“I fucking hope so. My nuts have completely pulled into my body. I’d like to use them again at some point.” Ronan grabbed a second towel and set it over his legs like a blanket.
Trying not to laugh at his friend, Jude opened his phone and navigated to his email. The message about the hotel wasn’t in his inbox. He looked into a couple of different folders and finally found it. “Here it is.” Jude tapped the message, and the headline jumped out at him again like it had done the first time he read itFour Star in every way! Check out our end of the season sale!
Fitzgibbon took a seat next to Jude and reached for his phone. He swiped up, his eyes moving over all of it. “It’s pretty damn convincing. I would have fallen for it too.”
Fitz’s words didn’t make Jude feel any better.
“Oookay, here we go,” Fitz said, nudging Jude with his shoulder. “It looked totally legit until I read the email address that sent the message. Look.” Fitz handed the phone back to him.
“[email protected],” Jude read. “He was one of the media guys waiting for Cope when we came back from lunch. What theactualfuck? I don’t like the idea that Cope is part of this sick fuck’s game.”
“Let’s not be hasty here,” Fitzgibbon said mildly. “Let’s find out what we can about this case, and then we’ll figure out what to do about Chet Hines.”
“I’d like to punch him in his perfectly quaffed face,” Jude muttered.
“According to what I’ve read,” Ronan began, “everything Hines told us was true. On August 10, 2010, Longfellow checked into the motel. He didn’t list a checkout date, but previous records listed him staying the entire month of August through Labor Day weekend. Apparently, he liked to flash his money around town, most notably at the Jungle, which is a male and female strip club that caters to straights and gays. Sort of a one-stop shop, so to speak. The article also says that Longfellow frequented both sides of the club, spending thousands of dollars a night in the Champagne Room.”
“Where the hell is the money coming from?” Jude asked. He’d been to a few strip clubs during his bachelor days, and the drinks were priced cheaply, with the expectation you’d spend more money on the talent. He may have fallen for that marketing ploy a time or ten.
“Cyrus Longfellow was the son of Lucius Longfellow, who owned a string of very profitable coal mines in Wyoming. When he died, he left everything to his son, who simply kept on the managers his father had employed and lived a playboy life with the money. According to this, Lucius was worth nearly a billion dollars at the time of his death.”
“Jesus,” Jude muttered. “Some guys have all the luck.”
“Yeah, well, all that money didn’t do a damned thing to save Cyrus. According to the article, he was famous for carrying around a leather satchel, which was filled with rolls of cash. When his body was found, the bag was gone.”
“How did he die?” Fitz asked.
“He was stabbed once in the heart and bled out. The knife has never been recovered, and none of the other people staying at the motel heard a fight or a struggle. The cops had several theories of who the killer could be.”
“Let me guess,” Jude said. “Strippers are at the top of the list.”
Ronan nodded. “There were two specifically that the cops had on their radar but couldn’t find enough evidence to finger either of them. The next theory was that it was a tourist who’d seen the bag or knew Cyrus by reputation. This hotel isn’t exactly first-class—sorry, Jude—which means that the people who stayed here likely couldn’t afford any of the pricier hotels further down the beach.”
“Good point.” Jude nodded along with Ronan. Once Chet Hines explained what happened in room 13, Jude stopped feeling bad about booking rooms at the Four Star. Obviously, Hines wanted Cope here, and Jude had been an easy mark.
“What about friends and family? Is there any chance the killer was someone he knew? I mean, with there being no struggle, you have to think Cyrus knew the person he opened the door to.”
“Or that person was half-dressed or carrying a bottle of booze,” Ronan said. “This article makes him out to be a playboy, fucking whoever he could get his dick into and spending money like itwas nothing. I guess when Daddy leaves you almost a billion large, the world is your oyster.”
“Okay, so this playboy is murdered and robbed, and there have never been any arrests. Where the hell does Chet Hines come into the story?” Fitz asked.
“The only connections I’m finding are news articles Hines published about the crime. Apparently, he was writing for thePortland Press Heraldat the time of the murder. There are several in-depth articles written in 2010 and an exposé of sorts, exploring corruption in the Old Orchard Police Department, which won him a Peabody Award, which was likely the reason he jumped from writing to being in front of the camera.” Ronan frowned. “Maybe this case is his white whale? It’s been fourteen years since the murder, and it’s still unsolved. It’s possible he saw Cope on social media or was in Salem and knows our history with cold cases, and instead of just asking for our help, he concocted this ruse to get Cope up here.”
Jude nodded as Ronan spoke. “Which makes me think this isn’t on the level. What if Hines is the killer, and he’s playing some fucked-up game of cat and mouse with us or Cope?”
“Ronan, call Carson at the shop. Find out if Chet Hines is or was a customer of West Side Magick. Also, have him check on customers from Maine. See if you can find his address online. Hines might have used a fake name but used his real address.” Fitz turned to Jude. “What did Cope find out when you guys went back to your room after leaving the press conference?”
“Absolutely nothing. Cope didn’t feel any spirits around him. Cyrus didn’t respond when his name was called. I mean, it’s possible his spirit crossed over, or it’s haunting the strip club. Let’s face it, a guy like Longfellow would want to be a part of the action even after he died.” Not that Jude could blame the manif he’d taken up permanent residence at the Jungle. Jude would have been tempted to do the same thing if he’d died when he’d still been single.
“In the meantime, look into media reports of hauntings at the Four Star,” Fitz said. “I’ll do the same online. Maybe there’s a hashtag with Cyrus’s name or motel. We’ll see what we dig up and what happens in your room overnight. It’s possible Cyrus could put in an appearance. We’ll compare notes over breakfast tomorrow and go from there.”
“I want to talk to him.” Jude cracked his knuckles. He didn’t like when people took advantage of him or came after his family. As far as he was concerned, Hines could take his Peabody and shove it up his ass.
“And we will. I promise you.” Fitz set a hand on Jude’s shoulder. “Hines and the other reporters caught us flat-footed. Let’s make sure we’re better prepared when we see him again. Keep your eyes on the news tonight to see if this story made it to the air.”
Jude nodded. He’d follow Fitzgibbon’s advice. He was going to learn everything he could about reporter Chet Hines so that when they met again, he could bury the asshole.
6
