A Fine Mess

Chapter 28

Davis sat in the back of his van going over the recordings on his laptop computer. The visit from the black woman had shaken him; made him suspicious that there was more to her visit than she claimed. It was too coincidental. With his hacking ability and his personally designed search programs, Davis discovered that Jarlayne Brighton's number revealed her to be a licensed Private Investigator and he began to consider the wisdom of his current actions. Dollars to doughnuts she was working the WesCat case somehow.

The telephone numbers on the tape copies were extracted and placed in a separate file. There was the Weston's apartment phone and the cell phone number of the husband's partner. He reran the sound waves and assigned them to the numbers he knew, which left one set unaccounted for. Davis hadn't paid any attention to this before because it didn't affect what he was asked to do but now, with strangers nosing around, he figured there must be other information out there that he might find useful as well.

He played the extra sound wave through his special program and broke down the frequencies, which allowed him to isolate areas of reception. From there he hacked into the telephone system and ran the wave until he heard it connect. Moving through the telephone system's database, he located the source of the connection and established an account number and from there he uncovered a name—Janet Smith. Yeah, and I've got prime swamp for development, Janet Smith. Next, Davis ran a search for Janet Smith's account and discovered it was listed at the address of the Hightower Hotel and with a little more searching he discovered several numbers she called regularly. One that was quite interesting was to a Myles Forbin, senior corporate lawyer at WesCat.

He jotted down the other numbers and shut down his computer then sat slapping the notebook against his leg while he worked out a plan. Why would this Janet Smith's number be in with the recordings supplied to him? Logic says because the voice of Mrs. Weston on the phone is the same as the mysterious Janet, in which case, the Hightower Hotel must be a go to place for Mrs. Weston and her alias. Davis decided to forego the meeting at the Bellville and check out the hotel instead. Feeling a little less nervous, he decided there might be more to be gained from this enterprise yet. He crawled back into the front of the van and started in the direction of the Hightower Hotel.

•••

Myles threw down his napkin and marched after the maitre d' for the second time, grabbed his phone from the young woman without ceremony, walked to a private corner and spat an angry expletive into the mouthpiece.

"I don't need your bullshit, pal. You wanted me to call."

"I apologize. I didn't think t would be so soon. What do you want this time?"

"Davis never showed for the meet. The dame sat in the lounge for twenty minutes and then called a cab and left."

Myles groaned and sagged against the wall. "Where are you now?"

"Outside the Bellville. Figured I'd give it another thirty then split."

"Back to his place?"

"If you want."

"Yes I want! The whole idea is to sort out Mister Tubbs, remember?"

"Does tonight still matter? I mean, since he didn't keep the meet, does the time still matter?"

"You have other plans I take it."

"Well..."

"No, the time isn't as critical, but it would be better if it was done soon... very soon, and Howard, it would be prudent to know about the private investigator's visit before you aah...finish."

"Call you tomorrow when it's over."

Myles hung up and slumped back to the counter. "Bring me the cheque would you please, Claude."

"I hope there is not a problem, monsieur?"

"Nothing you can help me with." Myles waited, gracing the young woman behind the counter with a swiftly disintegrating smile as she returned it with a hint of pity, then signed the cheque, retrieved his coat and left the dining room with a final mournful glance over his shoulder.

The limousine glided through the silent streets of the financial district, blinking in and out of the monolithic shadows that smothered the canyon's avenues. Myles closed his eyes as he listened to the chirp of the phone pressed to his ear. Moira was going to require some handling. She was not accustomed to inconvenience.

"Hello?"

"Moira. Myles here. What happened?"

"I waited and he never came." Her voice was sub zero. "This is unacceptable, Myles."

"Are you at home now?"

"Yes."

"Meet me at the hotel, we'll talk it out and check that all the locks are secure."

"Myles it's nearly eleven, I can't go out now, and stop using those ridiculous aphorisms."

He bit his tongue, responding harshly. "What's stopping you? I'm telling you, Moira, we need to talk now. It's hardly my fault that this person failed to keep his own appointment."

"Very well." He heard a trace of the imperious Moira as she signed off and he began to reassess his situation.

•••

Davis spoke to the desk clerk and said he wanted to leave a message for Janet Smith unless she was in her room. The clerk did a quick check and said she wasn't and gave Davis a sheet of hotel stationery on which to write his message. He scribbled the words: Hi Janet, folded the sheet twice and handed it back to the clerk.

"Do you expect her in soon?"

"She's not here that often and when she is it could be almost any time." He shoved the paper into her room slot and Davis smiled inside. Room 684.

He thanked the young man, waved good night and made a casual circuit of the lobby. When the desk became busy, he crossed to the elevators and waited, taking the next one to the sixth floor with three woman wearing convention name tags and a sour looking, older man with eyeglasses held together by tape. The man exited on two and everyone spread out a little showing self-conscious smiles.

On six, the halls were wide and decorated with prints of old masters mounted in overly ornate frames over narrow tables holding vases of artificial flowers, complimentary mints and postcards. The doors to the suites were wide and stained a dark, cherry red, emblazoned with the room numbers in gold script. It was probably par for one of the city's five star hotels. Its popularity came from the fact that the rooms were larger and the furnishings more classical.

Visiting dignitaries chose the Hightower on a regular basis both for its class and the discretion of its staff. Davis listened at the door and was certain he heard movement inside—so much for the attentive desk clerk. He decided he would go back down and call the cell phone number and see what happened. At the end of the hall, the elevator doors opened and a fierce looking yet familiarly striking woman emerged, moving deliberately toward Davis.

As they passed he gave her the once over, catching a glimpse of disapproval in her expression as he did. He pushed the button and turned back just in time to see the woman enter room 684. So, company is already in the room waiting. Hello Janet Smith. My, my, my.