Part 15 (1/2)
”I took Jess to that party.” Josh sat heavily on one of the two kitchen chairs. ”She was acting weird that night. I should have stayed with her. She would still be alive.”
”Josh, you don't know that. You don't know what might have happened. What do you mean Jess was acting weird?”
”Just, I don't know, skittish. Stressed. I thought it was because of her cla.s.ses; she was taking a tough schedule. She couldn't relax. And then she asked if I'd take her to the party, and I thought it was her way of making up, but then she was all weird about that, too. She didn't talk on the subway, and I was mad because she wouldn't tell me what was going on. Why wouldn't she talk to me? Am I that big of a jerk?”
Lucy touched his arm lightly. ”She asked you to take her to the party. That says something, don't you think?”
”Then why didn't she ask me to stay with her? If she was scared of something, why didn't she want me to protect her? And why go to the party in the first place?”
An excellent question. Lucy suspected the answer also had to do with why Kirsten went to the party. Maybe it wasn't that Jessie was scared for herself-maybe she wanted to tell Kirsten to be careful.
”Josh,” she said, sliding over one of her new cards, ”here's my number. If Ashleigh contacts you, would you please let me know? It's important. If she's in trouble, we can help. And if she knows anything about who killed Jessica, we can protect her.”
He stared at the card.
”Do you think Wade Barnett killed her?” Josh asked.
Lucy hesitated. She didn't want to admit that she didn't know who Wade Barnett was, but at the same time, she wanted to know why Josh had asked the question.
She replied, ”I can't honestly say; I'm not investigating her murder. Did he know Ashleigh or Jessica?”
”I think Jess met him, here at one of my parties.”
”One of the underground parties?”
”No, right here.” He waved his arm around his s.p.a.ce. ”I have five neighbors on the floor, and they're cool with it. My friend across the hall opens up his apartment and we take over the floor. A couple times a year.”
”Was Ashleigh at any of those parties?”
”Maybe. I don't remember. She always disappeared when I was sober, and really, I just wanted to be with Jess. I should have told her how I felt about her; I just thought-I don't know, we're both in college, we both like to have fun.” He shrugged, his eyes red.
”Did the police mention Wade Barnett as a suspect?” she asked, surprised.
”No, I told the cops about him. They were asking about the underground parties and I said they should talk to him because he keeps tabs on the best parties.”
”Did you see him at the party where Jessica died?”
”No,” Josh admitted, ”but there were hundreds of people there.”
”I'm sure the police talked to him, and they know what they're doing. Let them do their job. I need to do mine. Remember, if you hear from Ashleigh-or even talk to someone who heard from her-call me. It's important.”
Sean wasn't entirely comfortable leaving Lucy on her own the first time she was in New York City, but she wasn't reckless and he wanted her to rebuild her shattered confidence. He'd left her a block from Jessica's apartment, and the cathedral would provide a distraction if she was done early. Still, he wanted to get his trip to Brooklyn over with as quickly as possible.
The three-story, U-shaped Clover Motel looked much better online. Situated in a desolate neighborhood, with faded blue paint, peeling in more places than not, its weather-damaged doors might have once been green but now looked puce. The entire structure and grounds were in dire need of repair. There didn't seem to be much of anything in the area except a few businesses and several boarded-up buildings.
Sean parked where he could see his GT from the office. The room was small, and the clerk sat behind a thick sheet of Plexiglas.
”Sixty-four dollars a night single room, or three hundred for the week, paid up front.”
Sean said, ”I'm a P.I. looking for a missing girl.”
The clerk looked at him with disinterest. He was chewing tobacco, his lips stained, a bit of snuff caught in his greasy black mustache. ”So?”
Sean held up the picture of Kirsten. ”She called the motel a week ago, on Friday, about eleven p.m.”
”Like I'm going to remember a call.”
”Do you recognize her?”
He shrugged, but Sean saw him looking closely while pretending to be nonchalant.
Sean slid him a twenty through the narrow slot in the window. ”Well?”
”She rented a room for two nights. Paid cash.”
”Was she with anyone?”
”Not that I saw.”
”When did she check out?”
”She didn't. People don't check out all the time, they just leave the key. I didn't think anything of it until the maid got there Monday to change the sheets and found her suitcase.”
”Did you call her?”
The clerk sighed and spat a wad of chaw into the cup. ”Nope.”
”Where's her suitcase now?”
”In the back.”
Sean tempered his anger at the drawn-out questions and answers. The clerk knew what he wanted.
He slid another twenty through the slot. ”Can I see it?”
The clerk palmed the twenty and slowly stood and sauntered across his small s.p.a.ce. He reached under a table and pulled out a small black suitcase with wheels, the kind seen en ma.s.se at any airport. Bright pink duct tape had been wrapped around the handle.
The clerk opened the door and handed Sean the suitcase. ”It's all yours; just sign a receipt. I'm keeping her deposit, because she didn't leave the key-it wasn't in the room. You know how much it costs to rekey the locks in this place?”
The clerk wrote out a sloppy note, and Sean scribbled a signature.
”When did you last see her?”
”I checked her in late Friday, but I don't work weekends.”
”Had she stayed here before?”