Not too long after they passed a group of homeless people squatting around the mouth of an alley, the cab driver took a right-hand turn. The tall buildings and overall hum of the city was still present, but it was in a ragged fashion. Ava likened it to a well-trained and athletic boxer that had taken a few too many beatings and now had a hard time breathing and thinking straight.
Several minutes later, the cab pulled into an uneven and slightly dusty parking lot. A boxy-looking building sat just off of the street, looking out onto the city though dingy windows. It wasn’t the worst hotel Ava had ever seen, but it was essentially a different world from the apartment complex Branson had been living in up until a few days ago.
They headed directly for the front office. It was a dingy room that was thick with the smell of pipe smoke and dust. A middle-aged man sat behind a cluttered desk, eating a sandwich while thumbing through a stack of papers. When he looked up to greet them, he made no attempt to hide the fact that he was irritated.
“Need a room?” he said, barely looking up at them. But the little glance he did take registered about a second after he returned his attention to the papers. Slowly, he looked back up and, as he looked back and forth between his guests, a small smile began to take shape.
“No thank you,” Ava said. She showed her badge and the man looked confused right away. The smile faltered but ultimately remained, though now it looked a bit lopsided. “I’m Detective Ava Gold, NYPD. My partner and I are trying to locate a woman named Kathleen Branson. We have reason to believe she’s stayed here at some point in the past several days.”
“Branson, you say?”
He seemed happy enough to open up a small ledger that sat at the left edge of the desk. “I don’t really pay much attention to the names,” he said. “I give them this here ledger and have them sign their name. And…yeah, I got her right here. K. Branson. But I hate to be the one to tell you, she’s not here anymore. Checked out last night.”
“How long was she here?” Ava asked.
“Two days and nights, looks like. But you know…I did have to get on her and this one other woman. They were being loud and rowdy, sort of arguing a little. And I think…” He stopped, lowered his voice, and leaned forward a little. “…I think the other woman might be one of those women of the night, if you know what I mean.”
“What was the argument about?” Pawlowski asked.
“Couldn’t tell you. I went out, asked them to break it up, and they did. Not much of a problem.”
“Would you happen to know if this other woman is still here?”
“I imagine so. Your Branson woman is the only single woman that checked out today.”
“What room number is she in?”
He looked back to the ledger and tapped at a name, smiling at his ability to help. “The only other woman’s name that’s signed here is Elizabeth Wendell. She’s in Room 7.”
The entire situation raised several questions in Ava’s mind. First of all, how often did single women get rooms at this hotel.Secondly, if the clerk suspected the other woman might be a prostitute, why let her stay? Was there some form of business perk, an assurance that he’d keep his rooms rented out for such activities? She had no time for these questions right now, though. This was the second stop they’d made, only to find that Branson had moved on. And this time, unless the second woman had some sort of information for them, they would have no bread crumbs left to follow.
They thanked the clerk and quickly headed back out to the lot. The rooms were connected by a thin strip of cracked, dingy concrete. On their way to Room 7, they passed by an older man asleep with his back against the walls between Rooms 5 and 6. They literally had to step over his legs to make it by.
Ava knocked on the door and could hear slight movements right away. As she waited, she noticed a slight motion inside the window to the right of the door. Someone had peeked through the thin curtain, peering out. Several seconds later, a woman answered the door. She was rather pretty, with long, curly hair and a figure that looked to have come out of the crude sketches of a sexually charged teenage boy. She wore makeup, though it was clear she’d only been awake for a short while. Her eyes were still bleary with sleep and her hair was a bit messy.
“Yes?” she asked. “Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for a woman named Kathleen Branson,” Ava said. “We’re told the two of you have been spending some time together the last day or so.”
“You have, have you?” the woman asked, giving them a curious glance. “And you are?”
“NYPD,” Pawlowski said, showing her badge.
“Oh. Well…who told you I know a woman by that name?”
“The gentleman at the front desk,” Ava said. “You’re Elizabeth Wendell, right?”
“I am. And this woman you’re talking about…you’re sure she’s been here? I haven’t spoken to another woman in two or three days. Been here mostly by myself.”
A devious little smile crept across her lips after this comment. Ava also noticed that after they’d introduced themselves as the police, Elizabeth Wendell had positioned herself in the center of the doorway, attempting to keep them from entering—or even getting a good view of the room beyond. Noting this, Ava nearly asked her to step aside and let them enter. But before she did, she caught another slight blur of motion. It was all the way to the back of the room, a quick motion slipping into the bathroom—which was just barely still within her sight.
Ava nodded, playing it cool for Wendell while also coming up with a plan that would net the best results.
“You’re certain of that?” she asked Wendell.
“Yes, quite.”
“Okay. Well, we do understand that Kathleen Branson is in the area. If you hear of anyone by that name being around here, please contact the local police.”