“Yes, I have to report a dead body,” he starts, looking over his shoulder at me. I turn to take pictures but keep my ear out for him.
Poor Lydia. She’s curled up in the fetal position, as if she was trying to stay warm in her final moments. I take dozens of pictures, getting as close as I can without touching her, moving to different angles. I see no visible wounds. She must have frozen to death.
“Some girl,” Mr. Robinson’s voice cuts through my thoughts, “got drunk or high and wandered down into a restricted area of our hotel.”
He is laying the foundation for denying liability, shifting the blame to Lydia. But I know better than that. I might not have known her extremely well, but I knew she wasn’t the type to get blitzed and lock herself in a freezer. Especially when she thought she was working on a case.
“A restricted area that somehow has electricity,” I interject. Mr. Robinson sighs heavily. “Of course,” he continues into the phone, “I can meet the officers outside and bring them right in. Thank you.”
Pulling the phone away from his ear, Mr. Robinson stuffs it back into his pocket and stands there, his eyes falling back on the body. I turn toward him, and he looks back at me. I still can’t completely read the expression on his face.
“Why did this area of the hotel have electricity if you said it was shut off?” I ask.
“I would like to know the same thing,” he says, his hand sliding through his hair in exasperation. “But you saw the tape. You saw her tripping and stumbling and talking to people who weren’t there. She was clearly on something, Miss Griffin.”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe a toxicology report can give us that information. But what I do know is that I see a dead body, locked in a freezer you say should not be working, on a floor, she should not have had access to, with electricity that should not be available. I need answers, Mr. Robinson. And I need them immediately.”
His jaw opens and shuts a few times, and then he grasps the edge of the cart in front of him and bows his head. I am about to grill him again when a buzzing sound in my pocket stops me. I pull out my phone and grimace when I see the name flash across the screen.
“I have to take this. Why don’t you go meet the officers outside? I will stay here until they get here,” I say.
As he reluctantly walks away, I swipe the call button and turn away from Lydia’s forever stare. I can’t bear to see her like that, right now.
“Hi Millie, what’s—” I begin.
“Emma, I need to speak to you right now. It’s urgent.”
Her voice is frantic, and I try to calm her immediately.
“Millie, calm down; I’m an hour away. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I just need to speak to you. In person. Please, Emma.”
The investigation team filters their way into the room, and I back up to let them through.
“Okay, Millie. I have something I have to wrap up here, but once I’m done, I’m on the road to you, alright?”
“Thank you, Emma. Meet me in the park. I have to go,” she says, and then abruptly, she hangs up.
I look down at my phone in confusion and then up to one of the approaching officers.
“I understand you are FBI?” the man asks. I show my badge and give him my ID number, which he writes down diligently. I proceed to describe the evening to him and then give him my contact information before going back to Mr. Robinson.
“David,” I say, keeping my voice low, “I have to leave now, but I am not done speaking with you. Something’s wrong here, and I think you know more than you’re telling me. I’ll be in touch.”
With that, I walk away, back out into the dark ballroom and through to the main hotel.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I snap my phone into the holder on the dash and wait for it to connect to the Bluetooth. As soon as it does, I dial Sam’s number and hit the gas. He answers on the second ring.
“Hey, babe,” he starts. I hate to cut him off the way I am about to, but there’s no time.
“I need you and Dean to meet me at the park. Millie called me frantic; she’s really upset and wants to see me in person,” I tell him.
“Oh. Um, sure. Alright, I’ll head that way in just a few minutes. How far out are you?”
“I just left. I should be there in a little less than an hour.”
“It’s an hour away, where you are,” he says, a disapproving tone in his voice.
“I said I will be there in a little less than an hour. Please, just meet me there.”
Thankfully for both of us, he decides not to argue. I push the speed up and zip down the road. If someone pulls me over today, I am not above pulling the Bureau card and giving a traffic cop the scare of his career.
The trip is remarkably smooth, and I arrive in town within about forty-five minutes. My phone call to Dean is even more to the point than the one to Sam, but he will be bringing Xavier with him. When I get to the park, I pull into the large gravel parking area just off the road, and I find Sam’s car. I park beside it, and before I can even exit, Dean pulls in beside me.
Sam walks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. “You didn’t tell me what happened at the hotel,” he frowns. “Everything okay?”
“It’s a whole thing,” I shrug, looking up to the entrance to the park. Xavier and Dean wait by the
