N is for NOOSE Read online

  I dropped off the typewriter, extracting a promise from the repair guy to get it back to me as soon as possible. I returned the rental to the agency’s downtown office, completed the financial transactions, and then took a cab back to my apartment. I picked up my car, which ��� after a series of groans and stutters ��� finally coughed to life. Progress at last.

  I drove into downtown Santa Teresa and left my car in a nearby public parking garage. Umbrella tilted against the rain, I walked one block over and one block down. The Gramercy Hotel was a chunky three-story structure on lower State Street, a residential establishment favored by the homeless when their monthly checks came in. The stucco building was painted the sweet green of a cr��me de menthe frappe and featured a covered entrance large enough to accommodate six huddled smokers seeking shelter from the rain. A marquee across the front spelled out the hotel rates.

  SGL RMS $9.95. DBL RMS $13.95

  DAILY*WEEKLY*MONTLHY

  RATES ALSO AVAILABLE ON REQUEST.

  A fellow using a plastic garbage bag as a rain cloak greeted me rheumy-eyed as he moved his feet to allow me passage into the lobby. I lowered my umbrella, trying not to stab any of those assembled for their morning libations. It seemed early for package liquor, but maybe that was fruit juice being passed in the brown paper bag.

  The hotel must have been considered elegant once upon a time. The floor was green marble with a crooked path of newspapers laid end to end to soak up all the rainy footsteps that crisscrossed the lobby. In places, where the soggy papers had been picked up, I could see that the newsprint had left reverse images of the headlines and text. Six ornate pilasters divided the gloomy space into sections, each of which sported a blocky green plastic couch. To all appearances, the clientele was discouraged from spending time lounging about on the furniture as a hand-printed sign offered the following admonishments:

  NO SMOKING

  NO SPITTING

  NO LOITERING

  NO SOLICITING

  NO DRINKING ON THE PREMISES

  NO FIGHTING

  NO PEEING IN THE PLANTERS Which just about summed up my personal code. I approached the long front desk, located beneath an archway decorated with white plaster scrolls and ornamental vegetation. The fellow behind the marble counter was leaning forward on his elbows, clearly interested in my intentions. This felt like one more fool’s errand, but it was truly the only thing I could think to do at this point.

  “I’d like to talk to the manager. Is he here?”

  “I guess that’s me. I’m Dave Estes. And your name?”

  “Kinsey Millhone.” I took out my business card and passed it across to him.

  He read it with serious attention to each word. He was in his thirties, a cheerful-looking fellow with an open countenance, glasses, a crooked smile, slight overbite, and a hairline that had receded to reveal a long sloping forehead like an expanse of empty seashore when the tide is out. What hair he had was a medium brown and cropped close to his head. He wore a brown jumpsuit with many zippered pockets, like an auto mechanic’s. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular forearms.

  “What can I help you with?”

  I placed the photograph of Tom Newquist on the counter in front of him. “I’m wondering if you happen to have seen this man. He’s an investigator for the Nota County Sheriff’s Department. His name is Tom ���”

  “Hold on, hold on,” he cut in. He held a hand up to silence me, motioning me to wait a moment, during which time he made the kind of face that precedes a sneeze. He closed his eyes, screwed up his nose, and opened his mouth, panting. His expression cleared and he pointed at me. “Newquist. Tom Newquist.” I was astonished. “That’s right. You know him?”

  “Well, no, I don’t know him, but he was in here.”

  “When was this?”

  “Oh, I’d say June of last year. Probably the first week. I’d say the Fifth if forced to guess.”

  I was so unprepared for the verification, I couldn’t think what to ask next.

  Estes was looking at me. “Did something happen to him?”

  “He died of a heart attack a few weeks back.”

  “Hey, too bad. Sorry to hear that. He didn’t seem that old.”

  “He wasn’t, but I don’t think he took very good care of himself. Can you tell me what brought him in here?”

  “Oh, sure. He was looking for some guy who’d just been released from jail. We seem to get a lot of fellows here in that situation. Don’t ask me why. Classy place like this. Word must go out that we got good rates, clean rooms, and won’t tolerate a lot of nonsense.”

  “Do you remember the name of the man he was looking for?”

  “That’s an easy one to remember for other reasons, but I like to test myself anyway. Hang on.” He went through the same procedure, face screwed up to show how hard he was working. He paused in his efforts. “You’re probably wondering how I do this. I took a course in mnemonics, the art of improving the memory. I spend a lot of time by myself, especially at night when I’m on desk duty. Trick is you come up with these devices, you know ��� aids and associations ��� that help fix an item in the mind.”

  “That’s great. I’m impressed.”

  “Reason I remember the time frame for your Newquist’s visit is I started my study just about the time he came in. He was my first practice case. So the name Newquist? No problem. New because the fellow was new to me, right? Quist as in question or query. New fellow came in with a question, hence Newquist.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “What about his first name?”

  Estes smiled. “You told me that. I’d forgotten it myself.”

  “And the other guy? The one he was inquiring about?”

  “What did I come up with for that? Let’s see. It had something to do with dentists. Oh, yes. His last name was Toth? That’s tooth with an O missing. That was a good one because the fellow had a tooth missing so it all tied together. His first name was Alfie. Dentists connect to doctors. And like at the doctor’s, you say ‘Ahh’ when they stick in that tongue depressor in your mouth? First name began with A. So mentally, I go through all the A names I can think of. Allen, Arnold, Avery, Alfie. And there you have it.”

  “So Tom Newquist was here on business.”

  “That’s correct. Trouble is, he missed him. Toth’d been here two weeks, but he moved out June One, shortly before this detective of yours came in.”

  “Do you have any idea why he was looking for Toth?”

  “Said he was developing a lead on a case he was working. I remember that because it was just like the movies. You know, Clint Eastwood comes in, flashing a badge and real serious. All I know is Newquist never had the chance to talk to him because Toth was gone by then.”

  “Did he leave a forwarding address?”

  “Well, no, but I have his ex-wife’s address, under ‘nearest relative not living with you.’ That’s so we got someone to call if a guy trashes the room or drops dead. It’s a hassle trying to figure out what to do with a dead body.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “Is there any way I could get the ex-wife’s name and address?”

  “Sure. No problem. This’s not confidential information as far as I’m concerned. People check in, I tell ‘em the hotel files are open to the authorities. Cops come in asking to see records. I don’t insist on a subpoena. That’d be obstruction of justice, in my opinion.”

  “I’m sure the police appreciate your attitude, but don’t the hotel guests object?”

  Dave Estes shrugged. “I guess the day I get sued, we’ll change the policy. You know, another fellow came in, too. Plainclothes detective. This was earlier, maybe June One. I wasn’t working that day or I’d have filed it away in the old noggin,” he said with a tap to his temple. “I told Peck he better take the same course I did, but so far I haven’t managed to talk him into it.”

  “Too bad,” I said. “So who was this other detective who came in?”

  “Can�
�t help you there and that’s my point. If Peck took this course, he could recall in detail. Since he didn’t; no dice. The slate’s blank. End of episode.”

  “Could I talk to Peck myself?”

  “You could, but I can tell you exactly what he’s going to say. He remembers this investigator came in ��� had a warrant and all, but Toth wasn’t on the premises. In fact, he checked out later that day so maybe he was worried about the law catching up with him. Detective called back the next morning and Peck gave him the address and telephone number of Toth’s ex-wife, same as I would.”

  “Did you tell Tom Newquist about the other detective?”

  “Same way I’m telling you. I figured it must have been a cop he knew.”

  “What about Toth’s ex? Did you tell him how to get in touch with her?”

  “Sure did. The woman had a regular parade coming through the door.”

  “Hasn’t anybody suggested you shouldn’t be quite so free passing out information?”

  “Lady, I’m not the guardian of public safety. Some cop comes in looking for information, I don’t want to get in his way.”

  “What about the warrant? Was that local?”

  “Can’t answer that. Peck doesn’t pay attention to these items the same way I do. He’s got the right idea we’re here to cooperate. Place like this, you want the cops on your team. Fight breaks out, you want action when you hit 9-1-1.”

  “Not to mention help with all the bodies afterward.”

  “Now you’re getting it.”

  “Could we just back up a minute and see if I got this straight? Alfie Toth was here two weeks, from sometime in the middle of May.”

  “Right.”

  “Then a plainclothes detective came in with a warrant for his arrest. Alfie heard about it and, not surprisingly, checked out later that day. The detective called back and Peck told him how to get in touch with Alfie Toth’s ex-wife.”

  “Sure. Peck figured that’s where Toth went,” Estes said.

  “Then around June Fifth, Tom Newquist came in and you passed the same information along to him.”

  “Hey, I don’t show favorites, is my motto. That’s why I’m giving it to you. Why say yes to one and no to someone else is the way I look at it.”

  “You haven’t given me anything yet,” I said.

  He reached for a piece of scratch paper and jotted down a woman’s name, address, and telephone number, apparently off the top of his head. He passed it across the counter.

  I took the paper, noting at a glance the Perdido address. “Sounds like Alfie Toth was suddenly very popular.”

  “Yep.”

  “And you have no idea why?”

  “Nope.”

  “What’s Peck’s first name?”

  “Leland.”

  “Is he in the phone book if I need to talk to him?”

  Estes shook his head. “Number’s unlisted. Now that I wouldn’t give out without getting his permission.”

  I thought about it for a moment, but couldn’t think what other ground I should cover. I could always check with him later if something else occurred to me. “Well. Thanks for the help. You’ve been very generous and I appreciate that.” I reached for my umbrella, shifting my handbag from my right shoulder to my left so I could manage both.

  “Don’t you want to hear the rest of it?”

  I hesitated. “What rest?”

  “The guy’s dead. Murdered. Some backpacker found his body up near Ten Pines couple months ago. January Thirteen. Reason I remember is it’s my great-aunt’s birthday. Death. Birth. Doesn’t take a wizard to make that connection. I got it locked right in here.”

  I stared at him, remembering a brief mention of it in the paper. “That was Alfie Toth?”

  “Yep. Coroner figured he’d been dead six, seven months ��� since right about the time everybody came looking for him ��� including the fellow with the warrant and your Tom Newquist. Somebody must have caught up with him. Too bad Peck’s never bothered to develop his skills. He might’ve been the state’s star witness.”

  “To what?”

  “Whatever comes up.”

  I sat in my car, trying to figure out what this meant. Everybody had wanted to talk to Alfie Toth until he turned up dead. I’d have to search back issues of the local newspaper, but as nearly as I remembered, there was precious little information. Decomposed remains had been found in a remote area of the Los Padres National Forest, but I hadn’t registered the name. There was no mention of cause of death, but the presumption was of foul play. The police had been stingy with the details, but perhaps they’d told the papers everything they knew. I hadn’t been aware of any other reference to the matter and I’d thought no more of it. The Angeles and Los Padres national forests are both dumping grounds for homicide victims, whose corpses one imagines littering the hiking trails like bags of garbage.

  I dutifully fired up the VW and drove the eight blocks to the public library, where I turned up the relevant paragraph in a copy of the Santa Teresa Dispatch for January 15.

  BODY FOUND IN LOS PADRES

  THAT OF TRANSIENT

  The decomposed remains discovered by a hiker in the Los Padres National Forest January 13 have been identified as a transient, Alfred Toth, 45, according to the Santa Teresa County Sheriff’s Department. The body was found Monday in the rugged countryside five miles east of Manzanita Mountain. Detectives identified Toth through dental work after linking the body to a missing-persons report filed by his ex-wife, Perdido resident Olga Toth. The case is being investigated as a homicide. Anyone with information is asked to call Detective Clay Boyd at the Sheriff’s Department. I found a pay phone outside the building, scrounged a couple of coins from the bottom of my handbag, dialed the Santa Teresa County Sheriff’s Department, and asked for Detective Boyd.

  “Boyd.” The tone was flat, professional, all business. All he’d done so far was give me his name and already I knew he wasn’t going to be my best friend.

  “Hi, my name is Kinsey Millhone,” I said, trying not to sound too chirpy. “I’m a local private investigator working on a case that may connect to the death of Alfie Toth.”

  Pause. “In what way?”

  “Well, I’m not sure yet. I’m not asking for confidential information, but could you give me an update? The last mention in the paper was back in January.”

  Pause. This was like talking to someone on a time delay. I could have sworn he was taking notes. “What’s the nature of your interest?”

  “Ah. Well, that’s tricky to explain. I’m working for the wife ��� I guess I should make that the widow ��� of a sheriff’s investigator up in Nota Lake. Tom Newquist. Did you know him by any chance?”

  “Name doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “He drove down last June to talk to Alfie Toth, but by the time he reached the Gramercy, Toth had moved out. They might have connected later ��� I’m not sure about that yet ��� but I’m assuming this was part of an ongoing investigation.”

  “Uh-unh.”

  “Do you have any record of Newquist’s contacting your department?”

  “Hang on.” He sounded resigned, a man who couldn’t be accused later of thwarting the public’s right to know.

  He put me on hold. I listened to the mild hissing that signals one’s entrance into telephone hyperspace. I sent up a little prayer of thanks that I wasn’t being subjected to polka music or John Philip Sousa. Some companies patch you into news broadcasts with the volume pitched too low and you sit there wondering if you’re flunking some bizarre hearing test.

  Detective Boyd clicked back in. He apparently had the file open on the desk in front of him as I could hear him flipping pages. “You still there,” he asked idly.

  “I’m here.”

  “Tom Newquist didn’t get in touch with us when he was here, but I do show we’ve been with Nota Lake.”

  I said, “Really. I wonder why he didn’t let you know he was coming down.”

>   “Gosh, I don’t know. That’s a stumper,” he said blandly.

  “If he’d gotten in touch, would there be a note of it?’

  “Yes ma’am.”

  I could see how this was going to go. I was on a fishing expedition and Detective Boyd was responding only to direct questions. Anything I didn’t ask, he wasn’t going to volunteer. Somehow I had to snag his interest and inspire his cooperation. “Why don’t I tell you my problem,” I said conversationally. “His widow’s convinced her husband was deeply troubled about something.”

  “Uh-unh.”

  I could feel my frustration mount. How could this man be so pleasant and so completely obtuse at the same time? I switched gears. “Was Alfie Toth wanted for some crime at the time of his death?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. He’d just finished serving time on a conviction for petty theft.”

  “The desk clerk at the Gramercy says a plainclothes detective came in with a warrant for his arrest.”

  “Wasn’t one of ours.”

  “You don’t show any outstanding warrants?”

  “No ma’am, I don’t.”

  “But there must have been some connection or Tom Newquist wouldn’t have bothered to drive all the way down here.”

  “I’ll tell you what. If this is just a question of satisfying Mrs. Newquist’s curiosity, I can’t see any reason to share information. Why don’t you talk to Nota Lake and see what they have to say. That’d be your best bet.”

  “Are you telling me you have information?”

  “I’m telling you I’m not going to reveal the substance of an ongoing investigation to any yahoo who asks. You have knowledge of the facts ��� something new to contribute ��� we’d be happy to have you come in.”

  “Has there been a resolution to the case?”

  “Not so far.”

  “The newspapers indicated that this was being investigated as a homicide.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Do you have a suspect?”

  “Not at this time. I wouldn’t say that, no.”

  “Any leads?”