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Will glanced around the elevator car. The security camera was tucked into the corner. “How long have you been watching him?”
“Officially?” McGuire asked. “Just a few days.” He told Amanda, “Your people have been doing most of the heavy lifting, but my folks have supplemented.”
“Unofficially?” Will asked.
“Since he checked in. He’s a strange man. Very off-putting physically. He never did anything overt, but he made people uncomfortable. And, frankly, the Presidential Suite is four thousand dollars a night. We normally try to find out who our higher-end clients are. I did a little poking around and realized that we needed to keep a closer eye on him.”
Amanda asked, “Did anyone talk to him? Socialize with him?”
“As I said, he was off-putting. The hotel staff avoided him whenever possible. We never let the maids go up alone.”
“What about other guests?”
“No one mentioned anything.”
Will asked, “How did he pay for the room?” The man had been in prison. He wouldn’t have a credit card.
McGuire explained, “His bank arranged everything. We’re holding a hundred-thousand-dollar deposit against the room.”
A bell dinged. The doors opened.
Will stepped aside, then followed them out of the elevator. Sara held his gaze for a few seconds. He nodded for her to go ahead of him.
McGuire said, “There are five other suites on his floor. The Presidential is in the corner. It’s around twenty-two hundred square feet.”
Three uniformed Atlanta Police officers stood at the end of the hallway. They were at least fifty feet away. The red exit sign glowed over their heads. The suite was directly across from the stairs.
McGuire led them down the hall. “Three of the suites were occupied. Entertainers. There’s a concert in town. We arranged for them to be moved to our sister property. I can give you their information but—”
Amanda said, “I’d rather not waste time talking with lawyers.”
Will felt a pain in his jaw, running down his neck. His teeth were clamped together. His shoulders tensed. He could hear his own breathing over the Muzak. The thick carpet was soft under his shoes. The walls were painted a deep brown that made the long hallway feel like a tunnel. Chandeliers hung at even intervals. There was a room service cart beside a closed door. No number on the room. The suites were probably the equivalent of three or four rooms. In movies, they always had Jacuzzi tubs and bathrooms the size of Will’s house.
She wouldn’t be in the tub. She wouldn’t be in the bathroom. She would be on the mattress. She would be pinned down like a specimen in a science project.
Another victim. Another woman whose life was over because of a man whose DNA roiled inside of Will.
He had never stayed in a hotel suite before. He had never run on a beach. He had never flown in an airplane. He had never brought home a school report and watched his mother smile. The clay ashtray he’d made in kindergarten had been one of sixteen Mrs. Flannigan received on Mother’s Day. All the Christmas gifts under the tree were labeled “for a girl” or “for a boy.” The evening Will graduated high school, he’d looked out at the crowd of cheering families and seen only strangers.
Amanda stopped a few feet from the uniformed officers. “Dr. Linton, perhaps you should stay out in the hall for a moment?”
Sara nodded her acquiescence, but Will asked, “Why?”
Amanda stared up at him. She looked worse than she had the day before. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. Her lipstick was smeared.
“All right.” For once, Amanda didn’t argue. She continued down the hallway.
The cops looked bored with their assignment. Their thumbs were looped through their heavy utility belts. They stood with their legs wide apart to keep their backs from breaking under the weight of their equipment.
“Mimi,” Amanda said to the female officer. “How’s your aunt Pam?”
“Hating retirement.” She indicated the room. “No one’s been in or out.”
Amanda waited for McGuire to open the door with his keycard. The green light flashed. There was a clicking sound. He held open the door. Sara and Amanda walked in, then Will.
McGuire said, “I’ll be in the hall if you need me.” There was a metal latch on the doorjamb. He swung it out to catch the door and keep it from locking.
“Well,” Amanda said.
They stood in the foyer, looking into a room that was larger than Will’s entire house. The curtains were open. Sunlight streamed in. The corner unit offered a panoramic view of Midtown. The Equitable building. Georgia Power. The Westin Peachtree Plaza.
And, in the distance, Techwood.
Two couches and four chairs were arranged around a fifty-two-inch flat-screen television. DVD player. VCR. CD player. There was a galley kitchen. A wet bar. Dining room seating for ten. A large desk with an Aeron chair. A half bath with a telephone mounted on the wall. The toilet paper was folded into a rose. The faucet was a gold-plated swan, its mouth opened to release a stream of water as soon as its wings were turned.
“This way,” Amanda said. The door to the bedroom was half-closed. She used her foot to push it the rest of the way open.
Will breathed through his mouth. He expected to smell the familiar, metallic scent of blood. He expected to find a thin, blonde girl with vacant eyes and perfect fingernails.
What he found instead was his father.
Will’s knees buckled. Sara tried to hold him up, but she wasn’t strong enough. He slumped against the door. There was no sound in the room. Amanda’s mouth was moving. Sara was trying to tell him something, but his ears wouldn’t work. His lungs wouldn’t work. His vision skewed. Everything took on a red tone, as if he was looking at the world through a veil of blood.
The carpet was red. The curtains. The sun coming through the windows—it was all red.
Except for his father.
He was on the bed. Lying on his back. Hands clasped together on his chest.
He had died in his sleep.
Will screamed in rage. He kicked the door, crushing the handle into the wall. He grabbed the floor lamp and threw it across the room. Someone tried to stop him. McGuire. Will punched him in the face. And then he collapsed to the floor as a baton pounded against the back of his knees. Two cops were on top of him. Three. Will’s face was pushed into the carpet. A strong hand kept it there as his arm was wrenched around. A handcuff clamped around his wrist.
“Don’t you dare!” Sara yelled. “Stop!”
Her words were like a slap. Will felt his senses come back. He realized what he was doing. That he had been completely and totally out of control.
And that Sara had seen it all.
“Officers.” Amanda’s tone held a steely warning. “Let him go. Immediately.”
Will stopped struggling. He felt some of the pressure lessen. The female cop leaned down so that Will could see her face. Mimi. She asked, “Are we gonna be okay?”
Will nodded.
The key clicked into the handcuffs. His arm was freed. Slowly, they all climbed off him. Will didn’t stand immediately. He turned his head to the carpet. He pressed his palms flat to the floor. He sat back on his heels. He was breathless. The sound of his blood pounded in his ears.
“Asshole.” Bob McGuire’s hand covered his nose. Blood seeped between his fingers.
