"Do you have a picture of this husband?" Jack Ruhle asked, glancing at the front desk clerk before focusing on the SFPD detective.
Steve shook his head. "Not yet. It just happened." Both he and the house dick looked at the young man behind the counter. "You wouldn't remember him by any chance, would you?" he asked, knowing it was an almost impossible longshot.
Surprisingly, the clerk nodded. "As a matter of fact, I do." Even he sounded surprised. When the other two men frowned slightly, he nodded again.
"Oh? Why?" Steve asked, not believing his impending good fortune.
"Well, I was working the same shift yesterday and Mr. and Mrs. Turley stopped at the desk to ask for a dinner recommendation. He told me they were from St. Louis and in town for the real estate convention. They wanted to go someplace special so I told them about L'Etoile just down the street."
"How do you know it was the Turleys?" Ruhle asked.
Brian looked from Steve to Ruhle and back again, shrugging slightly. "He, ah, he introduced himself. He even shook my hand. I thought it was kinda strange; most of our guests barely know the staff exists, but he was very friendly. I thought it was because he was from the mid-west, you know…?" He shrugged again. "Especially when he did the same thing this morning."
Steve's frown deepened. "Did what this morning?"
"Well, before he went jogging - at least I think he was going jogging, he was dressed like it - he came over to the desk here and thanked me for the recommendation for L'Etoile. And he shook my hand again and told me his name again."
"He said his name again?"
Brian nodded. "Umh-humh."
Steve glanced at Ruhle, both of them surreptitiously clocking the unusual behaviour. "What did he say exactly?"
The young clerk thought for a second. "Ah, he said, ah, 'Hey, good morning. I'm Dave Turley from St. Louis. Do you remember me?' And he held out his hand again for me to shake. Then he said something like, 'You recommended that restaurant L'Etoile to my wife Elizabeth and me yesterday. We went there last night and it was terrific. I just wanted to thank you again. You made my wife's night.'" Brian shrugged once more. "It was something like that anyway." He chuckled dryly. "I thought it was kinda weird, but like I said, he's from the mid-west…"
Steve suppressed a smile as he nodded. "Thanks. Ah, what time was that, do you remember?"
Brian raised his eyebrows and thought for a second. "Oh, about 8, I guess. My shift started at 7 and it was about an hour after that, I think."
"Good. Ah, which door did he leave by, do you notice?"
"The front," Brian said, gesturing at the three large glass front doors.
"Thanks," Steve nodded again, starting towards the centre revolving door, Ruhle following close behind.
# # # # #
Mike gestured at the uniformed officer and led him a couple of steps deeper into the bathroom so Turley couldn't overhear; the distraught husband was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "The hotel is moving him into another room. I want you to stay with him, tell him to leave everything here for now and we'll have his stuff moved to his new room when we're finished in here. And tell him we'll interview him a little later and he's not to go anywhere until then."
The young officer nodded. "What if he asks to change clothes?"
Mike shook his head. "Not yet. I'm going to get the lab boys in here to go over things. And I want to them to take his clothes. So make sure he doesn't do anything to compromise what he's wearing, even if you have to follow him into the bathroom. If he has a problem with that, tell him it's routine."
The patrolman nodded then leaned forward a little more, dropping his voice to a bare whisper. "You think he killed her?"
Mike smiled enigmatically. "I don't know what I think right now, Bowerman," the lieutenant replied softly, reading the name on the I.D. tag, "but I've learned never to take anything at face value. And you shouldn't either." His smile widened and he gently slapped the fresh-faced young cop on the arm as he nodded back towards Turley.
"Yes, sir," Bowerman nodded with his own smile as he turned away, crossing the large room towards the motionless husband.
Mike drifted slowly back into the bathroom, staring at the pools of water on the floor, the still-filled bathtub, the towel-ring at the bottom of the tub and the hole in the tile wall. He sighed heavily as he shoved his hands into his pants pocket.
# # # # #
"Charlie, this is Inspector Keller," Ruhle made the introduction to the uniformed doorman. "He wants to ask you a couple of questions, if that's okay?"
"Sure," the tall older man with the distinguished light grey Van Dyke and welcoming smile agreed readily, turning his very warm soft blue eyes on the detective. "Charlie Harrison," he said with a tip of his cap. "How can I help you, Inspector?"
"Thank you. Ah, were you on duty this morning around 9?"
"Yes, I was," Harrison said. "My shift starts at 6. We have a lot of early risers staying here," he chuckled.
"Good, good," Steve smiled. "Ah, did you notice one of your clients going jogging this morning around that time… mid-thirties -"
"Mr. Turley?" Harrison interrupted, his eyes snapping to Ruhle briefly.
After a brief stunned moment, Steve nodded. "Ah, yes… ah, you know Mr. Turley by name?"
The doorman snorted. "Well, not really. But when he came out through those doors this morning," he pointed at the revolving door, "he came right up to me, introduced himself, told me he was from St. Louis, and told me he was going jogging. Said something about he hoped he wouldn't have a heart attack on the hills, laughing about it, you know."
"Ah, didn't you find that a little, I don't know… strange?" Steve asked, frowning.
Harrison snorted again. "Strange is not the word I'd use, Inspector. I think bizarre covers it better. I'm used to be ignored, by and large, and I'm fine with that. In all my years as a doorman here, and there've been a lot, believe me, I've had maybe a half dozen people do that, and every time I've thought it was weird."
"I bet. So, did you see him come back?"
"Yeah," Harrison nodded. "I was helping this couple out of their taxi when he jogged by. He yelled, 'Hi!' and waved." He made a face and shook his head with a soft chuckle. "It was very… odd."
"Do you remember what time that was?'
The doorman shrugged. "I'm not sure. 9:30, 9:40…? Sorry."
"No problem," Steve smiled. "You've been a big help."
All three men glanced up when a black van pulled into the circular driveway. Steve looked at Ruhle.
"That's the crime scene technicians. Where would you like them to park?"
# # # # #
Mike was still in the bathroom when Steve returned with two of Charlie's underlings. He told them what he wanted them to focus on, then led Steve down the corridor to the room Turley had been moved. He stopped in the corridor and turned to his partner. "So, did you learn anything?"
The younger man beamed. "Oh yeah." Steve told him about Turley introducing himself to both the desk clerk and the doorman. Mike listened with a deepening frown and growing look of disbelief.
"You're kidding, right?" he asked in incredulity.
Chuckling, Steve shook his head. "Nope." He glanced towards the hotel room door. "So how do you want to handle this?"
Mike snorted. "Well, I don't want to tip our hand right away. I want to hear what he tells us first. Let him think he's pulled one over on us. I don't want to go for the jugular until we've heard from Bernie after the autopsy's finished." He paused for a few beats, thinking. "Let's just get his statement and then I want to go back to the office. I want to talk to Bernie."
"Sounds good." As Steve took a step closer to the door to knock, he glanced back at his partner. "So, what, you think we'll close the book on this one by tomorrow night?" he chuckled.
"Tomorrow night? What, are you getting rusty?" Mike shot back as he reached past his young friend and knocked on the door.
# # # # #
Turley, still in his t-shirt, shorts and sneakers, was sitting on the edge of the made bed. His eyes were red but there was no sign that he had actually been crying. Mike pulled the chair from the desk closer to the bed and sat; Steve leaned against the desk, his notebook and pen in his hands. Bowerman stood near the door.
"Mr. Turley, I'm Lieutenant Stone, this is Inspector Keller," Mike introduced them, nodding over his shoulder at Steve and deliberately not mentioning Homicide.
Turley's bloodshot eyes almost drifted from one detective to the other, as if he was drugged. If he's faking his grief, he's doing a good job, Steve thought to himself. There was a strangled breath then, "Ah, David Turley…"
Smiling kindly, Mike nodded. "Thank you. Ah, Mr. Turley, I know this is a difficult time, but we need to you to tell us about what happened to your wife… just for our records. You understand, I'm sure…"
Turley was nodding almost unconsciously, his gaze drifting away, looking down. "I understand. Ah, what do you need to know?"
"Well, ah, we need you to go through everything that happened this morning."
"Everthing…?"
"Yes, from when you and your wife got up this morning until you found her in the bathtub."
Turley was still looking down but his nodding became more pronounced. "Okay… Ah, well, we, ah, we'd gone out for dinner last night…" He looked up and met Mike's stare, a smile briefly crossing his features. "L'Etoile. Have you ever been there?" he asked, and the question startled the two detectives.
"Ah, yes, I have actually," Mike responded, briefly and uncharacteristically thrown.
"It's wonderful," Turley said softly, looking down again. "We loved it… my wife loved it. And, ah, we slept in a bit this morning. I'm usually a very early riser but we had a little too much to drink last night, I guess…" He chuckled softly to himself. "Ah, I guess we woke up about 8:30…?" He shrugged slightly. "The first seminar today isn't until noon so I was going to go for a jog and then we were going to order room service…" His face crumpled slightly and he inhaled sharply. "Elizabeth said she was going to take a bath…" he barely got out as his voice wavered and he brought both hands up to cover his face, his shoulders shaking.
Mike leaned back in the chair and looked up expressionlessly at his partner. Steve looked back, briefly raising his eyebrows.
Waiting a few long moments for Turley to pull himself together, Mike asked, "Where did you jog to, do you remember?"
Turley lifted his head from his hands, no tears visible, and stared at the seemingly sympathetic lieutenant. "I, ah, I followed the cable car tracks… ah, down Powell? To, ah, to Union Square… and then I came back." He almost smiled again. "I, ah, I had to walk back… I didn't realize these hills are so steep.." There was a feeble attempt at a chuckle.
Mike smiled. "Yes, they are. That's why the locals don't jog, for the most part." He leaned forward, exuding compassion and understanding. "What, ah, what happened when you got back?"
Turley looked stricken and his stare unfocused. "I just thought she was still in the tub when I got back, taking a long bath…. I called out for her a couple of times but she didn't answer me." He swallowed heavily. "So I went into the bathroom…" His voice started to shake and he bit his upper lip. "And I found her…" He started to wail and dropped his head back into his hands, his entire body shaking.
Mike turned to look at his partner again, and they both nodded.
