Gibson paled. “Can’t I just do that from a picture? I know it’s her from the tattoo, anyway.”

“You’ll be in a separate room from the body. They have a video feed set up for occasions like this,” Miller explained. “What’s the address you have on file for her?” Most strip clubs paid in cash only, but usually had some kind of residential address for their workers for tax purposes.

“She was staying at the Starlight Motel across town,” he said.

Miller left his card, telling Gibson to have the dayshift girls call as soon as they came in.

“I’ll swing by here before lunch if I haven’t heard from them,” Miller told Nikki on the way outside.

“I assume the Starlight is the kind of place where you pay by the week?” Nikki asked.

He nodded. “We had a big drug bust there a couple of months ago. There’s supposed to be a night manager, but whether or not someone’s actually in the office is usually hit or miss. You want to wait until morning?”

“We’re already behind,” Nikki said. “But it’s late. I can handle it myself if you want to head home.”

Miller shook his head. “There’s been a couple of stabbings at that place recently. Liam is still an hour away, and you shouldn’t go without backup. And the employees are all familiar with me. They’re more likely to trust a local.”

“I’ll follow you, then.”

The Starlight Motel only had twelve rooms—six on each floor. Nikki shaded her hands and peered through the dingy front entrance. “It’s closed, but there’s a light on in the back office.”

Miller banged on the door.

A skinny white guy with saggy pants and dirty shirt emerged from the back office, a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He walked to the locked door and pointed to the “closed” sign.

Miller slammed his badge against the door.

The night manager rolled his eyes and opened up.

“What?”

“We need to see Janelle Gomez’s room.”

“She staying here?”

“Yes, and we believe she’s been murdered,” Nikki said.

He took a long drag from the cigarette and blew it in their faces. “Terrible. But I can’t just let you into her room without a warrant.”

“Sure you can,” Miller said. “It’s a possible crime scene.”

“Possible ain’t enough.”

“I know this place is still running drugs,” Miller said. “What am I going to find if I go into your office?”

“Nothing, ’cause you got no reason to search.” He folded his arms and smirked.

Miller looked at Nikki. “You smell weed?”

“Yep. Sounds like probable cause to me.”

“I let you in there, and I get in trouble,” the man said.

Nikki showed him a picture of Janelle the club had used in its flyers. “We believe this woman was hit in the back of the head and left to die in the park. She might have been staying here since she came to town a couple of weeks ago. Either let us into the room or I’ll come back with a warrant to search this entire shithole.”

“Right, lady.” His pockmarked chin jutted out. “I’m not stupid. You can’t get no warrant for the entire place.”

“She’s with the FBI,” Miller said. “That means she can do a lot of things. You willing to take that risk?”