and picked the Bayview Hotel at random, or by choice. It’s not a hot-sheet motel, where there are few questions asked-it’s a two-hundred-dollar-a-night place, so I got an image of a guy with some bucks and maybe a lady who needed clean sheets with her romance. The wine on the beach was expensive, too. Citizens like this are usually easy to find, but the guy knew how to cover his ass when he checked in. It’s all instinct.
Then, assuming they witnessed the crash, and assuming one or both of them was married, they panicked, left some stuff on the beach, and hightailed it back to the hotel. Then, thinking that maybe someone saw them and that the cops might come snooping around, or maybe that their spouses would be calling their cell phones about the crash, they left the hotel without checking out, which sent up a red flag.
I had an image of a couple that had a lot to lose if they were caught. I mean, nearly every married person falls into that category, from the President of the United States to Marie’s husband, the route delivery guy.
I tried to imagine what I’d do if I was in that situation. Would I go to the authorities like a good citizen? Or would I hide evidence of a possible crime to save my own ass and my marriage? And if I was discovered and confronted by the authorities, would I compound my problem even further by lying?
I actually had a case like that once. The woman wanted to report a shooting that she’d seen, and the guy didn’t want to explain what they were doing together.
I wondered if this couple at the Bayview Hotel had a similar disagreement. And if so, how was it resolved? Amicably? Or not?
Before I could think about that, Marie came back in the kitchen.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Marie sat down and asked me, “You want kids?”
“Huh?”
“Kids. You and your wife plan on having a family?”
“I have a family. They’re all nuts.”
She laughed and asked me, “Where were we?”
“The FBI sketch of Don Juan. Did you keep it?”
“No. Griffith handed out four photocopies, and he got four photocopies back.”
“Did you get the desk clerk’s name?”
“No. Never spoke to him and never saw him.” She added, “He belonged to the Feds.”
“Right. So you started questioning guests and staff.”
“Yeah. We needed to see if anyone other than the desk clerk saw this guy, or saw his car, or saw the lady he was with, and got a description of her. We also needed to check their movements and see if they went to the hotel bar or restaurant and used a credit card and all that. I mean, Griffith is telling us what to do like we’ve never done this before.”
“They do tend to over-brief.”
“No shit? But the thing is, I’m still thinking, ‘What’s the point? Who gives a shit? Are we doing a matrimonial or an airline crash investigation?’ So, I asked him, ‘Are we looking for two witnesses, or are we actually looking for two suspects?’ I mean, the only way this made any sense is if we were looking for suspects with a rocket in their car. Right?”
Not quite, but I said, “Sounds like it.”
“So I ask this question, and this seems to give Griffith a bright idea and he says, ‘Every witness is a potential suspect,’ or some shit like that. So we each get a list of maids, kitchen and wait staff, office staff, groundskeepers and all that. About fifty staff who were supposed to be on duty during the time in question-four-fifteen on Wednesday, July 17, to noon the next day. I had about a dozen staff to interview.”
“What kind of place is this?”
“A big old house that was like an inn with maybe ten guest rooms, plus this separate modern wing with maybe thirty rooms, and some cottages on the bay. Bar, restaurant, and even a library. Nice place.” She looked at me and said, “You’ll see for yourself when you go out there.”
I didn’t reply.
Marie continued, “We stayed there all day and into the late evening so we could catch some shift changes, plus I had a list of fourteen guests who’d been there since July 17, and were still there. Also, there was a list of guests who’d been there on the 17thbut who’d already checked out, and we were supposed to follow up on them the next day, but we never did.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Maybe some other people followed up. Or maybe Griffith and his two pals hit pay dirt that night. Do these guys ever tell you anything?”
“As little as possible.”
“Right. They’re into bullshit big-time. For instance, Griffith says we were all going to meet at about elevenP.M., place to be announced. But Griffith and these other two Fed types were moving around all day talking to us and sitting in on some of the interviews, so one by one Griffith thanks us and tells us to knock off, and the meeting never happened, and I was never able to compare notes with the other three detectives. I don’t think there was ever going to be a meeting.”
I had the distinct impression that Marie Gubitosi was not happy with the way she or her NYPD colleagues had been treated. And that was why Marie was talking to me even after she’d been told five years ago not to talk to anyone. I wanted to get to the outcome of that investigation, but she needed to vent a little-and quite possibly venting was all she had to give me.
She asked me, “You want a beer?”
“No thanks. I’m off-duty.”
She laughed and said, “God, I’ve been pregnant or nursing for so long I can’t remember what a beer tastes like.”
“I’ll buy you a beer when you’re ready.”
“You’re on. Okay, so I started on my list, and I was interviewing staff. Prelim interviews, and I’m showing the sketch around. I narrowed the list to four staff and two guests and asked them to meet me at different times in a back office of the hotel. Okay, so I’m interviewing this maid named Lucita, who just got on duty and who probably thought I’m with Immigration and Naturalization, and I show her the sketch of Don Juan, and she says she doesn’t recognize him, but I see something in her face. So I ask to see her green card or proof of citizenship, and she breaks down and starts crying. Then, overstepping my bounds a little, I promise her I’ll help her get legal if she helps me. Sounds like a good deal for everyone, and she says, yes, she saw this guy with a lady leave Room 203 about sevenP.M. Bingo.”
“This is not a coerced statement?”
“No. Well, yeah, but it’s for real. I know when it’s bullshit.”
“Okay. Could she describe the lady?”
“Not very well. Lucita was about thirty feet away when she saw this couple come out of Room 203, on the second-floor terrace that runs past the rooms. They turned away from her, and went down the steps. Lucita may or may not have gotten a good look at either of them, but they definitely came out of Room 203. Okay, the lady was a little younger than Don Juan, a little shorter than him, slim, wearing tan shorts, a blue shirt, and sandals. But she was wearing sunglasses and a floppy hat, like maybe she doesn’t want to be recognized.”
“Where were they going?”
“Double bingo. They were walking to the parking lot. The guy was carrying a blanket that Lucita said looked like it was taken from the room, which is why Lucita watched them, but she also says that people do that and they usually bring the blanket back, so she didn’t make anything of it. So, this is our couple. Right?”
“Right.” I asked, “Were they carrying anything else?”
“Like what?”
“Like… anything.”
She looked at me and replied, “That’s what Liam Griffith asked this maid about three times. What are we looking for, John?”
“An ice chest.”
