Double Fake, Double Murder (A Carlos McCrary, Private Investigator, Mystery Thriller Series Book 2)
Page 25
“All the units on that side are suites, Chuck. They overlook Seeti Bay. The rooms on the left have a city view and they’re smaller.”
Crooked Nose entered a door on the left.
“What suite number did that guy in the tuxedo enter?”
“I can’t tell from the video; it’s too far down the corridor to see.”
“Can you access the keycard files and tell which rooms on that floor were entered at—” I glanced at the screen, “2:20 a.m.?”
“I didn’t think of that. Hold on.” The guard swiveled to another computer and pulled the keyboard over. “Suite 3406. The ex-con is in 3405.”
“Thanks, Wally.” I wrote that down. “Now let’s look at the elevator video again and see where those two guys got on.”
Wally ran the elevator video back three minutes. “They’re already on the elevator.”
So I noticed. “Run it back another three minutes.”
The elevator held another couple. They got off on twenty-six. The empty elevator rose and stopped at thirty-four. Black Tuxedo and Crooked Nose got on and took their positions at the rear of the car. For the next six minutes the two men stood motionless as the elevator went down to the lobby, up to the thirty-ninth floor, and back down to the lobby. Other people got on and off the elevator, but the two men never moved. Finally, the video showed Graciela and the Cowboy fans getting on.
“You thing they were waiting for Graciela to get on that elevator?”
I nodded. “Now let’s go back to the thirty-seventh floor camera and watch for Graciela when she came out of the suite.”
Chapter 6
Brian Wallenda, manager of the Super Bowl headquarters hotel, spread the stack of pictures on his desk. “What you’re asking is highly irregular, Mr. McCrary.” Even on a Sunday, he wore a suit and tie.
“Call me Chuck. This may involve a guest’s safety. The guest is Graciela Perez, the fiancée of the Jets starting quarterback. That’s why I asked you to meet me here on a Sunday.”
“I’m well aware who Graciela is. The Latin Angel has been on the covers of enough fashion magazines for even a man like me to recognize her.” Wallenda pursed his lips. “Frankly, if not for the potential danger to a guest, I wouldn’t entertain your request—not without a search warrant.”
“The bald man with the prison tattoo carried a gun. He and the man in the Black Tuxedo rode the elevator up and down twice, waiting for Graciela to get on. All I want you to do is help me identify the men in the elevator with her.”
“That would require accessing the hotel’s reservation system and our guests’ personal information.” He slipped a finger inside his collar and tugged. “That goes against my hotel training.”
“How about having a guest kidnapped from your hotel? Does that go against your training?”
Wallenda’s face blanched. “I… I, uh, I don’t know what to say. We’ve never had anything like this happen before.” He straightened up. “You don’t know she was kidnapped.”
“I don’t know that she wasn’t, either. I do know she was with two suspicious men and now she’s disappeared.” I’d had enough of this guy tiptoeing around the issue. “Let’s cut to the chase. Can we go off the record, Mr. Wallenda?”
Wallenda raised an eyebrow. “About what?”
“Times being what they are, we both know that it wouldn’t damage the reputation of the Port City Palace if Graciela were discovered to have a controlled substance in her hotel suite.”
“The Palace is a big hotel.” Wallenda shrugged. “No one expects us to control what goes on in our rooms or what guests bring in with them. And everyone knows what celebrities are like.”
“Right. But if she obtained the controlled substance from another hotel guest in your elevator, and that guest was accompanied by an armed bodyguard who is an ex-convict, and your surveillance cameras captured the exchange…” I gestured to the photos on the desk. “And that guest disappeared from your hotel in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t look good if it came out that you ignored the potential danger to a guest—especially a high-profile guest like Graciela.”
“Should I call the police?”
“Not yet. The police never take a missing person report seriously for the first forty-eight hours, unless it’s a child or there’s evidence of foul play. Let’s keep my investigation low-key for now.”
“If I’ve learned anything in thirty years in the hotel business, it’s that things you hope won’t come out, always do. Always. More so with a celebrity. It’s just a matter of time.” He pushed the stack of pictures together. “You’re right. I’ve got to do something. Okay, Chuck, we keep it off the record. Now tell me: What the hell’s going on in my hotel?”
“That’s what I intend to find out. And when I do, you’ll be the second one to know—after Bob Martinez.”
###
“Come in, Mr. McCrary. Mr. Wallenda called me to come in. Whatever this big emergency is that couldn’t wait ’til tomorrow, it had better be a matter of life and death, or else I’m gonna be severely pissed.” Giselle Foreman, the chief accountant for the Port City Palace, looked at me over the top of her glasses. “Since I can’t be pissed off at my own boss, you’re next in line. Do I make myself clear?”
I didn’t have to be a detective to know that she wasn’t a happy camper.
“Now convince me this was worth me missing a family trip to the beach on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.” She sighed. “Okay, okay, I know it’s not your fault. The boss may know all about managing a hotel, but he stopped using computers when they put more than ten buttons on them. He said to help you any way I can, keep your visit under my hat, and not to ask questions.” She gestured to a chair across from her desk. “Let’s get this over with.”
I slid the pictures across the desk. “I need to know who these two men are. They’re in rooms 3405 and 3406.”
“That’s all?” Foreman glanced at the pictures as she slid a keyboard in front of her. “Why couldn’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“It was Mr. Wallenda’s decision to call you in. And, while I agree with that decision, he should be the one to tell you why it’s important.”
“Well, he has conveniently gone home and left me holding the bag.”
“I sympathize with you. If it’s any consolation, this is ruining my Sunday too.”
She waved it off. “Oh, forget it. I’m just venting. 3405 and 3406, you said? Let’s see…those rooms are both registered to XPVV Corporation. They were checked in with a corporate American Express card at the same time.” She pushed the keyboard aside. “That doesn’t help, does it?”
“Did they sign a register card when they checked in?”
Foreman glanced at the screen. “They checked in yesterday. The register cards would be scanned into our data base by now.” She pulled the keyboard over again. “Here they are.” She rotated the monitor so I could see.
The two signatures were illegible.