Page 47 of The Hidden One

He’s around thirty years old and built like a tank. Dark hair shorn to the scalp. Thick neck corded with muscle. The tattoo of an eagle and shield peek out at me from the sleeve of his uniform.

I tell him what happened.

He asks a few basic questions as he looks around the room. “Did you see where he went?”

“I saw him go through the door and that was it.”

“Ten-eighty-eight.” Suspicious activity found. “I need a unit.” He turns his attention to me, lifts the beam of his flashlight to my neck. “You need an ambulance?”

“I’m fine.”

“Any idea who it was?”

“No clue.”

“You here alone?”

“Yep. It’s just me.”

He looks at me closely, as if he doesn’t quite believe me, and I get the sense he’s wondering if this is some kind of domestic dispute I don’t want to talk about.

“What are you doing here in Belleville?” He asks the question in a friendly way, but he’s curious about me, wondering why I’m here.

I tell him.

“I heard there was a cop from out of town asking questions.” He nods as if his curiosity has been sated. “You think what happened here tonight is related to that?”

“He didn’t ask for money or my purse. He did, however, suggest I leave town.”

His eyes sharpen on mine. “You get a look at him?”

I give the best description I can. Male. Six feet. Two hundred pounds. It probably describes half the men in the county.

The deputy relays the description to his dispatcher, then leaves the room and walks to my Explorer. “Damn.” He whistles. “Did a number on your vehicle.”

I wince at the sight of the smashed windshield and four flat tires. “He must have done this before he broke in,” I say.

“Must have been a pretty sharp instrument.” He shines the beam on me again, this time keeping it out of my eyes. “Lucky he didn’t use it on you.”

It’s a telling statement. If the intruder wanted to kill me, he could easily have done so.

“Is there an auto repair shop in town?” I ask.

“There’s a good one over in Lewistown,” he tells me. “They’ll tow you. You can pick up a rental car there, too, if you need it.”

He saunters to the door of my room and kneels to examine the lock. “Looks jimmied.”

I follow, study the jamb over his shoulder. Sure enough, the paint is scuffed, the wood gouged. “Looks like he popped the latch bolt out of the bore,” I say.

“This motel is pretty old.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “Of course, we don’t get much crime around here.”

He rises and looks at me a little more closely. “You sure you don’t have any idea who might’ve done this?” he asks. “Maybe you ticked someone off and they followed you back here?”

A cast of names scrolls through my brain. The people I’ve come into contact with. The ones who weren’t exactly happy to learn I was looking into a cold case that apparently isn’t that cold.

“The only person I know who didn’t do it, is Jonas Bowman,” I tell him.

Frowning, he motions toward the office in the main building. “I’ll make a report, Chief Burkholder. We’ll step up patrols in the area. In the interim, I suggest you watch your back.”