Page 68 of Crosshairs
“You’re not driving to Albany right now, are you?”
“I’m headed into the Lincoln Tunnel as we speak. I hope to be on I-87, headed north, not too long from now.”
I felt another pang of guilt for not being at the shooting scene. It’s tough to ignore when you’re a homicide detective. Like a chef using Hamburger Helper, it just didn’t seem right. But clarifying this issue about Trilling couldn’t wait. I had to prioritize my anxieties.
I couldn’t help pushing my Chevy Impala a little harder once I hit the interstate. I wasn’t used to open roads or being able to drive fast in a car. Manhattan is far from Utah’s Bonneville Speedway.
I called Mary Catherine to let her know that I wouldn’t be home until very late. I didn’t go into details. I wasn’t even sure what the details were yet. I just knew that I couldn’t let this lead wait another day.
I rolled into Albany just about two and a half hours after I’d entered the Lincoln Tunnel. I hoped someone at the hotel could help me even though I hadn’t bothered to get a warrant.
The next few minutes could mean a lot to this case as well as to Rob Trilling.
CHAPTER 85
AS I ROLLED up to the address Walter Jackson had given me for the hotel, I realized it was not a Holiday Inn. It was, in fact, called Holliday’s Tavern and Inn. It was a fair bit shabbier than most Holiday Inns. It had two long rows of rooms that stretched off the road with the center part of the property holding a restaurant and conference rooms. The dark-green paint looked like someone had slapped it on in the mid-1980s and hadn’t touched it up since. The make of cars in the parking lot told me the hotel’s biggest attraction was its relatively low rates.
I parked next to a beat-up Ford F-150 pickup truck. As soon as I stepped into the lobby, I could smell a musty odor that would make me worry the place was infested with mold. But I wasn’t here to give a review. I was just hoping someone would give me information without needing a warrant. Clearly I had raced outof the city without worrying about legal documents or roadblocks to the investigation. All I could think about was Rob Trilling.
I paused at the empty front desk, avoiding hitting the bell on the counter. I didn’t want to annoy anyone I was about to ask for help.
Three men in their mid-thirties stood in the small lobby, not far from reception. I wondered if they were military; all three were in good shape, two of them well over six feet tall, and the shorter one had a Marines emblem tattooed on his forearm. We nodded a silent greeting to one another as I looked around the lobby. After waiting for a little longer at the desk, I called out, “Hello,” to the open door behind the counter.
Fifteen seconds later, an older woman shuffled out of the office until she stood behind the desk. She had long, wild gray hair and glasses hanging from a beaded strap around her neck. She looked down at a folder in her hand and didn’t even notice me.
I cleared my throat.
The woman looked up at me, startled. “You must be some kind of ninja. I didn’t even see you there.” She glanced over the desk to see if I had any luggage.
I said, “My name is Michael Bennett. I’m a detective with the NYPD.”
The three men nearby all looked over at me as the woman reached a hand across the counter. As we shook, she said, “Margaret Holliday, with twol’s. My friends call me Maggie.”
I smiled. “That explains the sign.”
“I’ve had a couple of cease-and-desist letters from a hotel chain I won’t name. The only thing I ever conceded to was adding ‘Tavern’ to our title. Other than that, I’ve run this place for thirty-two years. And I always support the police. I don’t thinkpeople realize how dangerous your job is. What can I do for a detective from the big city?”
“I was wondering about a veterans’ group that met here not long ago. Do you remember that at all?”
“Of course I do. Obviously I support the military too. The VA has encounter groups here at least once a month. I have the perfect conference room for them. Our rates are cheap, and they work around our busy times. Like I said, what can I do for you?”
“Could I look at your registration log?” I slipped her a piece of paper with the exact dates and Rob Trilling’s name.
She read the note and said, “I know Rob Trilling. He’s here every few months.”
Maggie started to type on the computer sitting on the counter. After a moment, she looked up and said, “Got it right here. He was here for four nights and then we let the VA guys stay through the whole day for free—that way they complete a five-day course of some kind and don’t have to pay as much.”
“Any chance I could see the original registration card with a signature on it?”
That made her pause. “What kind of detective are you?”
“A tired one.”
“I like a good sense of humor. Now give me the straight answer.”
“Homicide.”
The tallest of the three men said, “Hang on, Maggie.”