Chapter 3: Threads of Motive

Ethan shrugged, “Just bored, wanted to make a little extra cash and get out of the house.”

His tone was breezy, but his eyes flicked up to the mirror again, watching me for a reaction.

We still had a bit to go, so I made small talk. Ethan was smooth—talked about the weather, joked about the Maple Heights Bears losing again, even dropped a line about the best coffee in town. But underneath it all, I felt a tension, like a guitar string tuned just a hair too tight, ready to snap.

When we rolled up to Maple Grove Inn, Ethan parked behind a patrol car, rolled down his window, and called out to Marcus Tate, who was running the scene: “Tate, you free later? Let’s grab a beer.”

The way he called out was casual, but I caught something in Marcus’s eyes—a flicker of recognition, maybe a warning. I tucked that away for later.

Marcus hurried over, “Man, you’re just in time, your fr—”

He stopped cold when he saw me in the back seat. He quickly switched gears: “Captain, you’re finally here.”

He shot Ethan a look that said, ‘Not now,’ and then switched to his best official voice.

I’d wanted to hear what he’d say to Ethan, but it would have to wait. I mentally bookmarked the exchange, the way you’d stick a post-it on a file for later.

I got out of the car and got right to business: “Marcus, bring me up to speed.”

The night air was crisp, biting through my shirt. The kind of chill that lets you know you’re alive.

As I turned, I saw Ethan give Marcus a quick call-me gesture before driving off. It was fast, almost playful, but I clocked it. Friends or not, I’d have to dig into that later.

At Maple Grove Inn, a dozen local officers were working the scene, yellow tape cordoning off the area, and a few of our detectives were already on the job.

The parking lot was a circus of flashing lights and nosy neighbors. The air was thick with the smell of old cigarettes and that cheap motel soap you can never quite wash off. Radios buzzed and forensics snapped photos, the whole scene humming with tension.

Marcus led me inside, filling me in as we walked: “About an hour ago, Northside Precinct got a call—sudden death at the motel. Looked like an accident at first. Coincidentally, Dr. Lauren Grant from forensics was here. She checked the body, talked to the victim’s companion, and determined it was murder. That’s when she called us.”

He kept his voice low, not wanting the staff or rubberneckers to overhear. His face was pale, but his eyes were sharp—he’d seen plenty, but murder always rattled even the best.

“Dr. Grant is here?” I raised an eyebrow, but kept my tone neutral. Where people go after work is their own business; Lauren’s personal life wasn’t my concern.

I caught Lauren through the window, scribbling notes, brow furrowed in focus. She looked up, gave me a quick nod, then went back to work.

Marcus and I made our way to room 206.

The hallway carpet was worn thin, the air heavy with bleach and old secrets. Room 206’s door was propped open, yellow tape fluttering in the draft.

Inside, a middle-aged man lay naked on the bed, lips blue, fists clenched, as if he’d died fighting for breath. Forensics officers snapped photos, dusted for prints, the TV playing a rerun of Wheel of Fortune. The victim’s cell buzzed on the nightstand, ignored by everyone.

Lauren Grant, in her forties, wore a crisp white blouse and just a touch of makeup. When she saw me, she looked almost embarrassed, but pulled herself together and walked over. “Captain Sawyer, I did a preliminary. Looks like cardiac arrest triggered by a combo of Viagra and nitrate meds.”

Her voice was steady, but I could see the strain in her eyes. Nobody wants to end a date night like this.

“Drug-induced death? Sounds like an accident. Why call it murder?” I shot back, arms folded, watching her closely. Lauren wasn’t one to jump the gun.

She held up a vacuum-sealed bag with a plastic pill bottle. “This is the victim’s. Still smells like both Viagra and nitrates. I asked his companion—she said the pills were on the bedside table. The victim had no history of heart disease or long-term Viagra use.”