The Death Relic (16 page)

‘But how do you know? If you can’t see it, how do you know?’

‘Because it’s a hundred degrees in here and nothing stinks. If Hamilton had been stashed in here overnight, you could smell him from where you’re standing.’

She took a deep breath, partly to calm down and partly to smell the air. As far as she could tell, nothing in the vicinity reeked. ‘Then why would you say that?’

‘Say what?’

‘ “I don’t think it’s a corpse.” The only reason I thought it
might
be a corpse was because you brought it up.’

‘Really? That expression is a figure of speech.’

‘Bullshit! That is
not
a figure of speech.’

‘Maybe not in Europe, but it is in America,’ he fibbed.

‘You’re so full of shit.’

Jones cracked a smile. ‘Honestly. Ask any American.’

‘Trust me, I will.’

‘I know you will. In the meantime, can we focus on the corpse?’

Maria seethed. ‘Not funny at all.’

Payne stared at the name on the computer and tried to make sense of it. The keycard used for the break-in belonged to Terrence Hamilton.

DeJute glanced at Payne, then the screen, then back at Payne. He sensed something was wrong. ‘From the expression on your face, I get the feeling you know the dude.’

Payne shook his head. ‘Never met him, but I know his name. He was meeting my boss at the time of the break-in.’

DeJute laughed to himself. ‘Man, oh, man. That takes some balls!’

‘What does?’

‘The V.A. scam. You can’t pull that off without some serious cojones.’

Payne looked at him. ‘I’m not familiar with that term.’

‘Sorry. It means “balls” in Spanish.’

‘Not “cojones
”
. I know what that means. I meant “the V.A. scam”.’

‘Oops, my bad. The “V” stands for Victim. The “A” stands for Alibi. It’s when the victim of a crime is actually the alibi for the person who set it up. We don’t see it a lot at the high-end resorts. It’s much more common at the cheaper hotels down the beach. Normally it involves a pretty girl in a bathing suit. She distracts a guy at the bar while her partner goes through his room. If security gets involved, the victim provides the alibi for the babe.’

‘That’s devious.’

‘And fairly common. Happens all the time in resort towns.’

Payne shook his head. ‘Not like this it doesn’t.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Hamilton’s name is on the registration. The keycard belonged to him. Technically speaking, I don’t think you can break into a room that you’re entitled to enter.’

‘Good point, chief.’

‘And if he wanted to rob her, why in the hell did he give those guys his personal keycard? That kind of defeats the purpose of the V.A. scam. His signature is on the registration.’

DeJute paused to think. ‘So, Hamilton
isn’t
involved in the robbery?’

‘I don’t think so, but I’d love to find out how they got his keycard.’

‘Me, too. But how do we do that?’

Payne pointed at the monitor. ‘We go to the tape.’

DeJute knocked twice on his own head. As he did, he made a hollow sound with his mouth. ‘Duh! I should have thought of that. I mean, I
am
the video supervisor.’

‘Despite your impressive title, can I make a suggestion on where to begin?’

‘No problem, chief.’

‘Hamilton had a meeting with my boss sometime around 5 p.m. She said he left their table at the bistro and never returned. I reckon if we track him from there, we can see if he does anything suspicious.’

DeJute grabbed a clipboard from his desk and flipped through the pages until he figured out which camera covered the Isla Contoy bistro. He punched the camera number into his computer and waited for the live feed from the restaurant to appear on the centre screen. The image flickered briefly before the interior of the thatched hut came into view. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as clear as the other video feeds. Dark splotches obscured half of the scene.

Payne grimaced. ‘What’s wrong with the feed?’

‘Nothing,’ DeJute assured him. ‘The camera’s mounted near the top of the thatched roof, so it has to battle the sun reflecting off the water and the shadows from the hut. What can I say? Sometimes the picture is a little shitty. I’d climb up there myself and tweak the settings, but in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in a wheelchair.’

‘Nope. Didn’t notice.’

DeJute entered the time of the meeting into his computer and waited for the footage to appear on the screen. ‘Fortunately for you, the sun shouldn’t be a problem at dinnertime.’

He was right. Yesterday’s scene was much clearer than the live feed from the bistro because of the sun’s position. Using his joystick, DeJute zoomed in on the restaurant’s clientele until he spotted Maria and Hamilton sitting at a small table near the back rail. The two of them appeared to be friends. They casually sipped on daiquiris while engaging in a lively conversation. The two smiled, laughed and enjoyed their drinks.

Payne continued to watch closely as DeJute fast-forwarded the scene. At no point did anyone approach their table, except for the waiter. And as far as he could tell, Hamilton didn’t slip the waiter a keycard, or anything else for that matter. In fact, Hamilton barely looked at the waiter at all. His eyes were glued on Maria the entire time, as if he was a poker player looking for tells. To Payne, it was a little bit creepy. But he quickly blamed Hamilton’s conduct on a combination of the three things that had caused millions of men to act like idiots over the years: alcohol, a romantic setting and the beauty of an exotic woman.

Even Payne had fallen victim to that potent mix on a few occasions.

Eventually, they reached the part of the footage where Hamilton excused himself from the table. DeJute moved his joystick to the centre position, which slowed the feed to normal time.

‘OK,’ Payne said. ‘Let’s see where he goes.’

Using one camera feed after another, DeJute traced Hamilton’s path from the bistro to the pool deck and then into a corridor that led to the atrium. During his journey, there were occasional gaps in the camera coverage, but they were usually able to spot him quickly on the next video feed, thanks to his distinctive panama hat. It stood out in a crowd, even from across the lobby.

Slowly but surely, they tracked him to a side door that led to the parking lot, where he had parked his H2. He pushed it open and stepped outside, the door closing gently behind him.

Fighting a yawn, DeJute glanced at his clipboard and punched in the number of the next camera, on the other side of the door. The live feed popped onto the screen, revealing the exterior of the hotel from the edge of the parking lot. DeJute typed in the time period he wanted to view, and the footage from the previous evening appeared on screen.

Payne glanced at the time. ‘You’re two minutes early.’

DeJute nodded and tilted his joystick to the right. The video sped forward at an accelerated rate. As it approached the span they wanted to view, he slowed it to its normal pace.

The two of them stared at the screen, waiting for Hamilton to open the door.

According to the time stamp, he would do so in five seconds.

Then four. Then three. Then two. Then one.

Then nothing.

Nothing at all.

Because the monitor turned black.

Payne glared at DeJute. ‘What the hell happened?’

DeJute frantically hit buttons on his keyboard while staring at the black screen. ‘I have no idea! I’ve never seen this before!’

Boiling with frustration, Payne glanced back at the monitor. Despite the absence of a picture, the time counter continued to tick forward at the bottom of the screen. One second after another, ticking away in darkness. ‘I’ll be damned. They erased the tape.’

‘What? Not a chance. I bet the monitor went bad. I’ll just move the feed to—’

Payne cut him off. ‘It’s not the screen. Take a look at the counter. It’s still working fine. I’m telling you, someone erased this portion of the tape, or somehow blocked the camera.’

‘No way,’ he argued, sounding less confident than he’d been a moment earlier. ‘I bet if I move the feed to another screen—’

Payne shook his head. ‘Don’t waste your time. It won’t make any difference.’

‘But—’

‘Listen,’ he said in a calming voice, ‘if you need proof, fast-forward the video for a few minutes. I bet the picture returns pretty quickly.’

DeJute grabbed the joystick and cranked it to the right. Instantly, the counter whizzed forward at twenty times its normal speed. The picture remained solid black for several seconds, temporarily stoking DeJute’s doubt, but before he had a chance to voice it, the video returned to the centre monitor, just as Payne had promised.

DeJute released the joystick. ‘Son of a bitch. Someone erased the tape.’

‘I know.’

‘But why? Why would someone do that?’

Payne shrugged, offering nothing.

Still trying to process things in his head, DeJute rewound the video to the point where it went black. He watched the feed again, this time at a slower speed, hoping he would notice something useful on the screen. Payne watched, too, as the feed went from an exterior shot of the hotel to solid black. Then they watched it again. And again. The same thing, over and over, looking for a scrap of evidence to help them piece together what had happened.

Payne cleared his throat. ‘Nothing’s there.’

‘But—’

‘Trust me, if they took the time to erase the feed, they took the time to get it all.’

‘All of what?’

‘Whatever happened outside.’

DeJute looked over his shoulder. ‘Which was what?’

Payne shook his head, unwilling to voice an opinion. ‘Let me ask you a better question.
How
did they erase the tape?’

He groaned. ‘Beats the hell out of me. I don’t even know how to do that.’

‘You don’t?’

‘Not like that, I don’t.’ He glanced back at the screen. ‘Then again, I’m not a hi-tech surgeon. I’m more of a sledgehammer kind of guy.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Why erase five minutes when you could delete the entire file? Because that’s what I would have done. I would have found the file on the server and trashed the bitch.’

‘Good point.’

DeJute stared at his keyboard, unsure what to do next. ‘So …’

‘I’m thinking,’ Payne said.

‘If you want, I can switch to the parking lot feed. Maybe we can see something from there.’

Although it was a good suggestion – one that might provide important clues about Hamilton’s disappearance – Payne knew he couldn’t risk it, not with Jones rummaging through the Hummer in the parking lot. Even if they rewound the video to the previous night, the live feed would appear on the main screen for a few seconds while DeJute entered the data, and the last thing Payne needed was for Jones, or Maria, to be spotted outside.

Payne spoke decisively. ‘Actually, let’s go back to the lobby camera for a while. I want to see if Hamilton heads back into the hotel through the same door. Maybe we can pick up his scent from there.’

The bungee cords were attached to tiny hooks in the side panels of the Hummer’s trunk. Jones reached between the front seats and unclipped the closest cord, making sure it didn’t snap back and take out his eye, like the Red Ryder BB Gun from
A Christmas Story
.

For some reason, that movie always cracked him up.

He carefully moved the first cord out of the way and went to work on the second. Using extra caution, he unclipped the hook and tossed the cord on the passenger side’s floor.

‘What’s happening?’ Maria asked.

‘Hold your horses. I’m almost done.’

‘Easy for you to say. I’m the one exposed out here.’

Jones leaned forward and grabbed the third cord. ‘You’re exposed? You’re sitting on a bench outside a five-star resort. Meanwhile, I’m rifling through someone’s car. Are you sure you want to continue with that argument?’

She conceded the point. ‘Sorry. I’m not used to this.’

‘And I am? Just because I’m black doesn’t mean I do this all the time.’

Despite his claim of racism, she knew he was joking. ‘Are you sure? Because you’re pretty darn good at it.’

‘True, but that has
nothing
to do with my skin colour. I break into cars because I’m nosy, not because I’m black.’

‘That’s good to know. I’ll be sure to explain that to the
policía
when they arrive.’

Jones smiled as he unclipped the cord and loosened the tarp in the back of the H2. He hadn’t talked to Maria in months, yet their repartee had picked up right where they’d left off. For Jones, it was the rarest of things. Over the years, he had met very few women who ‘got’ his sense of humour. Most were offended by his comments, or didn’t understand his obscure references; Maria was different. Not only did she find him funny, she had enough feistiness to keep him in line when he strayed a little too far.

In that regard, she was like Payne – only with breasts.

‘Still clear?’ he asked as he pulled up the corner of the tarp.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure? Because I might need to turn on a light.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s dark under the tarp.’

She scanned the parking lot. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

Jones knew the dome light wouldn’t be bright enough to let him see clearly, so he opted to pull back the reflective sunshade that covered the windshield. Starting on the passenger side, he folded it twice along its creases until a third of the glass was exposed. Sunlight streamed through the gap, filling the cargo space with more than enough light to suit his needs.

‘That’s more like it,’ he mumbled to himself.

Wasting no time, Jones turned in his seat and reached into the boot. But instead of loosening additional cords, he grabbed the edge of the tarp and peered underneath.

Directly in front of him was a narrow wooden crate that ran parallel to the dashboard. Made of thick plywood, it had three latches holding its lid in place. It reminded him of his old military trunk. Durable but light, it was the type of crate that could hold just about anything: books, digging equipment, personal effects, even rations.

Further back was a second crate, which was different to the first. More of a display case than a trunk, it stretched across the remainder of the boot and was filled with dozens of objects, all of which had been sealed in plastic. Some were big and some were small. But he couldn’t really tell what they were from where he was sitting.