Becoming Quinn

“I’m guessing you might already know this, but your guy’s a cop.”

“You mean crime scene investigator,” Durrie said.

“No. I mean cop.”

“He’s not a crime tech?”

“Is there a bad connection or something?” Steiner asked. “I said cop. As in police officer, with the gun and the badge and the cars with the lights.”

Steiner wasn’t Durrie’s favorite person in the world. He could be a bit of an ass when he wanted to be. Easy to do when you spent all day sitting around Venice Beach. Steiner owned a mailbox and packing store just around the corner from the boardwalk, but his main income came from forging documents and gathering information.

It was clear his specialized skills made him think he was above most other people. The problem was, he was good at his job. Hence the reason Durrie put up with him.

“Phoenix PD?”

“Yep.”

“How long’s he been on the force?” Durrie asked.

“Just over four months. Went to the academy first, graduated near the top, then right into the uniform.”

“Is that it?”

“Dude, I know I’m good, but you didn’t give me a lot of time. That’s all I got.”

“Send me the bill,” Durrie said.

“It’s already in your inbox.”

Durrie dropped his phone on the passenger seat.

He had two choices: go to the cop’s address and check it out, or go to where he was pretty sure Oliver was headed. The house he could visit anytime. Where Oliver was probably headed seemed more pressing.

Thirty minutes later, he parked a block away from the Lawrence Hotel, then walked up to the entrance.

The doorman smiled, and immediately opened the door. “Welcome back, sir.”

Durrie had stayed there the last two nights and was still technically a guest, but he had no intention of spending another night in the place, not now that a member of the Phoenix PD had tied it to the situation on Goodman Ranch Road. But he’d deal with that later. Right now the cop was his focus.

He slowed his pace upon entering the lobby and casually looked around, taking everything in. There were two women behind the reception counter, another woman at the concierge desk, and two older men at the bellhop station. One of the women at reception was helping a male guest, while the other was looking intently at a computer screen. Other guests were scattered throughout the rest of the lobby — some talking together, some sitting on the chairs, reading or waiting. But no Jake Oliver.

Maybe Durrie had been wrong.

He checked his watch. He’d give it twenty minutes, then he’d retrieve his bag from his room and find another place to stay. He picked up one of the complimentary newspapers off a nearby table, then took a seat in a wingback chair that afforded him a view of both the hotel entrance and reception. He was just finishing up the front section when the cop made his appearance.

Durrie was surprised to see that Oliver was now dressed in a police uniform. It certainly explained the delay in his arrival, but why wear it now when he wasn’t wearing it at the scene? Then the answer, so obvious, hit him.

Authority. People responded to it, and the uniform reeked of it.

For a split second, Durrie wondered if the cop was actually here officially with the full knowledge of his superiors, but quickly dismissed the thought. If that had been the case, Oliver would have turned over the matchbook to the investigators at the scene. Instead, he’d slipped it into his pocket and driven off.

No, this visit wasn’t official. Durrie was sure of that. This was a wannabe detective trying to make a mark, and give his fledgling career an early boost. Durrie imagined that Oliver was hoping to gain some respect and maybe even a commendation. Maybe he even had ideas of becoming the youngest detective in Phoenix PD history. But the cop was young still, and didn’t quite know how the world worked. Initiative wasn’t always rewarded, especially if you looked like you were trying to show up someone else.

The argument, though, was purely academic. If Oliver’s little side investigation took him any further, he’d have bigger problems to worry about than the bruised egos of those above him on the force.

As soon as the cop passed by his position, Durrie got up and moved to an open seat on the other side of the lobby, closer to reception. It was angled away from the desk so he didn’t have much of a view, but he could hear well enough as Oliver told the woman at the desk he wished to speak to the head of security.

“If you’d like to wait over there, he’ll be with you in a moment,” she replied.

Durrie could then hear the unmistakable sound of the cop walking toward him, the uniform’s leather belt and attachments squeaking with each step. When Oliver finally stopped, he was just two chairs over from Durrie’s position.

Close enough to kill.

Durrie frowned at the thought. It was his dark voice, one that he seldom heard. But when he did, it was always throwing out ridiculous things like that. Easy to ignore, but disturbing nonetheless.

The truth was he might have to kill Oliver, but there would be none of the satisfaction the voice seemed to imply. In fact, there would be nothing at all. It would be part of the job. Unfortunate, maybe, but necessary.

When the hotel manager and the security man came out, Durrie listened closely to the conversation. He couldn’t help being impressed by the rookie cop’s resourcefulness. Using the cover of the robberies was excellent. It played right to the hotel’s biggest concern — the safety of its guests. Though he couldn’t see the kid’s face, Durrie could sense no hesitation or uncertainty in Oliver’s voice. It was as if the cop truly believed what he was saying. Durrie knew veteran operatives who wouldn’t have been able to pull off the deception as well as the kid did.

By the end, the cop had talked himself into a free look at the hotel’s security tapes without the need of a warrant or even confirmation from someone higher up in the force. Brilliant.

Also a potential problem.

There was no doubt that Durrie, Larson and Timmons — the two ops team members who’d also been staying at the Lawrence — would be on those tapes. But chances were slim at best that Oliver would peg any of them as people of interest. Like always, standard procedures had been in place, and the three men had acted as if they didn’t know each other while at the hotel.

No way the cop would spot them, but damn if Oliver wasn’t clever to get this far.

Durrie would give him a day. That would be more than enough to make sure the kid wasn’t a threat. And if, for some reason, it turned out he was, Durrie would undoubtedly be ordered to eliminate him.

There was a third possibility, but that barely even registered on the cleaner’s radar.

Slowly he stood up and lifted his arms, a man stretching after sitting for too long. He twisted at the waist, working out those last creaking muscles that weren’t actually bothering him, and took a look around. As he knew they would be, Oliver and the two hotel employees were gone. As for the others still in the lobby, none were looking in his direction.

Durrie was just another anonymous business traveler, here today, gone tomorrow. Or, in his case, here right now, gone in thirty minutes.

He went up to his room to get his bag.

9

There was a digital clock in the middle of the wall of monitors. Its numbers were red and impossible to miss, a quick reference for security guards tasked with keeping an eye on the feeds from the hotel cameras.

The monitor room wasn’t particularly large, but it was big enough for two to sit behind the laminated desk set back several feet from the monitor wall. There were eleven screens in all: a large one in the center, with ten smaller units surrounding it.

Jake was in the chair nearest the door. Beside him was a guard named Parker. After making introductions