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Amanda kept moving. She had this acid in her gut, a churning telling her that Katherine was running out of time, if she already hadn’t. It was unlikely Lowell was holding her in his motel room.
THIRTY
The clerk at the Sunny Motel parted easily with Lowell’s room number and told them he should be there. His cooperation would have been encouraged by the fact three squad cars, six uniformed officers, and two detectives pulled into the lot at roughly the same time. Three officers evacuated the other occupied rooms as a precautionary measure. SWAT wasn’t on site, but Mooney was still being approached as armed and dangerous. Two uniforms covered the rear door and Amanda and Trent went to the front.
Once it was confirmed all was clear, Trent knocked on room 8. They stepped to the sides of Lowell’s door in case they were greeted with a muzzle. They both had their guns drawn and ready.
A television blared inside, so it was impossible to hear footsteps to determine Lowell’s whereabouts. One thing was certain, unless he was passed out or dead inside, he was awake.
“Mooney! PWCPD!” Trent banged on the door again.
The door flung open, and Lowell stood there in jeans and a tee. The handle of a gun poked out from the waistband of his pants.
Amanda raised her weapon on him. “Put your hands in the air,” she told Lowell. He gave her this deadpan look, and it sent shivers through her. Fitz had warned her he was unhinged, and those were the eyes belonging to a madman. In a flash, a shadow crossed over his face. Amanda lunged forward just as he started to reach for his— “Gun!” she screamed as she steamrolled into him.
Lowell stumbled back, air whooshing from him. Three uniformed officers came up behind Amanda and Trent, their weapons also drawn.
“You’ve got five guns on you,” Amanda said. “You might want to surrender. This doesn’t have to end badly.” She wished it wouldn’t. Lowell could be the link to finding Katherine alive.
Lowell squared himself as if he were a wrestler urging his opponent to make the first move.
“Hands in the air!” Amanda yelled.
Lowell smirked, just the glimmer of one, seemingly finding it fascinating to be bossed around by a woman. Slowly, he complied and raised his hands, but there was the slightest hesitance.
Trent must have noticed too because he rushed forward, beating her to it, and threw himself at Lowell. He slammed him to the floor, and the two of them struggled for dominance, writhing, punches being thrown. One of Lowell’s jabs connected with Trent’s face and had him arching back. Lowell used this moment to topple Trent, rolling himself on top of him.
Stupid mistake.
Amanda yanked Lowell’s hair back and pressed the nose of her gun to his skull. “I said, hands up!”
Lowell snarled but consented. His arms in the air, Amanda holstered her gun, drew his wrists together and slapped on cuffs with the speed of a seasoned veteran. She tugged him to his feet, and Trent got up, touching his cheek and wincing. He was going to have a shiner.
She disarmed Lowell, removing a Glock 19 from his person, which she held pinched between two fingers. Their prime suspect had the same gun type used to kill Leah Bernard, but it was one of the most popular around.
“I’ll take him from here, Detective.” A uniformed officer stepped forward, and she transferred Lowell to him.
Amanda cleared the chamber of the Glock, removed the magazine, and handed over the gun too. Lowell was patted down to make sure he wasn’t concealing any other weapons, and loaded into the back of a cruiser.
She and Trent would catch up with Lowell back at Central. And he better be talkative.
THIRTY-ONE
Amanda watched the skin around Trent’s left eye changing color before her eyes, or so she’d swear. There were cuts at his brow, not deep enough for stitches but they were bandaged on site by a paramedic, despite Trent’s protests that he was fine.
“Usually it’s red noses at Christmas, not black eyes,” the paramedic had said. Amanda wasn’t sure if he thought he was witty or what, but Trent hadn’t appreciated his attempt at humor. He’d mumbled something incoherent, which Amanda was quite sure included an expletive or two.
Before they left the scene, they looked around Lowell’s motel room. It turned up some cocaine and an almost empty bottle of whiskey. She didn’t recall smelling it on Lowell, so she’d wager he hadn’t been drinking when they’d arrived. One small mercy. Interrogating an intoxicated suspect was the worst.
The coat worn that morning and balaclava weren’t found, but they could have been discarded. He also didn’t have a wrist tattoo, but there was no way Lowell was in Woodbridge to see the sights. His hatred for Katherine and the glaring fact he was holding the same gun type that killed Leah Bernard told them that. Maybe the tattoo had been a temporary one he’d since wiped off.
Crime scene investigators would follow up with a thorough sweep of the room to search for any trace of Katherine. He might not have brought her here, but he could have gotten transfer from her person onto his.
Amanda and Trent got on the road to Central after Blair and Donnelly arrived on scene.
“Thanks for stepping in back there,” Trent said, taking the turn into the station’s lot.
“Don’t even mention it.”
