We’d waited a half hour outside the broken door, which we’d promised Betty the precinct would pay for. Forensics was on their way, and Tapper said he would be about fifteen minutes behind them. He was finishing up Brandon Ellis’s autopsy, and like John’s, the cause of death was battery to the head.
Martin and Billy arrived ten minutes after Royce made the call. We followed them into the bathroom and peered over Martin’s shoulder as he unwrapped the towel.
“You sure this is your guy?”
I craned my neck and looked down. Abraham was bald. “It has to be. Look how long his body is. He probably shaved his head after the car accident since the witnesses could describe him.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” Martin sighed. “Looks like knife wounds. I don’t see any gunpowder burns or large exit holes. Can’t tell you definitively. That’s Tapper’s job. Just my best guess.”
“Appreciate it,” Royce said.
“Okay, we’ll take our pictures and move into the other room so Tapper can comfortably do his field exam without us in the way.”
We backed out of the bathroom and, with our gloves on, began to search the main room. It was apparent the room had been tossed. Whoever had dumped Abraham there was looking for something. Whether they found it or not was an unknown.
With my phone’s flashlight illuminated and on my hands and knees, I saw something that shouldn’t be under a dresser. “Hey, check this out.”
I slid out a canvas pack rolled tightly and secured with straps. I placed it on the bed and called out to Martin, the cameraman for the day.
“Martin, I need you out here for a minute.”
He joined us at the bed. “Whatcha got?”
“Not sure yet, but take a picture of the pack as it is and then after I open it.”
“You bet.”
I waited as he snapped a few photos, then I got his nod to continue. I untied the straps and unrolled the pack. Inside were cloth compartments, each containing a very sharp knife. The variety was impressive. Large and small, thin and wide, and all stainless steel. A snapped pouch at the very end caught my eye. I waited until Martin had finished taking more pictures before I opened it. When I did, I found a gold mine. A 9mm handgun sat in the pouch along with a silencer to fit it. “Bingo.” I backed away and let Martin have at it.
That was the proof we needed of Abraham’s involvement in the murders. I wondered if it mattered now that he was dead, yet it was more than obvious another person was pulling the proverbial strings—somebody even more dangerous than Abraham.
My mind spun. We’d been chasing a killer, and now that killer was dead but killed by whom?
I stared at Royce and the others. “Do you think Abraham had an accomplice, and who the hell would that person be? Why would one partner kill the other, and who is big enough and strong enough to overpower Abraham, let alone get him into that bathtub?” I looked around and didn’t see signs of a struggle in the motel room. “He was killed somewhere else and dumped here, but why bother? And where’s that green truck?”
Royce turned his palm toward me. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. First, go outside and see if there are any cameras. Find out if the neighboring rooms are actually occupied, then bang on the doors and ask if anyone saw or heard anything in the last day or so that seemed out of the ordinary.” He swirled his finger above his head. “Get busy, all of you. We need answers and we need them now!” Just then, Tapper and Terry walked in. Royce pointed toward the bathroom. “The deceased is in there.”
We left the room and talked on the sidewalk. Lawrence and Bentley would take charge of the door knocking, and Rue and I would search for cameras. I wasn’t optimistic since we were at a cheap, privately owned motel. From the looks of it, the number of guest rooms didn’t warrant a surveillance system.
After we knocked on the office door and called out to Betty, she allowed us in. We questioned her about everything she knew of Mr. Matson, his comings and goings, and whether he’d had any guests during his stay.
“I’m sorry, Detectives, but unless the bell alerts me when the office door opens, I’m usually in our private quarters in the back.”
My eyes darted around the room. “Any cameras inside here that show the person entering?”
She sighed. “I’m sorry but no. I depend on the bell to alert me.”
“So no concerns about the wrong type of character walking in?” I didn’t want to frighten her, and in hindsight, it probably didn’t matter. She’d had a killer staying at her motel for two weeks, and she’d had no knowledge of the situation, but he never posed her any harm.
“All I can say, Detective Cannon, is that in the twenty-five years my husband and I have owned this place, we’ve never had an issue.”
“Speaking of him, where is your husband?”
She stared at the floor. “The virus got him last year.”
“Sorry to hear that. You have our condolences, ma’am.”
She nodded.
“I’m sure you can tell by the coroner’s presence, the man in room seven has passed away. Right now, that room is considered a crime scene. How many guests are occupying the other rooms right now?”
She tapped the computer keys. “Including Mr. Matson, there are nine occupied rooms out of the fifteen we have.”
“Okay. Our detectives are interviewing those guests as we speak. Sorry to shed a bad light on your motel, but we don’t have a choice.”
“I understand.”
“Thank you, Betty. We’ll let you know what’s going on before we clear out of here. There’s a service we use that’ll take care of the door repairs and bill the precinct.”
She thanked us, then Rue and I walked out and met up with Royce. We headed back inside to get an estimated time of death from Tapper.
The car accident had happened on Tuesday, and Abraham had been in the wind since then. Nancy saw him arrive later in the day at Brandon’s house with what she described as a green truck, yet no green trucks had been reported stolen in the last month. I wondered whether her recollection was accurate. I shook off that thought and went back to recounting the timeline. Abraham was last spotted late Tuesday afternoon. Before we arrived on scene at the motel, anyone who knew him would have had an opportunity to kill him. We just needed Tapper’s best estimate for the TOD.
“What do you think, pal?” Royce asked.
Tapper looked over his right shoulder at Royce standing in the doorway. “Thirty hours or less, since the rigor has subsided.”
That was our timeline. Abraham could have been killed the same night he took Brandon’s life or sometime yesterday. No matter what, he still appeared responsible for all of the murders up to his own.
I was sure Royce’s brain was as scrambled as mine. We’d finally caught up with our killer, and now we were starting over. No clues, no suspects, no logic—to any of it.
“Somebody brought him here and dumped him,” Royce said. “Hit the neighboring businesses for surveillance cameras. Someone turned into the parking lot here, backed up to room seven, and dragged that two-hundred-fifty-pound man into the room. I can’t believe nobody saw or heard anything!”
“Boss,” Bentley said, “the rooms on either side of number seven are vacant. If Abraham was brought here during the overnight hours, people were likely asleep or had their TVs on. Most people don’t pay a lot of attention to what other guests are doing in their rooms.”
Royce swatted the air. “I know, I know. I’m just blowing off steam. Go find cameras in retail locations that face this motel. I want a record of every vehicle that turned into this driveway and the time it happened.”