Five
Amanda stepped into the motel office, noticing the security camera mounted outside next to the door. A chime sounded and Officer Deacon got up from where he’d been seated next to a forty-something male with greasy dark hair and a pockmarked face.
The fluorescent lights were harsh and assaulting, as was the dilapidated Christmas tree drooping in the corner; its fake branches finished with the season and some of its baubles reaching the floor. The lights were also unplugged, making it look that much more depressing.
“Mr. Flynn?” she asked the stranger.
“Yes.” The man’s eyes shifted to Deacon, almost as if asking permission to speak.
“I’m Detective Steele,” she said, wresting back his attention.
“And I’m Detective Stenson,” Trent offered after a couple of beats.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Amanda said.
“I just told him everything I know.” He flicked a finger toward Deacon.
“We appreciate that the officer here has taken your statement, but we have some questions of our own.” Amanda glanced at Deacon, who dipped his head and left in receipt of her silent message for him to leave them alone. “Let’s start with how you came to find the man in room ten.”
Flynn scowled and clenched his jaw. “Why must I keep reliving it?”
“We understand this may be difficult for you—”
“May be? I found a man. Dead.”
It was strange how someone else died and people could still make it about themselves. “Yes. Sadly, it happens all the time.”
“Maybe for you,” Flynn spat.
She took a long, deliberate sip of her coffee. When she lowered the cup, she met Trent’s gaze. Was he judging her, waiting for her to slip up so he could report her? “You’re right, I’ve seen a lot of death.” Her voice cracked ever so slightly on death. She refused to look at either Trent or Flynn for a few seconds. “You have the chance to help us figure out what happened to your guest.”
“Was he murdered? I mean, I suppose so given you guys are here.”
“It’s an open investigation at this time,” she said. “All I can tell you is his death is deemed suspicious, which simply means for his age he shouldn’t have—” She almost said kicked the bucket.
“Okay, okay, I’ll rehash it all,” he whined. He went on to relay exactly what Becky had told her. He’d gone for ice, saw the flickering TV, looked in, and spotted Palmer on the bed.
“Then you entered his room?” she asked, remembering clearly from the account he’d told Becky he hadn’t gone inside.
“I knocked on the window and called out. He didn’t respond, and as I said, something about him just didn’t look right. So, yes, I went in his room.”
So he’d lied to Becky. It was creepy to think of the motel manager watching his guests through the windows but not the end of the world. “Did you touch anything in the room?”
“Nope.”
She noted how quickly he’d replied—the honest truth or was he hiding something? “You told our fellow officer you never went into the room.”
Flynn’s eyes darted to Trent, then back to Amanda. “Just must have slipped my mind. Not every day I find a dead body.”
Amanda wasn’t sure she believed that was all it was. “Did you check the man for a pulse?”
“No need. He had—” Flynn pointed to his mouth and traced a finger around it, clearly indicating the vomit. “And I could tell his chest wasn’t moving.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Called the police.”
Amanda nodded. She’d get to the tidbits about when Palmer checked in and if Flynn had any other interactions with him, but first she wanted to be clear on something. Flynn’s wasn’t a face she recognized, but it was very possible Flynn was aware of Palmer’s past and her own. “Did you know the man who died?”
“Nah. Well, not really.” Flynn shook his head.
“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘not really.’ Can you clarify that?”
“I just know his name was Chad Palmer because I checked him in. That’s all.”
“How long have you been working here?” Amanda was tiptoeing around what she really wanted to know. If he knew of her connection with Palmer, the entire investigation could blow up in her face before it really got started.
“For a few months.”
“I see, and where were you before that?” Amanda could feel Trent watching her, but she refused to acknowledge his gaze and kept hers on Flynn.
“Florida.” Flynn narrowed his eyes and glanced at Trent, then back at her. “Not sure what that matters, but I followed my college girlfriend there and finally, after marrying her, then divorcing her, I had the good sense to part ways and come home last year.”
So he would have still been in Florida at the time of the accident. She felt herself relax. “When did Mr. Palmer check in?” It seemed strange referring to Chad so formally.
Trent coughed, probably to get her attention, to remind her that he was the primary detective, but when she looked at him, he mouthed an apology. That surprised her. He certainly wasn’t anything she had expected so far. She leveled her gaze at Flynn.
“Friday night,” he said.
That was the day Palmer had been released from prison. “Three nights ago. You’re certain?”
He scrunched up his forehead. “Yeah. The wee hours always mess with my sense of time.”
“So he checked in at night; what time?” she asked.
“Around eleven? Should be in the logbook.” Flynn pointed to an open book on the reception counter.
Trent beat her to it. “Ten fifty-five,” he said.
Palmer would have been released from prison in the afternoon, so she was curious how he had spent the time between then and checking in. One thought crossed her mind, and it had her clenching her right hand into a fist and sinking her nails into her palm.
“Was he drunk when you checked him in, or intoxicated?” She didn’t need to look at Trent to know he was watching her closely.
Flynn didn’t respond.
“Was he drunk?” she pushed.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” she shot back.
“Hey, wait, am I in trouble here?” Flynn’s cheeks flushed red.
Amanda tilted out her chin. “We’re just trying to figure everything out.”
Flynn shrugged. “He might have had something to drink before coming here. His words were a little slurred.”
Amanda squeezed her fist tighter. The bastard had the audacity to waltz out of prison and pick up a bottle like no time had passed—as if his doing so years ago hadn’t met with any consequences. Just like he’d walked away from the accident scene, unscathed. Meanwhile everything she loved the most had been—
“When he checked in did he have anything with him?” Trent asked, giving her a moment to get her temper in check.
She released her fist and downed some coffee, trying to calm herself.
“Heck, I dunno.” Flynn mussed his hair, dropped his hand. “A duffel bag.”