Free Dust Up: A Thriller by Jon McGoran Page A

took.”
    “It’s a shame you weren’t helping us earlier. It would have been a lot easier if you’d arrested Miriam Hartwell when you had the chance.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “We don’t know what he took. Information.” He turned in his seat to look at me again. “Did she say anything to you about it? Did she tell you anything at all?”
    “No.” I looked back at him blankly. “She said she didn’t kill her husband and she didn’t know who did. Or why. Before I could press her on it, the gunmen showed up.”
    His eyes lingered on me, his sneer letting me know he didn’t like me, didn’t believe me.
    “What kind of stuff was Hartwell working on, anyway?” I asked.
    “It’s secret.”
    “Oh, you can tell me. I’m a cop.”
    “It’s technical,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand.”
    “Miriam said he was working on some new genetically modified soybean.” Seemed pretty straightforward to me.
    Royce didn’t say anything.
    “She said they were in Haiti a few weeks back. You guys ever been there?”
    “Once or twice,” Royce said without turning around.
    “Really? What was going on there?”
    He turned his head just enough to see me, but he didn’t answer. I understood, too—I was starting to get on my own nerves. We drove the rest of the way in silence.

 
    23
    The dog was back at the fence in the lot next to the Liberty Motel. He didn’t look at me as we got out of the car, and at first, I took it personally. Then I realized he was probably put off by the assholes I was with. I wanted to explain to him that I had no choice, but he turned and walked away again.
    The kid from the front desk was sitting on the front steps, a set of earbuds connecting him to the smartphone that had so narrowly escaped being shot. He plucked one of the buds as we walked up.
    “You the police?” he asked as we walked up.
    “I am,” I said. “These two are just … participating in the investigation.”
    He nodded. “They said I had to wait until you guys were done before I could take down the tape and reopen the motel.”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Gerald Toyner.”
    I inclined my head toward the door behind him. “Anybody still in there?”
    “Psh!” He laughed. “You kidding? With these motherfuckers stomping all over? That scared more people away than the bullets did. Folks cleared out before we even asked them. Would’ve been gone quicker if they didn’t have to stop to make up fake names and contact info for Officer Po Po standing by the front door.”
    “We want to take a look inside,” Royce said.
    Gerald looked at me, and I nodded. He heaved himself off the steps and got out of our way, then followed behind us.
    I pulled down the crime scene tape and let the three of them precede me. Royce and Divock recoiled at the smell of the hallway.
    “Jesus,” said Royce, turning to glare at Gerald, as if the smell was his fault. The weed part might have been.
    I pointed at the ruined sound system behind the desk. “How’d that happen?”
    The kid shook his head at the tragedy of it. “I told the other cop about it. Motherfucker comes in, shoots it. No good reason, just that kind of motherfucker, I guess. Then he points the gun at me, big thing with a silencer making it look even bigger. He says, ‘Where’s the Asian girl in the wig?’ I fucking told him, man. He heads up the steps, I took off out the front door.”
    “What’d he look like?” I said.
    “About thirty.” He shrugged. “White-guy asshole in a suit.” He turned to Royce and Divock. “No offense.”
    Royce’s neck maintained a steady tone, so I don’t think he was too offended. Oh, well.
    We walked up the steps to the hallway. It seemed longer than before. At the far end, the door to Miriam’s room was open. In the light spilling through it, I could see the cuffs lying open on the carpet.
    Royce looked at them and then at me, disapprovingly, as we stepped over them and into the room.
    It looked the