Chapter 2: The Motel
Nathan Adler's motel room was cramped, hot, and in shambles - like most. And like most, it had only one creaky queen-sized bed. There was a torn armchair next to it. A T.V table and a lawn chair were at the far side of the room, parallel to the door. No windows. No T.V.
"Make yourself at home." He had a gruff, low Tom Waitsy voice combined with his accent. It made his words hard to distinguish. It made Miranda drowsy.
"When can I leave?" she yawned.
He took off his hat and jacket, noting the worried look on the young woman's face. "It's too hot in this room to wear these and I'm not sure. Unless you want to die sometime this week, I suggest you stick with me until I have proof that you're permanently safe."
"Fine, but I'm not sticking with you in that bed."
"Of course not, I'm sleeping the armchair."
He was nice, Miranda would give him that. To find a nice cop in Oxford town was rare. Getting reports on cops raping women on the streets, however, was not.
"Get some rest," he said. "You'll need it for tomorrow. We're going investigating." With those words, he settled into the armchair, leaned his head back, and grew silent.
Sleeping… What an useless action. How many strings of lies will there be by the time I'm finished with her? Enough to make a decent necklace. Maybe three. My conscious is tearing me down… Nothing a good smoke can't handle. Yeah. That's much better.
Detective Professor Nathan Adler stood outside his motel room, taking deep puffs from his cigarette. His eyes were blank and the veins in his temple were throbbing. It was apparent that he was having an inner conflict with himself.
Should I leave her now and risk losing the closest thing I have to a witness in this case? I'll only be out for a little while…
He had to get to H.Q in Soho in able to consult the Data Bank. There were still a few unclear items involving Miranda that needed to be cleared.
A half and hour later, Nathan sat in an empty room on a stool. The glass on the door of the room held the words DATA BANK LAB. Behind the door, in front of Nathan, was a large, computer-like machine, but far more advanced than any computer and it had the detective's full attention. The screen, of which his eyes were glued to, flashed up the following information:
Miranda Thompson: Female. Caucasian. Twenty-two. Waitress. Unmarried. Lower-class citizen. No convictions.
He scrolled down to the contact list. Five names in particular caught his eye.
Contacts: Baby Grace Blue, Ramona A. Stone, Algeria Touchshriek, Leon Blank, Detective Professor Nathan Adler.
These were the names that stood out the most. Besides his own, he was bewildered by them. Was this why everyone was after her? She knew Ramona. She knew Algeria. She knew Leon, and greatest of all, she had known Baby Grace, the most recent victim of the unknown artist slash murderer. But how? She didn't seem the type to be associated with them.
Maybe she's hiding something?
He thought back to how glad she was when she discovered that he was a detective.
An Art felon wouldn't respond like that. She's too innocent, however, the Data Bank never lied before. She had known them. But when?