“I GUESS I COULD ARREST YOU—if you really want me to, I will, right?—and I guess I could have left you to those thugs. But I’ve been getting this feeling that something ain’t right in the time since we took you to City Hall to identify the body of the woman you said was your wife. An’ I’m getting that same feeling even more tonight.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Say?” Officer Doyle chuckled. He was helping Clark along a corridor back inside the Biltmore. “Not sure I want you to say anything. In fact, make that a definite, ’cos I’ve got a pretty strong feeling that whatever you tell me ain’t going to be what I want to hear. Few things I could tell you, though—watch that blood from your nose, pal, you’re dripping, an’ I’m sorry they trod on your glasses. Like we’ve just had a guy taken to hospital from that fire who swears his name’s Daniel Lamotte, and he has no idea about his wife dying. Doesn’t look much like you, either, and when I turn on NBC, they say this Daniel Lamotte’s about to be interviewed live over here at the Biltmore by Wallis Beekins. Oh, and did I mention what else we found at that old studio lot? But you were there, weren’t you? I’m sure I saw you and what looked like a broad from that cockroach academy scuttling off in a stolen taxi.”
“It wasn’t stolen. It was—”
“Just shut the fuck up, will you? There are times as a cop when you really don’t want to know. Like when you shine a flashlight on some whore in a car and find it’s your precinct major with this pants around his ankles, or there’s a really bad smell in a private dick’s office that someone’s only just gotten around to noticing. Life’s full of stones best left unturned, and I reckon this is one of them. Watch those steps. Real shame about the front of that nice shirt. There’s more steps now. Upsadaisy…” They were climbing the Biltmore’s service stairs. “So here I am as sole potential arresting officer, and the thought of all that paperwork just makes my head ache. There are at least a couple of people dead and several others in a bad way, and here we all are, right in the middle of vote-for-me-I’m-famous, and those thugs out there were fixing to do you something nasty, and the police RT’s going mad, and I can’t believe this is all coincidence.”
Clark was feeling steadier on his feet now. People were clustered ahead of them beyond a half-parted curtain. They glanced back at Clark and Officer Doyle, then quickly returned their gaze down from the balcony on which they were standing. They were all hotel staff, and none of them were white, and Clark guessed they should all have been working. From here, though, there was a fine view right down across the Biltmore Bowl. “So…” Officer Doyle murmured as they shuffled to find a space.
“Why don’t we just settle back and see what happens next?”