We decided to make use of our time with the information Gina Scrittori and Kyle Anderson had given us. We’d already checked one of the hotels Gina told us about. There were two girls in the room there. Neither of them seemed surprised the police were checking on them or happy that their job was over.
Next we visited the Hotel Randall in the Mission. Relatively small and privately owned, the hotel wasn’t known for issues. Some people might call it a “boutique” hotel. There were rose bushes in the front. A cozy, friendly feeling in the lobby. And best of all, freshly baked cookies at the front desk.
We had no problem with the manager once we explained there’d be no arrests. We were merely checking on the welfare of one or more girls who were in a room. We needed the manager to point out which room had been rented long-term. He knew exactly who we wanted to see.
The manager took me and Conklin to the fourth floor. I was surprised by how clean the hotel was on the inside. The only odor I smelled was disinfectant. The carpet was in good shape and the walls freshly painted.
The manager had a passkey just in case we needed it. We had him wait at the end of the hall.
I said, “Just to be on the safe side. There’s a chance there could be someone in the room with the girls. I don’t want to risk a random gunshot.”
The manager, who’d already told them he’d only been on the job two weeks, seemed more than happy to wait down the hall.
Conklin and I approached the door. We stood on either side of it. I knocked on the door with my right fist. Three good hard raps.
About ten seconds later, I heard the chain on the inside of the door being unlatched. The door opened and a cute girl with dyedblue hair poked her head out. She looked at me, then Conklin. “Hey, what’s up?”
I badged her. She didn’t seem concerned. I said, “Can we come in and talk to you for a minute?”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Nope.”
“Then come on in.” She stepped away from the door and welcomed us in with a sweep of her arm.
It was a big room with two double beds and a cot crammed in the corner.
A dark-skinned girl looked up from a table. It looked like she was writing something. She too didn’t seem concerned strangers were in the room. We had so much to discuss with them I wasn’t sure where to start. Did I tell them about Kyle being arrested? Did I ask them how they’d ended up here? Did we try to identify other members of the trafficking organization?
Then someone stepped out of the bathroom. She was drying her hair with a blue striped towel and had another towel wrapped around her torso. She came to a stop just past the bathroom door. When she dropped the towel she’d been drying her hair with, I had to take a deep breath.
It was Nicole Snaff.
CHAPTER111
CLAIRE WASHBURN HADtaken a long break after she heard about the terrible incident in the courtroom. Her friend, Yuki Castellano, was safe. But there had been casualties. She’d had a nodding acquaintance with the bailiff Frank Hodges, who used to be a San Francisco police officer. She could only imagine what his two kids were feeling about now.
But Claire had something to do. Something important to her that no one else ever knew about. It was a minor ritual. It held no actual importance to her job or to the criminal justice system.
First, she picked up her working file on Donna Harris. The file on the young woman, whose body had washed up on Marshall’s Beach, had sat in her line of sight for weeks. She now took the file and carefully placed it into an old olive-green file cabinet. This was where cases with an arrest were stored. It didn’t mean they’d have a conviction, but from everything Claire had heard, the case was closed.
Next, she picked up the file for Tina Barnes. This case had special meaning because she’d been present when the body was foundin Golden Gate Park. She performed the exact same ritual. Claire placed the file directly in front of Donna Harris’s file.
Finally, she picked up the file for the most recent arrival in her autopsy lab: the body of missing waitress Amy Phelps, another of Kyle Anderson’s victims.
Claire never rushed these moments. Sometimes she felt like this was the only thing that kept her going. Being a medical examiner could be a tough job. But it could also be satisfying.
Claire thought about all the effort that had gone into the case. She also couldn’t help but lament all that these young women would miss out on. But they would see justice. She was confident of that.
Claire looked at her watch and realized she was running a little late. She wasn’t looking forward to meeting Hope at a Starbucks a few blocks away. But she couldn’t wait any longer. She’d played Nice Aunt for too long. Hope had too much cash and her attitude had turned so negative. Claire had to find out what was going on, and what it was her niece was involved in.
She just had to make sure not to drive Hope away or she’d never see her niece again.
By the time Claire made it through the doors of the coffee shop, Hope was already sitting at a table in the corner with two lattes.
“You sounded very serious on the phone, Aunt Claire. What did you want to talk about?”
Claire thought about chatting with her niece. She even considered abandoning her idea of confrontation completely. But she summoned the courage to speak frankly.
