Brady could stop her, Sasha blurted, “Binoculars.”

“Even more interesting.” He hit a button on the elevator control panel, and they stopped their upward ascent. The three of them were suspended in a square box of chrome and polished mirrors. They were trapped.

Jacobson growled, “Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Police business,” Brady asserted. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

For a long five seconds, they stood and stared at each other. Their showdown could have gone on for much longer, but Brady wasn’t all that interested in proving he was top dog. He had a job to do. And his number-one concern was finding a victim who might be bleeding to death. Though his instinct was to play his cards close to the vest, he needed help. He’d be a fool not to take advantage of Jacobson’s experience in hotel security.

“Here’s what happened,” Brady said. “Ms. Campbell happened to be looking into the suite. She saw a man and woman having dinner—”

“With chopsticks,” Sasha said.

Brady continued, “There was an argument. Ms. Campbell didn’t see the actual attack, but there was blood on the woman’s chest. She collapsed. The man caught her before she hit the floor.”

“A possible murder,” Jacobson said. When he straightened his posture, he favored his left leg. “How can I help, Deputy?”

Ever since they got to the hotel, Brady had been moving fast and not paying a lot of attention to standard procedures. At the very least, he should have taped off the room as a crime scene. There was enough to think about without Sasha distracting him. “You mentioned that you had two men on site. I’d appreciate if you could post one of them outside room 621 until we have a chance to process the scene for fingerprints and other forensic evidence.”

“Consider it done.” Jacobson pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his leather jacket and punched in a number. While it was ringing, he asked, “What else?”

“I want to check the surveillance tapes from the front entrance,” Brady said.

“No problem.” Jacobson held up his hand as he spoke into the phone and issued an order to one of his security men. As soon as he disconnected the call, he turned to Brady again. “Anything else?”

“Where’s the closest place to get Chinese food?”

“Don’t know, but that’s a good question for the concierge on the ninth floor.” He pushed a button on the elevator panel, and they started moving again. “Now I have a request for you. I’d like to do most of the talking with Reinhardt.”

“Why’s that?”

Jacobson’s brow furrowed. “Because this is his fault.”

* * *

WHEN THE ELEVATOR doors opened, an attractive woman with her white-blond hair slicked back in a tight bun stood waiting. Sasha’s friendly smile was met with a flaring of the nostrils that suggested the woman had just poked her nose into a carton of sour milk.

“This is Anita,” Jacobson said as he guided them off the elevator. “A top-notch concierge. She’s been in Arcadia for less than a week, and I’ll bet she knows more about the area than you do, Deputy.”

His compliment caused Anita to thaw, but only slightly. Her voice dripped with disdain. “Mr. Chandler said you want to see Mr. Reinhardt, but I’m afraid that will not be possible. Mr. Reinhardt asked not to be disturbed.”

“You’re the best,” Jacobson said, “always protecting the guest, always operating with discretion. But this is a police matter.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not,” Jacobson said.

Brady showed his badge. “We’ll see him now.”

Anita stared at one man and then the other as though she was actually considering further resistance. Changing her mind, she pivoted, led the way to the door of room 917 and tapped. “Mr. Reinhardt, there’s someone to see you.”

She tapped again, and the door flung open.

Sasha found herself staring directly at a red-faced Lloyd Reinhardt. She assumed his cherry complexion was the result of sunburn from skiing without enough sunscreen. The circles around his eyes where his goggles had been were white, like his buzz-cut hair. The effect would have been comical if his dark eyes hadn’t been so angry. His face resembled a devil mask, and he was glaring directly at her.

Through his clenched jaw, Reinhardt rasped, “What?”

Sasha gasped. She had no ready response.

Jacobson stepped in front of her. “We had a conversation last week, and I warned you that the hotel shouldn’t open for business until I had all security measures in place.”

“I remember. You wanted a ridiculous amount of money to keep the computer and electronics guys working around the clock on the surveillance cameras.”

“And you turned me down,” Jacobson said. “Now we have a serious situation.”

“I hope you aren’t interrupting my evening to talk business,” he said. “How serious?”

“Murder,” Jacobson said.

Reinhardt narrowed his eyes to slits. With his right hand resting on the edge of the door and his left holding the opposite door frame, his body formed a barrier across the entrance to his room. The white snowflake pattern on his black sweater stood out like a barbed-wire fence. “I want an explanation.”

“May we come in?” Jacobson asked.

Reinhardt glanced over his shoulder. It seemed to Sasha that he was hiding something—or someone—inside the room. He wasn’t having an affair, because—as far as she knew—he wasn’t married. But what if the dark-haired lady was somebody else’s wife? Or what if she was the victim, lying on the carpet bleeding to death? Sasha cringed inside. Nothing good could come of this.

Reinhardt stepped aside, and they entered. The luxury suite on the concierge level had more square footage than her apartment in Denver. The sofas and chairs were upholstered in blue silk and beige suede. There was a marble-top dining table with seating for eight. In the kitchen area, a tall woman with long black hair stepped out from behind the counter. She wore white slacks and a white cashmere sweater that contrasted with her healthy tan.

Though she wasn’t the woman Sasha had seen through the binoculars, this lady could have been a more athletic sister to the other. After she introduced herself as Andrea Tate, Sasha glanced at Brady and whispered, “It’s not her.”

The conversation between Reinhardt and Jacobson grew more heated by the moment. Jacobson had advised against opening until all the security measures were in place and his staff was adequately trained. He blamed Reinhardt for everything. For his part, Reinhardt was furious that someone dared to be murdered in his hotel.

Reinhardt turned away from Jacobson and focused on her. “I need to speak with Damien as soon as possible. There are liability problems to consider.”

“Yes, sir.” She hadn’t even considered the legal issues.

“Who was killed?”

Sasha froze. Her lips parted but nothing came out. She couldn’t exactly say that a murder had been committed. Nor did she have a name. And she was reluctant to point to the sleek black-haired woman and say the victim looked a lot like her.

Brady spoke for her. “I can’t give you a name.”

Reinhardt whipped around to face him. “My publicity people need to get on top of this situation right away. The grand opening is Saturday. Who the hell got killed?”

“We don’t know,” Brady said, “because we haven’t found the body.”

Though it didn’t seem possible, Reinhardt’s face turned a deeper shade of red. He punched the air with a fist. “A murder without a body? That’s no murder at all. What kind of sick game are you people playing?”

Panic coiled around Sasha’s throat like a hangman’s noose. She wanted to speak up and defend herself, but how? What could she say?

Jacobson sat in one of the tastefully upholstered chairs and took an orange from the welcome basket. He gestured toward the sofa. “Have a seat, Reinhardt. I’ll explain everything.”

While Reinhardt circled the glass coffee table and lowered himself onto the sofa, Brady took her arm. “We’ll be going.”

“Wait for me outside,” Jacobson said.

They made a hasty retreat. As soon as the door to Reinhardt’s suite closed behind her, Sasha inhaled a huge gulp of air. It felt as if she’d been holding her breath the whole time she’d been in the suite. She shook her head and groaned.

“You look pale,” Brady said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m in so much trouble.”

“You did the right thing,” he reassured her.

That wasn’t much consolation if she ended up getting fired. Reinhardt had said that she needed to contact Damien, and she knew that was true. But she wanted to be able to tell him something positive. “Is there anything else we can do?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

He crossed the lounge to the concierge desk where Anita sat with her arms folded below her breasts and a smug expression on her face. “I warned you,” she said. “Mr. Reinhardt doesn’t like to be interrupted.”

“Jacobson said you know this area better than anyone.”

“It’s my job,” she said coolly.

“If I wanted Chinese food, where would I go?”

“There’s a sushi bar scheduled to open next month. Right now none of the hotel restaurants serve Asian cuisine. And I’m sure you know that the local diners specialize in burgers, pizza and all things fried.”

Sasha walked up beside him. Her legs were wobbly, but she’d recovered enough to understand what was going on. Anita was acting like a brat as payback for them not listening to her earlier. The concierge would be in no mood to help. The best way to get through to her was to be even snottier than she was.

“She doesn’t know,” Sasha said, not looking at Anita. “She’s not as good at her job as she thinks she is.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Well, it’s true.” Sasha flipped her hair like a mean girl. “If one of the people up here on the concierge level requested moo shu pork, you’d just have to tell them to suck an egg.”

“For your information, missy, I’ve been providing gluten-free Asian food fried in coconut oil for a guest and his entourage since last Saturday. One of the chefs in the Golden Lyre Restaurant on the first floor of the hotel cooks up a special batch. I had it tonight myself.”

“Who’s the guest?” Brady asked.

“Sam Moreno, the famous self-help guru. He has a special diet.”

Sasha should have guessed. One of the main investors of the Arcadia resort, Mr. Moreno was always requesting special foods and drinks. “He’s picky, all right.”

Anita leaned across the desk and whispered, “And he’s staying right down the hall.”

Of course he was. Sasha groaned. She just couldn’t catch a break.