Conspiracy

42

The Marshals’ Service credentials didn’t impress the state troopers in Danbury, Connecticut, nor were they shy about letting Lia know that they’d been over the same ground with both the Secret Service and the FBI, ad infinitum. But one of the investigators was recently divorced, a little lonely, and obviously bored — a combination that made getting him to give her a complete tour of the crime scene and an in-depth review of the case child’s play.

The only downside was that he wanted to take her to lunch as well. Not particularly hungry — and in no need of a shadow as she checked out the computers in the hotel for messages Forester might have sent — Lia let him down as gently as possible, feigning a headache. But he didn’t really get the message until she told him she had to call her boyfriend.

“Oh,” said the investigator. “Maybe another time.”

“Wait,” said Lia as he headed for his car.

When he turned around, she could see the hope in his eyes. She felt like a heel.

“Was there a notebook in the car?” she asked. “One of Forester’s notebooks seems to be missing.”

“Notebook? No.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s OK.”

“Another time.”

“Sure.”

Lia drove back to the hotel where Forester had killed himself, thinking about Charlie Dean the whole time. She wished she’d gone to Vietnam with him — or that he was here with her. She thought of calling him, or asking the Art Room to connect them, but Vietnam was eleven hours ahead time-wise; he’d be sleeping.

The hotel advertised that it “catered to businesspeople” by offering a “dedicated business center.” The business center turned out to consist of a fax machine and copier, along with two computers connected to the Internet. The person supervising the center was also assigned to clean up the nearby eating area and help at the front desk, and left Lia alone soon after showing her the room. Lia slipped a specially designed “dongle” into one of the computer’s USB ports, then had the Art Room read off the contents of the hard drive via the Internet. She repeated the pro cess a few minutes later with the second computer.

“Did you get it all?” she asked Marie Telach, taking out her sat phone and pretending to use it.

“Another minute. When you’re done, check out the hotel where Amanda Rauci stayed. Maybe he was there.”

“She says he never made it.”

“Check it out anyway,” said Telach, her tone implying that Lia was somehow slacking off.

“Wild-goose chases are us,” replied Lia.

The other hotel was set back farther from the road, up a twisting driveway that made it feel more secluded — it looked exactly like the sort of place someone would pick for an affair, Lia thought. The lobby was located at the side of an atrium, and the place had a less rushed, more luxurious feel than the other hotel. The business center here had a full-time employee and six computers, three of which were occupied when Lia came in. There was also a wireless network, allowing individuals to connect to the Internet via their laptops.

“Room number?” asked the room’s supervisor.

“I haven’t checked in yet,” said Lia.

“I’m sorry, the computers are only for guests.”

“Well I’m going to register,” said Lia.

“Come back when you do.”

Lia left the room and walked back to the atrium, where she took out her sat phone, pretending to use it while she spoke to Telach.

“You want me to flash the credentials and ask if I can look at the computers?” Lia asked. “Or should I just rent a room?”

“Rent a room,” said Telach.

“Sorry,” said the desk clerk when Lia got there. “We’re booked solid. It’s a busy week. Two weddings, and the biker festival. You here for the Harleys?”

“Just looking after a friend,” said Lia.

“Maybe at one of our sister hotels.”

“But my mom really wants me to register here,” said Lia.

“Right, Mom?”

The clerk gave Lia an odd look.

“Sometimes I talk to my mom in my head,” Lia explained.

“Tell her to check the central reservations system now,” said Telach. “Looks like one of the bikers just got a flat tire.”