a few extra towels. It could never have held the weight of a person.â She shook her head. âIt pulled right out of the tile.â
âSam, are the police finished with the room?â
âYes, but they donât want the hotel to release it yet, not for twenty-four hours. They said I could go in and pack his things, though, that that would be okay.â
âLet me do that for you. Youâve got enough to do taking care of Beau. And yourself. Anyway, you have to be available to the others, in case there are some second thoughts later, anxieties to be dealt with, questions.â
âThanks, Rachel. I certainly want to have everything ready for Elizabeth. I donât want her to have to be in that room at all.â She reached into her pocket and took out two keys, checking the room numbers, and then handed one of them to me.
âIâll pack and leave the bag at the front desk, okay?â
âWhy donât you just bring it to my suite after youâve cleaned up and changed?â she said. âIâm in 501. Of course, you already know that, donât you? Thanks for this, Rachel. Itâll help a lot. The hotel offered to have it done, but I said no. I think we owe it to Alan not to have a strangerââ
âNot to worry. Iâll see you later, okay?â
I stopped on three for Dashiell, then took the stairs up one more flight. Standing in the empty hallway outside 408, I took a deep breath, preparing myself as if Alanâs body would still be in there, one foot sticking up out of the tub, his face locked in a grimace of pain and fear. But the room was empty, the curtains open, the sun streaming in onto the rumpled bed, the electronic collar and remote lying on top of the dresser.
I put Dashiell on a down just inside the door so that I could look first. I could see that the nightstand was still pulled away from the wall. I guessed that Alan intended to return the radio to its place after his bath. There was a pair of pants over the back of a chair near the window, a pair of shoes near the bed, the socks heâd worn tossed over them. The bedcovers were in a great pile on one side of the bed, and the pillows were one on top of the other. I bent and looked under the bed, and found Alanâs shirt there. Perhaps heâd tossed it on the bed and it slipped off when heâd gotten up, then got kicked beneath the bed by accident. I pulled it out and did the best I could to fold it, pushing the covers over to make room for Alanâs suitcase so that I could pack up his things, as promised. I thought Iâd do that first and save the bathroom for last.
But when I pushed the covers over, I saw something that made me stop. Had I only been looking at Alan as someone whose training method I disliked intensely, that all changed when I saw the tennis ball pushed under the edge of the bedclothes, placed there by a hopeful dog who wanted one more toss. Many dog trainers have two sides to them, the one they show in public and one they keep private. But in most cases, the public side is the gentle one, and the rougher training techniques are used when no one else is watching. Here was a case where the public side was one many considered harmful to dogs. But, alone with Beau, Alan had played ball with him.
Come to think of it, thereâd been a ball just inside the door. I was so used to seeing dog toys on the floor, it hadnât really registered. When I turned to look for it, it was between Dashiellâs paws. I picked it up and held it in my hand. Did he let the dog sleep up on the bed, too? I wondered, putting the ball in my pocket and running my hands on top of the spread to see if I picked up dog hair.
I couldnât find any fur on the spread, nor could I find any pajamas tossed anywhere. They were probably in the bathroom, I thought, wincing. He probably hung them on the back of the door before he got into the tub. Or if he didnât wear any, no