Death in Paradise

Chapter Sixty-two

Suitcase Simpson called Jesse at home at 10:15 in the evening.

"I'm at the motel," Simpson said. "Shaw's here."

"Is he in a room?"

"One-twelve," Simpson said. "Just arrived. Knocked on the door and went in."

"I'll be up."

"Shall I stop him if he tries to leave?" Simpson said.

"No. I want to catch him in the act."

It was 10:40 when Jesse pulled into the parking lot of the Boundary Suites motel. He drove through the big half-empty parking lot and parked a little ways from room 112. Simpson's pickup was two cars away. Jesse walked to it.

"He still in there?" Jesse said.

"Yes."

"Stay put," Jesse said.

He walked to the motel lobby and flashed his badge at the night clerk.

"Room one-twelve," he said. "Who's registered?"

The clerk was slim with a thin mustache and a lot of dark hair. He wore yellow-tinted aviator glasses.

"Why do you want to know?" he said.

" 'Cause I'm the police," Jesse said. "Gimme a name."

The clerk tapped for a moment on his computer and then read from the screen.

"Marsha Gottlieb," he said.

"We need to open the room."

The desk clerk didn't like it. But he didn't know what else to do. So he got a key and walked down to room 112 with Jesse. As they walked, Jesse gestured to Simpson, who joined them at the door.

"Don't knock," Jesse said. "Just unlock the door."

"We always knock first," the clerk said.

"Unlock it," Jesse said.

The clerk shrugged as if to exonerate himself, put the master key in, and unlocked the door. Jesse pushed. It opened a few inches.

"Chain lock," Jesse said. "Do your stuff, Suit."

Simpson put his shoulder down and lunged into the door. The screws holding the chain bolt pulled loose from the frame and the door slammed open. The lights were on. Shaw was on the bed with a young girl. Both were naked. Shaw just managed to roll off her as Jesse and Simpson came into the room. Jesse was holding his badge up. The desk clerk peered in after them.

"Beat it," Jesse said to the clerk, and shut the door.

Simpson leaned against it.

Shaw was sitting up with a pillow over his lap to cover himself. The girl seemed frozen. There was a quart of vodka, a can of cranberry juice, some ice and two half-empty glasses on the bedside table.

"What do you want?" Shaw said.

Jesse could hear the panic in his voice. The girl lay still on the bed. Her eyes big. Her breasts had barely begun to show.

"How old are you?" Jesse said to the girl.

The girl shook her head and didn't say anything.

"I know you," Shaw said.

"You should get under the covers," Jesse said to the girl.

She kept staring at him, without any response.

"Get off the bed," Jesse said to Shaw.

Shaw got up quickly and stood naked, with his pale belly sagging.

"What are you going to do?" he said.

Jesse pulled the spread loose on Shaw's side and folded it over the girl. He looked at Shaw.

"You don't have the right to just break in here like this," Shaw said.

There was no force in his voice. He sounded plaintive.

"How old would you say she was?" Jesse said.

"Twenty-one," Shaw said.

"She's jailbait," Jesse said.

"She is not," Shaw said. "She told me she was twenty-one."

"Put on your pants," Jesse said.

He looked at the girl, still motionless under the spread. He looked around the room. There was some black underwear and a short floral sundress on one of the chairs. Jesse picked the clothes up and put them on the bed beside the girl.

"You need to get dressed, too," he said.

The girl didn't move.

"You're not in trouble," Jesse said to her. "But we need you to go with us."

Still she didn't move.

"If you don't get dressed," Jesse said, "we'll have to dress you."

Wordlessly, she put the covers aside and got up and began to dress. Simpson looked carefully away.

"Where are we going?" Shaw said.

He was speaking slowly and very clearly, like a drunk pretending to be sober.

"We are going to jail," Jesse said.