No inquisitive mind, not even elocke, ever discovered what really happened at the Cadillac Motel that night. The body, the blood-splattered wood paneling, the weapon, the money — a scene right out of the corridors of Satan’s lair. Damn shame, too — pretty little thing, she was. Someone with potential, with prospects. She didn’t belong on this path, an asphalt stretch where the blackness of midnight envelops and quivers even the most stentorian of voices. She hardly stood a chance.

And yet, only the hollow illumination of this broken-down sign can bear witness to the truth.