by A J Rivers
"So, what’s that mean? The security footage was hacked?” asks Bellamy.
"That, or it was manipulated," I say. "But not by someone who was paying very good attention. They wanted to control what the security team sees. They would need it to look like time was passing. But they didn't want them seeing what was really happening on that area of the island. So, they pieced together pieces of footage and created what I'm assuming is a very long loop. Several days' worth that look like they are a continually changing live feed but is actually just a recording. If I had to take a guess, there are other recordings to plug in when the weather changes, but it doesn't always work out. The footage I saw should have covered the storm, but the section of the night footage I saw didn't even have rain. It was only a few minutes of it, but there should have been massive lightning and pouring rain.”
"Catherine showed you fake footage to prove there was no boat?" Eric asks.
"Right now, all I know is she showed me what security gave her. My thought is security doesn't even know the footage isn't real."
"What do you mean?" Bellamy asks.
"There are only a few security cameras here and they probably never record anything interesting. I doubt Desmond is sitting around watching the feed from the cameras all the time. More than likely, it's a lower-ranking member of the team. Probably too bored to even pay attention. The fake footage is a filler. It's just something to have up on the screen, so it looks like everything is fine over at the rock outcropping. Whoever rigged the system to show that footage all the time doesn't want anybody knowing what's happening over there. Including security."
"So, whoever put that footage in place has enough mechanical understanding to be able to rig the system, so it’s undetectable by security. Not only are they watching it, but when they need to access footage from a particular time, what they pull up is actually from a recording, but it seems to be footage from the camera. That's fairly sophisticated,” Eric says. “Somebody really doesn't want anybody to know what's happening over there.”
“They don't want anybody knowing about that boat,” I say. “That's where they're bringing the drugs in.”
“So not everybody at the resort's in on it,” Bellamy completes the thought.
“That's what it seems like,” I nod. “They bring the boat up to that area and unload the drugs onto the beach. It goes unnoticed by anyone because security doesn't know about it, and the security camera is fake.”
“Why don't you sound convinced?” Eric asks.
I shake my head.
“It's more than that. It's more than the drugs," I tell him.
"What do you mean?"
I look down at my hands, remembering the way the dirt looked under my nails last night after dragging myself up on the cliff. The image in my mind changes to Rosa's hand the morning we took her from the pool. The police dismissed the way one hand was curled like it was clamped around something, saying she must have grabbed onto the edge of the pool right before drowning. I still don't believe it.
Sitting down on the couch, I pull my computer close to the edge of the table and open it again to pull up the emails I sent myself.
"When I was talking to Catherine, and she went to get the security camera footage for me, I looked through her computer."
"Emma," Eric scolds. "You know you can't do that. We have absolutely zero jurisdiction here. The FBI doesn’t hold sway over international waters.."
"Then I’m just a civilian," I tell her. "I'm not investigating on behalf of the Bureau, and I'm not here as a Sherwood deputy. I'm just a person who happens to know where to dig stuff up. Besides, I wasn't looking for evidence. I was looking for directions. And that's exactly what I found. Look at this."
Bellamy sits down beside me to look at the screen.
"What is this?"
"I emailed myself some of the files from her desktop. The incident at the spa interested me, and I wanted to check out the guest receipts to find out if anything stood out. They aren't just going to advertise it right there, but there has to be some way of keeping track. Not just for the cost, but also to keep track of the guests. Every good business knows you make more money from an existing customer than you do a new one. If you can learn what they like and keep it coming, you'll encourage more purchases and higher dollar investments."
"And what are these guests investing in?" Eric asks.
"At first the receipts look pretty normal. Just regular resort guest charges. Room services. Purchases in the lobby shop. Boat rentals. Tours. But then on some of them, I noticed a couple of odd notations. Right here," I point to the screen. "Spa, enhanced, A. Spa, enhanced, D. Spa, enhanced, H. Things like that show up over and over."
"There are different types of drugs available," Eric says. "It's noting the ones the person selected."
"Exactly. But those aren't the only notes. Look at these. C3. Three hours. Strawberry." I pull up a series of receipts one after the other to show them other notations. "C6. Two hours. Strawberry. C8. Two hours. Vanilla. C3. One hour. Chocolate. C3. Full. Special Request. C3. Half-hour. Special Request."
"C3, C6, C8. What are those?" Eric asks.
"Cabins," Bellamy says, realization settling over her. "It's talking about the cabins in the staff village."
I nod.
"Remember, I overheard that conversation between Alonso and Rosa. He said cabin three. None of the expense reports have the guests’ names on them. That's not all that unusual. It's a privacy issue. And I'm sure the extra amenities offered by Windsor Palms requires additional privacy. What they do have is the room number. This one for cabin three is for room three-eleven. These two, the special requests, are for room five-o-two. That's the room Emmanuel Vargas is in. Those requests are the night that Alonso told Rosa had been requested, along with the day before she died."
"What do you think that means?" Eric asks.
"The note from Emmanuel gave me his room number and said 'tomorrow'. I went to his room this morning, but he didn't answer when I knocked on the door. A woman from down the hall came out of her room and said Emmanuel goes out for a jog and a swim every morning, so that's where he probably was. But then she looked at me a little strangely and mentioned Emmanuel must be trying something new. Something about a ‘spring sampler’. I thought she was just being crass, but she mentioned she's been here the same time as he has before."
"She's seen him with other women," Bellamy says. "She must have known about him and Rosa."
"Not just Rosa, I would presume," I say. " But what about these other notations? Vanilla, strawberry…"
"Other codes for drugs?” she asks.
“Hair colors,” I offer. “Blondes. Redheads. Brunettes. Special request.”
“Well, that's tasteless,” she comments.
“Not as tasteless as why they're describing them that way. Cabin three. Three hours. With a redhead. These women are being trafficked.”
Chapter Thirty-One
"The resort is providing guests with women as a special amenity?" Eric asks.
I nod.
"Think about it, B. When we went to the village, and we saw those girls."
"The housekeepers?" she asks.
"That's how we know them because it's the only service we want from them. But think about what we saw them do. They went into two of the cabins carrying the trays. One came right back out, but the other stayed. What did she look like? What color hair?"
"Dark," she says.
I scan through the expense reports active during that time and find exactly what I'm looking for.
"C12. One hour. Chocolate," I read.
"She had just come back from leave," Bellamy says.
"What? How do you know that?"
"I talked to her. I saw her at the pool and thought I recognized her. She was picking up towels and bringing clean ones to guys who were lounging around. Delivering drinks. That kind of thing."
"Pool duty," I nod. "The woman standing in for Graciela mentioned that she used to do that before
she came back from leave and was reassigned to take care of the rooms."
"They have them on rotation?" Eric raises an eyebrow.
"That's what it seems like. They aren't just housekeepers. They do whatever the resort wants them to do. What did she say to you?" I ask.
"Obviously, I didn't say anything about seeing her at the cabins. I just talked to her about working here, and she mentioned it was so great, so many perks, on and on. She even specifically said she just started working here a few weeks ago and was already given leave."
My breath stabs at the insides of my lungs.
"Did she say what she was doing on leave?"
"She said she went to visit her grandmother…"
"Because she was sick, and it was nice to see her again," I continue, and Bellamy looks at me strangely.
"How did you know that?" she asks.
"Because it's the same thing Noelle told me. That's their cover story. Those girls aren't going on vacation. They aren't being given a break. They're being indoctrinated. Graciela said she'd never been offered leave and couldn't imagine why they would give the girls time off so soon after hiring them. That's why. The girls who are brought in to be trafficked work like it's a regular job for a week or two, then go on leave to go through training to become sex slaves. That van we saw at the dorm. It wasn't there for a delivery. It was a pickup. They were there to get the girls who were going into their training time. If I had to guess, I would say the drugs brought onto the island aren't just offered as extra amenities to the men here. They're used to control the girls, so they behave."
"And Rosa?" Eric asks.
"She didn't behave." I scan the emails again, then stand up. "I need to go back to the cabins."
"What if they catch you? I don't think they're actually going to believe you got lost if they find you poking around the cabins," Bellamy says.
“I'll have to figure it out if it happens,” I answer.
“Do we need to act casual again?” Eric asks.
I shake my head. “No. This time you should come with me.”
Walking into the bedroom, I pull my suitcase out and remove the small case from inside. I open it and piece my gun back together. This isn't just about Rosa anymore. Her murder is part of something much bigger, and I can't take any chances.
I thought it might be more anxiety-inducing walking toward the staff village during the day when so much is going on at the resort, but it actually seems quieter now. It occurs to me that the place is likely empty because everyone is working at the resort. They won't be in the village right now.
I still stay vigilant as we pass by the sign indicating that we are entering the staff only area and then walk through the gate and past the fence dividing the two areas of the island. We move quickly along the brick path to the cabins. There's no one around, and I go right for the cabin marked with a large three painted in white beside the door.
"What are you looking for?" Eric whispers as I step up onto the porch.
"Damage," I tell him.
"Damage?" Bellamy asks.
I nod and continue looking around. When I don't see anything, I drop down the steps and move to the back of the cabin. When Bellamy and I were behind the cabins, I noticed small patio areas behind the back doors. They weren't elevated like decks but had wooden barriers around the edges. Within a few seconds of searching the one behind the cabin, I find what I was searching for.
“Look,” I say, running my fingers along three deep gashes in the wood. “Remember when we took Rosa out of the pool, and I saw her hand. It was clamped, and there was something under her fingernails. The police said it was from holding on to the side of the pool.”
“Right,” Eric nods. “The cadaveric spasm from right before she died.”
“Yes,” I say. “But it wasn't from the side of the pool. This is a woman who supposedly just smashed her head on the concrete and fell into the pool. How would she grab the side in that moment before she died? If she had that kind of strength, she could have pulled herself up, or at least turned over onto her back, so she was floating. She wouldn't have drowned that way. Her head injury was too bad for any of that. And the way her hand was, it wouldn't make sense if she was holding onto the side of the pool. The grip would be mostly in her fingers. But her whole hand was clenched, like it was holding on to something bigger.”
“She grabbed onto the railing,” Eric says, following along my theory. “Her fingernails dug into the wood.”
"How did she get that gash in her head?" Bellamy asks. "There's no way she survived that long enough to get to the pool."
"She didn't," I tell her. "Her hand clenched that way the moment she died. And remember, there was no blood on the pool deck. I guarantee when the autopsy results come out, the cause of death will be blunt force trauma, not drowning. She'll have no water in her lungs because it was the blow that killed her. Right here. Someone bludgeoned her; I don't know what with, then brought her to the pool and dumped her in. They probably cleaned up the blood after so no one would notice, and then the rain took care of the rest."
"It seems like they could have done something better to make it look like an accident than put her in the pool. Even making it look like she fell on the rocks would have been less blatant and not call as much attention," she muses.
"But I think the attention is what they wanted. This wasn't an accidental killing that they suddenly had to figure out how to cover up. Whoever killed her wanted to make a statement. They put her in the pool so people would see her. That was the point of it. They were sending a message. She didn't do what she was supposed to do, and they wanted to make sure the other girls knew what happened if they did that."
"Do you think it was Emmanuel Vargas?" Eric asks.
"I don't know. If he killed her, why would he stay on the island? And why would he try to talk to me? I need to go see him and find out why he hasn't said anything to the police and what he was trying to tell me."
We get out of the staff village without being seen, and I leave Eric and Bellamy at the lobby while I go to the guest building. They're under instruction to request a phone for me and see if they can find out more about Graciela. I don't know what Emmanuel has to say yet, but just in case it could be valuable to Rosa's case or the rest of the girls, I don't want to spook him by showing up with two other people.
When I get up to Emmanuel's room, I notice the Do Not Disturb sign is still hanging on his doorknob. Ignoring it, I knock a few times and call in to him. The door of the room beside his opens, and a man sticks his head out.
"He's not going to answer," he says. "A couple of other people have come up, and he didn't answer them, either. I think he's sick. There was a terrible ruckus in his bathroom. For such an expensive place, the walls can be pretty thin."
"Thank you," I tell him.
Back in my room, I call Bellamy.
"Ask Constance about Emmanuel," I instruct. "Tell her I was supposed to talk with him today but haven't been able to get in touch with him.”
I hear Bellamy ask and the musical response of Constance's voice in the background.
“She says he's sick,” Bellamy tells me. “He called early this afternoon to ask for some medicine to be sent up to him. I asked who sent it to him, but Constance said Catherine told her only Paul was allowed to deliver to that room. That room is strictly off-limits to everyone else.”
“Who’s Paul?”
“One of the porters, I think,” Bellamy shrugs.
“How about Graciela? Did she know anything?”
"She says she's not listed as being on leave. She just has a substitute listed beside her name."
"Okay. Tell her I say thank you."
At least I have that. Knowing Graciela is safe relieves some of the stress, but I still have those other women hanging over me.
Bellamy and Eric come into the room a few minutes later.
"They will have a new phone delivered to you by tomorrow," Eric tells me.
"Good," I say.
"I can't stop thinking about that conversation we overheard at the dorm when we were behind the van. One of those voices said they had five, and the other said it was too many, that it would be noticed."
"But the other one said it was what the guests wanted," she continues.
"They were talking about the women they were taking," I say. "They are holding five women and teaching them to be sex slaves, and I have no idea where they are."
Eric looks into my eyes. “You have to take the lead on this one as a private citizen, Emma. I’ll help in any way I can, but I can’t get involved.”
“I know,” I tell him.
"What are you going to do?"
"Wait until dark and talk to the person who knows more than we do.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
An hour later, it's dark enough.
Emmanuel specifically asked me to go to his room today to talk to him, and I haven't been able to get his attention. I don't buy his being sick enough to be unable to open the door. Whatever was important enough for him to need to talk to me isn’t going to go away because he isn’t feeling well. Something feels wrong. If he's not going to let me into the room, I have to find my own way in.
“Are you sure about this?” Bellamy asks as I step out onto my balcony.
“I can't think about it enough to decide if I am or not,” I admit. “It just has to be fine.”
I glance down to make sure there aren't a lot of people around. There is much of the same type of movement as every night, but the people are paying attention to each other rather than the building. I just have to hope they don't look up.
Going to the edge of the balcony, I lean back over the railing to count out rooms. When I've identified the balcony outside of Emmanuel's room, I climb up onto the railing. An unusual feature of the guest building is not working in my favor. The first time I saw the building, I noticed the balconies aren't lined up exactly like they are in most hotels. Instead, they are staggered, creating a less stark and generic appearance. Somehow the balconies not being an exact line makes the building blend in with the island environment more, as if the building itself is more relaxed.