CHAPTER 5:
The Chippewa Courts Inn was your typical no-tell-motel. The building itself was an unremarkable, twenty-four unit, one-story structure in the shape of a lopsided, block-style letter “U”. At the truncated end, which was farthest from us at the moment, was the office. Behind that there were four rooms. The two longer expanses housed the remaining eighteen less-than-spacious accommodations, ten in one section and eight in the other. Each had a double window, exterior door, and a single parking space in front of it.
Across the almost deserted expanse of the parking lot, a timeworn marquee stood in front of the office, near the street. Its mismatched backlit letters proclaimed “FREE IN-ROOM ADULT MOVIES.” Beneath that bit of visceral marketing, a pinkish neon pretzel struggled to announce “VACANCY,” occasionally blinking into darkness, only to eventually issue a loud buzz and snap back to something less than brilliance before flickering off yet again.
Room seven, where we were now entering, was itself your typical hourly-rate special-rectangular, not quite clean, and poorly lit. The streaked windows next to the weather-beaten door were covered inside by heavy drapes, which were themselves a good decade out of style, if not more. In keeping with a basic configuration, there was a dressing area and sink at the back of the room. Over the basin sat a large mirror that was now reflecting the flicker of lights from outside as they bounced in through the open doorway. To the right of that area appeared to be a smaller room, most likely the bathroom and shower.
Ben pointed to the smaller room as if he’d been reading my mind. “Body’s back there in the john,” he offered, thereby confirming the suspicion.
Wafting on the chilled atmosphere was the usual unsavory blend of odors one encountered in such a room-stale smoke, musty carpet, and old intimacy. However, in this case the olfactory aura of bygone lovemaking was merely a subtle backdrop to the unmistakable odor of recent, unbridled sex. In fact, the very charge of extreme passion hanging in the air would have been enough to provoke arousal were it not underscored by the less than commonplace, but just as palpable, funk of death. As if that weren’t enough, pulling the unlikely melange together was a cloying watermelon-like scent.
“TV assholes are here,” Ben called out to the lone crime scene technician inhabiting the room. My friend swung the door closed behind us then stabbed a finger toward the silvery back wall as he instructed, “We better keep the door shut, or one of the fuckers’ll be bright enough ta’ try pointin’ a camera into that mirror.”
The dust-mask-wearing technician gave a nod as he took a few steps toward us. “What about the plate on the car?”
“Covered,” Ben replied. “Got a squad parked behind it.”
From all indications, the tech had simply been milling about and leaving the scene untouched, presumably waiting for us to arrive and create the visual record that was the next step in the chain of evidence. I was getting ready to ask about the mask when he quickly turned away and pulled it down. Slapping a handkerchief up to his face, he broke the near serenity of the interior with a resounding sneeze.
“Jeezus, Murv,” Ben said. “You really that sick?”
“What the hell gave ya’ that idea?” he replied, a slight Southern drawl affecting his raw voice. Still, even his obviously heavy congestion didn’t hide the sarcasm tainting the words.
“Well why didn’t ya’ stay home then?” Ben asked.
“Oh, maybe ‘cause you told ‘em ta’ get me outta bed.”
He finished wiping his reddened nose then pulled the mask back up to cover the lower half of his face.
“You shoulda said you were sick.”
“I did,” he returned through the disposable cup-shaped shield. “But, then I got told, ‘Storm says don’t be such a wuss’.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Yeah, well my ass. You’re gonna owe me for this one.”
My friend nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Booze or cigars?”
“The way I feel right now? Booze.”
“Bottle of Jack?”
“Screw that,” Murv huffed. “This is worth Maker’s Mark. The big bottle, not the little one.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ben agreed. “So, listen, this is Felicity and…”
“Yeah, we’ve met. It’s been…” he interrupted then abruptly ended his own sentence with a repeat of the earlier sneeze. “Look, no offense,” he finally continued, gazing back at all of us with bleary eyes as he repositioned the mask once again. “But all I wanna do right now is go home. Can we just do this so I can get a team in here to work the scene?”
“You got a team? I thought everyone was out sick?”
“I’ve got three techs,” he replied. “And two of them are as bad off as I am, so can we get moving on this?”
“Yeah.” Ben nodded.
“Can you smell that?” I asked, grabbing at the opportunity to interject the question.
“I couldn’t smell shit if I was neck deep in it,” Murv replied, shaking his head.
“Yeah. Ya’ talkin’ ‘bout the sickly gag-a-maggot reek?” Ben asked.
“Yeah.”
He pointed to a nightstand next to the twin bed. “There’s a tube’a crap over there. Some kinda novelty eat-me gel or somethin’. Smells like a whor…” He caught himself mid-sentence, casting a quick glance at Felicity. “…Reeks don’t it?”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Is there anything in particular you want me to concentrate on, then?” my wife asked.
“You get the outside already?” Murv asked.
“The door and a few shots of the lot leading up to the entrance. I didn’t see any markers, so I just shot mid-range.”
“Yeah, nothin’ out there in the way of evidence we could see,” he agreed. “Except the car. It’s the victim’s, so we’ll want it covered in and out before we start tearin’ it apart.”
“No problem. I still need some overalls of the lot and sign too,” Felicity offered. “But I thought I might wait for daybreak since it’s not far off.”
“Makes sense,” Murv told her with a nod. “Then just play it by the book. I’ve got a few markers down in here. Not much, but go ahead and shoot every angle just to be safe. We’ll sort it out later.”
“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “Cover all the bases. Two of everything.”
“Aye,” she returned. “No problem. Digital okay?”
“Hi-res?” Murv asked.
“Six megapixel, raw.”
He nodded. “Go for it.”
“You got gloves for ‘em?” Ben asked.
“Yeah,” he replied, rummaging around in his coat pockets for a second then extracting a wad of latex. Just as he was handing them to us, he let loose with a third explosive sneeze. This time, however, it exited well ahead of his reflexes, containing itself within the mask.
“Crap,” he exclaimed then shoved the gloves into Felicity’s hand as he headed out the door muttering, “If y’all ‘ll excuse me for a minute.”
“You couldn’t get someone else, Ben?” Felicity admonished as she picked a pair of gloves from the wad then handed the rest to me. “That man should be in bed.”
“Don’t let ‘im fool ya’, Felicity,” he returned. “He runs the CSU. He would’ve insisted on being here anyway. Besides, he’s the best there is.”
“Aye, well I still say he needs a tottie and a good night’s rest.”
“I’ll tell ‘im you said that.”
She cast a quick glance between us then handed me the camera bag she had been carrying slung over her shoulder.
“All right,” she announced, moving on to the business at hand. “We’ll work the main room clockwise, including the dressing area, then we’ll do that bathroom separate. Row, there’s a logbook in that bag. Just stay behind me and write down whatever I tell you. Ben, I hate to tell you this, but you need to be somewhere else. Because, right now, you’re in my way.”
A blinding flash of illumination burst forth, painting the corner in its harsh glow, then dissipated almost as quickly as it had presented itself. The steady whistle of the thyristor on the flash unit started squealing through the otherwise quiet room, rising in pitch until it was almost imperceptible.