“So, you think a hunter accidentally shot him?” I ask.
“It's the only explanation that makes sense.” He nods and stands, starting toward the door. “Now that you've gotten your answer, I need to be getting back to work.”
I don't point out that he didn't actually answer my question.
“Sure. Um. Where is the chief?” I ask casually.
“He got called away from the office.”
I nod and smile. “I guess that's part of the job.”
As I follow him out of the conference room, I notice a large board on the wall. It's covered with pictures of the missing people and the crime scenes. I have most of them, but I pause to look at it. A few images look like they were taken in the days after the official crime scene photos. My eyes scan over the pictures and the notes scribbled on them. A timeline in black marker at the bottom of the board stands out to me. I glance up and see that Nicolas is leaned out of the door, talking to someone down the hall. Snapping a picture of the timeline as fast as I can, I shove my phone back into my pocket. The next second, he looks in at me.
“That's part of the investigation, Ms. Monroe. I'm going to have to ask you to move along now,” he says.
I flash him a smile. “No problem. Thanks for your help.”
Esther peers at me over her glasses as I scurry past her out of the station.
My next stop is the hotel a few towns over, where Murdock checked in. The woman behind the desk could be a younger version of Esther and is looking at me with about as much trust.
“The footage was turned over to police,” she tells me.
“I know. But it was saved on the cloud, wasn't it? You could just access it from the computer.”
“Are you with the police?”
“I am definitely not with the police,” I tell her.
“Then what's your fascination with the camera footage?”
“Ma'am, he died on my porch. I'd like to know what he looked like before that.”
I probably could have used more tact, but this is the place I'm in. It seems to work. The woman's face goes pale, and her eyes widen. She scurries into the office, and I'm fairly certain she's going to come back with the manager to chase me out. At least if they call the police, I have a good chance of just being brought right back to the station. I can even see if LaRoche is back. I hear voices across the lobby and look up, ducking out of the way behind the wall beside the desk just in time.
No need to get myself arrested to see LaRoche again. He's right here at the hotel with a very blonde, very young woman teetering on ill-fitting heels and his every word. I stay out of sight while I watch them cross from the elevator to a side door tucked in an alcove. He looks different, not in his uniform, but it is definitely the chief. Pulling her up against him, he leans down for a long kiss. It ends suddenly, and LaRoche reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone and putting it to his ear. His face darkens, and he mutters something I can't hear, but I also can't imagine is pleasant.
“Ma'am?”
I peek around the wall to see the woman has come back to the desk. Glancing over at LaRoche, I see him say something to the girl and slam through the door out into the parking lot. The woman behind the desk gives me a curious look as I slide back into place in front of her. There's no manager at her side, but she is holding a tiny white computer.
“I thought I saw someone I know,” I offer with a smile. “But I'm not sure. Do you have any guests from Feathered Nest here today?”
She shakes her head. “Not in the last few weeks. Most recent check-in is a lady says she's from New Jersey.”
“Says?” I ask. “You don't check identification?”
The woman shakes her head. “Not usually. No need when people pay cash. It's not like I'm running a five-star resort here. Just a place for people to lay their heads.”
Or something.
I glance back toward the door. The blonde I'm guessing at least pretends to hail from New Jersey is gone. Turning back to the clerk, I gesture at the computer.
“Is that it?”
“Yes. I'm still not sure if I should show it to you.”
“Did the police tell you not to?” I ask.
“Well… no,” she frowns.
“Then, what's the harm? I just want a quick look.”
She turns the screen toward me and clicks the mouse pad to start the video clip. I lean against the counter and watch the same woman moving around behind the desk. The angle of the camera shows her back and the top of her head, giving the perfect vantage point for the front door. After a few seconds of her dusting, sifting papers around, and watering a plant that has since been moved to the other side of the desk, the door opens. The man walks in, and my breath catches in my throat. He's wearing the same clothes he was in when he landed on my porch. Glancing at the bottom of the screen, I note the time stamp.
He walks up to the desk and says something to the woman. She nods and reaches into a drawer, sliding a form across the desk to him.
“What's that?” I ask.
“A registration card. I've always used them. I put the information into the computer now, but I still have the guests fill them out. Force of habit.”
He fills out the card and hands it back to the clerk. I see him look around the lobby and notice something that strikes me as odd.
“He doesn't have any bags,” I say. “Did he bring any in later?”
“No,” the clerk says. “The police asked the same thing. Wanted to look through his personal effects. But he didn't have any. There wasn't anything in his room, and there was no car parked in the lot.”
I watch the video for another few seconds while the man accepts his key card and heads to the elevator. Scanning through the recording, I see him come back out of the elevator and leave less than five minutes after going upstairs. I know by the timestamp, he never came back.
“Do you still have his registration card?” I ask.
She nods and pulls a binder out of the drawer. Flipping through it, she pulls out the card and shows it to me.
“Ron Murdock. Such a nice name.”
I nod. “Do you mind if I snap a picture of it? I want to send a condolence letter to his family.”
She shrugs. “Go ahead. I don't think privacy laws extend to the dearly departed.”
“Thanks.” I snap the picture and put my phone away. “I really appreciate your help.” I start to walk away, then turn back to her. “Actually. There's one more thing you can do for me. I'm really thirsty. Do you have a bottle of water or something I could have?”
She looks at me strangely but nods. “Sure. I'll be right back.”
As soon as she walks into the office with the computer, I turn the binder toward me and snap a picture of the entire page of registration cards tucked in their clear plastic sleeves. Flipping through the book to the end, I take another picture of the last page, then close the book. She comes out of the office just as I'm lowering the cover, and I slide the binder toward her. Accepting the miniature bottle of water she offers out to me, I smile.
“I appreciate it. Thank you, again.”
I wave and head out of the hotel. I'm halfway across the lot to my car when the shot rings out.
Chapter Seventeen
I hit the ground before I fully process the sound. It's the second shot that really sinks in and gets my mind spinning. My stomach scraping on the tiny bits of gravel scattered across the parking lot, I army crawl over to my car, so I have some cover. Reaching into my pocket, I wrench out my phone. The last picture I took is still up on the screen, and I swipe it away to dial.