The Hotel was set back from the road, to the left and slightly behind the All Nite Chineze Buffet restaurant that was taking up the parking lot in front of it. There were parking spots around the back of the hotel.
“This place believes in privacy over safety,” Doug Nichols said to his partner, seated next to him in the old gray Crown Victoria. The department had phased those out many years ago, in favor of the four-wheel-drive Ford Explorers.
“That’s the reason that there are calls here nearly twice a month?” Doug’s partner, Rollie Stevens was new to the department. He hadn’t been here as long as Nichols, who knew that this was a slow season.
The homicide numbers usually pick up towards fall, when the convention season starts up. Business travelers from around the country flock to their area. Not for the best food in the mountains. Nor is it for the world class indoor golf course that was custom built for the Professional Indoor Golf Society. It was a rich man’s game. The course ran under the highway, so you had to be good with your height control when you made your shot. There were custom clubs for the sport. Flatter angle, and softer, so it would drive low and not lift. Those sticks could cost in the thousands of dollars each.
This hotel in specific was the draw for many. It was known in many circles for its strict privacy policies. For the right questions, backed by the right amount of money, anything could be gotten. When that happens, things get dark. Usually, the price some pay is with their life.
Doug and Rollie got out of the car and walked towards the main entrance. As the walked up, they took in the scores of security cameras pointed toward the woods behind the hotel, and the highway to the south. Not a one was aimed at the door, or the parking lot.
Inside the lobby, there was the usual stand of brochures to the local attractions. Also, defense and divorce lawyers, and the two strip joints that are not listed elsewhere. The agencies had tried to follow up on the businesses for licensing and legality, but the address listed only brought them to a stretch of unbroken forest along Interstate 281.
Doug ignored the worn and tired faces of the more permanent denizens of the lobby and walked over to the front desk. The man at the desk, the Night Manager, was reading a book. One eye lifted to see the two officers walk up, while the other continued to read a tattered copy of Chicken Soup for the Restless Soul.
Before Doug could open his mouth, Rollie opened his first.
“We are here to ask you a few questions about a guest that was here yesterday.”
Doug slowly closed his eyes. The Night Manager, without stopping his reading, reached over and closed the ledger, sliding it off the counter and into a drawer. Closing the drawer, The Night Manager went back to reading his book. Doug calmly reached over to put a hand on his young partner’s arm.
“What my friend here was trying to say was that we were concerned about the safety and reputation of this establishment. We know times are tough, maybe they aren’t tipping enough to have their bills covered?” He slid a crisp hundred-dollar bill across the counter, “I think your bookmark is getting a little tattered. Here is a new one for you.”
The Night Manager took the bill, and replaced the tattered and ancient looking Confederate States bill from the book. Crumpling the paper up, he dropped it into the trash. Rollie choked over the idea that this man could own a priceless piece of history, let alone throw it out in favor of a new bill. The Night Manager turned to the officers, closed the book, and looked them both in the eye. One eyebrow raised at Doug.
“An unfortunate soul was found down 281, almost by the edge of the county line,” he continued. “There was no identification, but we found a brochure to the Gilded Unicorn, and a room key.”
Doug took the key, wrapped in an evidence bag from the case it was in, and placed it on the counter. There were few markings on it. No name or tag, but for the unmistakable shape that implies ‘hotel room key’. The Manager looked down at the bag, the eyebrow lowering, and a corner of his mouth twitched downward. He looked back up at the officers, tilted his head to the side, and shrugged a shoulder.
Rollie getting impatient with the nonchalance of the Night Manager, spoke up, “Listen buddy, a man is dead, and he was holding a brochure to a strip joint we know this place associates with. Quit the crap and show us the room!”
Doug dropped his head, knowing the visit was over. Before either could react, The Night Manager placed his hand over the bag for a second and pulled it away, revealing a puddle of metal still in the bag. He opened his book, took out the bill, and crumpled it into the trash as well. Beginning to read again, one eye looked at Rollie with a cold glare, and he pointed at the door.
The two left in silence and got back into the cruiser. “What the hell was that about, Rollie?” Doug growled. The kid’s outburst was going to delay the investigation by days, if not weeks. “You have barely been in this area to have anyone trust you, and you go and upset the one lead we have! You were instructed to observe so you can work this region when I retire.”
Rollie, still frustrated but realizing the error, replied, “Sorry. But I was getting tired of the silent treatment. He can’t just shrug his answers to the police and think he can get away with it.”
Doug pulled out onto the quiet and barely traveled section of US route 281. “Yes, he can, you idiot. He can’t talk. That place is called the Hotel No-Tell not because the staff won’t talk, but because they can’t talk”
Rollie thought about that for a moment. Getting information about this murder is going to be that much harder if they can’t get back in there.
“Hey, how did you know where to go?” he asked. “I’ve driven this road for months, and I never saw the place.”
‘You need to be a current or previous guest of The Hotel to find the place.”
“But how did you…” Rollie trailed off. That meant one of two things, and he decided this partnership just got strange.
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