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Noah was on his fifth black coffee by three o’clock the next afternoon as he toured Dickinson around the Travel Resort Motel property. He used to wear a suit while he worked, but it wasn’t practical in the end. His default uniform was jeans, running shoes, a dress shirt, and a suit jacket. The shoulder harness was replaced with a holster for the Glock 17 on his right hip. Since Angie’s promotion to sergeant, she had worn much the same clothing, opting for comfort and practicality.
He passed her the photos and the AS-32(a) report (initial form including sketches and distances) as they stood in front of the motel room.
“The Taylor family arrived at 18:53 on August third and checked in with the office. Joe Taylor moved their vehicle and parked in front of room eight, ten minutes later.”
Angie studied the eight-by-ten pictures, then the building. “Not much has changed.”
The motel’s shape resembled a long L, with twenty-four rooms that faced the parking lot. The office was next to the road, with ice and vending machines underneath the overhang—the sign on the road advertised air-conditioning and free Wi-Fi with each room. The red sheet-metal roof had faded with time, giving the building a worn-down look.
“Why did Joe go back to the office after he parked the car?” Angie looked across the parking lot. The office was one hundred feet away at the end of the building.
Noah read the report typed from his notes. “The couple in room nine was loud, and he wanted to see if there was another room available.”
The rooms were in numerical order, and room nine shared the same wall as eight.
“Do you think we can see inside?”
“Let’s see if it’s vacant, just to have a quick peek.”
Despite having the interior pictures, it didn’t compare with seeing it in person. When they walked into the office, silver bells hanging off the hinge rang, announcing a customer.
A chest-height check-in counter stood next to a display filled with local attractions and restaurants pamphlets. Large windows showed views of the interstate on one side and the parking lot on the opposite.
Noah eyed the coffeemaker and stepped forward but was interrupted when a young blonde woman came out of the offices.
“Detective Hunter and Sergeant Dickinson, APPD.” Noah flashed his badge and identification. “Could we get the key to room eight? It will be only for a few minutes.”
The nametag on the woman’s shirt read Sandy. “Is there something wrong? That unit has been vacant for weeks.”
“We’re following up on an old case.”
Sandy frowned but nodded. “That won’t be a problem.”
Noah walked across the parking lot two minutes later with a white security key card. Inside the room, two double beds were on the north wall with a nightstand between them. A large dresser filled the opposite wall, with a flat-screen television next to a small coffeemaker. A small pedestal table and chairs were inside the door, underneath the front window.
Noah headed to the closet next to the bathroom door. “This is where Leslie Taylor placed the bags, then washed her hands. When she returned to the car, she found the rear door open, and Angela was missing. The call came in at 19:04, and we were on scene within six minutes.”
Dickinson opened the closet door before inspecting the standard motel bathroom. “Are the curtains open all the time, or would they be closed when she first walked into the room?”
Noah flipped through the typed notes and reports. The half-inch stack was freshly printed. “Not recorded. Hold on.”
There was only one other car in the parking lot. He walked under the overhang and checked a few different rooms before returning.
“It looks like the vacant rooms have the curtains drawn. But, I’m not sure how they were eighteen years ago.”
Noah wasn’t sure of his memory. The minor details had faded or were misremembered. Angie opened the drapes above the small table and stood in front of the closet. Noah could see her reflection in the mirrored door.
“Because, if I’m standing here, with the curtains open, I can see where they parked. Same as the bathroom.”
Straight ahead inside the bathroom, a large mirror ran the length of the wall above the sink and counter. Glasses with paper caps and wrapped soaps awaited the next occupant.
Noah stood at the sink. “They would have had a full visual and even partial if the door was left open from this angle.”
“Stay there for a second, and I’ll move the cruiser.” Noah left the door and curtains open. Seconds later, he stood at the vehicle’s rear door and left it open. He could see straight into the bathroom from that location, and when Dickinson stood near the closet, he could see her through the window.
Noah looked around the parking lot and at the front office as he stood outside. He could see the young woman behind the counter watching. There were no blinds or curtains in the office. Anyone behind or in front of the counter would have a full view of the parking lot.
Angie joined him beside the cruiser. “Unless things have changed in the last eighteen years, they should have seen everything.”
Noah slowly nodded. He should have noticed this eighteen years ago, and the fact that the girl’s parents didn’t mention they had line-of-sight to their vehicle raised a red flag. His sense of unease increased.
“I can only guess that the curtains were closed, and the clerk was busy. Let’s head back to the station and start going through the full file, step by step.”
*****
DRESS SHOES CLICKED against the polished stone floor as she strode around the older man with the red dust broom and his veteran’s ballcap.
“Sorry, Andy.”
“No problem, ma’am.”
He had kept the lobby clean for over thirty years, and everyone knew Andy. However, she didn’t have time to talk. The woman absently smoothed the gray dress suit and tucked the file folder under her left arm as she continued.
She passed the one-hundred and thirty-three stars engraved into the marble wall, as well as the black book encased in a display of steel and glass. Her passing caused the American flag to stir as she reached for the myriad of security passes and identifications that hung around her neck. Next to the staircase, the black security door had a card reader and a biometric scanner, and it took the woman a few seconds to find the correct card before she was through.
The thirty-foot hallway ended at the door with a wooden plaque. The Latin motto was engraved in large letters, Tertia Optio. Directly translated, ‘a third alternative,’ more commonly known as ‘the third option.’
Yet another security card opened the door, and she walked into the small set of offices. She took a moment to look in the mirror behind the display cabinet and fix her hair. The stress of the job had aged her. Despite being sixty-five years old, the woman could have passed for seventy on a good day, but typically older. Her once long blond hair was now short, streaked with gray, and cut over her ears. The lines on her face had deepened over the years, and her oval glasses would slide down her nose when she bent forward. She would always stand with her shoulders back, and head held high to avoid this.
The woman knocked on the middle office door, looked up at the wall and ceiling corner, and waited. It was hard to see the camera inside the black housing, but she knew it was there.
The lock clicked, and she stepped inside.
“It’s been a while since you’ve been here, Miriam. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The large office hadn’t changed in over two decades, and it still resembled a 1940’s cigar lounge with dark leather chairs. Law books and encyclopedias filled the floor-to-ceiling shelves. Six TV screens decorated the south wall and there was a small mahogany bar-cart beside the sizeable executive desk’s right side. This was the only office with a twenty-by-twenty-foot area rug in the entire building. Somehow it seemed to fit.
The gentleman stood when she entered, walked around the desk to give her a brief hug, and gestured to take a seat.
He was in his late seventies and wore his usual dark slacks and a golf shirt, and his short white hair resembled a military brush-cut.
“Is the room secure, Walter?”
He held a finger in the air, sat behind his desk, and flicked a switch inside the top drawer before nodding. “We’re good.”
All electronic communication now ended at the walls. Nothing could be broadcasted nor be received. They couldn’t do anything about internal recording devices, but a crew swept the room weekly.
Miriam relaxed into the comfortable leather chair while Walter sat across from her. He gestured to the bar, and she shook her head. “I only have a few minutes before I have to go.”
She handed him the file folder while he pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his breast pocket and studied the reports.
When he frowned, the lines on his forehead deepened. Miriam knew he had finished the first-page summary.
Once he completed the remainder, he folded his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “How many others know this information?”
“Including us, only four.”
Walter nodded before he passed over the paperwork. “All roads will lead to a dead end. I’ll make sure the Florida field office acts accordingly.”
Miriam stood. “I thought you should be aware.”
“I appreciate the heads-up. It’s been a while. Dinner sometime?”
Walter gave her another brief hug after they stood. A sheet of paper fell out of the folder and landed at his feet. He picked up the FD-258 form and handed it over.
“I’ll give you a call if there is any new information. No need to wait for our next meeting.” With a half-smile, she left without a response to his question. Some things she wasn’t willing to forget.
However, Miriam could not see the cold, deadpan look that overcame Walter’s face as he watched her leave. Not looking back would cost her dearly.