“Could we get the names of your guests who had rooms last Thursday?” Amanda asked, hearing the long shot of the request. Longer still was that one would mean something to her and Trent.
“If you can get me a warrant.”
Amanda held up her index finger and spun. She made a call to Judge Anderson to see if he’d extend a verbal warrant. He did. She pivoted toward the counter, put the call tomute, and said to the clerk, “I have a judge on the line, if you’d like to confirm, but we have legal approval to look at your guest list.”
The clerk reached for her phone, and she took the call off mute. “This is Emanuel Acosta with Woodbridge Inn… yes… okay.” He handed the phone back to Amanda. The judge had hung up.
“All good?” she asked Emanuel.
“Yes, ma’am. One moment.” He tapped on his keyboard, and the printer next to his monitor whirred to life. “Here you go.” He snatched the page off the machine and laid it on the counter, a move he’d no doubt made a million times when presenting room bills to clients.
Amanda moved down the counter with Trent when a customer came in. None of the names were meaning anything to her until she got to Brianna Morris. She pointed to the entry and across to the column that showed her checkout date was open-ended.
“So Brianna’s husband wasn’t far off the mark when he said she was shacked up in a hotel somewhere,” she said.
“Sure, but here’s the thing… It would seem that Claire came here to see Brianna. How did Claire know where to find her? Claire didn’t have a phone that we know of, and she didn’t make calls from the hotel.”
“Not from her room. She could have called from the lobby or used a payphone somewhere else and got the information out of Brianna’s husband. Still, that would raise the point that Claire must have kept tabs on her all these years. And if she watched over Brianna, maybe she watched everyone else too—Michelle, Logan, Rita. It must have broken Claire’s heart leaving behind her husband and sister, more than you and I can imagine.”
“I’ll reserve judgment on that for now. Let’s see if Brianna’s in. Room eight fifteen.”
They loaded onto the elevator and went up to the eighth floor. Room 815 was to the left.
Trent knocked, and there was no way Brianna wasn’t hearing it if she was inside.
“Try again, I guess.” Amanda had this horrid feeling that something might be wrong. Claire, then Rita. Had their killer got to Brianna too?
He banged again, this time even louder, if possible.
“She’s not in there,” he concluded.
“I hope that’s what it is.”
“You can’t be thinking that—”
“Excuse me? Get away from my room.”
Amanda turned. “Brianna Morris? Prince William County PD.” She didn’t have time to pull her badge or say they wanted to speak with her. Brianna was on the run.
She hit a woman on the way, and her purse fell to the floor, items spilling everywhere. Amanda sprung over the mess, Trent right at her heels.
The door to the stairwell clanged open, the metal of it hitting the brick wall behind it. Amanda was close to Brianna, just a few steps away. She had to push just a little harder… pull from deep inside, from her younger days on her high school running team.
“PWCPD!” Amanda shouted, repeating it for anyone that might be within earshot. “Stop, Morris!”
The footsteps slowed. Amanda didn’t think for one second it was because the woman was surrendering. Just catching her breath more likely. She was a smoker, that much Amanda picked up on her trail.
The stairwell came out in the lobby, and Brianna steamed right through.
Amanda and Trent were right behind her.
Amanda pushed a little harder, the muscles in her legs burning, threatening to cramp. It’s not like she ran much these days. Usually only when a suspect resisted arrest.
“Stop! PWCPD!” Amanda yelled again.
People in the parking lot were staring at them. Most motionless, their mouths gaped open, catching flies. Would be nice if just one of them would help.
“Holy shit!” Brianna screamed as she flew forward and landed hard.
