Quarterback Trap (Carlos McCrary PI Book 3) Page 2

  “Her pink tablet computer. I took it in case we need to examine it later. That okay with you?”

  “Sure. Long as you bring it back.”

  “Good. Does Gracie take birth control pills?”

  “Yeah, sure. Why?”

  “There weren’t any in the bathroom cabinet or drawers. How many bags did she bring to Port City?”

  “Oh, geez, let me think…She had five matching suitcases and an overnight bag.”

  “One of the suitcases wasn’t in your room.”

  Bob frowned and almost said something, then stopped. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “That’s all right. One more thing…when you got up this morning, was the toilet seat up or down?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “It’s important, Bob. Close your eyes and think back to this morning.”

  Bob closed his eyes, then opened them so wide that the whites showed all around. “The seat was down, and I left it up before I went to bed last night.”

  “Gracie returned to your room after you fell asleep. She took a bath, packed a suitcase, and left before you woke up.”

  “Jesus, now you’re really freaking me out.” Bob stopped as another player approached. “Wait a sec, Bomber. I’m talking with an old high school buddy. Be with you in a few.” He lowered his voice. “How do you know she took a bath?”

  “I have magical powers. Also, I found damp soap and a damp towel in the tub, and woman-sized footprints on the bathmat.”

  “I should have noticed that stuff.”

  “Nah. You couldn’t see the tub from the shower, and raising a toilet seat is second nature to any man.”

  Bob shrugged. “I understand Gracie being quiet when she came back to the room, so she wouldn’t wake me. She’s real considerate like that. And I understand her taking a bath before bed. But why would she pack a bag and leave again in the middle of the night?”

  “I didn’t find her toothbrush or deodorant either. She planned to skip out on you.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Why indeed?”

  TWO

  The time index on the computer monitor read 02:21:24. The surveillance video showed Graciela exiting the elevator on the thirty-seventh floor. She tottered unsteadily down the corridor in a gold lamé dress with a neckline that plunged nearly to her waist. She carried a pair of gold sling-back stiletto shoes in her left hand. A gold-sequined evening purse with a long gold chain hung near her waist. She clutched the purse in her right hand like she was afraid it was planning an escape.

  That same dress was hanging in the closet of Bob’s hotel suite. I had noticed the matching purse in a box on the shelf above. The shoes had been dropped on the closet floor. Wherever she’d gone, she had changed clothes after the party.

  Wally, the hotel security guard, glanced at the wall clock. “Is that who you’re looking for?”

  “Yes, thanks.” I wrote down the time the video was taken. “Can we access the elevator video to determine where she got on?”

  “You do know I have other duties, right?” He stared into his empty coffee cup as if he could will it to refill itself.

  “Wally, that woman is a guest in your hotel. She is missing and maybe in danger. Finding her trumps your duty to refill your coffee.”

  The guard scowled, then punched the keyboard. The picture switched to split screen, high-angle shots from the elevator car’s top corners. “I’ll run this back one minute earlier.”

  Two men rode in the elevator. One wore a well-tailored black tuxedo and one was stuffed into an ill-fitting business suit. The second man had a shaved head and a crooked nose. He tugged at his collar and loosened his poorly knotted tie. Part of a neck tattoo peeked put above the shirt. The men stood side by side against the back wall.

  “Zoom in on the tattoo. Hmm. Can’t tell what it is, but I recognize it from somewhere. Probably a prison tat.” I gestured at the screen. “Keep going.”

  Seconds later, the doors slid apart and Graciela boarded the elevator, walking carefully. Her purse swung from the shoulder chain. A thirtyish couple followed, arm in arm. The man wore a blue tuxedo that matched his date’s long, blue cocktail dress.

  “Must be Cowboys fans,” I said.

  Graciela lifted a champagne flute to her lips, drained it, and placed it on the elevator floor in the corner. She steadied herself with a hand on the wall and straightened up. Her face came into sharp focus on the monitor.

  Wally froze the picture. “Is that who I think it is?”

  “That depends on who you think she is.”

  “The Latin Angel…what’s-her-name? The super model…” He snapped his fingers. “Graciela! That’s it‍‍‍‍‍—she’s Graciela, ain’t she?”

  “Right on.”

  “I saw on TV where she’s the fiancée of that Jets quarterback, Bob Martinez‍‍‍‍‍—the one they call the Mexican Muscle.”

  “Right again.”

  The guard seemed more engaged in helping me now. He pointed to the lower left corner of the screen. “See this indicator? Graciela got on at the third floor, where the Palm Paradise Pavilion is. That’s where ESPN threw that fine, fine party.” He punched the keyboard and the video played again.

  Blue Tuxedo put his arm around the woman in the blue dress and copped a feel. She moved her left hand down and stroked his crotch discreetly, if you can stroke a crotch discreetly in a crowded elevator. She winked. His jacket gapped open to reveal a silver cummerbund. Their mouths moved as they talked.

  “I don’t suppose you have audio, do you, Wally?”

  “Too many privacy issues, man.”

  “Just as well‍‍‍—that conversation’s gotta be X-rated.”

  “Nowadays, that’s NC-17,” Wally said. “It means no children under seventeen.”

  The woman leaned her head on Blue Tuxedo’s shoulder, blew in his ear, then kissed him with her mouth open. The other two men stood in the back, oblivious to the enthusiastic display of lust. Some people have no romance in their souls.

  Graciela leaned her head against the side wall, seemingly unmindful of the other people in the car. The door opened on the eighteenth floor and the two Cowboys fans wobbled off, groping each other as they went.

  The door closed and Graciela came to life. She straightened up and spoke over her shoulder to Black Tuxedo.

  He slid an envelope from his jacket and leaned closer to the woman. Crooked Nose watched. Black Tuxedo and Graciela exchanged words as she opened her purse and stuffed the envelope in it. She wrapped her hand around the top of the purse, covering the clasp.

  Graciela flashed a plastic smile at Black Tuxedo as the elevator door opened. Crooked Nose exited first. His jacket bulged under his left arm.

  “Freeze that, Wally. I want a printout of that frame.”

  “Yeah, yeah, anything you say.” Wally tapped the keyboard. “Is that bulge a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that tattoo on his neck?”

  “Fairly sure it’s a prison tat.”

  Wally shivered. “Geez, maybe Graciela’s in danger after all.” He played the video again. Graciela said something to Black Tuxedo. He waved and followed Crooked Nose from the elevator car.

  Wally pointed at the screen. “They’re on 34.”

  I wrote that on my notepad. “Let’s come back to that floor in a minute, and we’ll learn which rooms those two men went into.”

  On the screen, Graciela leaned against the wall and took off her shoes. This time she grabbed the purse in a death grip. She valued whatever she had stuck in there.

  “What do you think was in the envelope?”

  “His Grandma’s cornbread recipe.”

  We watched the video until Graciela exited the elevator. No one else entered or left the car. “Let’s go back to 34 now,” I said. “Is there a camera in the hall?”

  Wally punched the keyboard again. “Okay, hall camera on 34 coming up.”

  Crooked Nose took one step into the hall and checked both directions. His shiny, bald head nodded an all clear to Black Tuxedo before he exited.

  “Freeze that too, Wally. I need several blow-ups of those guys.”

  The two men stopped at a door. Black Tuxedo pointed back toward the elevator, said something to Crooked Nose, then entered a room on the right.

  “All the units on that side are suites overlooking 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 make out.”

  “Can you access the keycard files and tell me 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 dragged the keyboard over. “The boss is in suite 3406. The ex-con is in 3405.”

  “Thanks, Wally.” I wrote that down. “Now let’s review the elevator video again and spot where those two guys got on.”

  Wally ran the 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 26. The empty elevator rose and stopped at 34. 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. The elevator went down to the lobby, up to 39, and back down to the lobby. Other people got on and off, but the two men never moved. Finally, Graciela and the amorous Cowboy fans got on.

  “You think those two guys were waiting for Graciela to get on that elevator?”

  “Do fish swi
m? Let’s go back to the floor camera on 37 and watch for Graciela to come out of her suite.”

  Brian Wallenda, manager of the Super Bowl headquarters hotel, spread the stack of pictures across his desk. Even on Sunday, he wore a suit and tie. “What you’re asking is highly irregular, Mr. McCrary.”

  “I certainly hope it’s irregular and that a guest disappearing from your hotel is not a regular occurrence. 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 of who Graciela is. I don’t live in a cave.” 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.”

  “Mr. Wallenda, the man with the prison tattoo carried a gun. He and the man in the black tuxedo rode the elevator up and down twice, lying in wait until Graciela arrived. 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 all 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. “Can we go off the record, Mr. Wallenda?”

  Wallenda raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

  “Times being what they are, we both know that it would not 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 Graciela obtained the controlled substance from another hotel guest in your elevator, and that guest was accompanied by an armed ex-con bodyguard, and your surveillance cameras captured the exchange…” I gestured to the photos on the desk, “and that guest later disappeared from your hotel in the middle of the night…”

  I let the implication hang in the air for a second or two. “That would look bad for the Port City Palace if the news media or the cops discovered 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 we’re lucky, your hotel will avoid any bad publicity.” I hoped the manager liked the idea of no bad publicity.

  Wallenda’s brow knitted. “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 purely a matter of time.” He pushed the stack of pictures together. “You’re right. We have to do something. Okay, Mr. McCrary, we keep it off the record. Now tell me: What’s going on in my hotel?”

  “That’s what I intend to find out. When I do, you’ll be the second one to know‍‍‍—after Bob Martinez.”

  “Come in, Mr. McCrary. Whatever this big emergency is that can’t wait until tomorrow, it better be a matter of life and death, or else I’m gonna be pissed.” Giselle Foreman, the chief accountant for the Port City Palace, peered at me over the top of her reading glasses. “Since I can’t be mad at my own boss, you’re next in line. Do I make myself clear?”

  Clearly, Giselle Foreman wasn’t feeling the love. It didn’t take the world’s greatest private investigator to know that I wasn’t talking to Miss Sunshine.

  “Yes, ma’am, and I appreciate your help.”

  “Now convince me this was worth 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 about the time they installed 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. 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. I agree with that decision, but 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 wrecks my Sunday too.”

  She waved it off. “Forgive me; I’m venting…3405 and 3406, you said? Let’s see…those rooms are both registered to XPVV Corporation. They checked in at the same time with a corporate American Express card.” She pushed the keyboard aside. “That doesn’t help, does it?”

  “Did they sign a register card?”

  Foreman glanced at the screen. “They arrived yesterday. Our guests sign a computer screen with a finger, but you know how bad those signatures are. Usually they sign with just a squiggle on the screen. That signature is scanned into our data base.” She pulled the keyboard over again. “Here they are.” She rotated the monitor so I could examine it.

  The two signatures were illegible squiggles.

  “Wally, this is Raymond Snopolski, my associate.” I had called him in for an extra set of eyes on the case.

  “Call me Snoop.” They shook hands.

  “Show Snoop that security video of the third floor lobby where Graciela got on the elevator. The one we looked at earlier. Okay to pull up a couple of chairs?”

  “Sure thing, Chuck.” The hotel security guard glanced at my friend and occasional employee. “Snoop, was it?”

  “Yeah, I used to be a police detective. I did a lot of snooping.”

  Wally nodded and punched the keyboard. “Here’s the Latin Angel getting on elevator number four.”

  “Go back three minutes. I want Snoop to see her arrive at the elevator lobby.”

  Wally punched the keys. “Mr. Wallenda said I should do anything you want and not tell anybody about it.” He typed in the new command. “Here’s the lobby three minutes earlier.”

  Graciela was already there, standing near elevator four.

  I pointed at the screen. “She waited next to elevator four. Everyone else is waiting near elevators one and two.”

  Snoop shrugged. “Human nature. The party was at the end of the floor nearest to elevator one. People leaving the party naturally stop at the first elevator they come to.”

  “But Graciela didn’t.” I turned to Wally. “Run it back three more minutes please.”

  “Right. Here it is.”

  Graciela was not in the lobby.

  “Play it in real time, please, Wally.”

  Six hotel guests in evening dress walked into the picture and waited near elevator one. Elevator two arrived and all six got on. More guests entered the picture. They got on elevators four, three, and one.

  Graciela entered the picture with another couple and two single women. The five of them smiled and chatted as they waited for an elevator. Elevator one arrived again. The man in the group waited for his date and the two single women to get on. He swayed back and forth as he waited for Graciela to board next. When she didn’t, he spoke to her and bowed with an exaggerated gesture for her to go first. She shook her head and said something. He shrugged, waved to Graciela, and lurched into the elevator.

  The elevator doors closed. Graciela walked carefully‍‍‍—like drunks walk‍‍‍—to elevator four and waited.

  “Snoop, she waited specifically for elevator four.”

  “Graciela must have known the guy in the black tuxedo would be on elevator four.”