CHAPTER SIXTEEN
By the time Selena pulled into the Wilson Motel, night had fallen, but the case still burned in her mind. According to her contacts in Lexington, Marlene was coming back to town in the morning. Then Selena would confront her about the lie.
The motel lot was half full, headlights turned off, curtains drawn across most of the rooms. The red vacancy sign buzzed above the office, one side blinking weaker than the other.
Selena sat with both hands on the wheel after killing the engine.
Her shoulders ached. Her eyes felt gritty. The day had stretched too long, from Ray Parkinson’s evasions to Amanda Lee’s revelation, and still Connor had not properly checked in. A few short words over the phone did not count. Neither did vanishing when two men he knew had been murdered.
“Where the hell are you?” she muttered. She had wanted to track his GPS, but Arnold told her Connor had sent him a message to leave him be for the day. That did not make Selena feel any better.
When Selena finally saw him, assuming she did not shoot him first, she was going to go through him. Disappearing was not what they needed. Nor what the victims’ families required.
A warm breeze crossed the lot when she stepped out.
The car ticked behind her as she locked it.
Her room sat four doors down from the office, under a strip of weak yellow porch light that drew moths to the siding.
She walked toward it with her bag over one shoulder and the room key already in her hand.
As she reached the door, a voice called from nearby.
“Hey, Selena.”
Eric Wilson came from the office carrying a plastic caddy loaded with sprays, cloths, rubber gloves, paper towels, and a bottle of bleach. A resigned grin sat on his face.
“How’s the case going?” he asked.
“Fine,” Selena lied.
Eric looked at the cleaning supplies in his hand, then back at her. “That kind of fine, huh?”
“What’s with all that?”
“Let’s just say one of the guests left a present in the bedroom and…”
Selena raised a hand. “Too much information.”
“At least you don’t have to clean it up.”
“That is the best news I’ve heard all day.”
Eric shifted the caddy to his other hand. “You fancy a drink later in reception? I’ve got three classic horror flicks you could choose from. One vampire, one masked killer, one monster from the swamp. Proper cultural evening.”
“That sounds nice, Eric, but I’m beat.”
“No offense taken.” He nodded toward the room next to hers. “I’m away to deal with the real horror. Man’s inhumanity to man.”
He unlocked Room 6, pushed the door open with one elbow, and adopted a deep Transylvanian accent.
“The creature from Room 6’s bathroom. Mwuahaha.”
The door closed behind him.
Selena stared at it for a second and shook her head.
“At least someone’s enjoying their job.”
Inside her room, the air was stale from being closed up all day. She dropped her bag on the chair, locked the door, and checked the window latch without thinking. One lamp by the bed threw a small pool of yellow over the side table.
Selena removed her jacket first, then her blouse and trousers. Her badge and gun went on the bedside table within reach. After pulling on a nightdress, she washed her face in the little sink, brushed her teeth, and stared at herself in the mirror longer than she meant to.
At forty, tired had a way of settling in the face and refusing to leave.
“Don’t start,” she told her reflection.
Bed took her weight with a soft groan. She pulled the covers halfway up, switched off the lamp, and let darkness settle across the room.
A knock sounded at the door.
Selena closed her eyes.
“What now, Eric?”
Another knock. Softer this time.
She threw the covers back, got up, and switched the lamp on.
“Who is it?”
“Connor.”
That did not improve her mood.
Selena opened the door with the chain still in place. Connor stood outside, no sheriff’s uniform now. Jeans. A pale short-sleeved shirt. His face carried the tired, guarded look of a man who had spent the day somewhere he did not want to describe.
In one hand, he held a bottle of whiskey.
She slid the chain free and opened the door wider. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve all been worried sick about you.”
Connor stepped inside. “Yeah, I know. I already got an earful from Cheryl, so let’s refrain from putting me in yet another doghouse.”
Selena closed the door. “We’re supposed to be partners in this. If you go missing during a murder investigation that involves two of your friends, excuse me if I get worried.”
A tired smile arose on his face. “So you do care.”
She took the bottle from him. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The room had only two paper cups, both wrapped in plastic near the sink.
Selena tore them free, set them on the dresser, and poured two measures.
The whiskey smelled sharp enough to cut through the motel room’s heat.
Connor sank into the armchair near the window, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them.
There was too much on his mind. She could see it in the way he watched the floor instead of the bottle.
Selena handed him one cup and sat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep the hem of her nightdress in place.
“What happened to you today?” she asked.
Connor stared into the cup. “I was making inquiries, and I left my radio and phone in my car.”
“Inquiries don’t require going radio silent.”
“I saw Carl Higgins.”
“And?”
“He’s still a horse’s ass.”
“That much isn’t evidence.”
“No.” Connor took a sip and winced slightly. “But we can’t discount him. He’s got beef with Victor. Serious beef. Threatened him at his house, lost a contract to him, hated being beaten by him.”
“Arnold mentioned reviewing security footage?”
“Security cameras show he never left the house last night.”
Selena let that sit for a moment. “Then he can’t be the shooter.”
“He could’ve paid someone. He has the money.”
“Do you have anything pointing to that?”
“Not yet.”
“Connor.”
“I know.” He looked up at her. “I know how it sounds. But he has the resources and the temper.”
“A lot of men have both.”
“Few of them told the victim he’d get what was coming to him.”
Selena took a sip of whiskey. It burned cleanly down her throat and settled warm in her chest. “That can’t have taken all day. Are you going to tell me where you went after Carl?”
Connor’s fingers tightened around the paper cup.
That was answer enough.
“Connor. ‘Fess up.”
“I went to see Walton Morimer.”
The drink almost caught in her throat. Selena lowered the cup slowly. “What?”
“Let me explain.”
She stood, unable to stay still. “You went to the man who runs most of the organized crime in Harlan County!?”
“He knows things we don’t know. If these deaths were a hit or something, he might catch wind of it.”
“You know how bad that looks?” She felt like slapping sense into him.
“I need to find out who did this, Selena. Morimer has eyes and ears I don’t have.”
“And you thought what, exactly? That you’d stroll up, ask politely, and he’d become a confidential informant out of civic pride? Morimer doesn’t do anything for free.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“What did you offer him?”
Connor looked away.
Selena stopped pacing. “Tell me.”
“I paid him some cash. That’s all.”
The motel room seemed to shrink around the words.
“With what money?”
“My money.”
“How much?”
“Six thousand.”
“Six thousand dollars?” She stared at him. “Connor, are you out of your mind?”
“That’s been suggested more than once today.”
“Don’t joke.”
“I’m not.”
Selena pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose, then dropped her hand. She knew she had to report this to Meg. At least, that was what the professional in her was saying. But Selena, the girl who fell in love with Connor in high school, was saying something very different.
Protect him.
She looked at Connor. “A man like Morimer only does something when he’s getting a good deal in return.”
“He took the money.”
“He took the opening.”
Connor shook his head. “I won’t owe him anything. Don’t worry.”
“That isn’t how this works. Once you’re in his pocket, he keeps a hand on you.”
“I’m not in his pocket.”
“How can you know?”
“Because I didn’t promise him anything.”
“Ask whether he accepts refunds if he decides the price has changed.”
Connor’s eyes hardened. “I’m not naive.”
“Yes, you are, if you think this ends with six thousand dollars and a handshake.”
“There was no handshake.”
He got to his feet but did not step toward her. “What was I supposed to do? Wait for another body? Another person I cared about dead? Who would you like, Selena? Jessie? Your dad? Or some random who means nothing to you but something to those of us who live here!?”
“Come on, Connor,” she said. “You can’t think you’re being targeted.”
“I don’t,” he conceded. “But it could be anyone in town, and the chances of it being someone who means something to me… That’s pretty high since I’ve lived here my entire life.”
“You were supposed to tell me what you were doing. I would have talked you out of it.”
“I don’t answer to you.”
“No. You answer to the law. Remember that? The oath you took?”
The words hit him. Selena saw it, but she did not take them back.
Connor turned his cup between both hands. “I was careful. I wasn’t followed. Morimer was the only one who handled the money.”
Selena laughed once, short and disbelieving. “What if the FBI has him under surveillance?”
Connor’s face changed.
There it was. The thing he had not considered.
“Do you think that’s a possibility?” he asked.
“Yes. While you were away getting into trouble, I discovered that Warren Holt made repeated payments to an account attached to Morimer.”
“Warren?” He shook his head. “Why?”
“I don’t know. It looks like he had some money troubles, and he was probably paying Morimer back for some emergency loan. But the point is, I wasn’t allowed to talk to him because there’s some sort of FBI sting operation going on. And you might have just incriminated yourself in bribery!?”
He looked forlorn. “Do you know this for sure?”