The Girl in the Motel

by Chris Culver

  Travis, my boss, came down the steps and pushed his way through the crowd toward me. Most of the protestors let him go, but one shoved him back. Sasquatch pulled the boss from the crowd while the other officers blew their whistles and removed collapsible batons from their belts.

  “Everybody stop. We’re not doing this on TV,” I said, hurrying forward. The crowd, for whatever reason, parted around me. Sasquatch and the boss were heading up the steps. I grabbed Officers Simpson and Ortega by their elbows and backed them away from the crowd. The civilians yelled but didn’t follow. Our officers took the hint and kept going up the steps. Then I looked to Sherlock and Hughes. “You two, inside.”

  “You don’t get to order us around, miss,” said Sherlock. “We’re not like your jackboots.”

  I looked over my shoulder to the crowd. They hadn’t picked up rocks yet, but several of them carried signs on wooden poles. This would get ugly if they used them as cudgels.

  “Inciting a riot is a crime,” I said. “And I doubt you got a permit for this demonstration. We don’t have the manpower here to keep you safe, so I’d get inside if I were you.”

  Sherlock protested, but Hughes put a hand on his lawyer’s elbow. Then he turned to the crowd.

  “Detective Court has a point,” he said, looking over the heads of the crowd to the camera crews just beyond. “I’m here to put my life back together. Sheriff Travis Kosen will receive punishment for his crimes in time, but that’s not my concern. I’m here to talk to my foster daughter. Thank you for your support, but please respect my privacy and the privacy of my family. I will release a formal statement through my attorney later.”

  After speaking, he held his elbow toward me as if he wanted me to escort him inside. Even the thought of touching him made me feel nauseated, but I was a professional. I ignored his elbow and walked in front of him and pulled open the glass door to let him into the lobby. He and his lawyer took the hint and walked in.

  Travis and our other officers waited for us. My boss leaned against the front desk and crossed his arms. He was trying to play it cool, but the muscles of his jaw were tight, and an artery on his forehead throbbed with every beat of his heart. His skin was flushed, and there were tight beads of sweat on his neck.

  Christopher Hughes looked delighted by the attention. He looked around the room before focusing on me.

  “You’ve done well for yourself, Joe,” he said. “I’m glad.”

  “Don’t talk to her,” said Travis, stepping in front of me. I didn’t care for chivalry, but I appreciated his presence. I might have gone for the knife tucked in my belt if I had been alone. “As the elected sheriff of St. Augustine County, I’m here to answer your questions and listen to your concerns. You have my full attention. I can bring in the county prosecutor or county attorney for questions if we need them.”

  “As my client stated outside, Sheriff,” said Sherlock, “we’re not here to confront anyone. We’re here as a courtesy to notify your department that my client intends to move to the county. The government has ruined his life for twelve years. He wants to move somewhere quiet and comfortable. St. Augustine is perfect for his needs.

  “Due to the circumstances, my client has unique security requirements. The state has dropped all charges against him, but the courts can’t silence rumors. Already, my client has received dozens of threats. We would appreciate if you could investigate them.”

  “We’re busy,” I said, speaking without waiting for my boss to give an answer. “Why don’t you use some of that settlement money you’re getting from St. Louis County to hire a private security team? It might be easier that way.”

  Travis held up a hand to prevent me from saying anything else.

  “We try to keep everyone in our county safe. If someone has threatened you, we’ll investigate that threat to the best of our abilities.”

  “I know you will,” said Sherlock, nodding. “All the same, we’d feel much more comfortable if Detective Court gave these matters her personal attention. Considering the lawsuit my client has filed against you, Sheriff, we’d like someone else to conduct those investigations.”

  My face felt hot, and every muscle in my body trembled. For years, I had dreamed of confronting Christopher. I thought I’d tell him how he hurt me but how I had overcome all that pain. I’d tell him he made me stronger than I ever could have been before. Seeing him in front of me, though, made nightmares I thought I had forgotten real. My muscles trembled, and I felt like a thousand tiny spiders were crawling up my back. I couldn’t stop moving my fingers, so I crossed my arms tight and hid my hands beneath my biceps. My heart raced.

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I said, looking to Christopher and hoping my voice didn’t catch in my throat. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

  “We know that, Detective,” said Sherlock before his client could say anything. “Consider it a token of our esteem that we’ve made this request.”

  Travis stepped in front of me once more, this time blocking my view of Christopher. My shoulders slumped, and my heart slowed. My colleagues would wrestle Christopher to the ground if he so much as looked at me wrong, but he still made me feel ill.

  “As Detective Court’s commanding officer, I decide what she will or will not investigate,” said Travis. “I will take your request under advisement, but I cannot guarantee I will act upon it. Police work is complicated and ever changing. I will assign my officers to the assignments I feel best fits their capabilities and schedules. Clear?”

  “Sure,” said Sherlock, smiling that vapid, empty grin of his. He looked to Christopher. “I believe we’ve said what we need to say.”

  Christopher peered around Travis’s side to look at me. “I’d like to talk to Joe in private, if I could.”

  Most of my colleagues didn’t know what Christopher Hughes had done, but Travis did. Hughes and Sherlock did, too. Travis crossed his arms and shook his head.

  “Not today,” he said. “Not in my station. I think it’s about time you left.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Christopher. He licked his lips. My stomach and throat tightened, and I balled my hands into tight fists. “I’d say Joe and I have a lot to talk about. She’s the only family I have left. Plus, if she plans to investigate the threats made against me, it would be helpful if she and I could establish a rapport now.”

  I drew in a long breath. As much as he scared me, I was still a police officer. I was in control here, not Christopher. I counted to five and forced the muscles in my legs, back, and shoulders to relax.

  “It’s all right, Travis,” I said. “He’s right. He and I should talk.”

  Travis hesitated and looked at me. “You sure?”

  I nodded. “I am.”

  “All right,” he said. “Trisha, please escort Mr. Hughes and Mr. Holmes to the conference room.”

  “Just me,” said Christopher. “My attorney can stay in the lobby.”

  “I don’t think—” began Sherlock, taken aback.

  “Shut up, James,” said Christopher, glaring at his lawyer. “I’d like to talk to my foster daughter in private.”

  “Fine,” I said. “We’ll talk in private. No lawyers.”

  Travis didn’t like it, but he nodded to Trisha. She led Christopher through the bullpen to the conference room. I followed, but Travis caught my forearm before I could take more than a few steps. Christopher stopped to watch us with a curious smile on his face. My boss lowered his voice.

  “Leave your firearm at your desk,” he said. “Trisha and I will wait outside the room. If he provokes you—and he will try—do the right thing and walk away. You have nothing to prove.”

  The advice was sound, but I pulled my arm away as if I were angry, anyway. Christopher raised his eyes. He might have even smiled a little. Good. That was the reaction I wanted. Even now, the memory of what Christopher had done made me quake, but he hadn’t broken me. He thought I was a terrified child. I wasn’t, and I planned to use his ignorance against him.
The more emotional I seemed, the more likely likellhe would drop his guard. This was theater now.

  “This isn’t about proving anything,” I said. I lowered my voice so Christopher couldn’t hear us. I pounded my index finger on a nearby desk as if I were angry. “Sherlock’s private investigator went looking for Megan and Emily a week ago. Days later, they were dead. Somehow, Christopher is involved with this. He thinks he’s invulnerable, so he’ll be cocky and stupid. He thinks I’m the same little girl he assaulted fifteen years ago. He thinks I’m volatile, angry, and easy to manipulate. I can use that. I will break him before he has any idea what I’m doing. Now hold out your hand and try to look annoyed.”

  Travis’s eyes locked on mine. He blinked a few times and then held out his hand. I clenched my jaw and then shook my head before removing my firearm from its holster and handing it to him.

  “Happy?” I asked.

  He pulled back the receiver to remove the round I had chambered that morning. Then he slid out the magazine.

  “Your weapon will be here when you’re out.”

  “You’re a dick, Travis,” I said. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but I winked and turned around before he could say anything. When I saw Christopher again, he had an amused smirk on his face. That disappeared, though, and he gestured toward the conference room.

  “After you, Mary Joe,” he said.

  “Just Joe,” I said, stepping past him. Inside the conference room, I walked to the far side of the table, putting it between us—just as someone scared of the man opposite her might. Christopher pulled the door shut and checked me out as if I were a prostitute. He did everything but smack his lips.

  “You’ve grown up, Joe,” he said.

  “Why are you here?” I asked, crossing my arms.

  He held out his arms as if he wanted a hug, but he was smart enough to stay well away from me.

  “It’s been twelve years. I wanted to see you.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I said. “You used to scare me, but you can’t hurt me anymore.”

  He took a step toward me. I took a matching step back as a shiver passed through me. Christopher smiled. I wanted to knock that grin off his face, but I couldn’t. Not yet, at least.

  “I’m glad you’re not afraid.”

  “Fuck you,” I said, my voice a whisper. He laughed and took another step forward. He smelled like mint toothpaste.

  “You have turned into a gorgeous young woman,” he said. “You know, I wouldn’t have made it in prison if not for you. Every time life got hard, I thought about you and the things we did together.”

  I walked to the head of the table.

  “Stay where you are,” I said. “You make another move, this meeting’s over.”

  He held up his hands and nodded. “You’re in charge, sweetheart. I thought you’d like to know the impact you had on my life. That’s all.”

  “Terrific. You can leave now.”

  He smiled and paced the room but stayed away from me.

  “You weren’t the only beautiful girl on my mind, though,” he said. “I was so sad to hear about Megan and Emily. It was hard to forget Megan’s gorgeous green eyes.”

  In an instant, I knew I had him, but I couldn’t let him see that.

  You stupid motherfucker.

  “I’m not scared of you,” I said, forcing a tremble into my voice. The smug asshole smiled.

  “Sure you’re not,” he said, walking around the table, stalking me like an animal. I took a step back. “Do you remember that night you pissed the bed? I didn’t even have to touch you.”

  If I lived to a thousand, I’d never forget that night. He had made me feel helpless and scared and weak. Travis had good reason to take my gun. I would have drawn it if I’d still had it. I swallowed hard enough that my throat moved.

  “If you’re just here to reminisce, it’s time to go,” I said. He stopped walking and then sighed.

  “You’re right. My lawyers and I have many people to visit today. I’ll see you around, Joe.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” I said, my lips straight and thin. He left the room, almost dancing. Trisha and Travis both came in, but I held my finger to my lips, stopping them from speaking until Christopher was far enough away he wouldn’t hear us. Then I looked to Trisha. “I need the autopsy report from Megan Young.”

  Trisha looked to Travis. He blinked and then crossed his arms, confused.

  “Why do you need the autopsy report?”

  “I need to check something,” I said. “And tell me you were recording my conversation.”

  “We filmed it,” he said, nodding. “Why?”

  “Give me the autopsy report, and I’ll tell you.”

  “Okay,” he said, glancing to Trisha and nodding. “We’ll give you access to it.”

  Travis and I followed her out of the room and to the front desk. Christopher Hughes and his lawyer were just leaving to the adulation of the crowd outside. I knew I’d be seeing footage of that on the news later, but I didn’t care. I had him.

  We didn’t have the physical autopsy file—although we could have requested it from the Medical Examiner’s Office. Instead, we had a digital document complete with pictures and video. Since booting me off the Megan Young investigation, Travis had limited my access to that file until now. I scanned through it at Trisha’s computer with my boss at my side.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Travis.

  I ignored him until I came to the medical examiner’s written description of the body.

  “Christopher said she had beautiful green eyes,” I said. “According to Dr. Sheridan, she had brown eyes, but she wore green-tinted contacts at the time of her death.”

  “Okay,” said Travis. “Why is that significant?”

  “I don’t know what kind of health insurance kids in foster care had twelve years ago, but it wouldn’t have provided colored contact lenses,” I said. “He’s seen her.”

  Travis considered this and then nodded. “Even if that’s true, he couldn’t have killed her. He was in prison at the time of her death.”

  “Then he hired someone to kill her,” I said. “Plenty of professional shooters take pictures of their victims to prove they did the job.”

  “If we confront him, Hughes will say his memory was faulty, or that Megan came to visit him in prison or that he got lucky and guessed.”

  I lowered my chin. “Are you his defense counsel or the sheriff now?”

  “I’m your commanding officer,” he said. “The comment is revealing, but we can’t build a case on it.”

  I leaned closer to him and lowered my voice so no one else in the station could hear me.

  “We can build on it, but if you give this to Delgado and Martin, they’re just going to fuck up again.”

  Trisha snickered, but when Travis looked at her, she straightened and took a step away. Then he considered me.

  “You’ve got history with both the victim and Christopher Hughes, but you’ve also got insight into this case. Starting tomorrow, you’re back on the case. Find me something we can use to put Christopher Hughes in prison for the rest of his miserable life.”

  “And if I find something?”

  “You get to put the cuffs on him yourself,” he said. “That’s a promise.”

  This was the case that had persuaded me to become a cop, and I’d do it right. I’d follow the evidence wherever it went, even if that meant looking away from Christopher. For now, though, he was my best lead.

  “If Christopher ordered this murder, he did it from prison,” I said, looking at my boss. “You want to drive to Potosi with me and see what we can stir up?”

  Travis shook his head.

  “If Hughes ordered a murder from prison, he had help from a corrections officer. I’ll go to the prison. You will go home and sleep. Then you will return tomorrow and work.”

  “I’d rather go to the prison with you,” I said, standing straighter.

  “You might be the only perso
n in history to say that sentence and mean it,” said Travis. “If a prison guard helped Hughes order a murder, things will get political. We’ll get the lawyers involved, and I’ll work with the DOC’s internal affairs team. I need you working the case here. I’ll waste my time with the bureaucracy.”

  “When you put it like that, a nap doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “I’m glad my sacrifice doesn’t go unnoticed,” he said, nodding toward the station’s front door. “Now get out of here. Some of us have work to do.”

  25

  Sherlock waved and smiled for the cameras, but inside he seethed. No matter what Christopher said to her, he had been reckless to hold a private meeting with Detective Court. Worse, it was pointless. They gained nothing by talking to her, and they risked revealing something important. This was the problem when working with morons: They did stupid things.

  Christopher smiled at everyone and shook a bunch of hands. He even tried to take an interview from a reporter. That wasn’t happening. Sherlock might not have been able to prevent him from meeting with Detective Court, but no way in hell would he let him talk to a reporter on his own. If Christopher wanted a nationwide audience, Sherlock would arrange it. He’d handpick the interviewer, he’d specify the questions she could ask, he’d negotiate payment, and he’d control the situation.

  For the time being, Christopher wasn’t just a client: He was an asset Sherlock had to protect—and exploit.

  Sherlock put a hand on Christopher’s back and led him toward the limousine he had hired for the day. The vehicle and driver had cost almost a thousand dollars, but it was a necessary expense. He and Christopher had business to discuss, and the limo gave them privacy and comfort a regular car couldn’t provide. When they reached the vehicle, Sherlock opened the rear door and pushed his client inside before he could do something else stupid on live television.

  “What the hell are you doing?” asked Christopher. “I was having a good time. I thought we could get a corn dog. There’s a spring fair going on if you didn’t notice.”