by Mia Dymond
“That’s the last time we have him on screen.” Harvard stopped the disc.
“Do we have audio of the conversation?”
His teammate nodded. “Outside, Overton directs Green to drive the property one more time. Inside, he asks Gerard if there were any security issues logged for investigation. When questioned by law enforcement, both men answered honestly.”
What about activity around the time of death?”
“The elevator cameras are random guests, all registered and accounted for at time of death. The camera in the hallway leading to the crime scene shows two different couples other than the Deckers. As we’ve already determined, Overton does not appear on screen.”
“Lobby?”
Harvard resumed the film, forwarded the action, and then paused on a photo of the lobby. “Santana is behind the Guest Services Counter and Gerard is behind the Concierge podium. Two valets on duty, and one female behind the counter with Santana.”
“What about the other staff members?”
“Accounted for and alibis confirmed.”
“Long story short, Overton was only doing his job. We still can’t explain how he got in the closet.”
“Let’s move on to Knight,” Diesel suggested.
Harvard played the disc again and Marcus Knight appeared on the monitor. “This is approximately two hours prior to time of death.”
Ice watched the screen as Knight appeared to perform normal, mundane job duties. Fixing a broken fire sprinkler head in the dining room, working on a dryer in the laundry room, replacing the batteries in several room key readers. Nothing unusual.
Harvard paused the frame. “This is just prior to the incident.”
Knight squatted next to the hot tub, the cover off of the heater and a variety of tools scattered around him.
Ice tilted his head to one side. “What time is that?”
“Twenty-One hundred.”
He did a mental fact check. Nine o’clock p.m. “Bailey and I saw him. There was no one else around.”
Harvard fast-forwarded again. “The elevator and hallway cameras don’t show any significant activity.” He stopped on another frame. “Again, the lobby shows Santana and Gerard in their rightful places. Same goes for the staff.”
“Laundry room?”
“Quiet as a graveyard.”
Harvard restarted the action. “Bickel spends most of his time in the front lobby, arranging transportation of guests. Flights, private charters, and excursions top the list. This is four hours prior.”
The action continued and finally Bickel exited the front door. The next video stream showed a very faint, grainy photo of him on the beach in conversation with three women – Bailey, Grace, and Trista.
Ice leaned forward. “Bailey said there was an excursion boat missing.”
Harvard nodded. “He logged it in as missing at sixteen hundred, but found at twenty-three hundred, a four-hour interval.”
Ice ran the timeline through his head. What would someone do with the boat from four o’clock in the afternoon until eight o’clock at night? Scuba diving, fishing, snorkeling – several activities made complete sense. “Where did he find it?”
“Tied to the dock in the appropriate slip.”
“Any explanation as to why it was missing?”
Harvard shook his head. “No. Green indicated that boats go missing occasionally. Guests mistakenly assume they’re for public use and they show up eventually.”
“What camera picked him up on the beach?”
“The one mounted on the entrance to the marina.”
“There’s a camera on the boats?”
“Mainly for liability purposes. In the event of an accident, the film provides an accurate accounting.”
“Knight didn’t ask anyone to pull the tape?”
Harvard shook his head in the negative. “Green indicated they don’t get too excited. The boats always return.”
“I don’t suppose there’s anything else useful on the recording.”
“Let’s find out.”
Harvard played the video and again, he watched intently, hoping to hell that something would give them even a hint about what happened to cause Bickel’s demise. Darkness fell on the film and Ice’s hope began to waver. Dim lights flickered above each boat slip and still no one appeared on screen. Although it was a long shot, it was logical to believe that because a boat was missing earlier, Bickel may possibly return to the marina to account for all the boats one last time. He counted heartbeats as the video progressed.
And then his heart nearly stopped.
Paul Bickel entered the marina with cleaning supplies and then began to clean the boat previously missing. Not more than ten seconds into his task a figure appeared behind him and bludgeoned him in the head with an anchor. Bickel fell forward into the boat. He never saw the attack coming.
“Sonuvabitch,” Harvard growled as he froze the video and then enlarged the photo of the assailant.
Ice took several deep breaths as he focused in on the figure. Male, short, neatly-cut hair, average build. Suit pants and sport coat.
Turn around, idiot.
As if the perp had heard him, the lunatic did exactly that. Not on purpose, he assumed, but because he had no choice. To move Bickel off the boat and onto the dock, he had to face the camera.
Daniel Santana gave them a perfect view of his ugly mug.
He glanced at Harvard. “Where is he now?”
“Downstairs at the desk.” His teammate frowned. “Is he that cocky to believe he’d never get caught?”
Ice suddenly put all the pieces together. “Can you put the shots of the lobby from Overton’s time of death and Knight’s time of death side by side?”
Harvard nodded and executed the request.
“Look.” Ice pointed at the two pictures. “Santana wears the same suit in each frame.”
“Laundry day or coincidence?”
“No.” His denial was absolute. “Run them at the same time.”
Harvard pressed the forward arrow. In both frames, Santana completed exactly the same actions at exactly the same time. Answering a phone call, signing a piece of paper for the female staff member, and moving his hands to adjust his tie. Both videos were identical.
“He wasn’t at the front desk when Overton and Knight were killed. Like you said, he wiped the tapes. Is it that simple?”
“In today’s world, it’s pretty much point, click, copy and paste. He obviously wanted to cement his alibi about being in the lobby. If he’s our guy, he edited the shots of the other two murders by replacing the action with uneventful footage. He basically made himself a ghost.”
“He would’ve had to do that from the security office, which is a secure area and requires a badge-swipe to enter. He would’ve had to swipe to enter.”
“Not necessarily. Like any system, there’s an override in case of malfunction. Since there’s no log of his entrance, he most likely flipped the bypass switch. Unfortunately, on this system, there’s no way to document who uses the override.”
“You two put the lobby on lockdown.” Diesel stood while he dialed his phone. “I’ll call for back-up.”
His combat boots felt like they were full of cement as Ice headed down to the lobby with Harvard. Although they now had evidence of Santana’s crimes, he wasn’t entirely convinced the guy would still be hanging out in the lobby.
And, he was exactly right. They came to a screeching halt at the Concierge podium where Gerard was the only one present.
“Where’s Santana?” he demanded.
“He left the desk about ten minutes ago to meet Ms. King in his office.”
“Bailey? Why?”
In his peripheral vision, he saw Harvard lean against the podium and dial his cell phone.
“I do not know- “
Fear gripped him in a cold, hard fist and he reached across the podium, grabbed the Concierge by his tie, and yanked. “Think real hard, Gerard. Why did he need to meet Bailey?”
Sweat coated the other man’s forehead. “He said there was a problem with one of her bookings. That’s all I was told.”
Ice released the man’s tie with a forceful thrust and rounded the counter to access the hallway to the administrative offices.
“Grace confirmed she left the suite to meet Santana,” Harvard said from behind him.
Although the fact made him angry, he couldn’t fault Bailey. She was dedicated to taking care of her clients. They stopped outside of the General Manager’s office.
“Open up, Santana,” he spat as he pounded on the door.
Several seconds of silence followed.
Without hesitation, he lifted a leg, intent on kicking down the door.
“Hold up, man.” Harvard blocked his leg with his own. “You’ll break a hip.”
Harvard waved a badge in front of the key reader and the door lock released.
Ice raised an eyebrow.
His friend shrugged. “Sleight of hand at the Concierge podium.”
He shoved open the door and gave the cold, sterile interior a hard look before he stated the obvious. “He’s not here.”
“Anything out of place?”
“Doesn’t appear to be.” Which he knew most likely meant Santana hadn’t made a hasty exit – or dragged someone else out against her will. Santana would’ve had a helluva struggle if he attempted to make Bailey do something she didn’t want to do. She would’ve destroyed this place in that case.
Harvard’s cell rang in the tense silence and his teammate wasted no time in answering. After a brief ten-four, he disconnected.
“Captain says they’re on the move. They just pushed off from the dock at the marina.”
***
Bailey entered the suite behind Grace and Trista, closed the door, kicked off her flip flops, and smirked while she fastened the chain. It seemed like a lot of safety for the few minutes they intended to stay before going to the pool, but she promised Ice she’d follow orders.
“I need a drink,” Trista mumbled as she plopped down on the sofa with her mat at her feet and rested her head back against the top cushions. “Tianna is a tyrant.”
Grace nodded in agreement. “That was definitely not a beginner’s yoga class. How does she have so much energy?”
“I have no idea but I’m jealous.” Bailey rolled her yoga mat into a tube and then tied the attached ribbon to hold it closed. “Do you want to skip the pool?”
Trista raised her head. “Give up the opportunity to do absolutely nothing the rest of the afternoon? Um, no.”
“Me either.” Grace placed her mat under the edge of the sofa and sat down beside Trista. “But I need a few minutes.”
Bailey sat in the nearby chair and braced her mat against the arm. “I guess the guys are still upstairs.”
“Harvard said it would take most of the day,” Grace answered as she rolled both ankles in a circle.
“We’re free,” Trista drawled behind closed eyes.
Grace giggled and patted her friend’s knee. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
“Nuh-huh.” Trista opened one eye. “I’m temporary, remember?”
Grace frowned. “Seriously, Trista, you normally have a bodyguard, don’t you?”
“I have security. There’s a difference.”
“Well, luckily it will all be over soon.” Grace glanced at her. “Do you have any idea who could be responsible?”
She released a hard sigh. “Absolutely none. I’ve worked with these people for five years. I don’t know any of them on a deeply personal level, but I can’t label any of them a murderer.”
“Yet someone is capable,” Trista pointed out.
She nodded. “And like Grace said, hopefully it will all be over soon.”
The conversation stalled when the phone next to the chair rang. Frowning, she lifted the receiver and placed it to her ear. “Hello?”
“I’m so sorry to bother you, Bailey, this is Daniel Santana. There seems to be a problem with one of your reservations.”
“Problem?” She frowned. “I don’t have anyone registered until next month.”
“Are you certain? The reservation clearly has your agency attached.”
“What’s the name on the reservation?”
“Marcelo and Lucia Sherwood. They are scheduled to arrive next week.”
“The Sherwoods are my clients,” she admitted, “but I think the date has been scheduled in error. I’ll be right down, Daniel.”
She hung up and glanced at her friends as she slipped her feet into a pair of blue high heel sandals. “I’ve got to run down to the lobby for a minute. There’s a problem with one of my reservations.”
“Take your time,” Trista answered with a grin. “We don’t mind waiting.”
Bailey mentally ran her calendar through her brain as she boarded the elevator and headed to Daniel’s office. She was fairly sure there had been a miscommunication that could be easily fixed.
She stepped off the elevator, waved at Francois as she passed the Concierge podium, and headed down the hallway to Daniel’s office. The door opened just as she raised her hand to knock.
Startled, she lowered her hand and Daniel gestured her inside with a wave of a hand.
“Bailey, please come in.”
She stepped inside the office, curious when she saw another man standing near the desk. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure coming downstairs was the best idea.
She glanced at Daniel. “There’s not a problem with my booking, is there?”
He silently shook his head.
“Actually, my dear,” the other man answered as he reached beneath his jacket and then pointed a gun at her and Daniel, “the only problem here is you and this incompetent twit.”
Daniel’s eyes widened. “I did exactly as you asked. She is here, isn’t she?”
“Move.” Their captor gestured at the door with the gun. “Side by side, out the door, and to the marina. My boat is waiting.”
Determined to stall, Bailey opted for belligerence. “What if I refuse?”
Daniel groaned.
Her captor wasn’t moved. “I would not recommend it. My weapon is equipped with a silencer and I will not hesitate to silence you as well.”
“You realize all this is being recorded, right?”
He gave her an evil smile. “Mr. Santana has assured me it will not. Now, Miss King, I suggest you quit stalling and follow instructions. Your bodyguard is oblivious to our meeting and by the time he discovers you’re missing, we will be long gone.”
She fought the urge to panic. Ice. Did he even know she’d left the suite? Grace and Trista would notify him once she didn’t return, but how long would they wait? And, how long before help would arrive?
Daniel opened the door and they stepped into the hallway. Bailey looked over her shoulder one last time before they headed down the corridor just in case she might be able to draw attention.
Unfortunately, they were alone.
She squared her shoulders as she walked beside Daniel and attempted to come up with a way to escape without being shot in the process. Running was not an option. No, brainpower was the only weapon she possessed and she needed to put it to use. Quickly.
Hope blossomed when they approached the marina. The excursion boats would return full of people several times during the afternoon hours. Someone was bound to see them.
“Get on.”
The gunman waved his weapon at a mid-sized white boat tied to the dock and bobbing on the waves. There were only three seats, one behind the wheel, one on the opposite side and a bench seat in the back near the motor. With the boat motor running, a very large, very bald man stood behind the wheel. The Frogman it wasn’t.
Again, she stalled and took a page from Ice’s playbook. “I can’t.”
“What seems to be the problem now, Miss King?”
“My shoes.” She pointed at the blue heels she’d slipped on at the last minute. “I’ll lose my balance.”
/> “Take her arm, Mateo.” The driver of the boat stepped forward, grabbed her by both arms, lifted her into the boat, and placed her on the bench at the back of the boat. So much for the high heels excuse.
Bailey sat on the hard, wooden bench and pleaded with her stomach to stop churning. Although the vessel was still tied to the dock, the waves tossed it around like a rag doll while she braced herself to keep from sliding from one side to the other. Daniel slumped onto the bench beside her. She tossed him a heated glare.
“You are such a jerk, Daniel.”
He groaned. “I’m in just as much trouble as you.”
“Obviously, that’s your own fault. You’re the reason we’re here.”
The driver untied the boat while the gunman took a seat in the passenger seat and glanced at Daniel. “You are certain no one will intervene?”
Daniel nodded. “There are no other boats on the water today.”
Her earlier hope took a nosedive. The driver stepped near her and Daniel.
“We have not properly met,” the gunman said as the driver fastened her wrist with a plastic zip-tie to a metal bar welded to the back of the boat, “I am Sebastian Valera.”
She blinked several times, surprised by his introduction. A polite kidnapper. Go figure.
“Why exactly have you kidnapped me, Mr. Valera?”
“Do not play coy with me, Miss King. I am sure you are aware of my operation by now.”
“No, she’s not,” Daniel groaned as his wrist was fastened. “I’ve managed to keep her in the dark until now.”
Her mouth fell open as she began to put the pieces together. “You killed the men at the resort?”
Mr. Valera laughed while the driver returned to the wheel and steered the boat out of the marina. “No, I did not have anything to do with that. My operation is a much bigger one.”
Her eyes widened in realization and she glanced at the man next to her. “Daniel, you killed Jack, Marcus and Paul?”
“I didn’t have a choice. They threatened Valera’s operation.”
“So, you killed them? What exactly were you protecting that was more valuable than human life?”