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Beth was lying against the propped-up pillows of her bed in the Grand, swallowing repeatedly but convinced the migraine pills she’d taken were no longer on their way back up. Dislocated morning sickness and jet lag had decided to get together with the trauma of the last hours, and her feet hung over the side of the mattress, ready to make a dash for the bathroom. It came in waves and she’d just ridden the last one out.
Her suitcase was part of a crime scene and she’d been informed she would only get it back when forensics was satisfied. She’d used the phone in her room to call her bank and been told she could use her credit card account number to withdraw cash. At least she could buy some new clothes.
Her hotel was indeed only a block away from the precinct, and there was a young uniformed police officer perched on a seat outside the door of her frowzy new room. Cabrini had promised to keep her posted, but she’d already been in the Grand for two hours and was getting increasingly nervous about providing specific details of the man she was meant to have met at the Oyster Shack.
She’d already attempted to buy the pills and a mineral water herself, but the officer had sent down for them. She may as well be in a cell. Beth guessed it was better than being held at the station but knew it was because they wanted her to be easily accessible.
She was just surfing the news channels again, looking for reports of the shooting on the boulevard, when her iPhone rang. Jody? It wasn’t his number and not one she recognised. Nausea briefly halted. Could it be the gunman trying to make contact? Should she even pick up? Surely he wouldn’t try anything under the nose of the police? Beth locked the door.
To her relief, it was Sauveterre. His voice exhibited an aloof mistrust, but he gave her the thirteen names of the witnesses on the coach. She quickly scribbled them down, immediately recognising Ferrand Paquet (the driver/Cigarillo Man), Trip Stillman and two others.
Spike Freeman and Kelcie Brooks.
Not only was it the same Spike who had been shot in the property in Kalispell, but it looked as if the woman who had defended her home had been on the coach as well. What the hell had gone on in that house? She found Kelcie Brooks’ Facebook page. Lots of photos of drunken college kids displayed there. Beth looked back through her old posts until she came to a blank square with a familiar name in the link below it.
If you still haven’t watched this crazy bitch yet please do so and make your contribution to the Kelcie Brooks retirement fund. Ker-ching!
To double-check Beth clicked the link and was taken to the empty YouTube page. Kelcie Brooks was smilingassassin.
Kelcie, Spike Freeman and Trip Stillman had all been murdered. That left her with another nine witnesses on the coach, bar Cigarillo Man. None of the names matched the other two intruders Kelcie had shot that had been mentioned in the online news story. Out of the five clips, it meant two people remaining had uploaded them. She had to warn them and find out why they might be being systematically hunted down, but which two were they?
One of the names on the list was Tyler O’Doole. A YouTube clip had been uploaded by ThatTODdude. She located seven Tyler O’Doole Facebook pages, but only one of them lived in Kalispell. He hadn’t posted since 2013. She noted one of his friends was Kevin O’Doole. It had to be his brother. She clicked to his page and saw that he’d posted that day. She requested friendship.
Should she be doing this on her iPhone? Maybe she was getting paranoid, but she could be showing the gunman exactly what she knew. He did have the number. She was surprised the Grand even had WiFi, but there was no computer in her room and she needed anonymous access. That was another reason to get out of the hotel.
What was the gunman doing in the meantime? Was Beth prepared to wait until he arrived? She thought of the receptionist with the hole in her chest and considered the young sentry outside her room. If he did come looking for Beth, did she really want to put anyone else in his sights?
She was still dizzy but climbed off the bed and let the room adjust before walking into the bathroom and looking around for inspiration. Her gaze halted on the sink. She turned the cold tap on and kept rotating until it started to unscrew. She twisted the metal grip all the way off and slid it into her sweats pocket. Beth tried to turn the metal pin of the tap but it was rigid. A pair of pliers would be required.
She walked to her door, unlocked and opened it. The gangly sentry using his Blackberry on a low padded stool outside immediately stood up, turned and smiled. He looked to be seven feet tall to Beth and his hat seemed too small for his head. His long eyelashes were fine filaments that matched his wispy blonde moustache.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m sorry. I would call room service but as you’re so handy...”
He raised his feint eyebrows.
“Bit of an emergency, the cold tap’s broken. D’you think you could have a look?”
The officer seemed relieved it was something he could handle and nodded emphatically.
Beth led him to the bathroom door and stood back. Hopefully, the gushing water would misdirect him from asking how the tap got turned on in the first place. He entered and tried gripping the pin of the tap firmly between his fingers and turning it. His face contorted and he grunted. No luck. He grabbed a towel from the rail to give him some more purchase and tried again. Beth hoped he didn’t have too much strength in his wrist.
“I’ll see if there’s anything in the desk we can use.” She walked away from the bathroom and strode faster as she left his line of vision. Beth kept padding through the door out into the corridor and headed for the elevator.
