He turned to Austin. "I've got the night manager. He says Mr. Wingate paid up, but their car is still there. He'll go down and knock on the door."
The manager came on the phone again after a few moments.
"Calm down, sir," Trout said calmly. "Listen to me. Call the police. Don't touch anything in the room."
Trout clicked off and turned to Austin. "The manager knocked on the Wingates' unit but didn't get an answer He tried the door. It was unlocked, and he went in. Then: was a body in the shower. A woman. Mrs. Wingate."
Austin's jaw hardened. Any sign of Mr. Wingate?
"No . The manager says he must have hitched a ride with somebody."
"I'll bet he did."
"What's going on?" Nina said.
"Can't explain now. We'll be right back."
Leaving Zavala to see if he could create some chaos out of order, Austin and Trout dashed for the helicopter. A minute later the chopper was airborne again. They flew out to the highway, followed it to the bright neon motel sign, and came down in the parking lot.
The police had already arrived and were checking the room. Austin flashed his ID, identifying himself vaguely as being with a federal agency, hoping they would think he was FBI. Explaining what NUMA operatives were doing at a murder scene would have been a long story. The police didn't look too closely at his ID, impressed as they were by his sudden arrival from the heavens flanked by a tough looking SWAT team.
Mrs. Wingate's body was crumpled in the shower stall. She was wearing a pink terrycloth robe as if she had just come from the shower when she was killed and shoved back in the stall. Although there was no blood, her head was at an odd angle. Austin went outside where Trout was talking on his phone to NUMA headquarters again.
"The Wingates sent in photos with their original application," Trout said.
"The motel must have a fax," Austin said.
They went to the office, and Trout introduced himself as the one who had originally called him on the phone.. The manager said he had a fax, practically brand new, and gave Trout the number. He relayed it to NUMA, and within minutes the pictures came through. The elderly couple in the photos bore no resemblance to either Wingate, dead or alive.
Austin and Trout quizzed the manager, a plump balding man in his fifties. He was still shaken but turned out to be a good witness. Years behind a desk dealing with people had given him a sharp eye for detail.
"Saw the Wingates come back late in the afternoon and go into their room," he said. "Then came the storm. Wingate's car left as the rain was letting up. Then it came bark after a while. Wingate went to his room and a short time later dropped by the office and paid. Cash. Almost didn't recognize him," the manager said.
"Why is that?" Austin said.
"Hell, he had shaved off his beard. Don't know why he'd do that. You could see his scar."
"Make believe I don't know what you're talking about,' Austin said.
With his finger the manager drew an imaginary line down his cheek from his eye to the corner of his mouth. A long one, from here to here."
Austin and Trout talked to the manager until the police came in to question him. Then they got into the helicopter, and at Austin's direction the pilot made a sweep of the roads around the excavation site. They saw dozens of headlights, but it would have been impossible to know which vehicle Wingate was riding in. Or even whether he was in a vehicle. They headed back to the ranch, where the glow of the fire could be seen for miles.
Austin filled Nina and Zavala in on the scene back at the motel, Mrs. Wingate's murder, and her husband's disappearance.
"I can't believe Mr. Wingate was one of them," she said.
"That's why he got away with it. It only took him a second to plant the bomb in the shed. Cool customer, whoever he is. He did it right under our noses."
She shuddered. "But who was that poor woman?"
"We won't know for a while. Maybe never." He paused. "I've been thinking about Wingate or whatever his name is. He gave that `come get me' wave just before the bomb went off. There's something else. He didn't have to shave off that beard right away. He could have left in his disguise and done it later. It was almost as if he were taunting us. Or showing his contempt."
Zavala tried to put the best fare on the situation. "At least the admiral won't hear we were playing fast and loose with his noble profile."
"He probably already knows, Joe."
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Zavala put his hands on his hips and surveyed the glowing ashes. Now what?"