The Guest Service Representative located two rooms, which included an evening meal in their rate, and then escorted them across the reception. As they travelled up the elevator, Vanessa noticed that with each level they stopped at, the standard of the hotel decreased. The colour of the walls faded more on each floor and the carpets were becoming increasingly worn every time the elevator doors opened. On arrival at the top floor, the smell of fresh paint descended to mere damp. The carpet was sticky, the walls were crumbling and the lights flickered.
Their rooms weren’t much brighter. The white wallpaper had grown a suspicious yellow, the pink carpet had turned grey and the coffee machine had more dust than the Lincoln tomb. To Vanessa’s disappointed, they had been given the primitive rooms side by side with a connecting door between them. Inside, she could hear Darnell fumbling around his room and muffling an apology to his wife’s voicemail.
She sat down on the bed. The damaged springs gave out a squeak as she placed her weight on the mattress. She looked around for a remote and flicked through the channels to find that all the hotel offered for entertainment was static. As she turned off the television, she heard her phone vibrating in her designer handbag. She lifted out her cell and read a message.
‘Miss you x.’
She huffed and threw it back in the bag, ignoring the sender, whom she more than wanted to forget.
The room next door fell silent. Vanessa switched off the television and placed a finger on her chin as she considered her options for the evening. She stood up and opened the connecting door, before knocking on the second door which fed through into Darnell’s room. He opened it and looked surprised to see his colleague, who appeared as glum as he felt.
‘Do you want to grab some dinner?’ she asked with a heavy heart. She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. The thought of spending an evening with Darnell wasn’t exactly what she envisioned for a night away. He scratched his head, weighing up his own options before nodding his head.
They made their way down to the restaurant. As they walked through the open dining area which led into the reception, the swinging doors offered Vanessa a glimpse into the kitchen. She turned away, believing ignorance was bliss.
‘I guess this is our only option. We’re in the middle of nowhere,’ Darnell said as she browsed the menu. Ribs, burgers and steaks were the main options. Vegetarians could have an obligatory four-cheese pizza and vegans might as well leave before they were asked to.
‘I read through my emails whilst we were in our rooms,’ Darnell explained. ‘They interviewed Michael Yarn. Turns out his wallet was stolen the day before he was registered as signing into the visitor centre in Kentucky. They called the bank, turns out his story checks out.’
‘Damn it.’ Vanessa punched the air. ‘Well whoever it was must have had some thorough knowledge of Lincoln, it’ll be worth speaking to Yarn’s tutor to see if there’s anyone who might have gone on any lengthy trips recently or has an appetite for vandalism.’
‘Or digging up bodies?’ Darnell suggested. ‘There’s something else too. Remember Carl Bradshaw? He’s the security guard who fell asleep while Lincoln’s body was taken. Well, he refused to allow us to test him to see if he had been drugged on the night of the exhumation. We couldn’t test him, but we could test his mug. The residue on the coffee cup had evidence of a sleeping aid on the rim. And having spoken to one of our guys down at the precinct, Commander Hill reckons he’s connected to Chuck Cunningham. A long-term friend and associate apparently; we questioned him once but we had no evidence that he had anything to do with the drug trade.’
‘I see. But the evidence of the sleeping agent covers his story?’ Vanessa asked, her eyes sinking with disappointment. Another lead gone. ‘Fancy getting drunk? I need a stiff drink to sleep in that bed tonight.’ She retched, considering where she’d be spending her night away from her comfortable bed at home.
‘I don’t usually drink besides the odd snifter of whisky,’ Darnell said and Vanessa sighed, wondering if her colleague had anything to contribute to the evening. ‘But why the hell not? The wife isn’t speaking to me so I might as well do something to pass the time.’
‘Trouble in paradise?’ Vanessa asked as she perused the wine-list.
‘Nah, just marriage. It’s a long story, it’s something and nothing really.’
The waiter interrupted them, much to Darnell’s delight, and took their order, before returning a few minutes later with a silky merlot and poured it into their glasses. They each took a large sip, downing half the glass before refilling.
‘So how about that Lawson guy?’ Darnell opened a new conversation. The FBI web analyst had caught his attention during their first meeting. ‘He’s a bit of an odd one, huh?’
Vanessa choked on her wine. She dabbed her red lips with a white serviette, before giggling behind it. Her shoulders relaxed, mirroring her colleague’s more friendly demeanour. It was the last thing that she expected her colleague to say; he seemed so professional at work.
‘That’s web analysts for you. Some of them are loners. They seek company in the computer because they struggle to do the same with people. I’m not saying they’re all like that, of course, but my experience in that area in the past has produced quite a solid stereotype.’
‘I guess, still those glasses make his eyes look like snooker balls,’ Darnell jibed. Vanessa snorted and hid her mishap behind the tablecloth, which she
