AS THE BLACK CAMARO disappeared into traffic a tiny smile tweaked the tiny mouth of Rosewood Hotel clerk, Daniel Kurtz. Liza Silvestri thought she could manipulate him. Think again, bitch.
All his life he’d been the nerd women ignored while they preened for the likes of Larry Best. Liza Silvestri thought she was so clever. Not this time. She thought Larry Best was just looking out for her friend, anxious to make sure she got a good meal. Fat chance. She thought he hadn’t seen the TV report on the loft murder; thought he didn’t know who she was. He shrugged with pleasure; she shouldn’t have been such a bitch.
Daniel Kurtz dialed the Los Angeles Police Department and what surprised him was how quickly he was transferred to an Assistant to the Commissioner.
“Bentec here.”
“You’re handling the investigation of the guy who was shot in the loft?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Larry Best.” The name switch just popped out of his head. Cool.
“From?”
“Come on, Inspector, I know you can pull up my number.”
“Make it easy for me, Larry.”
Kurtz read off the hotel number.
“So, Larry, what do you have for me?”
“The wife.”
“Really. Terrific. Just hold her there—”
“It’s not that simple. Hey, is there a reward? I mean this is a murder and all.”
“Larry, Larry. We’ll have the guilty party in jail by morning. I’m just looking for a clean case here. But, I’ll tell you what, I’ll pass the word to my buddies at Ess Eff that you’re a good guy.”
Kurtz almost choked before getting out, “Don’t bother.”
“Your choice, Larry. So, Mrs. Silvestri, where is she?”
The cop was phony as they come, but Daniel didn’t care. It just added to the kick of it all. “In a black Camaro. California plates.” He read off the number.
“But where is she?” The cop’s veneer was slipping.
“She left here five minutes ago.”
“Headed where? Didn’t you look?” The “asshole” was understood.
For the first time Daniel was nervous. Then he reminded himself that for this phone call he wasn’t Daniel Kurtz but Larry Best. “Listen, cop, I told you what I know. Push me and I won’t give you the biggie.”
It was a moment before he heard a voice so constricted it could have been a machine. “What is it, Larry?”
“The biggie?”
“Yes, Larry?”
“The Camaro, it was rented in the name of Ellen Baines. Mrs. Silvestri stole it.”