He was staring up into the dark, unable to sleep. There was so much going through his mind, so many inconsistencies. He thought back over everything Mike had told him about what he had remembered about Jeannie's assault and its immediate aftermath, and the unanswered questions kept running through his mind. What had happened after the accident? Did Jeannie remember more than her father? Did the unknown driver of the second car kill Johnny Seddon, or was it someone else? Why was Mike being framed?
He exhaled loudly in frustration. Why was he being kept from a working telephone? Was he being paranoid, or was it just a coincidence, a word Mike loathed and one he was becoming seriously disenchanted with himself? Was the motel manager in cahoots with the police chief? It sure seemed like it. But if he was, why did he believe the obvious lie when the credit card he had used to pay for this motel room bore a different name? True, a lawyer could carry a corporate card, which was the feeble explanation he used; he was lucky the motel manager hadn't asked to see his I.D. or business card. But then again, Steve thought with a mental chuckle, business wasn't so great at the moment, and any income was undoubtedly more than welcome.
He didn't have a choice when it came to the credit card. He didn't have much cash on him, and he realized he most likely wouldn't be able to get any from the one bank he had seen in town; it wasn't the bank he used and he couldn't very well use his own identification. His back against the wall, he had taken that chance; now he just hoped it didn't come back to bite him.
The early closing of the motel office was puzzling as well, especially when he'd heard, on two separate occasions, cars pull into the parking lot and pause in front of the closed office, then drive off in what could only be described as a huff. It seemed that the motel did have a clientele, one that showed up late in the evening and only used a room for an hour, Steve smiled to himself. He had a feeling that tonight's early closing was done specifically so he couldn't confront anyone about his faulty telephone.
There was no doubt this was all a set-up, he knew, and he would have to figure out why. But he was also convinced that, though it had all the earmarks of a conspiracy, it wasn't something that they had attempted before; it felt like things were being done on the fly. And that was something he could use to his advantage. He just had to find the chink in the armour. And he would start first thing in the morning.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, taking comfort in the knowledge that both Mike and Jeannie were alive and in relatively good shape. Now it was up to him to bring them home.
# # # # #
Stepping out into the sunshine, he locked the door behind him, looking down the concrete walkway towards Jeannie's room before turning towards the motel office. The powder blue Gremlin was parked in front again, the OPEN - VACANCY sign flashing once more.
The bald manager was behind the counter, reading a newspaper spread out on the desk. He glanced up without expression.
Eschewing any pretense of courtesy, Steve approached the counter. "My phone doesn't work."
"It doesn't?"
"No."
"Oh, that's too bad," the manager said dryly, going back to his paper.
Steve hesitated for a beat, clenching his teeth. "Can you fix it?"
The manager turned a page. "I'll have someone look at it later today." He continued to read.
The younger man sighed heavily. "So… can I use that one?" He pointed to the black phone on the desk beside the newspaper.
The other man didn't even look up. "Nope. It's a business phone." His eyes remained on the paper as he pointed to the wall over his head. There was a small framed notice that read 'Office Telephone is for Motel Employees Only'.
Not wanting to push his luck vis-a-vis the credit card, Steve swallowed his anger. "Yeah, I can see this place is so busy…" he muttered under his breath then swallowed another sigh. "Thank you," he said flatly as he turned and left the small office. He exhaled loudly as he crossed back to the Porsche and got in behind the wheel. He took the .38 out of his jacket pocket and put it in the glove compartment beside his badge before he slipped the key in the ignition, trying to figure out what to do first.
He knew he had to get in touch with Roy Devitt and let him know what was going on, and he also wanted to put a call in to Gerry O' Brien. If the motel manager happened to mention the name discrepancy to Hogan, the chief might decide to check up on his identity. He knew Hogan hadn't written down any details off the business card, but he had remembered the name and he would have noticed the San Francisco reference. It wouldn't be hard to track down a lawyer named Gerald O'Brien in San Francisco.
Steve wanted to fill O'Brien in on what was going on, even at the risk of incurring his wrath, so the ADA wouldn't inadvertently 'blow his cover' and might actually be able to confirm the ruse, if it came down to that. He needed to get to that payphone at the grocery store, he thought, and he needed to get change, and a lot of it. Both calls would probably be lengthy.
With a heavy sigh, knowing it was going to be a busy day, and realizing he had a lot of investigative paths to carefully wander down if he was going to figure out what was going on, he turned the key.
Nothing happened.
Frowning, he turned the key off then tried again. Still nothing. With an angry snort, his heart beginning to pound, he took the key out of the ignition, got out and circled to the trunk, and inserted a key. He propped the hood open and stared at the engine. He was not a mechanic by any stretch of the imagination, and he always took his beloved car to the same garage for maintenance and repairs, but he knew enough to check the battery and all the wiring he could see. Everything looked normal.
He got back behind the wheel and tried again, with the same result. He sat quietly for a couple of seconds, trying to get his rising anger under control, then got out and locked the door, doing the same with the trunk. He stalked back to the office.
"My car won't start," he almost growled as he strode through the door and up to the counter again.
The manager looked up languidly. "Oh? Gee, that's too bad."
After a tense silent second, Steve asked quietly, "Is there a mechanic in town that can have a look at it?"
The older man pursed his lips. "Sure is. Dennis over at the garage downtown is a pretty good mechanic. Don't know if he's ever worked on a Porsche before… but you never know," he cackled wildly, the sound sending chills up the young cop's spine. "You can ask him, if ya want. It's on the way to the police station." He went back to the paper.
Steve stared at the down-turned head for a beat then spun to the door. "Thanks a lot," he said coldly over his shoulder.
He stood on the walkway for a beat, trying to figure out what to do next. He looked towards Jeannie's room again; visiting her would have to wait, he decided. He had to get to that telephone; there was too much on the line here to delay that any longer.
He looked at the Porsche, trying to decide whether to take the .38 with him or not, then decided against it for now. He took the few steps to the sidewalk and started towards the grocery store, which, if he remembered correctly, was on the other side of the police station. He sighed heavily; at least it was a nice morning for a walk.
# # # # #
They tried to be discreet, but Steve could feel every eye he passed raking over him like a jeweller with a loupe. It was fairly annoying but behind the dark glasses he was getting used to not letting it bother him. But the more he thought about it, the more he couldn't decide if it was just curiosity or they were all in on the set-up. Conspiracy paranoia was a real thing, he knew; he had read enough about it over the years.
There were a few houses along the main drag but mostly it was businesses of one sort or another, most of them seemingly boarded up for the winter lull. It was obvious that the town survived on its proximity to a very popular state park; stores that catered to fishermen, campers and hikers were temporarily closed, as were the vast majority of the restaurants. He had only found two open: the diner near the motel where he had bought their dinner last night, and a larger, more upscale restaurant closer to the 'downtown core'.
He was hungry, but he wanted to make the phones calls before he did anything else, so he strode briskly past the garage, where Dennis could hopefully give his car a once over and diagnose the problem, and the police station, where he wanted to drop in to see Mike again and maybe bring him a late breakfast.
The grocery store came into view. And slightly beyond it, on the corner, stood an AT&T phone box; he smiled in relief. Devitt's number he knew by heart, and he dug into his pants pocket for the change he already had on him. He knew he would need more to call O'Brien and would get that later in the grocery store.
He crossed to the box and picked up the handset, stuffing it under his left ear as he picked out a few dimes and started to put them in the slot. There was no dial tone. He froze for a split second, then depressed the hook-switch a couple of times. Still no dial tone. Holding his breath, he put one of the dimes in the slot, hoping that this might be the type of phone that didn't connect until a coin had been inserted. He could hear it dropping down through the mechanism then stop; still no dial tone.
With a frustrated growl, he slammed the headset on the cradle, closing his eyes as he tried to contain his frustration.
"Hey, mister!" he heard from close by and opened his eyes to see a young boy on a bicycle, one foot on the curb, looking at him. The kid grinned. "That phone doesn't work. It hasn't for a long time."
"Is there another one in town?"
"You mean a phone like that one?"
"Yeah."
The kid shook his head enthusiastically. "Nope."
Steve sighed heavily. "Thanks," he said almost under his breath.
"You're welcome," the boy said brightly as he pushed himself away from the curb and pedalled away.
His hands on his hips, Steve looked up and down the street in frustration. Was this just another coincidence, or truly part of a conspiracy? He was beginning to get the feeling he had become a character in a 'Twilight Zone' episode.
He looked at his watch. It was just past 8. He took a deep breath, trying to figure out his next move, now that making a phone call was out of the question for the time being. The grocery store was closed until 9, so dropping in there wasn't even an option.
He decided to return to the diner for breakfast, though it was all the way back near the motel, and begin his investigation into the murder of Johnny Seddon there, hoping to talk up the locals. Maybe his luck would change and something would go his way for a change. It was as good a place to start as any, he figured. After all, what else could go wrong, he thought sarcastically as he started back the way he had come.