Thankless in Death (In Death 37)

“I’m not going to make an announcement. Let’s see the room.”

“It’s on twelve.”

He showed them out, gestured toward the elevators. “I’ll take you in, then unless you need me, I’ll go arrange for the disc copies.”

“That works. I’ll also need a list of names. Who checked him in, if anyone helped with his bags, the doorman who got him the cab, anyone else on staff who had direct contact with him.”

“I’ll see you have it.”

He let them into the room on twelve, hurried away.

“Has to cover his ass—or other asses as he wasn’t on,” Eve commented. “The expired ID should’ve been questioned, and he doesn’t look like Mal Golde. Same age, sure, basically the same height maybe, but that’s it. The clerk wasn’t paying attention so he got lucky again. He doesn’t check out so nobody pays attention. Just a day room for cash, his version of a flop.”

She glanced around the streamlined, efficient space. Lots of tile and shiny silver—high-energy colors, its own business center and minikitchen.

She’d have the sweepers go over it, but didn’t expect much.

“Just a place to stay for a few hours while he ran errands, made plans, showered, changed into his new suit. We’ll see him going out with the suitcases again—who notices that in a hotel lobby, but he’s worked out where he’ll try to sell what he didn’t liquidate on Sunday. Takes it out, or pieces of it. Does some selling, does some buying. The suit, maybe, more clothes, the duffel, the bat. Need the duffel for the bat.”

She wandered as she thought it through. “In and out, using this as a temporary home base. Jewelry stores, secondhand stores, pawnshops, selling, trading. Even the suitcases at one point, and probably at least some of his old clothes. Shedding it all now, for profit.

“Then, all done, he just walks out of here, catches a cab, and goes down to kill Lori Nuccio.”

She paced circles in the top-flight business-style suite. “Shopping bags. He’s bound to have come back with shopping bags, so we’ll see where he went at least.”

She rubbed fatigue from her eyes. “Look, I’m going to go ahead and review the discs back at Central, catch a couple hours in the crib.”

“I have a better idea. I had them hold us a room at The Manor, it’s close enough. You can review the discs there and we can both catch a couple of hours in a room that doesn’t include Peabody, McNab, and potentially other cops.”

It was the room without other cops that decided her. “Sold.”

10

THE ROOM AT THE MANOR SOOTHED WITH warm, deep colors, soft fabrics and thick, age-faded rugs over the gleam of hardwood.

Over a small stone fireplace a wide-framed mirror reflected the style and dignity of the parlor. And at the touch of a button inside a wall niche, the mirror wavered away into the dark surface of a screen.

“Well, that’s … pretty frosty,” Eve decided.

“Manor guests prefer the look of Old World, with the convenience of the new. We’ve blended them wherever we can.”

She needed the screen to view the security discs, but there were other priorities. “Does that include an AutoChef with decent coffee?”

“It does, but we’ve both caffeinated enough at this point. I’ll make a deal,” he said before she could argue. “If you find something you can move on tonight, I’ll load us both up.”

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It was probably fair. She didn’t like it, but it was probably fair.

While she sulked over that, he went through a doorway, came back a few moments later with two tall glasses of water with a slice of lemon in each.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He kissed her nose. “Really.”

She was thirsty enough to settle for it, and tired enough to sit on the arm of the big, plushy sofa while he set up the disc.

“He didn’t want to settle for a business hotel,” Eve calculated. “Good enough while he ran around the city, but not where he wanted to bunk. And he was smart enough to use Golde’s old ID. He’d need his own to cash the checks, but smart enough, or nervous enough to use a ploy to register at the hotel. Maybe he’ll try using it again for his bedtime place.”