Hotel Nigh

Chapter 23

The Third Lodger's Exposed Secret
Miles Woodley: Revealed

"You can walk?" Melina blurted out as Miles drew himself slowly back to an upright position.

"What were you doing?" I asked him.

Miles pulled on his collar before reaching out for his wheelchair. I didn't even bother to say that he evidently doesn't require his wheelchair so why he was reaching for it was a moot point. Even when he collapsed back down into it, having stepped around in a circle to position him correctly. He just stared at us, though his face was paler than I'd ever seen it.

"Do you want to answer our questions?" I asked flippantly.

Miles sighed, rubbing his chin. "Yes, I can walk. And I was just... I thought there would be something behind the bar towards clues about Matt's death. He was found in the bar, if you remember."

"You're a bit old to be an undercover cop," Melina pointed out.

Frowning at her, Miles firmly said, "I'm not an undercover cop. I'm not anything of the sort except..."

"Yes?" I prompted.

He sighed again. "I work in conjunction with the authorities. I'll have you know, Melina, that I am not too old to be an undercover cop. I may not be able to run as fast as I used to or be as quick-thinking as I once was, but I can still put two and two together and generate four as a result. What I do is track leads from a desk – mostly I work from home as I live on my own. My late wife... she... her demise was much too early. In my youth, I worked as a police officer. I made it through the ranks, as any employee would, and then it came to me to retire. I'd been retired only four years when I came out of retirement and commenced working again. I'd like to think my late wife's demise instigated it for me."

"I don't want to be rude, Miles," I began, ensuring that my tone was not as flippant as I was beforehand with him, "but I do not see what your late wife has to do with this or why you have lied to everyone about using a wheelchair."

Melina had been immobile to the side of me before shifting her weight from foot to foot, and I distinctly felt the lightbulb in my pocket brush against whatever was jutting out of her right pocket. Ignoring this, I kept my gaze fixated on Miles as if dissecting his every action and word.

"I needed something to do with myself when my wife died. I couldn't sit at home on my own. I would go stir-crazy. The police force got in contact with me shortly after my wife's passing, offering me with the role of paperwork. They knew how I behaved when I was in the police force – they know of my calibre. Paperwork and harmful adventures here and there seemed tame to me and with two days' worth of thinking, I accepted their offer and I started work again. It wasn't much."

"Why would they offer that to you? I get the whole experience and qualifications stuff, but as an elderly man... who only did paperwork?"

This time, Miles smiled at me instead of sighing. I guess now that his anecdote was processing in my mind, I was becoming more open to the information he was providing us with and perhaps there could have been some truth in it. What I couldn't get to grips with was the fact that it was just paperwork... boring, tedious paperwork.

"No police officer likes paperwork. They'd rather pay someone else to do paperwork – and that's where I came into it. Once a week – or more if recent occurrences permitted it – I would venture to the police station and hand everything in and receive more duties to fulfil. You remember I said about adventures?"

Melina and I nodded ardently, eager for him to carry on with the conversation.

"Sometimes I had to go undercover. I wasn't a cop anymore though. I'd given that up when I retired. I was unable to carry a gun. All I was, was a prop. As I think I have proved with you two, and if I'm not mistaken, the remaining occupants of this hotel, no one would suspect an elderly man in a wheelchair. As soon as we found out this hotel had a lift for wheelchair access, we concurred that utilising a wheelchair would be deepening the façade I could retain."