Bones Don't Lie (Morgan Dane #3)(63)

“I’ll call Abigail and see if we can get into the Roadside Motel this morning,” Morgan said. “I don’t want to wait until tonight.”

They drove back to Morgan’s house. Grandpa agreed, just as Morgan expected. She changed her clothes while Lance got him ready. Muscling her grandfather in and out of the Jeep was a production, but an hour later, Sharp and Lance maneuvered his wheelchair over the threshold of Sharp Investigations.

“You called Abigail Wright?” Sharp asked.

“Yes,” Morgan said. “She said to go ahead to the motel. She called the manager and told him to let us into the storage room. She’ll meet us there as soon as she’s done with her garden club meeting.”

Leaving Grandpa and Sharp at the office, Lance and Morgan headed to the Roadside Motel.

“I expected the place to be sleazy,” he said. “But this just doesn’t fit the image of a motel owned by a little old lady who plays the organ for her church and runs the local garden club.”

The motel was a dirty-looking strip of rooms on a rural stretch of highway. There were no other buildings in sight. No doubt the location afforded privacy for guests who didn’t want their patronage made public. The sign at the edge of the parking lot read VACANCY. The office was located on the left end.

“They rent rooms by the hour. We’re going to need a shower after this,” Morgan said. “At least I’m dressed down.”

“I wish we had PPEs to zip into,” Lance agreed. “I don’t even want to think about what a spray of luminol and a black light would show in any of these rooms.”

They went into the office. A young man with a puffy neck beard sat on a high stool behind a counter watching a small TV. He slid off his stool as they walked in. “You need a room?”

“No.” Morgan shook her head. “Abigail said we could look in the storage room. She was going to call ahead.”

“Cool.” He led them through the office into a back room and unlocked a door into a small windowless chamber. He flipped a wall switch. Overhead lights illuminated a dusty space that smelled of mold. Filing cabinets lined one entire wall. A desk was pushed up against the other.

Morgan pressed a finger under her nose and stifled a sneeze.

“The old records are in the filing cabinets. They aren’t organized very well, so good luck.” The clerk left them to it.

“I’ll start on the left.” Morgan tossed her coat over the desk and rolled up the sleeves of her sweater.

Lance pulled on gloves and handed her a pair. Then he started with the cabinet on the right. He slid a file out and opened it, then checked another. He moved through two cabinets, randomly reading dates.

For the next half hour, Morgan worked her way through several drawers. “I found 1994.”

She dug through the row of files and came up with a yellowed book. “Here is August.”

Lance went to her side and peered over her shoulder as she flipped through the book, only touching the edges of the paper. Depending on conditions, fingerprints could be developed on porous surfaces like paper many years after the prints were deposited. She stopped on August tenth. The entries were written in blue pen.

She hovered her finger over the page. “Here it is.”

Lance read the entry. “Mr. Joshua.”

“He checked in at seven p.m. Paid for an hour.” Morgan slid the registry into a large envelope. She labeled the envelope with her name, the date, and location found, then turned back to the filing cabinet. “Let’s see if we can find his registration form.”

Thirty minutes later, Lance pulled it from another filing cabinet. “Got it.”

They looked at it together. “There’s no personal information. No car license plate. He listed his home address as 123 Main Street, Anytown, NY. The phone number is 123-4567.”

“But we know he was here.”

Morgan went to the window and scanned the parking lot. A red sedan was parked in front of the office. “Abigail is here.”

“Then let’s go talk to her.” Lance closed the file cabinet drawer. “You have the photo of my father to show Abigail?”

“I do. Are you all right?” Morgan asked. He was about to find out if his father had been a prostitute’s client.

“Yes.” Lance opened the door for her. “Look. I’ve spent a lifetime putting my dad on a pedestal. He was just a man. What if he wasn’t perfect? He did his best to take care of me and my mother. I have to open my eyes if I want to learn the truth.”

She gave his hand a squeeze before they went into the main office.

Abigail was on the computer behind the desk. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I think so.” Morgan pulled the photo of Vic she’d taken from the whiteboard out of her tote.

Next to her, Lance tensed and stepped away to look out the window at the parking lot.

Morgan pointed to Vic. “Do you recognize this man as one of Mary’s clients?”

Abigail squinted at the photo. She lifted her reading glasses from the chain around her neck and set them on her nose. “He doesn’t look familiar at all.”

Morgan could sense Lance’s relief from six feet away.

“But I know this man. He was one of Mary’s regulars.” Abigail leaned closer and tapped the photograph. “This is Mr. Joshua.”