She ignores Marshall as she wishes Jessica a good evening and sees her back to the steps. While Monroe understands the other agent’s anxiety, she also knows that she isn’t done with the situation yet and that if she isn’t careful now, if she suddenly starts rushing, Jessica could notice. At best, that would delay them further; at worst, it could jeopardize both of their missions. Still, she does her best to minimize small talk.
Once she hears the other woman’s steps fade from the stairwell, she makes her way back to the room she’d opened before, where Marshall is waiting.
“As promised.” She sets the card on the dresser without bothering to look for him. She closes the door behind her as she exits before pushing her cart to another section of the floor, leaving Marshall with that hall to himself. She doesn’t need to say anything else, but there’s no one around, and she can’t help herself as she murmurs “Happy now?” to him through the coms.
“Happy no, satisfied yes,” Marshall confirms and a large hand consumes the card, pulling it up into his sleeve. Pacing in the room for a moment -- he wants to assure Jessica could clear the hall before his exit -- his mind races. It is him time to get shit done, finally.
Moving out into the hallway, crystal eyes glance up and down the hallway with caution. Clear. Remaining vigilant, the agent takes confident steps down the hallway to the room he was now granted access too. Swiping the card his body tenses -- please work -- when it does, Marshall's muscles relax and he quickly slips inside. Dropping his voice, Marshall speaks into his com, advising those watching over the mission that he has made it to the room.
The room is well kept, but it is clear that whoever left last, left in a hurry. Object lie askew off their surfaces, marking the path the unknown individual took before taking flight. “Looks like we got something to work with here,” he mutters more to himself than anything.
Opening up the briefcase that he carried with him, Marshall who looks like no more than a businessman pulls out a camera to first depict the present state of the room. Flashes of light capture a laptop and phone at the room’s desk, the chair on its side on the floor. Keeping his camera with him, Marshall straightens up the chair and takes a seat. Thick fingers moved over the computer’s keyboard. His face falls into a scowl. Wiped clean. Hands then fall to the phone, also wiped. Fuck.
“We have a laptop and phone on location. Devices are both wiped clean.” Maybe someone with a greater skill level than he with technologies would be able to uncover something, but Marshall is not the guy for computers. Moving on, Marshall pulled out his brush and powders and moved back towards the door.
Earlier, Agent Key sent guard through the room and they left fingerprints behind. Lifting them with the small kit from his briefcase was a careful skill. Marshall takes prints from a number of surfaces and looks over them with a careful eye. “It looks like we have more than one set here. The two guards and maybe the bastard we are looking for --”
Sighing, Marshall loads the prints into the hardware of his briefcase and hopes the signal is strong enough to get back to the bunker for analysis. Trudging through the room his eyes fall on an overturned wastepaper basket. “Please don’t let there be condoms on here,” he whispers to himself -- and he is sure he can here agent Ruth laughing at him on the other end. Reaching in, he feels the softness of used tissues then small pieces of paper. Pulling a handful out of the crescent shadow it becomes clear; “We have a business card?” His finger pokes around in the mess, "Appears to have some writing.”
Putting it into the safety of an evidence bad for analysis later, Marshall moves into the bedroom, He only has so much time before he has to clear the room. The camera’s light floods the dark room. It’s as if the bed wasn’t slept in, but something catches his eye, the pillows are out of order for the king-sized bed. Moving forward his eyes look over the pillows and sheet. It is there, sprawled across the pillows are thicks strands of hair. Moving for his kit he takes tweezers and small bags and places the strands in.
“Room is canvassed. I’m going to clear.”
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