Point of View 5

I take the master key from the kid at the front desk and walk down to #103.

 

#101, #102… #103. Here we are. I try the door. Locked. Hmm. Not surprising. Most hotel doors lock themselves. Insert… twist… and… click.

 

The bug-infested bulb above my head shines into the motel room. Only two other rooms here are occupied, I’m told, so I’m more or less alone.

 

I already called Adriano, so he knows where I am. No one’s even on the street. It’s 11 p.m. The front desk kid said that no one has seen the guest since early that morning, like at around 7 or 8 a.m., when he came back to his room, and the other two guests checked in at around 2 p.m. and 6 p.m. or so.

 

I put on a pair of blue surgical thin rubber nurse gloves as I slowly push open the door.

 

I pull out my pen flashlight and inspect the edgerim around the outside of the door. Up. Over. Down. Hmm. Yup. Looks fine. I poketap the door frame with one of my disposable Bics. Yup. All in place.

 

So now, light? Where’s the switch?

 

I switch on the lights using the pen. Seems normal. A hotel room. One unpacked gym bag on the chair at the table. Seem to be clothes inside. Bed unmade. Bathroom door open. Three credit cards or membership cards arranged in-order on the table. Hmm.

 

Two credit cards. One cash card. Looks like whoever left didn’t want to take their money. So it’s premeditated, then.

 

OK, escape routes? How could I get out of here? One door, behind me. Aha. Back window. Bolt seems to be in place. Well, if the Mauer Grauer is going to get me today, at least I know I can get out through the back window. I could fit, and the back grass looks to make a soft landing.

 

Bathroom? I inspect the edgerim around the bathroom door. Looks normal. One window, high above the toilet tank. Too small. One fan vent. Hmm. Needs cleaning.

 

I treat each and every surface as if it’s an infectious material. No touchie, no touchie. Look, look and look some more. I look before I touch. What I do not see can certainly, certainly hurt me.

 

I pull out my telescoping inspection mirror and use it in conjunction with the flashlight. Under the rim of the bed. Just dust. Under the radiator. Under the bedside table. Look, look, look. Underside of the table? Clear.

 

Keep to the fundamentals, Geoff.

 

“It seems as if they just walked away,” I tell Adriano. “No signs of forced entry. No signs of foul play. Left two credit cards and one cash card on the table. Presumably disposed of any ID and took the cash with ’em. Exit through the back window is possible. That would explain why the hotel staff didn’t see anyone. The woods back there just lead over toward the freeway. Probably a fence. That’s about it.”

 

———-

 

You take the master key from the kid at the front desk and walk down to #103.

 

#101, #102… #103. Here we are. You try the door. Locked. Hmm. Not surprising. Most hotel doors lock themselves. Insert… twist… and… click.

 

The bug-infested bulb above your head shines into the motel room. Only two other rooms here are occupied, you’re told, so you’re more or less alone.

 

You already called Adriano, so he knows where you are. No one’s even on the street. It’s 11 p.m. The front desk kid said that no one has seen the guest since early that morning, like at around 7 or 8 a.m., when he came back to his room, and the other two guests checked in at around 2 p.m. and 6 p.m. or so.

 

You put on a pair of blue surgical thin rubber nurse gloves as you slowly push open the door.

 

You pull out your pen flashlight and inspect the edgerim around the outside of the door. Up. Over. Down. Hmm. Yup. Looks fine. You poketap the door frame with one of your disposable Bics. Yup. All in place.

 

So now, light? Where’s the switch?

 

You switch on the lights using the pen. Seems normal. A hotel room. One unpacked gym bag on the chair at the table. Seem to be clothes inside. Bed unmade. Bathroom door open. Three credit cards or membership cards arranged in-order on the table. Hmm.

 

Two credit cards. One cash card. Looks like whoever left didn’t want to take their money. So it’s premeditated, then.

 

OK, escape routes? How could you get out of here? One door, behind me. Aha. Back window. Bolt seems to be in place. Well, if the Mauer Grauer is going to get you today, at least you know you can get out through the back window. You could fit, and the back grass looks to make a soft landing.

 

Bathroom? You inspect the edgerim around the bathroom door. Looks normal. One window, high above the toilet tank. Too small. One fan vent. Hmm. Needs cleaning.

 

You treat each and every surface as if it’s an infectious material. No touchie, no touchie. Look, look and look some more. You look before you touch. What you do not see can certainly, certainly hurt you.

 

You pull out your telescoping inspection mirror and use it in conjunction with the flashlight. Under the rim of the bed. Just dust. Under the radiator. Under the bedside table. Look, look, look. Underside of the table? Clear.

 

Keep to the fundamentals, Geoff.

 

“It seems as if they just walked away,” you tell Adriano. “No signs of forced entry. No signs of foul play. Left two credit cards and one cash card on the table. Presumably disposed of any ID and took the cash with ’em. Exit through the back window is possible. That would explain why the hotel staff didn’t see anyone. The woods back there just lead over toward the freeway. Probably a fence. That’s about it.”

 



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