13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Lorenzo
I am several miles away from Elaine Monroe’s house when Donna shifts in the passenger seat and brings the notebook photographs up on her phone again.
Mocha has settled across the back seat after greeting her with enough enthusiasm to leave hair all over the upholstery.
I haven't received an apology.
I do not think I'll be getting one.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“The motel.”
“You said there was no location.”
“There wasn’t. Just part of a name.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m checking how many there are within a reasonable distance of the addresses Rachel gave Elaine.”
She enlarges one of the photographs, then switches to another screen.
I keep my attention on the road.
“How many?”
“Three with similar names. One is in Indiana, one closed several years ago, and one is about twenty minutes from here.”
“That narrows it somewhat.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“Because the name in Elaine’s notebook is missing part of it. It could be shorthand, or it could be a completely different place.”
“But you think it is this one.”
“I think it’s worth checking.”
She studies the screen for another moment.
“It’s not too far out of our way.”
I glance toward her. “How far?”
“About fifteen minutes south, then we can cut back toward Chicago.”
“Address.”
She gives it to me.
I change lanes at the next opportunity.
Donna looks over. “You didn’t argue.”
“Do not become accustomed to it.”
Her mouth curves, and she enters the address into the navigation system.
The route takes us away from the wider road and through a town that appears to have been built around a highway exit and then forgotten.
Gas stations, a diner, two auto repair shops, and several low commercial buildings line the main stretch.
Most of them have faded signs and parking lots larger than the businesses require.
The motel sits beyond an empty restaurant with boarded windows.
It is a two-story structure arranged around a cracked parking lot. The sign near the road has lost several letters, though enough remain to match the name in Elaine’s notebook.
Donna straightens.
“That’s it.”
“You sound certain now.”
“The lettering on the sign matches the way Elaine wrote it. She left off the first word.”
“That is your evidence?”
“It's more than what we had. We still have to determine whether Rachel was here.”
I pull into the lot.
There are four vehicles parked outside the rooms and one near the office. There is no way to know if any of them are Rachel's.
The curtains are closed in most of the windows. One door on the second floor stands open while a woman pushes a housekeeping cart inside.
Donna studies the building as I park near the office.
“No cameras facing the lot,” she says.
“No cameras at all,” I observe. “Though that's not surprising.”
She reaches for the door handle.
“What is the approach?” I ask.
“I ask questions.”
“And I stand behind you looking frightening?”
“You do it so well.” She gives me a mocking grin.
I choose to ignore it and look toward the office.
A handwritten sign taped to the inside of the glass advertises hourly rates. Classy joint.
I indicate toward it. “We might get nothing, you know.”
“I'm hoping someone will recognize that picture,” she says. “Rachel is a looker, so hopefully she drew some attention.”
She looks back at Mocha.
“You stay.”
He raises his head.
Donna points toward the seat. “I know. I’m sorry, but you have to stay.”
I watch them with amusement.
Mocha lowers his head again, though he watches us through the window when we get out.
The office smells of old coffee and musty carpet. A bell sits on the counter beneath a scratched plastic divider. Behind it, a doorway leads into a small room where a television plays loudly enough to carry every word.
Donna presses the bell once.
A man appears a few seconds later.
He is somewhere in his fifties, with thinning hair and a sweatshirt bearing the motel’s name. His attention moves from Donna to me, lingers briefly, then returns to her.
“Need a room?”
“No,” Donna says. “I’m looking for someone who may have stayed here.”
His face closes immediately.
“We don’t give out guest information.”
“I understand.”
“Then you understand I can’t help.”
Donna pulls up a picture on her phone that she took at Elaine’s house.
“I’m not asking for records. I only need to know whether you recognize her.”
He does not look at the picture.
“No.”
“You haven’t seen it.”
“I don’t recognize her.”
Donna sets her phone on the counter anyway.
The man glances down despite himself.
He can't hide the brief flash of recognition.
“You have seen her,” Donna says.
“I see hundreds of people.”
“This one stayed here.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
His eyes shift toward me.
I say nothing.
“So,” she says mildly, “we can do this the difficult way, where I come back with paperwork and questions that make your guests uncomfortable, or you can just tell me whether she rented a room.”
His jaw tightens. “You police?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t have paperwork.”
“I used to be. I can get the paperwork if that's what it'll take.”
She used to be. Of course I had my suspicions, but it's the first time she's ever spoken about it.
I can typically clock police pretty quickly. She was no regular cop either.
The man looks at her again, more carefully this time.
Donna doesn't bother to elaborate or explain.
His eyes drop to the photograph again.
“What did she do?”
“We’re trying to find that out.”
“That sounds like trouble.”
“She may be in danger.”
His expression changes slightly.
“She stayed here,” he says. “A few times.”
Donna and I exchange a glance.
“Under what name?”
“She didn't give a name. Paid cash.”
“When's the last time you saw her?”
He hesitates and looks toward the office window, though no one is outside.
I step closer to the counter.
Donna does not look at me, but I see the slight shift in her shoulders. She knows exactly what I am doing and has decided not to stop me.
“A few weeks ago.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she always pay cash?”
“Yes.”
“Did she always come alone?”
“As far as I know.”
He answers too quickly.
“Was she always alone?” Donna asks again.
The television continues in the back room, filling the silence with canned laughter.
The man rubs his jaw.
“People come and go. I don’t watch every door.”
“But you watched hers.”
His eyes move toward her.
“She was memorable,” Donna says. “You recognized her from one glance at a shitty picture.”
He rubs one hand over his mouth.
“Maybe someone came by sometimes.”
“Man or woman?” Donna asks patiently.
“Man.”
My attention sharpens.
“Description,” I say.
The motel manager looks at me, then at Donna.
“Tall,” he says. “Dark coat. Hat.”
“Can you be more specific?” Donna says.
“I only saw him once, and it was through a window.”
“Did he stay through the night?”
“I don't know why I don't work mornings.”
“Who works in the mornings?” Donna asks, and I can tell she’s getting less patient now, but she hasn’t snapped at the guy yet.
“The morning manager,” the guy says.
“Helpful,” Donna says dryly. “Did she ask for a particular room when she stayed?”
“Yeah, in the back.”
“Room number,” I say.
He hesitates.
I move closer to the divider.
“Seventeen,” he says, glancing at me nervously.
Donna glances toward the parking lot. “Is it currently occupied?”
“No.”
“Can we see it?”
“No.”
“She may be connected to a murder.”
“That’s your problem.”
“She may have left something behind.”
“Housekeeping has been in there.”
“I'm sure they did a bang-up job,” Donna says. “How long since the woman was last here? Think!” She drops her palm on the counter, startling the man, when it looks like he’s going to avoid the question again.
“Three days!” he says, eyes wild. “She was here three days ago.”
Donna’s eyes narrow. “Three days? That's not a few weeks.”
“I got the dates mixed up,” he says nervously.
“No, you didn’t.”
His face hardens. “Look, you got what you came for.”
“And wasted a lot of time getting to the point,” she says. “Did she leave anything in the room?”
“No.”
“Not that you're telling the truth or anything,” she says.
The man’s face reddens.
Donna picks up her phone and slips it into her pocket before turning toward the door.
“Let's go,” she says, brushing past me.
I hold the man’s gaze another second before following her outside.
The door closes behind us.
“Are we breaking into yet another room?” I ask casually as we start toward the car.
“Of course,” she says.
***
We move along the side of the building from the next parking lot over where I moved my car, Mocha with us, surprisingly quiet. He nearly presses against Donna as we move in the shadows of the building.
I check to make sure no one's around before we turn the last corner to room seventeen. Luckily, it’s partially hidden from the road by a row of overgrown shrubs.
Donna examines the lock and removes a slim case from her pocket.
I lift a brow, amused. “Do you always carry tools for things like this?”
“I carry tools for many things. I like to be prepared.”
“Prepare to break into hotel rooms at a moment's notice?”
“You never know what you might need,” she says as she crouches in front of the door.
I don't mention that I have my own kit in my pocket as well.
I have to admit I like to watch her work.
She leans closer to the lock, one knee against the pavement, her jeans pulling tight across her hips.
My attention drops to her ass before I can stop it.
Donna glances over her shoulder. “Are you watching for people or watching me?”
“For people.”
“Liar.”
The pick turns between her fingers.
“You are distracting,” I say.
Her mouth curves as the lock gives a soft click.
“You are easily distracted.”
She rises and steps close enough that her shoulder brushes my chest.
Her eyes lift to mine.
Then she opens the door and slips inside.
I follow her inside and close the door behind us.
The room smells faintly of stale air, bleach, and damp carpet. Housekeeping has made the bed and emptied the trash, but the place still feels very used.
Donna pulls two pairs of gloves from her pocket and hands one to me.
“You really do carry everything.”
“Almost.”
We put them on.
Mocha stands just inside the door, alert, his nose already working.
Donna opens a small clear bag and removes a folded piece of paper.
“What is that?”
“I swiped a piece of paper that Rachel wrote on from Elaine's house.”
Impressive, I didn't even notice it.
She crouches in front of Mocha and holds it beneath his nose.
He sniffs once, then again, longer this time.
Donna lets him take in the scent before folding the paper back into the bag.
“If I send him in without something specific to focus on, he’ll get distracted by every scent in the room.”
“There must be plenty.”
“Probably. And there may already be a lot of Rachel’s scent in here.” She glances around. “I can’t imagine housekeeping did much beyond changing the sheets and wiping down what they could see.”
She gives Mocha the command.
He moves immediately.
His nose lowers toward the carpet as he works around the bed, along the wall, and past the small table near the window.
Donna watches him for a moment, then turns to me.
“We check where housekeeping wouldn’t.”
I start with the vent near the floor while she drops to look beneath the bed.
The screws have not been disturbed. I remove the cover anyway and check inside.
Nothing.
Donna runs a gloved hand along the underside of the bed frame, then moves to the dresser.
She pulls out each drawer, checks beneath it, then reaches into the empty space behind it.
I search the narrow gap beside the television and the back of the closet shelf.
Mocha circles the room twice before stopping beside the nightstand.
His body goes still.
Donna turns at once.
“What is it, boy?”
He presses his nose toward the narrow gap between the nightstand and the wall, then paws once at the carpet.
Donna crouches beside him.
“Show me.”
He noses the same spot again.
I move the nightstand away from the wall.
A small folded slip of paper lies against the baseboard.
Donna reaches for it carefully and opens it.
A pharmacy receipt.
She scans the items, then goes back to the date.
“What?”
She turns it so I can see.
Boxed hair dye.
The purchase was made a couple of weeks before Genevieve’s murder.
Donna pulls out her phone and starts typing away.
A moment later she looks at me and says, “This shade is very close to Genevieve's color.”
I look down at the receipt again.
“Rachel changed hers to match more closely.”
“That’s what it looks like. Hers is close, but not exact. She needed it to match the video in the lobby.”
Donna photographs the receipt where we found it before slipping it into an evidence sleeve.
Mocha remains beside her, watching.
She rubs a hand over the back of his neck.
“Good boy.”
He leans into her briefly, then returns his attention to the room.
Donna studies the receipt through the plastic.
“She was preparing before she ever approached Alessio.”