Page 27 of The Furies

Without thinking, I reached up and closed the cabinet door. My face stared back at me from the mirror, but something was superimposed on it, a drawing on the glass in what looked like soot:

And I thought that I might not have been the first person to intrude on Raum Buker’s privacy that day.

CHAPTER XXXIII

Kepler’s cell phone pinged as he was walking through the motel lobby to his car, but the desk clerk waylaid him to advise on some necessary maintenance that would require a heating technician to gain access to his room, and by the time Kepler got to his vehicle a good three minutes had gone by. He read the alert, and opened the associated app. Kepler couldn’t help but smile in anticipation: Raum Buker was about to find the message left for him in his room.

Then Kepler’s smile faded, because whoever was in that unit, it was not Raum Buker.

CHAPTER XXXIV

It didn’t strike me as wise to dawdle at the Braycott, so I took a photo of the mark on the mirror before using the peephole to make sure the hallway was clear. The view was foggy, which bothered me for a reason I couldn’t immediately pinpoint, because the lens, when I checked it, was clean. I tried to retrieve a memory of something I’d read, but it wouldn’t come, and forcing it wouldn’t help. No one seemed to be around, so I made sure the door was locked behind me and headed for daylight.

Hearing footsteps, I paused at the stairwell. Raum Buker was one flight below, and ascending rapidly. Bobby Wadlin could have called up to let me know that Raum was on his way, but that wouldn’t have been his style. If Raum decided to kick up a fuss about someone trespassing, Wadlin could simply have claimed that the key was stolen while his back was turned, and let Raum try to figure out the logistics once he’d calmed down.

The elevator was on one of the other levels, which meant it wasn’t an option, so I moved quietly to the fourth floor and listened. I heard Raum go down the hall, followed by the sound of his door opening and closing. I was curious as to how he’d react to the sight of that symbol on his bathroom mirror. It was possible he’d put it there himself, but it wasn’t likely given the tidiness of the rest of the space. I could have hung around outside his room in the hope of eavesdropping on his response—a phone call, with luck—but that wouldn’t have been the brightest of moves in a building full of criminals, some of whom certainly had something to hide, and a couple of whom might even have had a bone to pick with me. I hoped it was a reflection on the nature of my profession, because the other option was more depressing to contemplate. Regardless, I’d probably made more enemies than friends in life, even if they were the kind of enemies a man should be proud to have.

With lurking out of the question, I returned to the lobby. Bobby Wadlin was still watching his cowboy show.

“I see Raum came back,” I said.

“That’s because he lives here,” said Wadlin. “A guest ought to be able to return to his room without hindrance, as long as he pays his rent.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “You and him exchange pleasantries?”

“I decided to take a rain check.”

“It could be you’re not as dumb as they say.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I let it pass.

“Has anyone else been in that room today?” I said.

“Nope, just Buker, because you weren’t there either, right?”

On the screen, someone was stealing Brian Keith’s horse in The Westerner. Since Keith was under the gun, he didn’t have a whole lot of say in the matter, and was reduced to throwing his hat at the ground while his dog watched. I knew he’d get his horse back in the end, though, because this was early Sam Peckinpah. Had it been later Peckinpah, Keith would have ended up dead, his dog and horse along with him. I asked myself how many times Bobby Wadlin might have watched this episode. Both too often, I decided, and not often enough.

“What about housekeeping?” I said, even as I listened for any indication of Raum descending from his quarters, which would require me to cut short the conversation.

Wadlin paused his show. If he was going to watch it, he’d wait until he could do so in peace.

“That’s extra,” he said. “Buker takes care of his own cleaning. He’s not alone in that, but he keeps his room tidy, which is more than can be said for some. We check all the units regularly, just in case they start to stink. One time, we had a woman kept a dead cat in a bag. I had housekeeping get rid of it, and told the woman we didn’t hold with people keeping animals in the rooms, dead or alive. You know what she said?”

“I couldn’t possibly imagine.”

“She said it wasn’t an animal, it was a pet, and we shouldn’t ought to have interfered with it without her say-so. Next day, housekeeping went back to the room, and there was another dead cat in a bag. I have no idea where it came from, and I didn’t ask. I just sent her on her way—with the cat. I’d like to say that was the oddest thing I’ve witnessed here, but I’d be lying.”

I decided that if I ever sank so low as to be faced with the prospect of living at the Braycott, I’d shoot myself. Then again, I didn’t doubt that some of the current occupants had once made the same promise to themselves. The Braycott wasn’t the bottom, but if you looked down from inside it, you could see the bottom looming.

“Any strangers come into the building today?” I asked.

Wadlin pointed to a sign on the plexiglass shield. It read NO VISITERS AFTER 5PM.

“It’s not five yet,” I said. “And ‘visitors’ is spelled wrong.”

“Well, I’m only paid to notice visitors after five. And if you want to open a classroom, go someplace else.”

“I’ll do that. I wouldn’t want to compete with the running of your charm school.”

A security camera was trained on the lobby.

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