Criminal

attorney. The man was a gun for hire. He was also the reason they were here. It was the threat of Centrello’s superior courtroom performance that persuaded the Atlanta city prosecutor to offer the plea bargain of life with the possibility of parole.
    Will said, “Open it.”
    In fifteen years, Will had only once seen Amanda’s composure crack, and even then, it was more like a fissure. For a split second, she showed something akin to dread. And then just as quickly, the emotion was gone.
    The envelope was glued into the spine. She had to turn it over like a page. The glue along the flap had dried long ago. She used her thumb and forefinger to press open the envelope. Will looked inside.
    No letter. No note. Just faded ink where some of the words had rubbed off.
    Amanda said, “Apparently, it’s nothing more than a bookmark.”
    “Then why did he keep it all these years?”
    “No luck.” Sara was back. She told them, “No nail polish in the bathroom or the bedroom. I found his diabetic kit. His syringes are in a plastic disposal box. We’ll have to have the lab cut it open, but from what I could tell, there’s nothing in there that doesn’t belong.”
    “Thank you, Dr. Linton.” Amanda closed the Bible. She took out her BlackBerry again. “Will?”
    He didn’t know what else to do but continue searching the bar. He used the edge of his shoe to open the bottom cabinets. More glasses. Two ice buckets. The minibar was unlocked. Will used the toe of his shoe again. The fridge was full of vials of insulin, but nothing else. He let the door close.
    There were at least two dozen liquor bottles on the shelves behind the bar. The mirror backing showed Will’s reflection. He didn’t look at himself, didn’t want to fall down that rabbit hole of comparing himself to his father. He studied the colored labels instead, the shape of the bottles, the amber and gold liquids.
    Which was why he noticed that one of the bottles listed at a slight angle. There was something underneath, shimming it to the side.
    He told Amanda, “Pick up this bottle.” For once, she didn’t ask him why. She took the bottle off the shelf. “It’s a key.”
    Sara asked, “Is it for the minibar?”
    Will checked the lock on the refrigerator. “No. It’s too big.”
    Carefully, Amanda picked up the key by the edges. The head was stepped instead of round or angled. There was a number stamped into the metal.
    Will said, “That’s for a Schlage factory lock.”
    Amanda sounded perturbed. “I have no idea what that means.”
    “It’s a heavy-duty deadbolt.” Will went out into the hallway. The cops were gone, but McGuire was still there. He held a bag of ice to his nose.
    Will said, “I’m sorry about before.”
    McGuire’s curt nod did not indicate forgiveness.
    Will asked, “What door in this hotel opens with an actual metal key?”
    He took his time lowering the bag of ice, sniffing back blood. “The keycards—”
    Amanda interrupted him, holding up the key. “It’s to a Schlage deadbolt. Heavy duty. What door in your hotel does this open?”
    McGuire wasn’t stupid. He got over himself fast. “The only locks like that are in the sub-basement.”
    Amanda asked, “What’s down there?”
    “The generators. The mechanicals. The elevator shafts.”
    Amanda headed toward the elevators. She told McGuire, “Radio your security team. Tell them to meet us down there.”
    McGuire jogged to keep up. “The main elevators stop in the lobby. You have to go to the second floor in the service elevator, then use the emergency exit stairs behind the spa.”
    Amanda jabbed the button. “What else is on that floor?”
    “Treatment rooms, a nail suite, the pool.” The doors opened. He let Amanda on first. “The stairs to the sub-basement are behind the gym.”

twenty-seven
    July 15, 1975
    “Amanda,” Evelyn repeated.
    Amanda stared down at Ulster. Her foot was still jammed into his neck. With the slightest pressure, she could crush his windpipe.
    “Amanda,” Evelyn said. “The girl.”
    The girl.
    Amanda stepped back. She told the patrolman, “Take him.” The man took out his cuffs. He called dispatch on his shoulder mic, sounding as scared as Amanda had felt ten minutes ago.
    She wasn’t afraid now. The steeliness was back. The fury. The anger. She headed toward the house.
    “Wait.” Evelyn put her hand on Amanda’s arm. The lower half of her face was swollen. It obviously hurt to talk, but she whispered, “There