"Asshole," Phinn muttered, staring at the dead body.
"Phinn!" Jake hissed, glancing around the tiny bathroom and out into the motel room.
"Don't Phinn me. He couldn't wait to get shot until after we asked our questions? How about ducking and running next time?" the scrawny sleuth challenged the corpse.
"Shit, we better call 911," Jake realized. He started to turn, but his partner stopped him.
"Not yet."
"Look, I don't think he's been dead long. That blood hasn't dried at all. If we call the cops, they might be able to catch--"
"The cops ain't catching shit!" Phinn barked. "And you're right about one thing. The murder likely took place while we wasted time with Regina."
"Hey, don't blame me for wanting to stop. You agreed to it!" Jake pointed out.
"Fine, fine. Let me think for a moment," Phinn said.
The bespectacled investigator shuffled around the cramped space while he studied Oswald Cozart's body. The fake author didn't appear to have been caught lounging around his outdated room by the killer. No, he was still dressed for his role in his sharp suit. However, the jacket was wide open with his tie askew. Several red marks lay scattered across his face.
Playing out several possible scenarios in his mind, Phinn eventually agreed on one. Stepping forward, he went to check his theory.
"Phinn!" Jake hissed when his oldest friend grabbed Cozart's hair to pull his head forward.
"Ah, the bruising had already started before he was shot," Phinn noted, the evidence matching his scenario.
"Bruising? What--Where are you going?" the stocky detective asked as the skinnier one slipped past him into the main room.
Instead of answering, Phinn stood in front of the bathroom while surveying the bed, desk, nightstand, and dresser. Barely turning around, he ordered Jake to search Cozart's pockets.
"Jesus, we can't tamper with the evidence. It's bad enough that you--"
"What's the point? Our fingerprints are all over this room already. Just look to see if he has his phone," Phinn explained. "We don't have much time."
Jake grumbled, but he moved closer to the corpse.
"Sorry about this, man," the empathetic teen apologized before reaching into the suitcoat's pocket.
Out in the bedroom, Phinn began to spread out the small pile of papers they'd encountered during their search. Skimming each page as swiftly as possible, he snapped off a picture of the material before turning to the next one. Nothing appeared important at first glance. After the fourth piece, Phinn looked up as understanding hit him. Almost simultaneously, Jake finished patting Cozart's pants pockets.
"No phone," he called out.
"Hmm, did you find any car keys?"
"Uh, no," Jake realized, exiting the bathroom. "I'm calling 911."
"No!" Phinn yelled. "How about a wallet?"
"Yeah, it's in his pants pocket."
"Well?"
"Oh, c'mon! Not only don't I want to dig inside a dead man's pants, I shouldn't," Jake pointed out. Phinn refused to take no for an answer. Throwing out his arms, Jake returned to the bathtub.
Two-thirds of the way through the papers, Phinn paused as he spotted a name he'd seen recently. Jotting it down in his mental notebook, he re-encountered the name two pages later. By that time, Jake left the bathroom with a sickened expression.
"Next time, you can grope the corpse," he spat.
"Anything noteworthy?" Phinn asked, not looking up as he reached the second-to-last piece of paper.
"Credit cards, some cash, a few insurance cards, and a New Jersey driver's license. He does seem to be Oswald Cozart," Jake reported.
"I assumed as much," Phinn admitted, causing his friend to grow frustrated.
"Sometimes I could strangle you," Jake groused, mimicking the act with his hands. "You have to stop keeping things from me."
"Fine!" Phinn snapped as he took the last picture. Then, he assembled the papers back into their original pile before placing them in the folder. "First, go out on the balcony and see if you recognize any vehicles."
"It would be nice to know what I'm looking for," Jake muttered, opening the door. Stepping out on the balcony/walkway, he spotted Garth as he dropped back from the building's corner.
Only half scanning the parking lot, Jake saw several older cars, trucks, and one small recreational vehicle. However, the car next to the small camper caused him to perform a double-take. Suddenly aware of why Phinn wanted him to search, he rushed back inside the motel room.
"That's the car from the marina. The one Sandy-Brown-Hair-With-Glasses and that old man hopped into with those bags of Spanish doubloons," Jake recounted.
"Good. I think we're finished here. Let's go search Oswald's car," Phinn said, satisfied that the room looked exactly the same as they'd found it.
"But we need to call 911."
"Not until we finish. He's not going anywhere," Phinn remarked, gesturing toward the bathroom. Leaving the room, he added, "I assume Garth is still watching."
"Yeah, he ducked out of sight when I came out. Boy, they're about to get a surprise when the cops show up," Jake commented.
"I'd almost suggest alerting them, as I don't want them scooped up. However, I also don't want Floyd and Garth aware that we know they're following us," Phinn said.
Walking down the stairs, Phinn quietly filled Jake in on what he thought happened. The killer had been waiting inside the motel room when Cozart returned. He or she hit the con artist from behind on the neck. The blow likely came from the gun because the killer used it to keep control of Cozart while the fake author was interrogated. Either the answers weren't to the killer's liking, or the Cozart made a foolish move for the gun.
"Do you think it could be Sandy-Brown-Hair-With-Glasses?" Jake asked.
"Or Mindy Moon? I don't know," Phinn admitted. "I think it's doubtful, but one can't rule out a falling out."
Jake had to fight the urge to glance over and check on the Rattigans while they crossed to the other side of the parking lot. Phinn did whisper to check on Mrs. Deason in the motel office.
"She's not watching right now," Jake responded as they reached the camper.
"Ah, you recognized correctly," Phinn complimented, gesturing down at the rear license plate.
"Wait, it didn't have Jersey plates at the marina," Jake recalled, looking down in surprise.
"Only an idiot would keep his real plates on when pulling off a scam," Phinn noted, squeezing between the car and camper.
Unlike regular door locks, Phinn encountered some trouble picking the car's lock. Jake began fidgeting as the effort dragged on. Nearly ready to tell his friend to abandon the effort, Jake let out a big breath of air he'd been holding in when his partner finally managed to unlock the door.
"I'll check up here; you do the trunk," Phinn directed, reaching down to pull the trunk release.
After only a few minutes, the scrawny teen crawled out of the vehicle. He'd found nothing worthwhile. Pushing the lock, he closed the door. He wasn't going to help the police do their search.
"Find anything?"
"The fake beard, ballcap, and clothes Cozart wore at the marina. The duffle bags are here too, but they're empty," Jake listed as Phinn walked over.
"They were probably filled with rocks," the brown-haired sleuth speculated. "What's that?"
"A toolbox. I've already checked inside. Plus, those shovels," the dark-blond-haired teen noted. "So we found a few things. Anything in the front?"
"Not really. A flashlight in the glove box. The killer likely took anything significant," Phinn replied.
"What?"
"That's why the keys were missing. The same goes for the room and his phone. Cozart must have had far more material about his scam and the plan. It's the likeliest explanation for how empty his room was," Phinn said. "Now, follow my lead."
"Oh, no. What do you have planned?" Jake groaned, moving to follow his friend as he walked across the parking lot.
"Why, we're going to call 911 as you wanted," Phinn replied, his tone far too innocent for Jake's liking. "Let's go see Mrs. Deason in the office."
"Why don't we call from our phones?" Jake asked, holding up his phone.
"Because we can use it as a distraction. Block me for a few seconds."
"Block? Ah, hell!" Jake groaned seconds before they reached the glass door.
Entering, Phinn took the lead as the motel's co-owner responded to the bell ring. She'd barely left the rear office before Phinn moved toward the front desk and not the side for guests.
"Mrs. Deason, you better go get your husband," Phinn suggested, already entering a space off-limits to non-employees.
"Why? What are you doing? Get out of here," Anita ordered, attempting to shoo the teen away.
"One of your guests won't be checking out the usual way," Phinn said, spinning around the older woman to get behind her.
"What does that mean? Oh!" Mrs. Deason exclaimed, figuring it out after noticing Jake's somber expression. "What did you do?"
"Nothing!" Phinn denied in an exasperated tone. He lifted the telephone off its receiver. "Now, please get Deke. I need to call the police."
"The police? Oh, my!"
"You better get Mr. Deason," Jake suggested gently. Based on the sharp motion from his partner, Jake moved forward to softly usher her toward the back room while getting behind her. "It would be better to fill him in before your other guests start asking questions."
With a startled cry, Anita rushed toward the poker game while already screaming for her husband. Working quickly, Phinn flipped open the oversized book that served as the hotel registry. Moving his finger down the page, he scanned the names. Without success, he turned to the page where Cozart's name had been signed. Almost immediately, the teen spotted the name. Quickly tracing his finger across the page, he mentally noted the room number.
