Read Online Some Degree of Murder by Frank Zafiro, Colin Conway - Free Book Online Page A

give you Lindsay and Billings to help out with the search warrant,” Crawford said. “Let me know what you get at the motel,” he told me. He glanced down at his watch, signaling that our meeting was over.
    I left his office and the major crimes unit. I found Billings at this desk in Southside General Investigative Division. He was three bites into a sandwich bulging with mayonnaise.
    “Where’s Lindsay?”
    He motioned to his right with his head. I glanced over and saw Lindsay standing next to the secretary’s desk. He was leaning over and laughing with her. She was about forty and frumpy and appeared to be enjoying the attention.
    I called Lindsay’s name and he turned around. When he saw me, he got a look on his face like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I waved him over. He about fell down as he scurried toward us.
    “What’s up, Tower?”
    “I might have to do up a search warrant and I need some help.”
    “Great! Let’s do it.” He slapped Billings on a fat shoulder and Billings gave him a dirty look. Lindsay didn’t notice. “Where’s it at?”
    I gave them the details.
    “Classy place,” Lindsay joked.
    Billings finished his sandwich and opened a plastic baggie full of potato chips.
    “You think she was a hooker?” Lindsay asked.
    “Not sure. But I’ll head out there and find out if it’s even a good location for her. For all we know, she gave the patrol officer a bad address. Or she could have moved. Or the motel might’ve cleaned her out already.”
    Billings nodded. “One can only hope,” he said through the crunching of his chips.
    “Yeah, well, I’ll check it out and give you a call. If the room is a good scene, I’ll need you two to sit on it while I write the warrant.”
    Billings crunched another chip. “It’d be a thrill.”
    Lindsay picked up on his sarcasm and decided to play along. “You sure two of us are enough?”
    I didn’t reply, but only smiled tightly and left.
     
    “Serena Gonzalez? Yeah, she rents number eight.”
    The desk clerk was in her fifties and looked every day of it. Her hawk-like face held a constant suspicion. It was in her voice, too. I’d heard it when she asked if she could help me and then again when she demanded to see my badge twice.
    “When did she start renting here?” I asked her.
    She narrowed her eyes. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”
    “No, she didn’t do anything wrong.”
    “Cause she’s a good renter. And that’s a rarity around here.”
    The room stunk of stale cigarette smoke. The lines around the woman’s mouth told me that she was the culprit. I glanced at her nametag and read it.
    “Peggy, are you the owner?”
    She snorted. “Hardly. I’m just the manager.”
    “Do you always work day shift?” I asked.
    “Why you asking?”
    “I’m wondering if there’s a night manager. I’d want to talk to him, too.”
    She reached toward the counter and her pack of cigarettes. As she picked up the pack, she glanced back at me. I thought for a moment that she was going to ask if I minded that she smoke, but she had no such inhibition. She looked me up and down as she lit up her cigarette and tossed her lighter back onto the counter.
    She took a deep drag and let it out. “Mister Detective, I’m the day manager and the night manager. The owner of this place lives in Portland, Oregon and has only been here once. He gives me my own room for free and eight hundred bucks a month. His beady-eyed little accountant comes by once a month to check the books and since they’re just fine, I never hear from him.”
    The smoke hung in the air between us.
    She took another drag and finished her speech. “So if there’s something going on with one of my tenants, I think you better just come right out and tell me.”
    “Peggy,” I told her, “your tenant was murdered two days ago.”
     
    Peggy was more helpful after that. She confirmed Serena was still a tenant and was paid up until the coming Friday. I