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38
Callie
Seven weeks after I start investigating Jolene’s case, I get the breakthrough I’ve been looking for. It’s also the week I receive the job offer of a lifetime and fate collides with heartbreak in ways I never imagined.
I’m stuck with the case and decide to pay another visit to the motel in the hope of finally convincing one of the women there to talk. I strike it lucky and manage to convince Amanda to share the truth of what happened that day.
“Fuck, not you again. I thought we’d seen the end of your visits,” she mutters when I approach the front desk.
“Nope. I don’t ever plan to give up.”
She must hear something in my voice—determination maybe—and she swears under her breath. “If I tell you the truth can you promise me that it won’t get back to my boss?”
“Who? Louise’s husband?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t see why it would have to. I’m not going to run to him and tell him everything. I just want to know who was here and what they can remember about the person who signed in. That’s all.”
She sighs. Defeated. “Fine. It was me—I was the one on shift that day. Louise was supposed to be here, but she asked me to fill in for her.”
I frown. “Why all the secrecy?”
“You’ve met her husband, right?”
I nod.
“He’s not only an asshole, but he’s also an abusive man who beats her up and cheats on her. She’s tried to leave him but he keeps finding her and dragging her back. Anyway, that’s a whole other story. On the day of the murder, she was trying to suss out some options she had to leave. He was out of town with some other woman, so that was the only day she had to get done what she needed without him knowing about it.”
I put it together in my mind. “So you guys didn’t want him to know she wasn’t on shift.”
She nods. “Right. That’s why we lied to the police, but honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to identify the person who checked in. I remember her, but she had a huge floppy hat on and dark glasses and a scarf around her head. The disguise worked because I couldn’t have been sure who it was.”
I stare at her in disappointment. I don’t doubt she’s telling the truth now. And that truth will get me nowhere. In desperation, I say, “Can we go over that day in detail? Maybe there’s something there that will help.” I really am clutching at straws now.
“Okay, but I don’t think it’s going to help much.”
“What time did you arrive for your shift?”
“Just after two that afternoon. I was rostered on until around eleven that night.”
“Was it a busy shift?”
“Not really.”
“What did you do to pass the time?”
She pulls a face. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“I cleaned the office for a while. I played some games on my phone. I read some of my book. Those kinds of things.”
“Did you get a break?”
“Not really. I just stayed here at the desk and ate some dinner around five.”
“And the murderer checked in at around five thirty, yes?”
