Inherit the Dead by Jonathan Santlofer Page A

nothing.
    “Sounds like she made an impression on you.”
    “You seen her?” Hook upped his volume. “Photos don’t do that girl justice. She has . . . not sure how to describe it exactly, but she has something . So many celebrity big shots come and go around here, and so I know how to spot it.”
    “Star quality, you mean?”
    “Sure,” said Hook, “if that’s how you want to put it. That girl, she had it. She could walk into a room, stay for thirty seconds, tops, and everyone would remember. I saw it happen in the bar a couple of nights. Guys and gals alike, they all wanted to know who she was and she wasn’t talking to any of ’em.” Hook’s face scrunched up like he was trying to stave off a bad memory.
    “So she didn’t talk to you, then,” said Perry. His voice had softened, too, not by design, but because the situation seemed to call forit. Something about Hook didn’t quite sit right, and as the other man launched into an embellishment of what was clearly an incidental encounter—beautiful woman, clearly unavailable and unattainable, only speaks when she needs to check in, check out, or call up for room service—Perry realized what it was: Hook had the appearance, and the first initial presentation, of a man who’d done violence, but he didn’t have the physical bearing, that weird pheromone all hyped-up types give off, of a true offender. It was as if he pretended to a rap sheet of felonies when he was lucky to have third-degree misdemeanors, at best. Perry figured Hook had been dealing with this disconnect his whole life.
    “I see,” Perry said, fighting off a creeping discomfort. “When did she leave?”
    Hook did a double take. “Oh, right. Really early in the morning. Like she was just waiting for the sun to come up to get out of town. Which was weird. She was more the type to show up in the bar at the tail end of last call.”
    “When everyone would look at her but she wouldn’t give them the time of day,” said Perry.
    “Something like that.”
    “How did she seem when she left? In a hurry? Scared? Happy?”
    “Definitely in a hurry,” Hook said. “Scared? Nah, I wouldn’t say that, but she wasn’t calm, either. Maybe she was on something. I don’t know, and I don’t check. But that early, hers was the only car zooming off onto the highway. Hell of a motor on it, too.”
    “That’s the Memory Motel policy: to keep clear but watch everybody?”
    Hook laughed without any trace of humor. “Is that it?” The question offered a single response. Perry went for it because there was no other choice.
    “For now, but I may be in touch.” Perry fished out a business cardand put it on the desk. Hook didn’t take it, his arms folded, as they were when they first started talking. “Thank you for your time.”
    But to Perry’s surprise, the other man hesitated, his face growing sheepish. Perry waited a beat. “Don’t tell anyone what I told you, okay?” Hook muttered.
    “Why’s that?”
    Now Hook was blushing full-on. “I, ah, might have let on something else to the guys. You know, after she left. When it was late, in the bar.”
    Perry did everything in his power not to burst into a grin. “I won’t tell a soul,” he said.
    Hook wasn’t done. “I mean it. It took a hell of a lot of work for me to build my reputation back up in this part of town. Everyone thought I was some kind of pussy. It never mattered what I did.” He held out his arms, showing off the elaborate art on it as he rotated his forearms. “It never mattered what I inked. My old man gave me the business, but if he’d found any other way, he would have. There’s nobody else to run this motel. Just me. And now that things are starting to fall apart, who’s going to take my place?”
    Then the man shifted again, like he was snapping out of a trance. His eyes zeroed in on Perry’s, and the PI knew an exit line when he saw it approach like a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball.
    Perry mumbled good-bye and left