21
I headed south on Scottsdale Boulevard. Just past Oak Street, I pulled into the Cactus Inn parking lot, which was empty except for a 1990s-model Chevy Caprice and newer Kia Sephia. The paint on the street sign was peeling, giving the lettering a pointy, menacing style similar to the illegible graffiti tags on the sign’s posts. A smaller, backlit sign by the front office promised rooms with free Playboy channel and other adult content.
The building’s stucco exterior was pockmarked and yellowed from years of relentless heat and dust. Windows were dirty. Trash collected in corners.
To the north was a liquor store. To the south was Naughty’s, the strip club where the Athena Sisterhood was hanging out when Fitzgerald’s body was discovered.
“What do you hope to learn here?” asked Byrd.
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