“If not now, then how about tonight? I think you owe me that since I came by here with a surprise.”

He held up the paper cup and she almost choked on her retort. He was the one that had cancelled at the last minute the night before. She didn’t owe him a damn thing. It was looking like she’d had a lucky escape. Greg wasn’t the guy for her.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be home. How about I call you?”

He shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care but a muscle ticked in his jaw. Greg was at the very least frustrated and possibly angry. “Sure, I’ll be around. If I don’t hear from you I’ll call you tomorrow.”

That wasn’t welcome news.

“Thank you for understanding. I do really need to go.” Brinley tried to keep her tone even and friendly even if she wasn’t feeling that way.

Greg didn’t move so she had to go around him, muttering not so nice words under her breath. She climbed into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine before putting the car into reverse. Greg still stood there, a paper cup in each hand, watching her leave. As she accelerated down the street he tossed the cups into her outside garbage can with more force than he needed to.

He was pissed off but so was she. She wasn’t the type of woman to give in to a man’s demands or his emotional blackmail.

At least not anymore.

Chapter Four

‡

There was a giant bloodstain on the hotel carpet where Roger Gaines had lain face down after being shot but Jason only gave it a cursory glance. Instead he scanned the room from his vantage point near the door, trying to get an overall feel for the chain of events that had led to Gaines’s death. He’d probably never know what had exactly happened but he hoped to come as close as possible.

The forensic team had already combed the hotel room and surrounding area and collected any evidence left behind. The hotel management was pushing for the police to release the crime scene and this would be Jason’s one opportunity to see the room before it was cleaned up.

“Defensive wounds?” Jason asked. The room looked neat and tidy. No sign of any struggle.

“The autopsy is today but from the preliminary report? None.”

Jason turned to his left where a table and two chairs sat in front of the large window that overlooked the parking lot. Stepping back so he could get a better view, he knelt down to study the worn carpet.

“These chairs have been moved. You can see the indentations on the carpet where they normally rest. He may have had a visitor. They could have sat here. Did forensics collect any food or glasses?”

“One glass of water in a plastic cup,” West replied crisply. “And anyone could have moved those chairs. Even the maid, just to vacuum.”

Jason stood and inspected the table, worn and scarred from years of use. Any mark here wasn’t going to help the investigation.

“Hairs and fibers? Fingerprints?”

“Forensics took out hair samples from at least four different people plus dozens of fingerprints all over the room.” West grimaced and shuddered. “This place was a germaphobe’s nightmare. It makes even me not want to stay in a hotel ever again. Disgusting.”

Hotel rooms were some of the worst crime scenes and for good reason. By their very nature, people were in and out of them randomly. If the average American knew what had been deposited on the surfaces and bedspreads they’d be appalled.

“And he fell here.” Jason stood over the bloodstain that had turned brown. “This is halfway between the table and the closet. Was anything found in there?”

“A couple of shirts hung up and an extra pair of shoes.”

Jason walked back and forth between the spot of the body and the door, trying to picture what had happened. Images played like a movie through his brain before being rejected one by one until he found the one that spoke to him.

He could see it now. It was fuzzy but he had the bare bones of the events.

“The killer knocked on the door and the victim answered it. He knew the killer or was expecting him.” Jason pointed to the table. “They sat there and had something to drink.”

“But we only found one cup,” West interjected. “And there was nothing in the garbage like a can of soda or anything.”

“Look at how the cups are lined up on the dresser. There’s three plastic cups stacked together and one on its own. That says to me that two glasses are missing. Check in the other rooms to see how many plastic cups are normally stocked but I’m betting it’s six.”

“Jesus, you’re spooky. Since when do you concentrate on little details like that?”

Since they saved my life.

“Age and wisdom, little brother. I’ve got a few more years doing this under my belt, that’s all.”

“Well, color me impressed. What else do you know?”

“I don’t know for sure. I’m only giving my opinion.” The events kept playing through his mind, clearer now than they had been even a few minutes ago. “There was no garbage? I think that’s pretty strange when you look at the lax housekeeping here. I think the killer sat and had a drink with Gaines. They talked. Gaines got up and started walking to the closet. That’s when the killer shot him. Then he cleaned up, probably taking the garbage with him and throwing it away in a dumpster nearby. I’d have your guys check within a mile area. The only thing I’m uncertain about is how he had time to clean the room up. A gunshot makes noise.”

“That I can answer.” West pointed to an area near the table and chairs. “Forensics recovered pieces of plastic over here. My guess is the killer used a poor man’s silencer to muffle the sound.”

“A plastic soda bottle? Our killer may not be an amateur. He may have killed before.”

West shrugged carelessly. “Or he watches CSI or true crime shows. Anyone with a cable subscription can watch that stuff twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

Why anyone would want to Jason couldn’t fathom, but then crime wasn’t entertainment for him. It was his job.

“Did you find a laptop or a tablet? A phone? Gaines was in his twenties and I would imagine he had at least one of those items.”

“I think you’re right but we didn’t find any. My guess is the killer took off with them. That’s why we initially thought this might be a robbery. The manager said Gaines was carrying a laptop case over his shoulder when he checked in.”

“That underlines my theory that Gaines knew his killer. Maybe the killer wanted whatever Gaines had on his laptop?”

“An unemployed kid who lives over his brother’s garage? What would he have?” West grinned and shook his head. “What is he—some kind of secret spy? Maybe you should check some of your government contacts.”

“I will, but I doubt it. A secret spy wouldn’t be naive enough to keep sensitive information on their laptop.”

West snapped his fingers, his brows shooting upward. “What about blackmail? This kid doesn’t have a dime. He finds something out about someone and tells them he’ll reveal it unless they pay.”

That sounded like a decent hypothesis. One Jason could work with.

“We need to talk to his brother and some of his friends. Maybe he had a backup system at home and we can pull documents from there.”

“I’ve got a call into his brother. Hopefully he can point us to his friends. Have you seen everything here that you needed? I’m going to release the crime scene to Stan.”

The room didn’t have any more secrets to reveal. And of course there was always the possibility that he was way off base with his proposed chain of events. The forensics and the autopsy would tell them more.

“I’ve got what I need.”

West checked his watch and groaned. “Good. I’m supposed to meet with the mayor about the budget for the next fiscal year. He’s complaining that the lab costs for DNA and fingerprints are blowing us out of the water.”