Spencerville

around him. It made him crazy to think about it. It also made him hard.
    They cruised past the dark sign of the Westway Motel, still traveling east, then Baxter said, “Wait! Slow down. Pull onto the shoulder.”
    Blake pulled over.
    Baxter sat a moment. Something had registered in his mind, but he didn’t know what it was. He said, “Back up.”
    Blake put the cruiser in reverse, and when they came abreast of the dark signboard, Baxter said, “Stop.”
    Cliff Baxter got out of the car and walked over to the plastic sign with the red plastic letters and read,
Westway
Motel—$29.
He got closer to the sign and saw that the battery plug was disconnected. He plugged it in, and the lights went on. He pulled the plug out, leaving the sign in darkness again.
    Baxter got back into the car and said, “Back up to that side road and turn in.”
    “Right.” Blake got onto the narrow lane, and the Spencerville police cruiser pulled up to the Westway Motel at five minutes past midnight.
    Baxter said, “Wait here.” He took a cardboard file case with him and went into the small lobby.
    The young man behind the desk stood. “Yes, sir?”
    “Lookin’ for somebody, son.” He put the file case on the counter. “You hear about an all-points bulletin tonight?”
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “What the hell you watchin’ on TV?”
    “A videotape.”
    “Yeah? Okay, how long you been on tonight?”
    “Since four. Waiting for my relief—”
    “Okay, you’re my man. Now listen good. I’m lookin’ for a guy drivin’ a dark green Blazer. He had a woman with him, but I don’t reckon she’d come in here. He’s about mid-forties, tall, medium build, light brown hair, kinda gray-green eyes… and I guess not too bad-lookin’. You seen him, didn’t you?”
    “Well…”
    “Come on, son. Man’s wanted for kidnapping, and I ain’t got all night, and I got fifty bucks for your time.”
    “Well, I had a guy in here… did this guy have glasses and a mustache?”
    “Not the last time I saw him. Give me the registration card.”
    The clerk flipped through a stack of cards and found the one he thought the police officer wanted. “Here. This guy came in about—”
    “Let me read, son.” Baxter read the card. “John Westermann of Cincinnati, driving a Ford Escort. You seen his car?”
    “Well, after he checked in, I poked my head out the door and there was a Ford Escort there, but that one had been there for a few hours. I’m supposed to take the license numbers—”
    “I know how you run a fuck place. Did you see a green Blazer?”
    “Don’t know… I saw a dark four-wheel-drive outside, but it was hard to see, and it wasn’t in front of the room I gave this guy Westermann. I hadn’t seen it before, and I was going to go out later and get the license number, but when I went out about ten minutes later, it was gone.”
    Baxter nodded. “Okay, what room did you give this guy?”
    “Room seven.”
    “He still there?”
    “I guess. He took it for the night. I just checked the key drop, and it isn’t there.”
    “Okay…” Baxter rubbed his chin. “Okay… and you never saw a woman?”
    “No. Never do.”
    Baxter opened his file case and took out a book. It was his wife’s high school yearbook, one of the few things he’d allowed her to keep, mostly because it had a picture of him in it, in his junior year, at a dance. He turned to the graduation photos and said, “Flip through this, son, and keep in mind it’s over twenty years old, and imagine a mustache and glasses on the guys who don’t have any. Take your time, but be quick.”
    The young man flipped through the pages of the small graduating class, then stopped.
    “You see him?”
    “I…”
    Baxter took a pen out of his pocket and gave it to the man. “Draw the glasses and mustache you saw.”
    The man took the pen and drew glasses and a mustache on the photograph of Keith Landry. The clerk said, “Yes… that’s the guy… I think that’s the guy…”
    “I think you’re right, son. Give me the key.”
    The clerk hesitated, and Baxter leaned over the counter. “The fucking key.”
    The clerk gave him the key to room 7.
    Baxter said, “You just sit tight and everything’s gonna be fine. Be outa here before you know it.”
    “Yes, sir… uh, you mentioned—”
    “Check’s in the mail.”
    Baxter went outside to the patrol car and leaned into the window. He said to Blake, “Call the boys. We got him.”
    “Jesus…”

CHAPTER