20 #2
If they wanted to escape notice, wouldn’t one of them have waited in the car with Belle instead of bringing her inside, where there could be cameras?
Max showed her a few photos of Belle on his phone that hadn’t been released to the press. “This her?”
Ms. Crawford studied them. “These weren’t on the news. That the same girl?”
Max said nothing, letting her make her own conclusions.
“She seems skinnier.” She continued to look closely.
“Skinnier in the photos or when she was here?”
“Photos.” Her forehead wrinkled in indecision. “I’m not so sure now that it’s her. When the chief showed me some other pictures and asked if it was the girl, I was pretty positive.”
“What can you tell me about the adults with her?”
“Young. Doubt they were out of their twenties. The man had dark hair and wore a baseball cap. He showed ID when I checked them in, but the ID had been stolen along with the credit cards, and I didn’t look close enough at his photo to see it wasn’t actually him.”
“You gave me a close look when I showed you my ID. Several times.”
“Turned over a new leaf.” She continued to look at the photos of Belle. “Mother was blonde like the little girl. Skinny and sort of twitchy. Probably on drugs. That’s why they steal, you know. Trying to support their habit.”
The chance that there would be a ransom requested for Belle had been raised several times among the task force. But as the time she’d been missing grew longer, he knew the odds became slimmer. If someone wanted money, they would have sent a ransom request sooner than later.
Max had hoped one would appear. It could indicate that the girl was alive—assuming the request was legitimate.
NCMEC had filtered out several bogus ransom requests.
One of the employees had told Max that the ransom scams often came over and over again from the same people, simply hoping to be successful at least once.
Sort of like the scam emails that end up in my junk folder. It just takes one naive person to make the campaign worth it.
“I’d like to see the room,” he suggested again.
The owner grabbed her lit cigarette, put it between her lips, flipped up a section of the counter—like at a bar—and came through to the lobby.
She marched past Max toward the door and he followed, smiling at her pink, thick-soled, heavily cushioned running shoes.
He had the same ones but in gray. His feet and knees weren’t as tough as they used to be.
Outside, he noticed that the officer had left, his taillights still visible down the road, and wondered if, to avoid Ms. Crawford, he’d taken off the moment he saw the lobby door start to open.
Ms. Crawford remarked, “You’d think the police would have better things to do than camp on my property. Why isn’t he stopping tourists who speed and generating some income for this town?”
Now Max was convinced the officer was avoiding the owner.
“I need to get a kit out of my vehicle,” he told her, splitting off in a different direction. “I’ll meet you at the room. Don’t touch the doorknob.”
From the back of his SUV, he grabbed a basic kit. It had evidence envelopes, containers, gloves, and booties. He had a few other things, but he doubted he was going to need them. His expectations of finding anything usable in the motel room were low.
He jogged over to room 8’s door, where she had pulled a giant ring of keys out of her fanny pack and was sorting through them.
“Nice place,” Max commented, looking around as he waited for her to find the right key.
“My father built it. Styled it after some of the smaller casinos he’d seen in Vegas. It’s always been in the family.”
“Is the name original?”
“Absolutely. He loved Hollywood and Vegas and came up with the name Dreamland based on the idea that anything could happen in those towns. He wanted to plant a piece of that wonder here. He was convinced he’d be able to eventually install slot machines. That never happened.”
“Big dreams for a small town,” said Max, slipping on a pair of booties and vinyl gloves.
“For some reason he thought mining would make a comeback in the area. Gold or whatever.” She shook her head. “At one point his grandfather worked a cinnabar mine not far from here. That shit’s dangerous. They’ve all been shut down for half a century or more.” The cigarette bobbed as she spoke.
“Cinnabar?”
“To make mercury.”
“No wonder they’re gone.”
“Yep.”
“I like the exterior colors,” Max said, looking at the pink door. The paint seemed fresh.
“Dad started that. The building’s been several pastel colors over the years, but I like the turquoise best. It makes me feel happy.” After singling out one key, she handed the key ring to Max.
He slid the key in the lock and turned the bolt.
She eyed his booties and gloves. “Fancy,” she said, watching every move with her sharp gaze. “Just like CSI. But don’t you think that if this couple kidnapped a little girl, they’d’ve wiped down everything they touched in there?”
“That’s what competent kidnappers would do,” said Max. “I’m hoping we’re not dealing with some.” He stepped in the room and flicked on the overhead light with the tip of his pen.
The room was immaculate. Bed made, TV remote on a nightstand, pillows fluffed.
“I thought it hadn’t been cleaned,” said Max.
“It hasn’t.” Ms. Crawford sounded stunned.
“Is this the right room?”
“I’m positive it is.”
“Stay outside,” Max told her, and strode across the room to look in the bathroom. The soaps were in wrappers and the towels folded perfectly. He glanced back at the owner. “I don’t think anyone has stayed in here. Or else it got cleaned.”
“Impossible.” She had her phone in hand and was tapping out a text. “Double-checking.”
Was this a waste of time?
Frustration boiled through him. He’d had low expectations for the motel room, but he hadn’t thought he’d be completely shut down.
Was Belle here or not?
He did a quick peek in all the drawers. Empty. Not even a speck of dust. He pulled back the covers, hoping to see a loose hair left behind. Nothing.
“Marta says she hasn’t cleaned this room since last Thursday.” Confusion filled her tone.
“Do you see anything that doesn’t look as it should after one of your rooms has been cleaned?” he asked.
“Can I come in? Do I need those shoe thingies?”
“I think you’re fine.” His gut told him there was nothing to find in this room.
The woman quickly checked the bathroom and then opened the tiny fridge. “It’s exactly as my cleaners are supposed to leave a room.”
“Is it possible the couple with the girl checked in but didn’t stay?” Max asked.
Ms. Crawford blinked several times, thinking hard.
“They checked out at the desk, right?” asked Max.
“No. Most people just leave nowadays. I knocked on the door after checkout time and no one answered, so I assumed they’d left since the parking lot was empty. I didn’t have anyone scheduled to stay in it last night, so Marta was going to clean it today. But the chief called me before that.”
“What about the key?” he asked.
“Dammit. I guess they took it.” She put her hands on her hips and scowled. “Most people are good about leaving it in the room or the key drop. I’ve already checked that.”
I don’t think they stayed in the room.
“Maybe they were skittish about using a stolen card and decided not to stay,” said Max.
He pulled off his gloves, frustrated. Darby had checked for other stolen purchases on the card before Max had arrived at the motel, but the motel stay was the only fraudulent charge.
The owner of the card believed he’d left his wallet behind in a local park.
Checks on his other credit cards had turned up no fraud.
Max’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Rhodes,” he answered.
“It’s Chief Muse. I’m on my way to the Ochoco Reservoir because we’ve got a report of a body in the water, and the caller thinks it’s a child. He said it might be blonde.”
Max stiffened as shock rolled through him.
Belle?
“No one’s gotten to the body yet?” he asked.
“It’s in a tough spot.”
“I’m on my way.”