Page 76 of One Filthy Kiss

“Only I thought it was…” Her voice follows me outside.

I stare at the graphic images on the boardroom table in front of me. Images of the young guard who told me Meggie’s name the day I met her in the film studio.

He’s unrecognizable apart from the gold badge sporting his name, still attached to the breast pocket of his shirt. His eye sockets are empty, his face misshapen and bloody, his throat a mangled mess of torn flesh.

“He was found in a shallow ditch by the freeway.”

Bruno leads my security team here in LA. He’s a short, stocky man, with the largest hands I’ve ever seen, and cold gray eyes that appear to look right through a person. I’ve known him for almost as long as I’ve known Ric.

“The killer wanted the body to be discovered.” I gather the images and slide them back inside the manila folder. It would be more accurate to say that the killer wanted the body to be discovered by someone who knows me.

Bruno doesn’t need to acknowledge the statement. “There was something else. I had to call in some favors, but I got a copy of the object discovered in the victim’s mouth by forensics.”

He pulls a transparent Ziplock bag from another folder and slides it across the table towards me. A shiver travels down my spine as I stare at a small brass key.

I hold the bag up and turn it around, inspecting the key for any remarkable features, and finding none. “Any idea what it opens?”

“According to my contacts, it would’ve been batch-made for a tenement building or motel.”

I’ve heard enough.

“Has anyone in the LAPD been able to trace it back to the owner?”

“Not as far as I’m aware. They’ve followed the usual routes, contacted the victim’s family and friends and drawn blanks as far as the key is concerned.” He sits back in his seat. “You know what it is?”

“I have an idea.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Meggie mentioned the motel where she and Amber were staying during a casual conversation about their vacation. We park out the front of the building and let ourselves into the room using the copied key from the Ziplock bag. No one questions our presence, and it frightens the hell out of me to think of Meggie and Amber staying here with no one to protect them.

Inside, with the door shut, and the heavy curtains open, dust motes float around the room, highlighted by the daylight filtering through the thick voile covering the windows and providing privacy to the occupants.

The bed is made, the comforter smooth and neat as a soldier’s uniform, a small fluffy unicorn sitting on one of thepillows. I cross the room and open the wardrobe to find a couple of Meggie’s sundresses hanging beside Amber’s clothes, the small suitcase standing sentry at the bottom.

I pull the suitcase out and place it on the bed, unzipping it carefully, and opening it up while Bruno examines the bathroom. It’s empty. I feel inside the pockets, and test the lining, but there are no secret compartments, nothing hidden inside the pouches, not even a stray hairband or travel toiletries or dirty laundry.

Peering around the room, I search for something that appears to have been moved.

There’s an obligatory desk with a bible placed neatly on top of the writing blotter. A desk lamp. An empty wastepaper basket. There’s a book on top of the nightstand:Just for the Summer. From the cover image of a couple and their dog splashing in the sea, I’d guess that it’s a romance novel. After all that has happened to Meggie and her mom, she still believes in love, and her resilience reminds me all over again of why I fell in love with her.

Bruno reappears.

“Anything?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

What are we missing?

The Fish left the key as a message. Or a warning.

It doesn’t matter where in the world they try to hide, I’ll find them.

Bruno checks behind the curtains. On all fours, he inspects underneath the bed, while I pull the clothes from the wardrobe and fold them neatly inside the suitcase. There isn’tmuch to pack. They traveled light, probably to save money by not paying for checked luggage.

“I think this might be what you’re looking for.” Bruno hands over a slightly crumpled photograph. “Being used as a bookmark.”

My pulse speeds up when I examine the photograph. There are three people in the image: a woman, a teenaged girl, and a baby. It’s impossible to identify them as Meggie, her mom, and Amber, because their faces have been scratched out with something sharp to reveal the blank photographic film behind the colors.

All three of them.