Lloyd turned to me as we stood in the hallway. “Yarnell’s bringing up a collapsible stretcher and his emergency bag.”
I nodded.
As we passed number 306, hotel caretaker Jax Sax stuck his head out of the room, his arthritic hand clutching the door.
“You got things under control, boss?” His salt-and-pepper hair stood at attention, and his rheumy eyes blinked. “You need help?”
“No, Jax, We’ve got it. Go back to bed. It’ll be quieter now.”
The old man nodded, took a long look at the sheriff, and then closed the door. None of the other residents on the floor came forward, so I guessed they either had slept through the ruckus or were hiding behind their doors, waiting until daylight to find out what was happening.