Amanda carried on through the room, ignoring the form on the bed and went into the small bathroom. Green sink and tub. Ring on the floor around the base of the toilet. Rust marks in the sink and tub. There was a toothbrush, a tube of paste, a razor and shaving gel, but that was it as far as personal hygiene products. A motel-provided and now-lathered bar of soap sat on the corners of the tub and small counter.
On her return through the room, she stopped in front of a closet with bifold doors. She’d already broken Malone’s direction not to touch anything so she slowly opened one side and peeked in. Empty. She eased the door back the way she’d found it.
Palmer could have items in the dresser, but maybe she should draw a line with her snooping, just in case Malone returned.
The only personal effects she could see in the main room were a jacket and wallet on the table. But what more could she expect when Palmer had only been released from prison a few days ago? He’d only have the clothes on his back and whatever had been taken from him at the time of his arrest.
She made a note to find out what that was.
She reached for the wallet. Had Palmer left it there or had Becky or her sergeant pulled it out to look for identification? Another possibility was a robbery gone wrong, but she dismissed the theory quickly. Palmer probably didn’t have anything worth stealing. Also, if it was a robbery, she’d likely be looking at a stabbing, shooting, or beating. Not to mention she’d expect to see evidence of an altercation, but there was nothing to indicate that aside from the shoe and the gash on his forehead.
Amanda thumbed through the wallet. A ten-dollar bill and two credit cards. She extracted each, one at a time—both long expired—and slipped them back where she’d found them just as shadows darkened the room. She returned the wallet to the table and turned to see two female investigators from Forensics and a blond man she recognized as Trent Stenson.
The CSIs made their way into the room, booties on their shoes and evidence collection cases in hand. The older of the two, a slender woman in her fifties, acknowledged her with a bob of her head. The other woman flashed her a beautiful smile.
“Hi, Detective Steele,” Trent said. He looked older and more mature than she remembered, but there was something else different about him. His hair. He used to have long bangs that fell over his eyes, but now his blond hair was groomed short. She didn’t reply to his greeting but went to leave the room, pausing only to take off the booties.
“I hope I’m not being presumptuous to assume you remember me.” He thrust out his hand. “I’m Trent. Stenson. Malone briefed me on the phone, but I was at Becky’s barbecue that time and we—”
“I know who you are.” She wondered just how much Malone had told him, and if Trent had been told to keep an eye on her.
“Oh, good.” Her refusal to shake didn’t seem to have any effect on his enthusiasm, but he lowered his hand. “How’s it looking in there?”
“You should look for yourself. As the primary,” she added, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“I’ll need—” Trent looked around and his gaze landed on the booties in her hand.
“Here.” She handed them to him. “You should come prepared.” She felt a twinge of guilt at her hypocrisy.
“Sorry, yes, I know. Thanks.” He went into the motel room without touching her dig about him being the primary. Spunky or spineless? Too soon to tell.
She bundled into her coat. It had stopped snowing, but it was cold. Guess she’d just wait outside while Junior looked at the crime scene. Becky was coming toward her, holding a steaming takeout cup.
“I come with coffee,” she said, giving it to Amanda.
“How—”
“I had a fellow officer bring it to me.”
Amanda looked at the cup. “It’s not from Hannah’s, but…” Hannah’s Diner had the best coffee in Dumfries—in the county if you asked Amanda—but they closed at nine.
“Hey, if you don’t want it…” Becky smiled and reached to take the coffee back.
Amanda held the cup out of reach. “Now, there’s no need to do that. And thank you.”
“I’m sorry about before. I shouldn’t have implied—”
“Just forget it.” Amanda flipped back the tab on the lid and took a sip. Perfect drinking temperature.
“So what way are you leaning? Do you think he was murdered?” Becky nodded toward the motel room.
“Too soon to say, but there are things standing out to me. Speaking of, did you put Palmer’s wallet on the table or was it there?”
“Sergeant Greer took it out to confirm identity. I didn’t need it to.”
Amanda nodded.
“I see that Trent’s arrived,” Becky said.
“Yep.” She took another drink of her coffee. It was exactly what she needed right now. “Should be fun,” she added, with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
“Trent’s a good guy. He’ll—”
“Did I just hear ‘Trent’s a good guy’?” He came out of the room.
Amanda regarded him. “That was quick.”
“I’ll revisit. I like to take it in, process it in my mind for a bit, then revisit.”
“Huh. First day out and you’ve already got a method.” Snarky and uncalled for, and it failed to garner any reaction. Disappointing.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Becky gave Amanda a pleading look to give Trent a chance.
“So, what were your first impressions?” Trent extended the booties to Amanda and she dismissed him with a wave.
“Keep ’em.” She started walking toward the motel office. “We’ll chat later. Right now, we’re going to speak to Ronnie Flynn. He’s the manager here and who found Palmer.”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
Amanda stopped walking and spun. He was still moving, and she bumped her cup against his chest, spilling some coffee on his coat.
He pulled a tissue from a pocket and wiped at the mess. She’d apologize but it would weaken her position.
“You say ‘sounds good’ like this is an exciting evening out for you. Someone died,” she ground out. It was hypocritical given how little she felt for the deceased, and she remembered how at the start of her career in Homicide, murder cases had got her blood pumping and her adrenaline rushing.
“I-I know that,” Trent stuttered and stuffed the tissues back in a pocket.
She clamped her mouth shut. She’d been prepared for Trent to spout off something smart-ass, maybe bring up her connection with Palmer; as a local he had to know the history there. She resumed walking.
“I didn’t mean anything by what I said.” Trent sounded apologetic, but there was also a note of confusion in his tone. He likely didn’t understand her strong reaction.
But unless a person had suffered the loss she had, how could anyone appreciate what she had gone through—was going through? The man who had birthed her living nightmare was back. Dead, but no less real. And as much as she looked to this case to help her heal, it just may take her down if she wasn’t careful. That’s why she had to stay focused and serious.
“Let’s just talk to the manager.” She got the door for the motel office for herself and didn’t bother holding it for Trent. It wasn’t personal—at least not yet—but partnerships had a way of morphing into that territory if the boundaries weren’t clearly defined from the start. And she wasn’t about to let her wall down for one second.