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Lorraine looked at Trent and answered, “The maintenance guy for the motel.”
“Last name?” Trent had his pen posed over his notepad.
“Hannigan.”
Bill Hannigan must have fixed the problem then, because the TV had been working fine when they’d arrived on scene. “What time was this on Sunday?”
“Say early afternoon.”
Amanda nodded. “What shifts does Bill normally work?”
“Think most days starting at seven in the morning.”
“Did Mr. Palmer have any visitors?” Amanda asked.
Lorraine rubbed her arms like she was fending off a chill. “Not that I saw.”
Amanda got this feeling that Mrs. Nash was afraid of something or someone she’d seen, but if she felt the risk could touch her home, Amanda could hardly fault her for keeping quiet. And maybe if Palmer was anyone else, she would have pushed Lorraine harder, but she said, “Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“And no girlfriends stopping by?” Amanda was thinking of Ms. Ruby Red Lipstick.
“Not that I saw,” Lorraine affirmed.
“Huh. I would have sworn you might be able to tell us something.” She sighed. “A man’s dead and we’re just trying to figure out what happened to him.” Often an appeal for empathy could work wonders. Lorraine’s face hardened.
“I wish I could help.” Her tone of voice belied the claim.
“Okay, fair enough.” Amanda held up a hand. “Did you happen to see if Mr. Palmer left his room on Sunday?”
Lorraine’s eyes darted to her husband, then flicked to Amanda. She nodded slowly, hesitantly.
Amanda wasn’t sure why Lorraine seemed concerned with her husband, and asked, “What time was that?”
“Not long before my shift ended. Say five thirty or five forty-five.”
“Do you know where he went?” Trent intercepted.
“I have no way of knowing.”
“Which direction did he go—east or west of the motel?” Amanda asked, retaking the interview’s reins.
Again, Lorraine’s gaze went to Ben.
“I was going to let this go,” Amanda started, “but why do you keep looking at your husband?” She allowed time for Lorraine to answer, but she didn’t seem inclined. “We’re just trying to find out what took place and fill in the final hours of this man’s life. You could be one of the last to have seen him alive.”
Lorraine rubbed her neck. When she removed her hand, her neck was all blotchy.
“I’m not sure entirely what’s going on here, but if you’re afraid of someone I can help.” As Amanda heard herself fighting to gleam nuggets of insight, hypocrisy burrowed into her marrow. After all, did she truly care if Palmer had been murdered and whether his killer was brought to justice, or was her motive more selfish and all about closing a horrid chapter in her life, fulfilling her word, and moving on?
Ben popped up from the couch. “I think my wife’s told you all she knows.”
“They went west,” Lorraine said, and her husband dropped beside her again.
“They? He was with someone?” If this person was the basis for Lorraine’s fear, that would imply she also knew who Palmer had been with.
Lorraine nodded. “A guy. I’m sorry but I really can’t say any more.” She stopped bouncing her leg.
