"I remember he told me that she was more than twice his age and a real woman. Not like the college girls we hang around with. I told him to not be so fucking moronic and to think about this for a minute. He wouldn't have any of it. I remember I told him to think about twenty years from now when he is her age now and she is like all sixty and nasty. He told me he didn't care. I mean, really though, like it was really gonna last, anyway."
"Was there anything else you remember him saying about her? This is important."
"I dunno man, I think I asked where someone his age would even met an old lady. I remember he told me the hotel bar."
And we're right back at a hotel! "Did he say which hotel?!" I practically was yelling with anticipation now.
"Woah, calm down Homes, he didn't say. I just assumed it was a hotel downtown. They have a few nicer ones that way. See, we got these fake IDs a while back so we've been known to cruise downtown and tie one on, ya know. We've never been turned away yet, but that area is the only area we ever tried it in, ya know, so that’s why I assumed."
"Was it the Mon Signor?"
"Yeah, could have been if he met an older lady. That place is a little classier than most, you could say."
"When you say you would cruise down there, does that mean he has a car?"
"Naw man, I have the car. It's not much but it gets me where I need to go, ya know?" He let out a little laugh after he thought about his car. It sounded like a fine automobile.
"Do you happen to have his phone number handy? I have it somewhere but if you could just save me the hassle, I'd really..."
"Yeah, I've got it," he interrupted. He turned on his phone then read me the number aloud. I quickly scribbled it on the same piece of paper I was holding with their dorm room number on it.
"Did he have his phone on him when he left the dorm?"
"Yeah, I'm sure of it. I remember him saying he had to go to downstairs and call her. She was going to pick him up right then and there."
"Thank you so much, Alan, you have no idea how much of a help you've been."
"It's cool, man. But hey, do me a favor, when you find him, tell him to get his ass back in school. Shit is boring without him around.”
"I will." I didn't have the heart to tell him it would be impossible. I downed my Rockstar then walked out the door, closing it behind me.
Back to the Mon Signor Hotel I go.
18.
I arrived back at the hotel, parked in the same area as before, and waited. What is it about this place? Why am I not being able to figure it all out?
I dialed Detective Anderson's number and filled him in on what I discovered with Wayne Brandon's roommate. Anderson informed me he and Enzite were working on the medical records for the blood type and that they should have it very soon. They were also juggling a few other things with both cases and they would soon be heading to Amanda Colley's house to ask neighbors if they saw anything, even though that seemed to be a long shot now that we know the time of her death. He said he'd get back to me as soon as they had anything.
I hung up and dialed Elise just to check in and let her know where I was and to not be worried about me being missing. She wished me good luck and I told her I would check in again soon. Eric grabbed the phone when I was getting ready to hang up and yelled Hi Uncle Archie! I responded with a Hi Eric in the same tone. It was a good way to end the call. I hung up and went back to thinking.
I tried to take inventory in my brain of all the facts I had collected thus far. The pieces seemed to fit but I couldn't make them all go together. I was missing a large section and I needed to find them before I could proceed any farther.
From where I was parked, I had a good view of the main entrance of the hotel and of the parking area. If there was something for me to see, I would be able to see it from my post. Problem was, I still didn't know what I was looking for and it was frustrating me. I gave thought to going into the hotel and waiting but decided I was more comfortable here in the confines of my car. I cracked open another Sugar-Free Rockstar.
My phone went off a few minutes later. Anderson again.
"Hey Archie, got some news for ya."
"Shoot."
"Ok, turns out Wayne Brandon's blood type was oh-positive and guess what the type was from the trunk?"
"Tell me."
"Oh-positive. Won't hold up in court but it's good enough for me."
"Me too."
I could tell his voice had a hint of excitement in it. "And get this. The lab nerds were able to pull a couple usable prints from the bottle of lighter fluid and made a partial match to a smudged print on the steering wheel. I think we found our man. If this guy has a record or anything, we'll have him in a few minutes. What about you? Anything going on at the hotel?"
"Not a single thing," I said. "I don't even know what I think I'm going to find. A few times I even hoped I would see the taxi come cruising up, then I realize that, duh, you guys have it."
"Well we'll get that M.P. list to you soon and you can work with that. In fact, what's your angle on that one?"
"Actually, I'm not sure about that, either," I said. "Just going on a hunch, but so far I know I have one missing girl and one dead boy who all trace back to this hotel. Give me some time on it, I'll figure it out."
"Keep your phone charged, I'll be calling back soon with this asshole's name. Sit tight," he instructed, then hung up.
I looked up at the hotel again and saw the woman I had previously talked to in the lobby, the one who was told to ask Mallory to leave. I decided to ask her a few questions. If I hurried, I could cut her off before she got inside. I quickly got up and ran over to her as she exited the parking lot. Sadly, I was already out of breath from my short jog and sweating from the pain; add to that my unkempt, lame mustache and I must have appeared as quite the creeper. I decided to try anyway. "Excuse me, Miss," I said, trying to calm my breath. Pathetic.
She seemed startled at first then vaguely recognized me, I think. "Yes?"
"Do you remember me, ma’am? We spoke a few weeks ago. You made a girl leave the front of the property. Do you recall?"
"Yes, yes I remember. Jesus Christ, it looks like you were hit by a bus."
"Close."
"Well, what do you want?"
"Do me a favor, and just keep this between us. I don't want to cause you any problems with your management or anything. I just have a few follow-up questions regarding that girl and I'll only take a couple minutes. There's twenty bucks in it for ya for two minutes of your time."
"Yeah ok, let’s see the money." I took out my wallet and handed her a twenty dollar bill. She inspected it as if it may be counterfeit, and then stuffed it into her pocket. "Ok, you've got two minutes."
"Thanks. First off, have you noticed anything suspicious going on inside your work?"
"You mean besides the asshole managers treating the staff like shit?"
"Yeah, I just mean anything that struck you as kind of odd?"
"No, nothing really I can think of off-hand. You still haven't been able to locate that girl?"
"Unfortunately, no. Let me ask you this, how long had she been hanging out around outside?"
"I'm not really sure. Do you mean that day, or in general?"
"Both," I answered, "if you can remember."
"It wasn't very long that day, maybe an hour or so. I didn’t notice her right away, so she could have been there longer. But I had seen her around for a while before that. She had been out there a few days prior. She'd even been inside a few times and tried to sit at the bar. We had to make her leave though; she was underage and had no money."
"I see, so what made you tell her to leave this time?"
"It wasn't my idea. I really didn't care either way. I felt bad for the girl. She looked little. But I guess Carl had had enough of her that day and just told me to go and make her leave."
"Why didn't he tell her himself to leave?"
"Becaus
e he's a pussy manager and pussy managers never do anything themselves, they always have us do it, even if it is not our job or problem. I couldn't have cared less if she lived out front of this place. She wasn't bothering me any. I guess my manager just felt like being a prick that day."
"Yeah, that happens a lot with managers."
"Ha, yeah. Especially bald, asshole managers," she said. I smiled. I was beginning to like this girl.
"Ya know what? I haven’t even caught your name yet.”
"It's Hayley."
"Hi Hayley, I'm Archie."
"I'm pretty sure your two minutes are up."
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you're right. Thank you for your time."
"No problem, I've gotta get in to work now."
"One more thing," I said. "Your manager, he never had you ask that girl to leave before that day?"
"No. He actually talked about her to me once. Nothing important, I just remember him asking me what I thought her story was."
"And what did you say?"
"I said I didn't know. I still don't. He asked if I thought she was just a runaway or something. I said I guess. Oh shit, ya know what? I remember him saying something like People like that could just vanish from the face of the earth and never be missed. Seemed a little morbid but I didn't think anything about it at the time. I guess he was wrong though."
"Whatta ya mean?"
"She seems to be being missed by someone," she said. I nodded in agreement. "Good day, Mr. Archie."
"Thank you Hayley. I hope I didn't make you late. Remember, just between me and you, okay."
"Don't worry, I don't tell management shit."
I went back to my car and quickly added Hayley to my Friends List in my file, right under Alan Simpkins. I unlocked my glove box and made sure my gun was still there. It was. I closed the glove box door but kept it unlocked this time. You never know. I was starting to get the idea that Mr. Carl J. Bollanger, Manager, knew quite a bit more than he led on. When he was an asshole to me before, I just took that as being because I was snooping around his business, same as when he lied and said he couldn't print copies from his surveillance videos, which I knew to be bullshit. But now, I'm thinking maybe I was wrong and this asshole just jumped pretty high on my Suspicious List.
I flipped down the vanity mirror and checked my appearance. I still had yet to shave but somehow my beard had already out-grown my pathetic attempt at a mustache. How was that even possible? My phone rang and snapped me from my thoughts.
"Yello?"
"Archie, it's Detective Enzite."
"What’s up, Stabone?"
"My partner told me to call you. He's down in the lab but he wanted you to know we got a hit on the prints. Guy's name is James McKigney."
"Is he any relation to Ray McKigney, the masturbating hand model?"
"What?"
"Seriously, nobody watches Sein..." I was interrupted.
"Look man, James McKigney, we tracked him to a little apartment he rents about five miles away. Anderson is on his way up from the lab and we're going in full force. We've got a whole unit on it."
I could tell Enzite still wasn't very fond of having to report to a pathetic cop-wannabe P.I. I could hear the bitterness in his voice. It was the main reason why I kept poking fun at his name. If you're gonna hate me, I say, I may as well give you a good reason to. "Thanks for the update. I really appreciate it. Can I come along on this raid?" Of course not, just trying to get a rise out of him. Haha, get it? A rise? Where’s Max when I need him?
"Abso-fucking-lutely not!" he yelled and hung up the phone. It was the answer I obviously expected. I hung up and saved Enzite's number in my contacts list then opened the Paint app on my phone and quickly doodled a picture of a smiling penis with a badge. I assigned the picture to Enzite's contact information.
I guess I had nothing to do now except wait. I started up a game of cribbage on my iPad and sat in silence as I got my ass worked over by my computer opponent.
After draining close to fifty percent of my iPad battery on games and a Netflix-streaming episode of Mr. Belvedere, my phone went off. I checked the ID and saw it was Anderson. I answered hoping for some good news. By the way he answered my Hello, I could tell I wasn't going to get it.
"What's up, Detective? You didn't get him?"
"I really wanted to nail this fucker for you, man. I'm sorry."
"Why for me? It's okay, we'll get him. What happened?"
"Well, he has this apartment in this piece of shit complex called The King’s Arms, over there on California Avenue, right. Well, we went in full force on the place, only there was no one there, of course. The office manager said he hadn't seen this prick in a few days and he was very rarely there to begin with. He had the apartment right caddy-corner to his. I asked him if he ever noticed a cab in the parking lot and he said no, so I don't know. Maybe he is shacked up with some broad somewhere or something and only uses this place on occasion. We're working on getting more information; it'll just take some time."
There was something off about the way the Detective's voice was, like it was hiding nervousness. But nervousness about what?
"Anything else, Detective," I asked.
"Yeah, uh Archie, there's another thing."
Here it came.
"Do you know how ballistic tests work?" he asked.
"Like, for guns and stuff?"
"Yeah."
"No, I have no idea. They use markings or something to determine what gun fired what bullet or something like that, but that’s all I've got on it. I know a ballistics test ruled out my gun killed my wife, so that's good. What about them, Detective?"
"It's not just guns to bullets," he said. "Ballistics tests are used to match a gun owner with a bullet fired from his gun and is pretty damning evidence against the guy, as you know. Does that make sense?"
"I think so," I answered.
"Okay. But, you can also match a bullet at a crime scene from a bullet used in a previous crime and get an idea that the same person committed both crimes. Every bullet fired has on it what is called a gun print. Think of it like a fingerprint. Just as everyone’s fingers have different prints, every gun has distinct markings inside the barrel, like little ridges. Well, when the bullet is fired and is accelerating and spinning through the barrel on its way to shooting out, the ridges in the barrel carve little grooves into the bullet. This is what makes it like a fingerprint. When a bullet is recovered from a crime scene, they can do a search to see if the gun that fired that bullet was used in any other shootings. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I get it Detective. What are you getting at? Did you run the bullet from Wayne Brandon?"
"Yeah, they've been working on it all morning. That's where I was when Enzite called you and told you about our raid."
He was stalling and I didn't like where this conversation was headed. I had a pit in my stomach. "So, what are you telling me here, Detective? Is it Mallory?"
"Well, we were able to match the bullet from Mr. Brandon to another recent murder."
I closed my eyes and waited to see where his story was going to take me. I started to get a really bad feeling about my missing girl, now. They had to have found her murdered. I took a deep breath as he started talking again.
"I'm sorry, Archie, but the bullet we dug out of Wayne Brandon's skull was fired from the same gun that killed your wife."
19.
I lowered my phone from my ear when I heard the news and I could still hear Detective Anderson calling my name from the other end of the line before I eventually managed to just hang up. The pain of being slammed into by a car was nothing to the pain that was overtaking my entire body at that moment. I was becoming overwhelmed with emotions of pure anger and horrible sadness. I didn't know what to do, I was going to lose it.
Anger was beginning to take over all other emotion and I could feel myself trembling. My vision was becoming tunneled and I could feel the walls clos
ing in on me. I started punching my windshield, hard. The first punch split apart the skin from my knuckles and each repeated punch smeared blood on the windshield until it finally cracked. I didn't stop punching until little shards of glass were embedded throughout my fingers. I then began sobbing uncontrollably.
It was at least ten minutes before I could pull myself together enough to actually think. My hand throbbed in pain as I attempted to pull out the pieces of glass, and blood was running down my arm. I reached to my backseat and felt around until I found a dirty old sweatshirt amongst the tons of Rockstar cans. I grabbed my little pocketknife from my center console, cut off a small bit of cloth and wrapped it around my hand. It still hurt.
I closed my eyes and tried to think what possible connection a killer could have to a college kid and my wife. It wasn't making sense to me and it was just making me worse.
A guy breaks into my house and kills my wife then a few weeks later kills a kid in a field and burns him? What is the connection? I looked up at the hotel and tried to think if my wife had ever been here. Not to my knowledge, she hadn't.
I reached for my phone, which fell down on the floorboards. I dialed Elise's number.
"Hey, Arch, what's up?"
"Did Marianne ever mention the Mon Signor Hotel to you?"
"What? Archie, are you..."
I interrupted, "The Mon Signor Hotel, Elise. Did she ever mention it to you?"
"What, no, not that I can think of. Archie, what’s wrong? What happened?"
"I'll tell you later." I hung up and stared at my phone for a second, hoping it would give me a clue.
Think god damn-it. There has to be a link somewhere. I just can’t find it. I could feel another attack coming on if I didn't do something about it really soon. I turned my gaze from the phone back to the hotel just in time to see Carl J. Bollanger exiting his fine establishment and heading towards the parking garage. My gut instinct told me that if he wasn't the link, he could probably give me a pretty good idea who was. I was very rarely wrong when my instinct felt so right. I put my phone and my keys in my pocket.