“Are you guests of the hotel?” he said.
“No. We were invited here by the occupant of this room,” I said. “We fear something untoward might have happened.”
The desk guy was wearing a white shirt with a green tie and a green vest. The collar on the shirt was curled up at the tips.
“Untoward?” he said.
I had a sense he might not be on the fast track.
“I’m a detective,” I said. “Working on a case. We need the door opened.”
“I can’t just override his privacy sign,” the desk guy said.
From outside the motel there was the dim sound of a siren being turned off.
“Ah,” I said.
“I took the liberty of calling the police,” the desk guy said. “I will wait for them, if you don’t mind.”
In maybe a minute, two Burlington cops came out of the elevator and walked down to us. Both were young guys who looked at if they got a lot of exercise. They were carrying their nightsticks.
“What’s the deal,” one of them said.
“My name is Spenser,” I said. “I’m working with a state police captain named Healy on a case.”
“I know Healy. What’s the case?”
“Has to do with the kidnapping a while ago on Tashtego Island.”
“Yeah,” the cop said. “I remember that. No progress is what I heard.”
“We might make some,” I said, “if we can get this door unlocked.”
The cop looked at Hawk.
“Who’s this,” he said.
“My partner,” I said.
Hawk had no expression.
“Tell me more,” the cop said.
His partner had taken a few steps away and stood quietly watching Hawk and me. Especially Hawk.
“Guy called me and said he was in trouble and needed to see me right away.”
“Guy in this room?”
“Yeah. He’s registered as Bailey, but his real name is Bradshaw.”
“Like the Bradshaw broad on Tashtego?”
“Estranged husband,” I said.
The cop nodded at the desk guy.
“Open the door,” he said.
The desk guy did. The door opened a couple of inches and held.
“Security chain,” the desk guy said.
“Mr. Bradshaw?” the cop said. “It’s the police, Mr. Bradshaw.”
Nothing.
“Kick it in,” the cop said.
“Me?” the desk guy said.
Hawk grinned.
“Me,” he said.
He shifted his weight and drove his right foot into the door just above the knob. The safety chain tore out of the doorjamb and the door banged open. The cop went past Hawk into the room and stopped. I went in behind him. The window opposite the door had a bullet hole in it with spiderweb fracture lines spreading across the pane. On the floor, on his back, in front of the window, with a bullet hole in his forehead and a spread of blood soaking into the rug beneath, was the late Harden Bradshaw. The cop bent over and felt for a pulse.
“Gone,” he said after a moment.
“Blood’s starting to dry,” I said.
The cop nodded and yelled to his partner in the hall.
“Call the captain, Harry,” he said. “We got a homicide.”
Then he looked at me.
“You and your partner stick around,” he said.
56
Healy put his sandwich down and swallowed and looked at Hawk.
“I seem to be consorting with a known felon,” Healy said.
“Think how I feel,” Hawk said.
Healy nodded.
“Motel’s dug into a sort of low hillside,” Healy said. “So ten feet from the back, there’s a hill nearly level with the second floor.”
“Shoulda asked for a front room,” Hawk said.
Healy nodded and ate some of his sandwich. Hawk and I each had a beer. We were hoping to do better than the Wagner Coffee Shop for dinner.
“Footprints on the hill?” I said.
“Nope, ground’s dry. Lotta people have walked around up there; grass is sort of trampled.”
“Peeping Toms?” I said.
“Everybody needs a nice hobby,” Healy said.
“So whoever shot him knew where he was and was good with a gun. Put one in Bradshaw’s head through the glass,” I said.
“From maybe twenty feet,” Healy said. “Didn’t have to be Annie Oakley.”
“One shot,” I said. “That’s confidence.”
“Maybe, but from the hill you can’t see the floor of the room,” Healy said. “When Bradshaw went down, he was out of sight.”
“One in the middle of the forehead, one try only?” I said. “Guy must have had some confidence in himself, unless he was aiming for the middle of the mass and missed badly.”
“Wasn’t Bradshaw some sort of spook?” Hawk said.
“Maybe,” I said.
“He knew he in danger,” Hawk said. “Why he called you.”
“That’s what he said.”
“Shoulda known better than hide in a room at somebody’s eye level,” Hawk said.
“And stand looking out the window with the lights on,” Healy said. “There was a scatter of glass particles on his face.”
“Maybe he wasn’t a spook,” I said.
“Maybe not too bright,” Hawk said.
“Fear makes you stupid sometimes,” I said.
Hawk grinned.
“Wouldn’t know,” he said.
“He thought no one knew he was in the motel,” I said.
Hawk nodded.
“Hole looks like a small-caliber, and we found a twenty-two slug in the mattress,” Healy said. “Maybe a target gun.”
“Which means the shooter’s a pro,” I said. “Or such an amateur that it was the only gun he could get.”
“I’m voting for pro,” Healy said.
