Criminal

tucked into the corner. “How long have you been watching him?”
    “Officially?” McGuire asked. “Just a few days.” He told Amanda, “Your people have been doing most of the heavy lifting, but my folks have supplemented.”
    “Unofficially?” Will asked.
    “Since he checked in. He’s a strange man. Very off-putting physically. He never did anything overt, but he made people uncomfortable. And, frankly, the Presidential Suite is four thousand dollars a night. We normally try to find out who our higher-end clients are. I did a little poking around and realized that we needed to keep a closer eye on him.”
    Amanda asked, “Did anyone talk to him? Socialize with him?”
    “As I said, he was off-putting. The hotel staff avoided him whenever possible. We never let the maids go up alone.”
    “What about other guests?”
    “No one mentioned anything.”
    Will asked, “How did he pay for the room?” The man had been in prison. He wouldn’t have a credit card.
    McGuire explained, “His bank arranged everything. We’re holding a hundred-thousand-dollar deposit against the room.”
    A bell dinged. The doors opened.
    Will stepped aside, then followed them out of the elevator. Sara held his gaze for a few seconds. He nodded for her to go ahead of him.
    McGuire said, “There are five other suites on his floor. The Presidential is in the corner. It’s around twenty-two hundred square feet.”
    Three uniformed Atlanta Police officers stood at the end of the hallway. They were at least fifty feet away. The red exit sign glowed over their heads. The suite was directly across from the stairs.
    McGuire led them down the hall. “Three of the suites were occupied. Entertainers. There’s a concert in town. We arranged for them to be moved to our sister property. I can give you their information but—”
    Amanda said, “I’d rather not waste time talking with lawyers.”
    Will felt a pain in his jaw, running down his neck. His teeth were clamped together. His shoulders tensed. He could hear his own breathing over the Muzak. The thick carpet was soft under his shoes. The walls were painted a deep brown that made the long hallway feel like a tunnel. Chandeliers hung at even intervals. There was a room service cart beside a closed door. No number on the room. The suites were probably the equivalent of three or four rooms. In movies, they always had Jacuzzi tubs and bathrooms the size of Will’s house.
    She wouldn’t be in the tub. She wouldn’t be in the bathroom. She would be on the mattress. She would be pinned down like a specimen in a science project.
    Another victim. Another woman whose life was over because of a man whose DNA roiled inside of Will.
    He had never stayed in a hotel suite before. He had never run on a beach. He had never flown in an airplane. He had never brought home a school report and watched his mother smile. The clay ashtray he’d made in kindergarten had been one of sixteen Mrs. Flannigan received on Mother’s Day. All the Christmas gifts under the tree were labeled “for a girl” or “for a boy.” The evening Will graduated high school, he’d looked out at the crowd of cheering families and seen only strangers.
    Amanda stopped a few feet from the uniformed officers. “Dr. Linton, perhaps you should stay out in the hall for a moment?”
    Sara nodded her acquiescence, but Will asked, “Why?”
    Amanda stared up at him. She looked worse than she had the day before. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. Her lipstick was smeared.
    “All right.” For once, Amanda didn’t argue. She continued down the hallway.
    The cops looked bored with their assignment. Their thumbs were looped through their heavy utility belts. They stood with their legs wide apart to keep their backs from breaking under the weight of their equipment.
    “Mimi,” Amanda said to the female officer. “How’s your aunt Pam?”
    “Hating retirement.” She indicated the room. “No one’s been in or out.”
    Amanda waited for McGuire to open the door with his keycard. The green light flashed. There was a clicking sound. He held open the door. Sara and Amanda walked in, then Will.
    McGuire said, “I’ll be in the hall if you need me.” There was a metal latch on the doorjamb. He swung it out to catch the door and keep it from locking.
    “Well,” Amanda said.
    They stood in the foyer, looking into a room that was larger than Will’s entire house. The curtains were open. Sunlight streamed in. The corner unit