She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,177

closed the glove box. With his free hand, he scooped up the camera at his feet. “We think whoever did this started up at Mike’s last night—we got nine more damaged cars up there—sliced up the tires, only the white ones, though. Got a thing for that color. Some special kind of crazy, I suppose. Wait here—”

Officer Jun shot out the door toward a group of officers near the far west stairs.

How many white cars did you see in the parking lot?

Thatch had been obsessed. Why would he disable them? Would he seriously set one on fire?

Fogel opened the door and stood beside the car. Jun’s back was to her, lost in some animated conversation. On the opposite end of the building, near the motel office, a detective in plainclothes was questioning a woman with a name tag pinned to her lapel, maybe the manager or some kind of employee. Several times, she pointed up at an open door on the second floor, then turned back to the detective.

Officer Jun glanced back at her.

Fogel waved.

When he turned back to the other officers, she bolted across the parking lot to the center staircase and took them two at a time. On the second floor, she followed the sidewalk around to the open door. There was a bloodstain on the concrete just outside the door. The earlier rain had partially washed it away—no evidence tag, no crime-scene tape. They hadn’t gotten up here yet.

An angry voice shouted up at her from the ground floor. She couldn’t make out the words.

She didn’t have much time.

Fogel carefully stepped over the stain into the room.

Typical rundown motel room. She’d seen hundreds over the course of her career. A ratty bed, heavy drapes, shag carpet. Something had happened here, though. The room felt off. She spotted a bottle cap on the floor, otherwise, nothing appeared out of place. She quickly crossed to the bathroom—a towel on the floor, otherwise normal. Nothing on the counter around the sink.

A matchbook on the floor near the bed.

A Bible in one of the drawers.

Motel notepad next to the phone.

Fogel tore off the topmost three sheets and shoved them in her pocket before ducking and taking a look under the bed.

When she stood back up, three men were standing in the doorway. A plainclothes detective, a uniform, and Officer Jun.

Jun’s face was red. “I told you to wait in the car.”

“She’s with you?” the detective said. A pudgy man, half a foot shorter than Jun, with stringy hair combed back over his flat head.

“You’re standing in evidence,” Fogel said, glancing down at the concrete.

The detective followed her gaze. “Oh, hell.”

The three men spread out around the stain.

“The rain took most of it, but you should be able to get a blood type.”

“You’re standing in my crime scene, miss.” The detective glared.

Fogel glanced around the room. “Really? I’m sorry. It wasn’t marked. I thought I saw someone I knew up here and just came up to say hello.”

“Jun, who is this person standing in my crime scene?”

Officer Jun cleared his throat. “This is Detective Fogel, from Pittsburgh PD.”

“Oh, you mean the drunk woman with a gun we were kind enough to not charge last night? The one we could still charge this morning, if we changed our mind? Felony possession of a concealed firearm. Drunk and disorderly. That woman?”

“I wasn’t—” Fogel started to protest, then closed her mouth. She didn’t remember.

“Yes, sir.”

“What did her superior officer say about all this?”

“We haven’t called him yet, sir.”

The detective scratched at his chin. “No, we haven’t, have we? Not yet.”

Fogel forced a smile and started toward the door. “Sorry, professional curiosity. You’re right, though. Not my jurisdiction.”

The detective blocked her path. “Has her firearm been returned to her?”

“Yes, sir. Her identification too.”

The detective’s head tilted slightly to the left. “Do you know who’s responsible for this, Detective Fogel?”

“I’m not sure what this is.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

“I work Homicide. Looks like you have a vandal running loose. That’s not my area of expertise.”

“We’ve got a vandal who looks to have disabled nearly a dozen cars, all the same color, mind you, at two different locations. He firebombed one of them with a Molotov cocktail. We’ve also got multiple reports of shots fired, two bloodstains, counting this one, indicating people were hit. Yet, we have no bodies. Nobody here, nobody at area hospitals. A whole lotta nothing. You know what else is weird about all this?”

Fogel said nothing.

“All these white cars, including that bonfire in the