Bad Things (36 page)

He shrugged, and I realized he probably wasn’t so bad a bartender

after all.

“Remember to pass on that note,” I said.

Back in my car I sat for fi ve minutes and watched two men replac-

ing the window of the Write Sisters. By lunchtime it would be open

for business again, though you could still make out a stain on the

sidewalk where repeated cleanings had not yet removed all vestiges

of the blood of someone who had formerly worked there. Eventually

it would disappear, soaking down into the paving stones and then

into the earth beneath, and life in Black Ridge would go on as it

always had.

Wouldn’t most places think about shutting for a few days, after

something like that happened? Wouldn’t most towns
feel
different,

in the wake of an event like that, whereas Black Ridge felt exactly

the same? I didn’t know why it picked at me, and there was nothing I

could do about it.

I drove away, making sure there was no sign of any large, black

SUVs in the rearview mirror.

B A D T H I N G S 259

I parked in the bank lot where the coffee guy plied his bad-tempered

trade, stashing the car on the far side of a large white truck, and walked

the rest of the way. The motel parking lot was empty, and there was no

one in the offi ce, though the presence of the maid’s cart, run aground

outside room 2 like an abandoned ship, said I could probably deal with

her when it came to checking out, arduous though the transaction

would likely be.

When I knocked on the door to room 10 there was silence for a

moment. Then the door was yanked open.

“Becki,” I said. “You’re supposed to . . .”

I saw the wreckage of the bathroom door behind her, and pushed

past.

“Oh, crap. When did this happen?”

“Half an hour ago. He’d been banging for like, two hours, say-

ing how he was okay and stuff and he just wanted something to eat. I

didn’t know what to do, but I thought you’d probably say to leave him

there until he calmed down.”

“Yes, I would have.”

“But eventually he just, fucking,
kicks the door out
. I had no idea

he’d even be able to do that. And he’s all ‘Where’s the fucking car?’

and I know what he’s really asking, but I don’t even
know
where the

car is, and . . .”

I realized she was standing with her back not quite straight, one

hand over her ribs on the lower left side. “Did he
hit
you?”

“No. No. He just—it was an accident.”

“Bullshit.”

“It
was
. We were shouting, and there was kind of a pushing

thing . . . John, he’s not who he used to be. I’m serious. He’s been

fucked up the last few days, for sure, but it was like a whole new

level. He came out that bathroom like he’d been fucking
possessed
.”

“Do you have any idea where he is?”

She laughed, a short jagged sound. “I was lying on the fl oor at the

260 Michael Marshall

time, and he was not in a plan-discussing place. He just booked. He’s

probably running around town like a fucking dog, sniffi ng for the car

and his fucking dope.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s not good. I ran into the guys who’re look-

ing for you.”

“No,” she said. “Please no. They’re
here
?”

“I have them half interested in taking a deal but if they happen to

see Kyle on the streets then their life will be a lot simpler—and they

will go back to Plan A. You have to stay here.”

“Fuck that,” she said. “I’m not just—”

“You want to give these people two shots at recognizing some-

one? I have to fi nd Kyle, knock the asshole out or feed him drugs

if that’s what it takes to get him in a car. Then I’m paying the guys

who’re looking for him, and we’re out of here.”

“I can’t stay,” she said. “
I cannot just sit here
. What if Kyle comes

back when you’re out looking for him? What if he leads the
other

guys back here?”

I realized there was some sense in this, and also that she was tell-

ing the truth either way. She could not just stay here by herself.

“If there’s anything in here you need to bring with you, get it

now,” I said. “I’m going next door and then to get my car. I’ll be ten

minutes. When I knock, come out quickly and get straight in the

backseat. Okay?”

She nodded, and handed over my room key.

I let myself in next door, already wondering if there was anything I

really needed to take, but thinking it would just confuse the maid if

I left stuff behind. I was moving so quickly that I didn’t even notice

that there was someone lying on the bed before I was halfway across

the room.

“Who the hell . . .”

As my eyes accommodated to the darkness I realized I couldn’t

B A D T H I N G S 261

see anything of the person’s face, because it was obscured by the large

manila envelope lying over it.

I took a step closer and recognized Ellen Robertson’s hair spread

over the counterpane around her head, amid the blood.

And then I saw the nail that had been driven through the enve-

lope to hold it in place, sticking straight up from her forehead.

C H A P T E R 3 5

For a moment I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t move, couldn’t even

seem to breathe.

I fi nally took a step forward and saw that the envelope had my

name written on it, as if Ellen had been labeled with me. I took the

end and moved it. There was initial resistance from where it had be-

come stuck to her forehead with blood, but then I was able to swivel

it around the fi xed point of the nail.

Ellen’s eyes were open.

She was dead, though. Someone had cut right across her throat

with a knife that had been big but not very sharp. Though blood

was smeared down her neck and onto the bedspread, it was clear

she hadn’t been killed in the room—or there would have been a far

worse mess. Much, much worse. Someone had murdered her and

brought her here. Judging by the lack of blood around the other

wound, in the center of her forehead, the nail had been banged in

well after her death, after she’d been laid in place.

I found myself stepping backward and sitting on the other bed,

suddenly and heavily. Ellen’s arms lay down by her sides. From what

I could see of her hands there didn’t seem to be any cuts or broken

nails, any signs of a struggle.

B A D T H I N G S 263

Had she been drugged? Caught unaware, from behind? When I’d

last seen her, yesterday afternoon, she’d been pretty vague. Concussed,

I’d assumed, though I was beginning to wonder about anything that

happened in this town. Maybe she’d just given up.

What I did next depended on what I was going to do after that,

so I did nothing. Thinking two steps ahead was beyond me for a little

while.

Eventually I checked in the bathroom, which I should have done right

away. There was no one there.

I went back and stood over Ellen’s body, as she stared up past me,

toward the ceiling and beyond. I leaned over and gently tore the top

of the envelope, down to where it was fi xed by the nail, being careful

not to brush against the protruding end, in the probably vain hope

that there might be fi ngerprints on it, or that anyone would care that

they happened not to be mine.

When I’d got it away from Ellen’s face the envelope felt unevenly

bulky, as if there was more than paper inside, but that would have

to wait. I carried it to the door with me and took off the Do Not

Disturb sign.

I slipped outside and hung the sign on the handle, then walked

stiff-legged to where the maid’s cart now stood, outside room 5.

The door was ajar. I knocked on it. I heard the sound of shuf-

fl ing feet from within, and then Courtney was standing peering up

at me.

“Hello,” she said.

She looked mild and ethereal and harmless, and it was hard to

conceive how she could exist in the same world as the thing lying on

a bed four doors along.

“Hey.” I smiled. “I’m in room nine.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Thing is, I’m going to be here another night, and I’ve got papers

264 Michael Marshall

spread all over the room. Work stuff. I just want to make sure they’re

not disturbed.”

“Okay,” she said again. “I’ll be careful.”

“Great. Thank you.” I pretended to leave, but then stopped and

turned back. “Actually, you know what? Maybe you should just forget

my room for today.”

She looked doubtful. “But what about your sheets?”

“That’s okay. I’ll use the other bed.”

“You’ll need fresh towels, though.”

“I’ll just grab a couple from the cart, okay?”

Courtney still didn’t look happy. “I don’t know. I’ve had people

ask before, and Marie was really bugged when she found out, because,

like, it turned out they’d made a total mess.”

“It’s nothing like that. It’s just important these documents don’t

get moved around, that’s all.”

Everything seemed to take a very long time to be processed in this

girl’s mind. “I just don’t want Marie pissed at me. I mean, really, really.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t. Promise.”

Something happened to her face then, and it was not good. She

blinked, several times, rapidly, her cheeks creasing, face turning

slightly away.

I didn’t know how much longer I could stand there doing this,

and so I got out my wallet and pulled out a twenty. “It would just

make my life easier, that’s all,” I said, holding the bill out to her.

She stared at it, her face still and cold.

“I’ll leave your precious room alone, cocksucker,” she said. Then

she turned on her heel and stormed back into room 5, slamming the

door in my face, leaving me standing there with the twenty still in

my hand.

I walked back to 10 and knocked. Becki opened it immediately,

clutching a brown paper bag and raring to go.

“Change of plan,” I said, and gently pushed her back indoors.

B A D T H I N G S 265

Becki perched on the end of the bed.

“But . . . but . . . Are you
kidding
me? But . . .
what the fuck?
Why would someone
do
that?”

It had taken a while to get her to accept there was a dead woman

next door, and to understand that it was not the woman she’d seen

talking to me on Kelly Street the previous night, but a whole differ-

ent one. I did not fi ll in the backstory and I wouldn’t have told her

about Ellen’s body at all, except there was no other way of convincing

her that going out to fi nd her boyfriend was no longer my foremost

concern.

“You didn’t hear anyone going in there?”

“No, nothing. I mean, Kyle was shouting and banging like crazy,

for a long time. So it could have been when . . . What are you going

to
do,
John? Are you going to call the cops?”

“No.”

“Why?” She looked up at me earnestly, as if she’d suddenly worked

out the solution to everything. “You’ve got to call the cops. That’s

what you do when this kind of shit happens, right?”

“Not this time. The sheriff distrusts me and whoever put Ellen’s

body there knows that. The sheriff may even be—”

I stopped.

“What? May be
what
?”

“I’m just not calling the police.”

Becki dropped her face into her hands. “So then we just
go,
right?

We fi nd Kyle and bug out of here.”

I didn’t answer. Since fi nding Ellen’s body, I’d felt as if I was ter-

ribly behind. The more I tried to catch up with events the more it

seemed like I was sliding to the side and getting lost in the trees.

“
Right?
John? That’s what we do?”

“The room is booked under my name and with my credit card,”

I said distantly. I could hear the clank of the maid’s trolley moving

along the walkway of the motel, and I realized I should have asked

266 Michael Marshall

the girl to leave this room alone, too. “Even if I moved the body, the

blood may have seeped straight through to the mattress.”

“So?”

“So there’s no running away from this.”

“There’s got to be.”

I shook my head. No way of running from this or anything else.

“Aren’t you going to open that?”

She was looking at the thing I still held in my hand.

“I don’t know.” I knew I had to look in the envelope but I did not

want to. What information was worth delivering this way?

But I slipped my thumb into the gap caused by tearing it away

from the nail in Ellen’s forehead. There may or may not have been

saliva evidence from whoever sealed it but I didn’t think it would ever

come to that.

When the envelope was open right across the top I held it over

the bed and turned it upside down. An old gray T-shirt fell out. It was

made of thin cotton and had been folded several times. I picked it up

carefully. It smelled musty, as if it had lain somewhere undisturbed

for quite a while.

“The hell’s that?”

I wasn’t completely sure until I checked the label and con-

fi rmed that the shirt had come from the Human Race, a store near