Deceived (6 page)

Chapter thirteen

Sam headed to the station to file an accident report on the loaner car. As he was finishing up the paperwork, he saw Chief Singleton’s car pull into the parking lot, so he waited.

Chief was all fired up about something, judging by his pace.

“Morning, Chief,” Sam called as Singleton blew past him in a huff. “Any leads?” Sam followed him down the hall to his office.

“Hey, Sam,” replied Singleton as he flicked on the lights. “No, we don’t have anything yet. What’d you do to the car?”

“I found my way into a tree; that’s all. Sorry about that. I’ve filled out the necessary paperwork. Chief, I am ready to get on this case.”

Singleton scratched his head for a minute. “Sam, I don’t think you need to be on it. You and Lee were too close, and I think you haven’t had enough time to get an impartial view of things. You still have several days off coming to you.”

“Chief, I have to do something. I can’t just sit around and wait.”

“Well, then, why don’t you focus your energy on something else? I have a big mess on my hands with the fire at the Golden Sun Hotel complex. The owner says it was deliberately set, but our guys are backed up so they can’t track anything down. If you feel up to getting back to work, can you jump on that one?”

“Sure, Chief, but I want to help on Lee’s case, too.”

“Fine, but focus on the Golden Sun case first. We got enough guys on Lee’s. Can’t really spare any more, even if it’s you.” He dismissed Sam with a wave of his hand and grabbed the phone to indicate their unscheduled meeting was adjourned.

Sam was mad to be put off that way. The more he thought about it, the more it got to him. He headed to the impound lot, signed his own car out, and screeched away. The car was clean. Not a trace of what had happened was left. But Sam still drove straight to Vann’s, a used car lot on Highway 17, just north of the Wrightsville beach turn off. A salesman attacked as soon as Sam stepped out of his truck.

“Howdy! My name is Bob. How can I help you today?” Bob slicked down a stray gray hair over his bald spot and reached for Sam’s hand.

Sam declined to shake and, instead, started talking about his vehicle. “I would like to trade this for something else. It’s got about 50,000 miles on it, runs great, and is clean, inside and out,” Sam forced himself to say.

“You have the title on it?”

“Yep. What have you got?”

Bob smiled broadly and replied, “Whatever you need.” He put his arm around Sam’s shoulders and steered him through a row of used cars of various makes and models. Sam gravitated toward a red Dodge Ram 1500, and Bob pounced on his interest.

“This here is a fine truck. What did you say your name is?”

“Sam McClellan.”

“Very good, Sam; this is the truck for you. I knew you were a truck man the second you drove onto the lot,” Bob beamed.

Sam looked back at his own Blazer. Well, duh.

He looked at the interior of the Ram and then under the hood while Bob started it up and roared the engine for effect.

“May I drive?” Sam asked.

“Why, of course.” Bob jumped out eagerly and ran around to the other side, his seatbelt fastened before Sam even had the driver’s door closed.

Sam pulled out of the parking lot and headed north on 17, flooring it as only a cop in a chase would. He hit seventy miles per hour before the next stoplight and entrance to Topsail Beach. Bob held on for dear life as Sam jumped on the brakes, then did a U-turn in the middle of the road with the back end fishtailing at the speed.

“You have insurance?” Bob asked just above a whisper.

“Yep.” Sam floored it again and drove back to the car lot, wheeling in at a high speed.

White-knuckled, Bob gingerly stepped out of the truck, clearly relieved to be back. Regaining his composure, he smoothed down the fly-away hair again and smiled. “You see? That truck was meant for you! If you have the title to yours, we’ll go ahead and make a deal today!”

Sam looked over the truck one more time, and then he followed Bob into the trailer where bottle-blonde Glenda warmly greeted him like an old flame and offered him a cup of coffee as he sat at a small table filling out paperwork. After about twenty minutes, feeling like he had gotten a decent deal, Sam was off to a detailer across the street to get his “new” truck cleaned.

Half an hour later, as he was leaving the detailer, Sam saw Bob driving the Blazer into the entrance to the detailer, waving to Sam as he emerged from the truck. Sam was quick to step on the pedal so he wouldn’t have to talk to Bob again.

Chapter fourteen

Driving back down Highway 17, Sam thought about his conversation with Singleton. He exited toward Carolina Beach and headed toward the Golden Sun Hotel. Completed just a few months earlier, the new high-rise was an addition to an older motel with fifty-four oceanfront rooms. The complex stood as a landmark on the beach with two pools, beachfront rooms with balconies, a decent restaurant, and a gift shop. Since Sam had been out of the office for a few days, he knew nothing of the fire. And since he was not officially back on duty, he thought he would do an unannounced drive-by to see what he could uncover.

When he arrived on the scene, Sam saw that the boys had already been there and had cordoned off an area of the new section that contained fire damage. He circled around the parking lot, surveying the hotel and its proximity to the beach.

Sam parked near the two-story motel and casually walked into the lobby of the older low-rise. A pimple-faced teen leaning on the counter looking at a hotrod magazine jumped and stashed the magazine under the counter when he saw Sam approach the desk.

“You want a room?”

“No. Just looking around today. I have a family reunion coming up and wanted to book everybody here, but then I heard there was a fire, so I wanted to see how bad the damage is,” Sam lied.

“The fire wasn’t here. It was in the new part, but it wasn’t too bad,” the kid said, leaning on the counter again.

“Know what happened?”

“I heard someone started it on purpose to get back at the builder, or something like that.”

Sam leaned on the counter, closing in on the clerk’s personal space. “What good would that do? The builder just gets to build it again, more money in his pocket, and all that’s covered by insurance anyway.”

The clerk stood up straight. “You got a point there. I dunno; maybe the guy was stupid or something.”

“Guy?” Sam let the word hang there.

“Well, I’m guessing it was a guy. Most of the construction workers were guys, and it just happened, so I don’t really know what it was. Maybe you should talk with the police. Anyway, are you still interested in booking some rooms?”

“I would be interested, if I knew this place wasn’t a target for repeat fires, or something,” Sam replied. “Was there anyone around when it happened?”

“Yeah, Tracey was on the desk that night. Tracey Ellis.” The clerk checked the schedule behind him on the wall. “She’ll be on the desk of the other lobby this afternoon. You might catch her in the restaurant. They have a staff meeting there.” Then he leaned over and confidentially said, “I didn’t have to go to the meeting because I had to be on this desk.”

“Maybe I will hang around and talk with her after she’s done. In the restaurant?” Sam pointed out the door in the general direction of the restaurant.

“Yeah, just go out those doors, across the parking lot, and into the new building. The restaurant is on your left.” The boy looked relieved to see Sam going.

“Thanks.” Sam started to head for the doors, then stopped. “Oh, just one more thing. Did anyone get hurt in the fire?”

“No,” said the clerk. “There was some damage to the offices, but nothing serious. The only weird thing about it was that was the same night some crazy nutcase drove down on the beach and tore up the pier a block down. Did you see that?”

“No, I didn’t. Which night was that?” Sam turned and faced the teen.

“Two or three nights ago. It was actually early morning, and Tracey said she heard a car racing through the parking lot and then onto the beach right over there. See where the fence is down?” He pointed out of the window at the ocean side of the motel. “Tracey said she went to see what happened, and by the time she came back to the desk, she smelled the smoke coming from down the hall. She got the firemen over here right away, so there wasn’t much damage, like I said.”

“What kind of a car was it?” Sam asked.

“Man, it was sweet: 427 four-speed, Camaro, silver with black stripes on the hood. I get hot just thinking about it.”

“Sorry I missed that.” He’d missed a lot during the past few days. Sam flashed back to the sound of the souped-up car he had heard leaving the Circle K the night Lee was killed as he walked out the door and headed across the parking lot to the high-rise. It was still early, so there wasn’t much of a lunchtime crowd yet for the restaurant. Undetected, Sam slid into a booth toward the back of the restaurant, close enough to hear the table of hotel staff as they gathered for their meeting. The manager was going over the week’s schedule. Once that was over, the group of employees disbanded to go to their duties. Sam picked up a menu from the table as a few employees streamed past him. One of them stopped to see whether he wanted to order anything, so he asked for coffee.

When a sprightly waitress returned with a mug, Sam asked her the same sort of questions as he’d asked the young clerk next door.

“Oh, wow, yeah, I heard about the car. I mean, like, everyone has heard of it, right? A bunch of us went to the pier that it hit, or, like, what was left of it.” The waitress talked as bouncy as she walked, Sam noticed. “We were, like, that driver must have had too much of something, you know?”

“Did he get hurt?” Sam asked casually, as he glanced back over the menu.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? The police didn’t find the driver. The car door was open, the keys were gone, and the driver was gone, too. They already cleared the car out ’cause it was, like, a hazard or something.” She waited patiently as Sam looked over the menu, then offered, “You looking for breakfast or lunch?”

“Just coffee, thanks.”

With that, the waitress pulled out her pad of checks, scribbled what Sam thought looked like the word coffee and a smiley face, and placed it on the table. “Have a great day!” And she bounced off again toward the kitchen.

Sam left two dollars on the table, drank a few more sips of the black brew, and meandered back through the halls until he reached the lobby. An attractive woman about six feet tall stood behind the counter, tapping away at the hotel’s computer keyboard as she balanced a phone on her shoulder.

“No, I am sorry; all of our oceanfront rooms are booked that weekend. We do have rooms on the other side of the building, though. Would you like one of those? Okay, let me see. Yes, I have two adjoining rooms for you, both non-smoking. Yes, that would be fine. May I have your credit card number to reserve the rooms? Yes…3451…yes…0221. Got it. Thank you. If you make it here before check-in time, you are welcome to use the restaurant. Okay, then; we will see you in two weeks.”

Sam waited until she hung up the phone before approaching the desk.

“Hi. May I help you?” she called out to Sam.

“I hope so. Are you Tracey?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“My name is Sam McClellan, and I am looking into the incident that happened here a few nights ago.”

“You have to talk to the hotel manager. I’m the assistant manager, and I already told the cops everything I know. Are you an insurance agent or something?” She looked Sam over and offered a flirtatious smile.

“No, I am not with insurance. I’m a detective with the Carolina Beach Police, and I was just assigned to the case after a few days’ leave. I suspect that the manager already told the other officers what he knew. I wanted to hear your version since you were on duty that night.”

Sam pulled out a business card and handed it to the woman. She took the card and reviewed its contents, then stuffed it into the pocket of her khaki skirt. Sam noticed that her shirt was the same color as her blue eyes, and the contrast from her tanned skin made her none too difficult to look at.

“I can only talk for a few minutes. I have a lot of work to do.” She turned her full attention to Sam.

“Let’s start with the car. The clerk next door said you heard a car in the parking lot outside before it crashed through the fence. How could you have heard it in here? It seems well-insulated.”

“I wasn’t actually inside the lobby,” Tracey offered. “I was taking a break and stepped out to smoke a cigarette when I heard a car screaming across the parking lot. The car came from the south side of the building, over there.” Tracey walked to the end of the desk and pointed around the corner of a hall and out to the ocean. Yellow tape was running across the doorjamb to two of the rooms.

“Screaming?” Sam repeated.

“Yes, well, more like a rumbling. The police asked me to imitate what I heard…RUTTata, RUTTata, RUTTata—oh, this is silly. Anyway, my manager saw it and said it was a Camaro like one he’d had when he was younger. He said that it was a collector’s dream…at least it was before it nosedived into the water.

“Then I saw it plow through the fence on the north side of the building, and the car jumped over what little dune there is there and ran into the base of what’s left of the pier. The city never replaced it after Hurricane Fran got it, but they didn’t pull out the pilings, either. By the time I climbed over the fence that the car knocked down, the car was halfway in the water. Like I told your buddies on the force, I ran back to the lobby, and as soon as I opened the door, I smelled smoke coming from the hallway. Alarms were going off everywhere, and people were running out of the place! It was a zoo! But the firemen got here in a hurry and put out the fire. We only had a little damage.”

“Any ideas of what started it?”

“More like ‘who’—the fireman who was in there first brought out a smoking file drawer and the computer’s hard drive before another fellow turned the hose on the room. They didn’t say, but I think somebody got in there and set the place on fire intentionally.”

“Do you know what happened to it?”

Tracey just smiled. “You sure don’t know too much about your case, Detective.”

“Well, I just wanted to get your ideas. You were on the desk that night, so I thought maybe you saw something no one else did. Did you happen to see what the fireman did with the file drawer?”

“No. He just took it out of here in a heavy blanket of some kind—I guess to put the fire out without destroying whatever it was that set it off.”

“What do you think was in there? I mean, what should have been in there—hotel records?” Sam leaned on the desk and smelled Tracey’s perfume, a sweet scent of lilacs like his grandmother used to wear.

Just then, the phone rang. Tracey politely excused herself and answered it, turning back to the reservations computer.

Sam slowly moved away from the desk and down the hall to the first of the two closed doors. The doorframe was charred at its base. The lingering smell of smoke mingled with the stench of burnt carpeting as Sam opened the door and squatted under the yellow police tape. His eyes teared up for a second as he entered the room that had been an office. Charred remnants of an older model computer monitor sat on a warped plastic desk, and a four-drawer file cabinet minus one drawer leaned on its melted frame. Sam pulled hard at one of the drawers, but he couldn’t get it open. He tried the second one down, and it budged, revealing its contents of charred bits of paper and folders. The next one was missing, and the lower one was so badly burned that it wouldn’t open, either. Sam could see through the opening left from the missing drawer above it that whatever it held didn’t survive the flames.

Sam poked around the room a few minutes longer, looking at the window casing, which was now covered with plywood. Halfway up the sliding window, the metal frame was bent. Forced entry. Whoever did this knew what he was doing. Sam started to pick his way back across the melted room when he saw Tracey standing in the doorway.

“I thought you were supposed to check into Command Central, or whatever you call it, to look at stuff,” she said as she wiped her hands of non-apparent dirt on her skirt. “Find anything?” she casually asked.

“Nope. But I like to see a crime scene before diving into the evidence. You’re right, we do have a ‘command central’ place, and I’ve already been there this morning. Still,” he whispered, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone I was here. I’m working undercover, so it’s just easier this way.”

“Whatever. You do it anyway you want, Detective. I’m just the hired help. Anything else I can help you with today?” She stepped back and motioned for him to come out of the office.

“No. I think I got all I needed here. Thanks for letting me look around. I want to be sure I don’t miss anything as I start investigating.” Sam offered his hand, and Tracey shook it calmly, but she didn’t seem eager to let go.

Sam headed back through the lobby to the parking lot, then walked around the building to see where the car had busted down the fence and plowed into the water. There wasn’t much to see, at this point.

Next stop, the fire station.