Page 24 of Girl, Unknown

“Careful, Dark,” Ripley said. “You’re profiling him like a serial killer. If Katherine was Arthur’s only target, he’s not a serial killer. He won’t think the same as one.”

Ella considered it, but had to disagree. She had her own opinions on this topic, opinions that the psychology textbooks might not necessarily harmonize with. During her time in the field, she’d made her own observations about the behaviors of serial killers, and she believed that their tendency to follow behavioral patterns were products of their psychopathy and narcissism, and therefore shouldn’t be restricted merely to serial offenders.

“Mia, you once told me that textbooks couldn’t teach me everything.”

“And I stand by it.”

“So trust me. I’m putting my own observations on the line here. If they’re wrong, they’re wrong, but we need to at least try.”

Ripley raised her hands in surrender. “Couldn’t agree more. Keep going.”

“There are twelve motels in the five-mile triangular area between Katherine’s apartment, Arthur’s nursing home, and the tower where his cell pinged.” Ella went through each motel one by one, checking their online descriptions, seeing if they were fit for a fugitive to hang out. She frenziedly made notes, then a minute later she said, “Five don’t take cash payments, two don’t allow long-stays, two don’t take walk-ins.”

“That leaves three by my count,” Ripley said.

Ella was scrambling, searching for answers so fast her fingers could barely keep up with her thought process. “One requires full picture ID to book.”

“Down to two.”

The last names on the list were Kelvedon Motel and Spring Lake Motel. “Spring Lake is a franchise place. I doubt he’d go anywhere that was heaving with people.”

“And then there was one,” Ripley said. “What’s the place?”

Ella pulled up the last remaining website. “Kelvedon Motel. Some rundown, backdoor place on the edge of town. Not many mentions of it online, just an amateur website with a few details and a booking system. It only has about twenty rooms.”

Ripley hurried around to the other side of the table. “Check the booking form. Is the place busy?”

Ella found a calendar, every date highlighted in green. “No, looks like there’s tons of space. Why?”

Ripley gave her partnerthe look,the intense stare that suggested the answer to her problems might be right in front of her. Ella thought about the concept of an empty, out-of-the-way motel, and then reality hit her like a slap in her face.

“Because it might not be a motel at all,” she said. “It might just be a shell.”

“Yup. Our new friend Arthur has been on the hook for money laundering. To do that, you need the outline of a business.” Ripley tapped the screen. “This looks like a perfect fit to me.”

Ella was ready to grab her things and make for the road, but she knew better than anyone that wild leaps usually resulted in disappointment. She checked the motel’s company records because, even if this place was low-key, it had to be registered to someone somewhere.

She found the registered holdings company in a few seconds. She re-read the name over and over, ensuring it wasn’t her imagination playing tricks on her.

“Christ,” Ripley said. “Walters Companies Limited.”

Ella was already on her feet. “This has to be where he’s hiding out.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

One question took precedence as Ella yanked on the handle to Kelvedon Motel.

What kind of motel locked their front door?

Ripley was already searching around the back for a second entrance, but Ella guessed that Arthur Walters was too smart to leave any doors or windows unlocked. Judging by the crisp crime scene he left behind, this guy knew how to cover his tracks. Ella tried to peer through the windows but was greeted with darkness, and knocking on the door or ringing the bell didn’t seem like it would get her very far. People who went into hiding tended not to answer unsolicited house calls.

Ella followed Ripley’s trail and found her gazing through a metal fence that led to the back of the motel. “Anything?” she asked.

“Can’t see,” said Ripley. “All I’ve got are trash cans and boxes. Gate is locked with drop bolts on the other side.”

Ella surveyed the scene, imagining it all as some makeshift obstacle course. Fence, wall, piles of cardboard. It was almost begging her to tackle it.

“I think the gate is open,” Ella said, nodding towards the peak of the fence. There were no cameras around, no prying eyes.

---