CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A floor lamp crashed to the ground, the bulb shattering. A man tackled Bree, his shoulder ramming into her ribs. She flew backward, landing on her ass in the doorway, blocking Matt. Her assailant tried to step over her, but she grabbed his leg and yanked. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
The move upended him, and he landed flat on his face on the concrete. He scrambled to break free, kicking at her head. She clutched his foot to her chest. “Stop.” She tucked her chin, evading a boot to the face by an inch, and yelled, “Sheriff’s department!”
He ignored her command, crabbing backward toward the stairwell, still yanking at his boot.
Matt clambered over Bree, but their assailant’s boot tread caught her chin. Dots starburst in Bree’s vision. Pain launched from her jaw through her neck and head. She lost her grip, and he tore his boot from her hands.
Rubber scraped on concrete as he scrambled to his feet.
“Bree?” Matt’s voice penetrated the fog.
She squinted, clearing her vision. He was half-turned toward the fleeing man.
Bree waved him on. “I’m fine.”
He left her and sprinted after the man.
Bree struggled into a sitting position. Matt took the stairs two at a time. He leaped over the last step and first-floor walkway. He landed on the asphalt without breaking stride, moving like the athlete he was. She could picture him charging up a beach with a Viking horde, broadsword in hand, ready to pillage a city.
The man who’d charged her was barely ten yards ahead of him, running toward the corner of the building, already struggling to maintain pace. Bree could hear him gasping for air across the parking lot.
Matt shouted, “Stop. Sheriff’s department.”
But the man kept going. Matt caught him in a half dozen strides. He reached out, grabbed the man’s shoulder, and pulled. The man’s feet kept moving, and he toppled backward, landing on the blacktop with an audible grunt. Matt pounced, flipping him to his belly and handcuffing his hands behind his back. With the assailant restrained, Matt patted him down, then looked up at Bree and waved.
She returned the wave, her ears ringing with the motion. Adrenaline ebbed, and pain throbbed through her face. She touched her mouth. Her lip was already swelling, and her hand came away wet with blood. Running her tongue around her teeth, she decided they were all still there.
With the help of the railing, Bree heaved herself upright. She pulled her weapon and made sure room twenty-eight was now empty. Then she called for a patrol unit, brushed the dirt off her ass, and joined Matt. He’d moved the man under the roof’s overhang, out of the rain.
The man sat with his hands cuffed behind his back, his legs jutting straight out in front of him. Sweat coated his face in a greasy sheen. His lungs were still working like a fireplace bellows to recover from the very short sprint. An oversize jacket swam on him, the fabric too filthy to determine its color. His pants were also too large and equally dirty. Homeless, she’d bet.
Matt hadn’t broken a sweat, nor was he breathing hard.
“Backup’s on the way.” She sized up the man in cuffs.
Six feet tall, an unhealthy one fifty, with pockmarked cheeks and the gray pallor of a man barely shy of dead. His age could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“I don’t have to tell you that.” His mouth curved in a strange grin.
Matt gestured to the assortment of objects he’d removed from the man’s pockets. A small pocketknife, a can of sardines in mustard, a handful of brown MM’s, three small rocks, and a yo-yo. “No ID.”
“What were you doing in there?” she asked.
“I was hungry,” he said in a disturbing singsong voice. “I know she had food.”
Drunk? High? Neither felt quite right.
“Who had food?” Bree didn’t want to put her face close enough to his to smell his breath or check his pupils. He didn’t seem aggressive now, but he had tackled her, though that action could have been driven by fear. Thinking the room would be empty, she hadn’t identified herself before entering. But still, a handcuffed man could spit and bite. Human bites could be nasty.
“Her.” He shrugged. “I need my stuff.”
“Where’s your stuff?” Matt asked.
“My bag. I need my bag.” Agitated, the cuffed man began to squirm.
“We’ll find your bag,” Matt said. “We won’t let anything happen to it.”
The man settled. “OK.”
“Back to the woman. How do you know she had food?” Matt asked.
“I saw her take it in.” He sounded distracted. “She didn’t bring it out.”
Bree tried again. “You saw a woman with food. Do you know her name?”
“Nope.” He turned his face upward and smiled. “But she had a whole box of food. I saw it. I want it!”
“What did she look like?” Bree asked.
His eyelids drooped. “Don’t remember.”
“Wake up.” Matt gave his shoulder a brief shake. “Do you remember where or when you saw her?”
“Nope. Nope. Nope.” With a lift of his shoulders, he began to sing “Bohemian Rhapsody.” The quality of his voice and impressive range stunned Bree into silence for a full minute.
Matt finally said, “Didn’t expect that.”
“Nope,” Bree echoed the cuffed man.
Simon crossed the lot and stopped to glare at the man. “What’s going on?”
Bree tilted her head toward the cuffed man. “He was in room twenty-eight.”
“Then he was trespassing.” Simon puffed up like a rooster. “Fucking squatters are a real problem.”
“Do you want to file a complaint?” Bree was tired. Her face ached, and Simon was a jerk. She would get Todd to run a background check on him.
“I don’t know. I need to see if he damaged the room.” He turned toward the staircase.
“Hold on,” Bree called after him. “You’ll have to wait until we’ve finished searching it.”
Changing course toward the office, he muttered something that sounded like fucking cops under his breath and stomped away. “I’ll be in the office. Let me know when you’re done.”
“Will do,” Matt said in an annoyingly cheerful tone.
Simon spun around. “Can you make him shut up?”
The cuffed man continued to sing away, seemingly unaware of what was happening around him.
“Hey, buddy.” Matt squatted until he was at eye level.
The man ignored him. Matt shrugged.
“Seriously, what are you going to do with him?” Matt asked Bree.
“I don’t know.” Bree rubbed at her jaw.
“Let me see that.” Matt shined his flashlight in her face.
“Hey.” Bree held up a hand, blocking the beam from searing her eyeballs.
“Sorry.” He stepped closer, squinting. “That’s gonna leave a mark. You need ice.”
Bree agreed. “Later.”
A few feet away, the man in cuffs continued to sing. A patrol unit turned into the lot, Deputy Juarez at the wheel. Bree waved him over. “Watch him while we search a room.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Juarez stepped out of his vehicle. “What happened to your face?”
Bree sighed and gestured to the cuffed man.
Juarez opened his trunk and rummaged in a first aid kit. He pulled out a cold pack and massaged it before handing it to Bree.
“Thanks.” She pressed it to her face. “We shouldn’t be long.”
Matt jogged up the steps with an irritating bounce to his step. Bree trudged along behind him. Every footstep sent a spike of pain through her jaw and neck.
Matt stepped across the threshold. “Something smells dead in here.”
“I swear, I can’t find another dead body. Not today.” She pulled her flashlight from her duty belt and shined it into the closet. Empty. She moved to the bathroom. A brown water stain on the ceiling was shaped like a bear. Mold dripped down the wall. “There’s a leak in the roof and more mold than grout in the bathroom.”
Matt shined his light on a plastic bag near the door. With one gloved hand, he opened it. “Very random odds and ends, like someone raided a junkyard.”
“Probably the homeless guy’s stuff.”
Matt lifted one bedspread, then the other. “Nothing.”
“Then what is dead?” Bree scanned the room. There wasn’t another space big enough to conceal a body. Could the smell be coming from the next room?
Matt bent over and shined his flashlight under the dresser. “Ugh.”
“What?”
“Dead rat.” Matt straightened, walked back to the door, and propped it all the way open. “Better than a dead person.”
“Also better than a live rat.”
Matt illuminated a trail of brown pellets that looked like rat droppings. “I wouldn’t assume there aren’t any live rats in here.”
Bree paused midstep. “I love animals, but rats creep me out.” She stuffed the cold pack into her pocket, donned gloves, and checked the drawers. “I feel like there should be something here. Ally had to have stuff, right? Even if it wasn’t much stuff.”
“Everyone has stuff,” Matt agreed, pointing to the plastic bag. “Even the homeless guy has stuff.”
And yet the room was empty.
Bree’s gaze roamed the walls. “He said he saw her bring in a box, and she didn’t leave with it.”
Matt lifted the mattress with one hand. “Nothing under here. He could be wrong.”
“But Fiona also said Ally had been living here,” Bree said. “If you were crashing illegally in a motel room, you wouldn’t leave your stuff out. Someone might take it. I’m sure Ally knew the other inhabitants of Shady Acres weren’t above stealing.”
“True.”
So where did she hide it?
Bree went into the bathroom, opened the vanity, and shined her flashlight into the hole where the pipes connected to the wall. She returned to the main room and shined her flashlight on every inch of wall. It must be here somewhere. The homeless man had been so insistent.
Then she spotted a flash of green in the air vent next to the dresser. “There.”
Matt crossed the room. “The screws are loose.” He turned them with his fingers and popped off the louvered cover to reveal a backpack stuffed into the vent.
Bree took a picture, then pulled it out. A plastic storage box was jammed behind the backpack. She snapped another pic, then removed the box as well. Lifting the lid, she found a few canned goods, a can opener, chips and crackers, and a stack of candy bars. She unzipped the backpack. The main compartment was filled with clothes. She dug down past some socks and found a wallet. She opened it. Ally Swanson’s driver’s license stared back at her. “Seems Fiona and the homeless dude were right. This is where Ally was crashing.” The wallet also held thirty-six dollars in small bills. Bree set aside the wallet and found a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka shoved between a flannel shirt and a pair of threadbare yoga pants.
She opened the front pocket of the backpack. Prescription bottles filled the space.
“What did you find?” Matt looked over her shoulder.
“Drugs.” Bree shined her flashlight inside. “Looks like a few pills in each vial.” The labels had been scraped off. Bree opened one bottle. “These look like Vicodin.” She tried another. “Hydrocodone.”
“How many bottles?”
“Five. Just a few pills in each.” Bree zipped the pouch. She opened the last compartment and pulled out a brochure for a pregnancy counseling center. “She knew she was pregnant.”
“Not enough money or drugs for her to be dealing,” Matt said.
“No. It’s more likely she was using the drugs personally, pregnant or not.” Bree straightened. “I’ll get a crime scene unit out here, in case this is where she was abducted.”
“I hope the surveillance camera facing this room is functioning.”
“Same.” Bree made her call, then they went back down to the patrol vehicle. She crouched in front of the cuffed man. “Do you want to tell me your name now?”
He grinned. “Nope.” The rotten breath that accompanied his answer nearly made Bree’s eyes water.
She stepped away and faced Juarez again. “I want to hold him for now—at least until we’ve watched the surveillance vids and forensics has gone over the room.” But she didn’t want to put him in jail if he’d actually just been looking for food. This man was likely homeless for any number of possible reasons. He clearly had issues. He needed a shower, clean clothes, and a hot meal. She’d much rather get him help than send him to jail.
“Charges?” Juarez asked.
“Trespassing for now,” Bree said.
Juarez wrote in his notepad. He looked up. “Assaulting a police officer?”
Bree shook her head. “I hadn’t identified myself when he tackled me. Run him by the ER and get him checked out.”
“You don’t think he’s just high?” Juarez asked.
“Who knows?” Bree lifted a shoulder.
Juarez frowned. “He looks like he could use a meal anyway.” He opened the rear door and helped the man inside gently but firmly. The man didn’t stop singing. He finished “Bohemian Rhapsody” and launched into “Under Pressure.”
Juarez slid into the driver’s seat. To Bree’s surprise, he began to sing along with the man in the back seat. As if by mutual agreement, Juarez took David Bowie’s part, letting the homeless guy continue as Freddie Mercury. Juarez closed the vehicle door, muffling the sound of their harmony.
Bree shot Matt a look. They both burst out laughing.
“This feels completely inappropriate.” Bree snorted. “And it makes my face hurt.”
Matt tipped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose for a few seconds. He held up a hand. “I can stop.” But his shoulders still shook.
Bree wheezed. “Welcome to the bizarro world of law enforcement.”
Matt blew out a sharp breath. “Right?”
Recovered, Bree strung crime scene tape across the hotel room’s doorway. They waited for forensics to arrive, then headed for their vehicle.
Matt drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel. “Simon could be the father of Ally’s baby.”
“We have no proof he had sex with her. Even if he did, there’s no proof the sex wasn’t consensual. Also, if she was hooking for drug money, any of her clients could have impregnated her.” Bree’s seat belt clicked into place. “We’d need a warrant for Simon’s DNA, and we don’t have enough evidence to establish probable cause.”
“Let’s circle back with Todd at the station and see if he’s turned up anything. We can run a background check on Simon.”
“Even if he did get Ally pregnant, it wouldn’t mean he killed her—or the other girls.” Matt shifted into drive and left the space.
“True, but Simon knows more about Ally’s activity than he’s saying.”