If she got back home.

34

If this is what crazy felt like then I’m well and truly loco, thought Josh. Anxiety was clawing at the back of his skull, eating away his mind like an ants’ nest lodged in the brain. His mouth was dry. His skin felt itchy, somehow not his own. And his vision was blurred, foggy. He took another sip of black coffee, hoping that the caffeine would help him concentrate. But it was no use. He couldn’t think about the case. All he could think about was Kate.

He had left twelve messages on her voicemail now and still no reply. He’d called Cassie, but also no pick up. He got the feeling that something else was going on that had nothing to do with “them”. What the fuck was Kate up to?

He dialled the house in Beverly Hills, his fingers shaking as he did so.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Mrs Cramer, it’s Josh.’

No response.

‘Look, I know I’m not exactly your best friend now, but –‘

‘But what Detective Harper?’

The use of his surname stung him.

‘Have you seen Kate? Do you know where she is?’

‘After how you have treated her I don’t think it’s any of your business anymore. And now I’m going to hang up. Good-‘

‘No, listen. I’ve just been on the phone to Naylor, you know the guy stationed outside your house? He told me that Kate and Cassie are having a nap. Could you check for me please?’

‘Well –‘

‘I think Kate may have put herself in danger.’

There was silence again. But he could tell that she was concerned.

‘Just stay on the line. I’ll go and check.’

Josh heard the old lady shuffle her way across the room. He pictured her slowly climbing the wide staircase, passing the framed portraits of herself that lined the walls, images from her movie star days, walking down the grand corridor towards Kate’s room. The first time he had gone in there to make out with her he had felt like some stupid teenager. He’d never forget that sense of anticipation, of excitement.

As he waited he felt his heart beating furiously. Was he going to have a coronary as well as be certified insane?

He heard a muffled sound on the phone. She had picked up an extension upstairs.

‘Josh?’ Her voice was weak. ‘They’re not here. They’ve gone.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’

‘Well, I’ve just woken up from my nap. It must have been - it was earlier today. A lady came over, a rather larger black lady who Kate said worked down at the public record office.’

‘I didn’t even know she had a friend who worked in public records.’

‘Gloria, that’s right. A friend of Cassie’s. She came over to help them with something, I don’t know what.’ Her voice sounded distant, vague somehow.

‘You’ve got no idea where they’ve gone? I’m sorry to bother you, but I truly believe that Kate may be about to do something really dumb. As in dangerous.’

‘I don’t know. They were messing about with a computer. They kept mentioning names, doing researches or whatever you call it. All beyond me, I’m afraid.’

‘Listen. Can you check to see if Kate’s laptop is still there?’

‘Her laptop?’

‘Yes, you know her computer, the one she carries around with her. If you go downstairs I’ll call you back in two minutes. Okay?’

‘Oh, my. I wouldn’t know –‘

‘This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to ask Naylor – the police officer – to come in and check the computer. And you’ll let him in. Okay?’

‘Very well. You don’t think Kate’s in any danger, do you? I thought that monster – that Gleason – was dead.’

‘He is. And let’s pray she isn’t. But we haven’t much time.’

35

Kate walked into the hotel to find no-one at the reception desk. Not that the dirty, litter-strewn, coffee-stained table really warranted that term. She looked up and down the windowless hallway. No sign of life except for the sound of a TV set blaring away in one of the rooms. She wrinkled her nose as the faint odour of urine inveigled its way into her nostrils.

As she walked behind the desk she noticed a bin full of empty Jack Daniels bottles. I wonder what came first, she thought, the shit job or the drink. Then she remembered how much she used to put back. Easily a couple of vodka tonics and a bottle of wine a night. But her drinking was related to stress relief. Yeah, right, she said to herself, who are you kidding? If she hadn’t had been forced to give up alcohol what state would she have been in now? Maybe her pregnancy was a life saver after all.

Under the rim of the desk was a series of black metallic discs each bearing a number ranging from 1 to 33; some of the spaces were empty, others had keys dangling from hooks that reminded Kate of a row of hanging men. She started to search the desk for a clue. Obviously, the owner of this joint didn’t hold much care for order. His booking and reservation system seemed to consist of scraps of paper covered with spidery handwriting and illegible scribbles. Kate managed to decipher some names – there was a Jon Louther in room 23, who was staying for five days; a Maria Juavez in 10, who was here for two weeks; and a Mr Smith in room six, next to which the manager had drawn a question mark.

She ran her hands over a clutch of unpaid service bills, a couple of court orders, a threatening letter from an angry ex-wife, but nothing that told her the room number for Bobby Gleason. Just then she heard someone flush a toilet down the end of the hallway. She moved away from behind the desk just as the door swung open.

A large, heavy-set man started to walk down the corridor towards her. His eye sockets looked like they were in the process of closing up, lost in the fat of his face, and as he came closer he fixed her with a hard bead of an eye.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m looking for a room - just for a night,’ she said.

‘Sorry, we’re full.’

Even if she hadn’t snooped around his desk she would have known that he was lying.

‘Oh, really, that’s a shame,’ she said, trying to adopt a more lazy way of talking. ‘I could sure do with a room for the night.’