Don't Tell A Soul (Detectives Kane and Alton)

A few moments later, Rowley turned the car into the motel parking lot and pulled up in front of the office. “I’ll go and find out the number of Miss Woodward’s room.”

“We should both speak to the owner.” Kane got out the car and scanned the immediate area.

He noticed the lack of CT cameras and the two cars parked outside the dozen or so motel rooms. The parking lot had seen a lot of traffic over the last few days, going on the coating of gray slush. A curtain moved in one of the units and a face peered at him through a condensation-soaked window then stepped back out of sight. Taking a mental note of the unit number, he strolled around the hood of the cruiser and followed Rowley inside the office. The door shut behind him with a loud buzz and the heavy stink of cigars seared his nostrils. Moments later, a man emerged from the back room in a cloud of smoke. A TV commercial for beer blared out from behind him and a woman with makeup applied with a trowel sashayed past the door singing an old 1960’s rock song.

Kane moved to the front desk, keeping his hands on his waist. No way did he intend to touch the grimy counter. He wondered why the filthy place was such an attraction for visitors. He stared down at the overweight man in his sixties with receding white hair and a full beard stained yellow around the mouth. “Mr. Ricker?”

“Who’s askin’?” The man gave him a narrow stare. “Don’t recognize you.”

“Sheriff’s Deputy Kane.” He indicated with his thumb toward Rowley. “I believe Deputy Rowley spoke to you about Miss Woodward earlier?”

“Yeah, and I told him she don’t want to be disturbed.” Ricker took a long drag of his cigar and blew out a sequence of smoke rings. “We respect our visitors’ privacy here, especially if they stay long term.”

“So it seems.” Kane straightened and rested one hand on the handle of the Glock holstered on his waist. “When did you last see her?”

“Last night. She came by to pick up some coffee.” Mr. Ricker shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t think she has left the room and her breakfast tray was outside the door as usual. Like I said, she wants to be alone. That’s what the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign is for, don’t you know?”

“I understand but we need to speak with her and she’s not answering her phone or returning messages. What number is her room?”

“I don’t have to give you that information, officer.” Ricker flicked the ash from the glowing tip of his cigar into an overflowing ashtray and his dark eyes filled with menace.

Kane moved closer to the man and towered over him. “We have probable cause to break down every door in the place. Your choice.”

“Wait a minute.” Ricker let out a long impatient sigh then tapped on his computer. “Room twenty-five. It’s the one right at the end of the row.”

“Grab the pass key and show me. If she isn’t answering the door, we’ll need to check inside.”

“What’s going on out there?” The woman he had heard singing strolled into the reception area.

“Nothing, Milly, the cops are checking up on the girl in room twenty-five.” Ricker smiled at her and picked up a jacket from the back of a chair. “Watch the desk. I’ll be back soon.” He shrugged into his coat then lifted up a partition in the desk, walked through, and opened the door.

A blast of icy wind rushed inside and Kane held open the door, sucking in the fresh air. He turned to Milly. “Mrs. Ricker?”

“Yeah. What’s all this nonsense about Sarah?”

“Just routine enquiries.” Kane flicked a glance at Rowley, silencing any chance of explanation. “Have you seen her today?”

“No.” Mrs. Ricker chewed on her bottom lip as if thinking. “Rosa delivered her breakfast and picked up her tray. I’m sure she’d have said something if anything was wrong.”

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Kane waved Rowley out the door.

They followed the wobbling figure of Ricker along the footpath in front of the motel rooms. Halfway down the row, two men strode from a room to a vehicle, keeping their heads down and eyes averted before making a dignified retreat. Kane made a mental note of the make and license plate of the car. Beside him, Rowley stared after the vehicle then jotted down details in his notebook. He caught his eye and nodded. Good man.

“This is her room.” Ricker knocked his grubby knuckles on the door. “Sarah? It’s Bob Ricker. The cops are here to speak to you.”

Nothing.

Kane used his fist to bang on the door. “Miss Woodward, it’s Deputy Kane. Open the door please or we’re coming in.”

Nothing.

“Open the door, Mr. Ricker.” Kane stepped to one side, and when the door swung inward, he held up one arm to prevent Ricker entering the room.

Light flowed through the door, illuminating the destruction inside. Someone had trashed the room and the smell of burned paper drifted in the musty air. He covered one hand with his sleeve and reached to flick on the light. There was no sign of Sarah in the main part of the room. He glanced at the other men and slid his Glock from the holster. “Stay here.”

Moving around the piles of debris with care, he edged his way to the bathroom. Finding it empty, relief flooded over him. He scanned the tiny room. Fragments of burned paper with handwriting still visible on the fragments curled black in the sink. By the marks on the toilet bowl, someone had flushed the rest. Someone has burned the letters. He bent to examine the vanity, hopeful he might be able to pull fingerprints from the charred smudges. What was in the letters for someone to go to such lengths to destroy them? Retracing his steps, he found Rowley waiting outside, wide-eyed and rubbing the back of his neck. Not wanting to discuss the evidence in front of the motel owner, he waved the deputy away. “Get the cruiser and bring some latex gloves.”

“Yes, sir.” Rowley took off at a run, his boots crunching on the gravel.