by Cat Connor
I shoved my phone in my jacket pocket then clipped my holster to my belt.
“It’s lunch Gabrielle, not Iraq,” Rowan commented.
You could’ve heard a pin drop as the ‘G’ word hit the air.
“At least in Iraq you know who the enemy is,” I replied.
“Touché,” he replied with a nod. Rowan held his arm out to me and shepherded me toward the door. Over his shoulder he said, “I’ll have her back in half an hour.”
“SSA, we should have the rest of the info and Turner and Jay will have the Harris woman by then, all being well,” Lee said. “Y’all have fun now, ya hear?”
“Security footage Lee, it’s important, yeah?”
Lee nodded. “I’m sure Sean will have the information we need very soon.”
Rowan lifted his hand in a small wave and grinned.
Sam’s laughter followed us all the way to the elevator. I was acutely aware of the familiar sense of eyes watching.
Eighteen
Wish I Were You
Instead of ‘Down’ to the restaurant Rowan pressed the ‘Up’ arrow.
“Thought we were having lunch?”
“We are,” he replied as the elevator doors slid open. I stepped into the carpeted coffin.
The elevator door opened again about four seconds later; it seemed a long four seconds. Post migraine and hangover elevator rides were not my favorite; it always felt like the walls were closing in. The notice on the wall proclaiming the lift was from Schindler Lifts did not help. My mind went from lift to list and I wanted out. I found I was a foot or two in front of Rowan and tried to disguise my hasty exodus. He came up behind me and covered my eyes with his hands.
“I don’t need to see you, to kill you,” I whispered.
“You’re not going to kill me. Walk straight ahead … ten paces then stop.”
Curiosity kept him alive.
“Turn right.”
He knocked and a door opened.
“Walk another five paces,” he said, his mouth so close to my ear that his voice drifted in the breath of his whisper. A shiver ran down my spine.
A door shut behind us.
“Close your eyes.”
He moved his hands from my eyes to my shoulders. “Open ‘em.”
Light flooded into my eyes causing me to blink a few times.
Laid out in front of me in a sun-filled room, I saw a beautifully laid table. White linen, red roses, chilling champagne and sparkling silverware.
If it looks too good to be true, then it probably is.
“Have a seat,” he whispered in my ear, holding a chair for me.
From the sidelines, waiters appeared carrying covered plates.
Plates were uncovered in front of us. The champagne uncorked and poured. Then with a poof of theatrics, they were gone. Rowan sat opposite me, smiling. He appeared pleased with himself.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome.”
“How was your morning?” I asked. I could hear music but couldn’t locate the source. It was faint, slowly increasing in volume. I recognized the song as ‘Watch Out For Lucy’, and Eric Clapton was definitely singing it.
Distracting.
“Good.” He leaned back in the chair. Sun lit his hair. I almost needed sunglasses to look at him. “Went over a few things with the band, sound check and whatnot. Had a workout and organized lunch for a friend.” His was an expressive face. Mostly, I noticed, it expressed his good nature. “Yours?”
“Work.”
“Should I ask?”
I shook my head and found I was pretty much pain-free. I recalled his reaction during dinner and didn’t want to repeat it. There was also the fear that I’d slip up and mention the photographs. I wasn’t the only one being watched. And I wasn’t sure if he was what he appeared to be.
My ghosts were calling me out.
The song started again. This time I could see the performance on my own private YouTube in my head. I knew it meant something and it would become apparent in time.
Rowan reached into his shirt pocket and placed an envelope on the table. He slid it toward my hand until it touched me.
“In case you can make it.”
I opened the envelope and pulled out five tickets and five backstage passes. “This is very generous of you.”
“I’d like if you could come.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “I thought you might enjoy the show and it didn’t seem fair to exclude the other four.”
“Thank you.”
As I watched his hands moving and listened to his conversation, I had an epiphany. I knew what it was that was so comfortable about him. He was calm.
Calm.
That was a rare commodity. I absently wondered if I could bottle it and take it with me, like smelling salts or something. Maybe hang a little vial around my neck for emergency use. It would have to be fairly concentrated if I was to do that. I toyed with my fork on my plate while I considered the possibility.
The Eric Clapton video started again. He was persistent and exceptionally talented. No wonder his fans sprayed painted ‘Clapton is God’ on the Islington Underground station all those years ago. My entertainment came to an abrupt stop when Rowan’s hand waved in front of my face.
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
“Penny for them …”
“They’re probably worth more than that, considering your net worth an’ all.”
Confusion clouded his face. “What are?”
I confessed to my outlandish earlier thoughts of bottling the calmness he exuded. Seemed better than trying to explain Eric Clapton’s private performance. My daydream met with quiet laughter.
His eyes were watching me again, back lit by a smile.
My phone rang. Saved by the bell.
I swapped the glass of champagne for water as I listened to Lee fill me in on the developments downstairs. Sean had ascertained that two different people accessed the security footage from the hotel and the casino; one was a hotel security employee and the other an employee of the casino. Both people were paid by bank transfer to find pictures solicited by a third party. We can see the money going into the accounts but, tracing the deposits wasn’t as easy as it should have been. Someone closed the bank account shortly after the money transfer. Everything was arranged online. They never met in person. Envelopes had been left at the front desk addressed to a hotel maid. According to the concierge, she picked them up. He had no idea what was in the envelopes. With a twang of a guitar string, I knew why I’d seen and heard the Eric Clapton song.
I’d bet money on her name being Lucy. I kept my comments to myself and continued listening to the update.
Sam discovered that the Harris woman had been given concert tickets in the casino. We now suspected it was her intention to sell her child to cover gambling debts and it would happen at the concert. All we had were our suspicions. It’s not illegal to gamble, be in a casino, accept concert tickets, talk to foreigners, or to be in debt. We cannot legislate against stupidity. There was nothing concrete to say she would sell her child and nothing that gave us reason to hold her. There was still no word when the telecommunications company would have the plagued network back up and running smoothly. It didn’t do much for my equilibrium. Those kids may as well not have cell phones. I wondered if that was why Abbey still had hers, because Bauer knew the service was crap. Or was it because no one cared and no one would call?
My phone snapped shut. I smiled at Rowan. “I need to get back. Lee is waiting outside,” I said. I searched for words then found them lurking in the back corner of my mind. “We’ll be there tonight.”
Abbey was also supposed to be going to the concert. News had come back from the hospital. The kid’s home life was such a mess, she fell for all the lies Bauer told. Harvey Bauer promised her the concert.
There had to be a reason why the kids were going to the concert, one with her mother, the other with the person who kidnapped her and Melanie wi
th Emmett Smith. Maybe it was the trading point.
Lee was at the door for me. “The maid, her name is Lucy?”
Lee nodded but didn’t ask how I knew. Eric Clapton stopped playing.
“We need to find her.” As the words left my mouth, I felt we were too late.
I pressed the ‘Down’ button on the wall by the elevator doors. Lee stood next to me. When I glanced over, I noticed his stance, a dead giveaway of his former years in the military. He faced out into the hallway, his feet twelve inches apart and his hands, palms out and overlapping, behind his back. Parade rest.
The elevator dinged. The doors opened.
“Lee.”
“Yep,” he said, swiveling on one foot to face the open doors. I’d already stepped in and pressed a button to hold the elevator doors open.
A string hung in the middle of the elevator. A photograph dangled at eye level. I pulled latex gloves from my pocket and held the edge of the photo with them to see the picture. “Was that there when you came up?”
“Nope.”
“Hinky.”
The picture was of a hotel door with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on it. I pulled out my phone. “Sam find out who is in room …” I looked at the number in the picture. “Seven-four-five.”
“On it.”
I called Kurt. “Use the stairs; we’re on level twelve by the elevator. Bring your gear. This could be bad.”
Lee photographed the interior of the lift then removed the string and picture. I handed him an evidence bag. I would’ve made a good boy scout.
From down the hall I heard approaching footsteps. Kurt walked toward us, his backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Let’s do it.” We all stepped into the lift. I pressed level seven. As the elevator descended, my stomach fell into my boots and flopped about. Most unpleasant.
Kurt touched my elbow as the doors opened. “Bit pale, Conway. Try a few deep breaths.”
“I’m okay.”
“Don’t pass out on us,” he whispered.
Lee led the way to room seven-four-five. Sam ran toward us from the other end of the hallway.
“Got a key card. The room is empty. Occupants checked out this morning,” Sam said. “Camera?”
Lee nodded and pulled one from his jacket pocket. He snapped a few shots of the door. “Go.”
Kurt and I stood back against the wall. Sam opened the door. He and Lee cleared the room: Sam gun drawn, Lee snapping pictures as he followed him.
“Chicky Babe,” Lee called. “You were right, it ain’t good.”
I found him crouching between two double beds. Lee stood and moved out of the way as Kurt tapped his shoulder. With the changing of the guard, I witnessed the prone body of a young woman. Blood soaked into the carpet near her throat.
“Doc?”
“Someone cut her throat,” he replied. He lifted her hand and showed me bloody stumps where fingers should’ve been. “Tortured before her throat was cut.”
“Anything to suggest this is related to the kids?”
Kurt shook his head then looked up. “It’s a bit of a coincidence if it isn’t.”
“Dammit. A photo left in a lift and a dead housemaid. Tying up loose ends?” Did she look like a Lucy?
“If so, then that porter we interviewed best watch out,” Sam said from within the bathroom. “Nothing in here.”
It wasn’t a good feeling, the crawling terror in my stomach. Sean started asking questions about photographs and envelopes left at the front desk and now we had a dead maid.
“Name badge or anything?”
Doc shook his head.
‘Watch Out For Lucy’ started up again. “Lucy,” I whispered. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to you in time.”
“You know her?” Doc asked.
“No.”
“Then how do you know her name?”
The room seemed suddenly still as words tumbled over each other and fell from my mouth. “I heard Eric Clapton singing; over the last half-hour he’s sung the same song about four times. Her name is Lucy.”
Someone knocked on the door. Sean stepped in. I indicated I wanted to talk to him and escaped Doc’s bewildered stare. We stepped back out into the hall. Immediately I felt creepy eyes watching. Damn cameras.
I knew Sean and because I knew Sean, it seemed pertinent that I ask the hard question, “Did you do this?” I was only partly joking: I’d seen his handiwork in the past. I knew what happened when people withheld information from Sean O’Hare.
“No,” he stated, unruffled by the question. “I’ve been looking for her and Raymond Huia. I believe my interview techniques are illegal in New Zealand.”
That made me smile. “And most other countries.”
“Most,” he agreed.
“Looks to me like someone is tidying up loose ends. And that person wanted to know if Lucy had spoken to anyone about her deliveries.”
Sean nodded. “I’ll get the local police over here to deal with this. You got everything you need?”
I nodded and told my team we were leaving.
“Sean, meet us back in the room when you’re done. We need to find Huia.”
“Will do.”
Nineteen
Watch Out For Lucy
“What was her full name?” I asked.
“Lucy MacKay. Aged twenty-three. She was a student at Canterbury University,” Sean replied. “Art major.”
It was good to get confirmation that songs were still working for me.
“Huia?”
“Nothing yet.”
“He must be somewhere,” I said.
“You’d think. Thing is, no one has seen him. Family says he came to work yesterday and never came home.”
“Door to door within the hotel.” I watched Sean’s facial expression for a clue as to how he felt. It was like reading a brick wall. “Have police finished with the crime scene?”
“Yes. The techs finished up a few minutes ago.”
“Get Turner and Hooch in here.”
“Jay, Ellie. His name is Jay. Although I think he’s getting used to the Hooch thing.”
Sam, Lee and Doc worked the laptops, looking for anything we may have missed concerning the connection between Lucy and Hawk.
A long thirty minutes later Turner and Hooch hustled into my hotel suite.
Turner spoke, “Raymond Huia showed up for work last night; no one remembers him leaving but he signed out.”
“He signed out or someone signed him out?” I asked.
“Looks like his signature. Without sending it to the lab we won’t know for sure.”
Turner was all business. I liked the change in him.
Hooch piped up, “I have a list of all the guests who called the front desk for anything last night.”
“Good work. And?”
“A list of empty rooms and guests who checked out this morning. We can’t get a list of rooms with ‘do not disturb’ signs, yet. Housekeeping is still working.”
“I think Raymond falls into the ‘loose end’ category. We’ll split up. Sam and Lee, top floor working down. Turner and Hooch, first floor working up. Sean, the kitchens, restaurants, bars, staff areas.”
“Alone?” Turner commented.
“Sean is the only one of us who is perfectly capable alone. He’ll be taking the concierge with him to make sure hotel staff cooperate.”
Sean grinned. “He might cramp my style.”
“He likes you, have fun with it. He’s knows more than he’s letting on,” I said with a smile. “Kurt and I are starting on this floor; we’ll do the gym, pool, boardrooms, et cetera.”
It seemed feasible that Huia wouldn’t be that hard to find. Another dangled photograph would be my guess. But where? Not the elevator again, surely?
Sean stood by the door and issued a light warning. “Maintain regular cell phone contact. We don’t know if the killer is still in the hotel or not.”
The longer it took to play this stupid game with Hawk, the farther
away the kids would be.
I stood outside the door and watched everyone file past. Sam slid his palm across mine, catching my fingers in his. “Be safe.”
“You too.”
Lee did the same.
Turner and Hooch headed for the stairs. Sam, Lee and Sean took the elevator. I waited for the door to open. Plenty of people would’ve used it by now.
Ping.
The doors slid open. My hand slipped to the grip of my Glock 17.
Eyes from nowhere watched. It made me jumpy … my gun soothed me.
They all looked back and grinned. Nothing.
“Let’s go.”
Kurt fell into step beside me. We headed to the gym, using the stairs. No one was in there.
“I think we’re looking for a photograph,” I said from the middle of the room. There was nothing obvious taped to any of the large mirrors or suspended from the exercise equipment. A few minutes later Doc declared the room devoid of clues.
“Now where?” he asked, holding the door open for me.
“He likes to leave stuff for me to find.” I was thinking aloud. “Rowan’s room.”
We’d come to a stop by the elevator. The elevator pinged and the door opened. I glanced inside.
Nothing.
Moments later, we bumped to a stop at our floor.
“This way.” I led the way to Rowan’s suite and knocked twice on his door.
When the door opened a piece of white paper floated to the ground. I bent down to grab it. With a mighty thwack, my head collided with Rowan’s. Thick carpet cushioned my cheek.
Doc’s voice flowed into my ears. “Up and at ‘em, Conway.”
Little birds tweeted above my head. A butterfly landed on Rowan’s hand then glided to Doc and perched on the bridge of his nose.
“I’m okay,” I said, letting Doc help me to my feet while the butterfly soared above his head. Standing wasn’t much better than lying. The doorway tilted like a seesaw. My hand grabbed for the doorframe and missed, as it wobbled out of reach. A small butterfly swirled a trail of silver sparkles across my vision. Glittery letters effervesced from Doc’s mouth, forming words I could see.
“Rowan, your head okay?” Doc asked.
