All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [73]
“We got a call that Christina Dale was seen here last night. Can you tell me what room she was in?”
The man stared at him, belligerence creeping up in his eyes, then dampening down like he’d stepped into a cold mental shower.
“Yuaa, she was here. Didn’t see with who. Came in all drunk and stupid like she always does. Gave her the key to the room on the end. She didn’t bring it back yet this mornin’. What’s all this about?”
“Have you been in the room?”
“Ain’t but the one key. I tolds ya she didn’t bring it back this mornin’. What’s all this? Did Christina do somethin’ stupid, get herself in trouble with the law?” The leathery bald head and absence of teeth gave the man a shrunken look, as if a headhunter had stolen in during the night and worked his magic on the man’s head, shrinking it down to portable size. Baldwin was almost staring but stopped himself.
“And you are…?”
“Call me Ishmael,” the man cackled. Baldwin stared at him until he finally stopped laughing and said, “It’s Jones.”
“Mr. Jones, did you see who she came with? Was it a man?”
“What, you think she’s one of those lesbos? ’Course it was a man. Practically a different man every night, seemed to me.” He sucked his tooth, the noise making Baldwin’s spine crawl.
“Mr. Jones, is there any chance you remember the particular man she was with last night?”
Jones sighed. “Prolly some young, good-lookin’ feller. She seemed to like them damn black Irish, brought ’em around more often than not.”
“Dark-haired men, you mean?”
“Black as coal. ’Course, I don’t see much. I don’t go spying on my folks.”
“Of course you don’t.” Lying sack of shit. Baldwin was ready to pull that tooth right out of the man’s mouth. “Were they in Christina’s car?”
“Nope. Don’t say as I know what kind it were, either. Just long and dark, that’s all. Mebbe silver. Never was much of a car man. Like me those tits and ass though.”
Baldwin watched the fan for a moment, biting his lip. If he were as old and wizened, he’d be bad-tempered, too.
“Anything else you can remember, Mr. Jones? Did you see what time the car left?”
“Can’t say that I did. I sleep there in that back room over yonder, expect people to ring the bell if they needs me. I don’t recall anyone ringing the bell after Christina came through. What’d she do?”
“I don’t know, sir. Thank you for all your help, though. Mind if we break down the door if it’s locked?”
“I don’t give a rat’s patooty what you do, so long as you pay for it. But them doors are kinda flimsy, won’t take much to get it open.”
“Okay, Mr. Jones. Why don’t you stay in here while we go get that door opened.” He left before the man had a chance to ask any more questions or get any ideas, and walked quickly back to Grimes. The old man hustled after him, stood in the doorway to the motel office and stared at the commotion.
“Room three. No keys, we’ll have to take the door. The guy in there, the manager, didn’t seem too concerned, just wanted to know if Christina did something to get herself into trouble. Saw her come in with someone driving a ‘long car.’ Was he the one that called it in?”
“I don’t know who called it in, they just said it was an anonymous caller. I got the call from the sheriff’s office, they’d gotten a call from their news station here in town.”
Baldwin appraised the man. Sloppy work, Grimes, very sloppy work. He should know every detail of the events that led them to this motel. He was getting wound too tight. “We better be careful in case someone is jerking our chain. Let’s just go up and knock first.”
They made their way to the door and did just that. There was no answer. Baldwin turned the knob; it was locked from the inside. He signaled to a deputy who held a battering ram. The door wouldn’t take much abuse,