Becoming Quinn (7 page)

The monitor room wasn’t particularly large, but it was big enough for two to sit behind the laminated desk set back several feet from the monitor wall. There were eleven screens in all: a large one in the center, with ten smaller units surrounding it.

Jake was in the chair nearest the door. Beside him was a guard named Parker. After making introductions and giving Parker a quick rundown, Evans had left them alone, with a simple, “If you need anything else, Parker can find me.”

The guard had then routed the archived footage feed to the small monitor in the lower left corner, closest to Jake.

“We have everything on hard drive,” Parker explained.

“That must take up a lot of space,” Jake said. Most systems he’d come across still relied on tape backups, or DVDs.

“It does. Each day gets its own set of disks.” It was obvious Parker was enjoying his role as police assistant. “We have sixty sets in all, so basically we keep footage for sixty days before the set gets used again. The way the system works is that there are six disk ports. One contains today’s disks, four contain the last four days’, and the last one contains the disks from two months ago that will be used tomorrow.”

“Got it,” Jake said. “So the days I need to look at are still connected to the system.”

“Yep.”

Parker showed him how to access the older footage, then Jake got to work.

The hotel had thirty-six different cameras throughout the property, mainly covering the lobby, elevators, outside exits, and employee-only areas.

Even just skimming through the last forty-eight hours, it would take him forever to go through all the different feeds. So his first task was to narrow things down.

Two of the lobby cameras acted as overviews, covering large portions of the space. What one didn’t see, the other did. Deciding to concentrate on those first, Jake brought up one of the feeds, and began whipping through it as fast as he could manage and still make out what was going on.

The biggest problem was he didn’t know who he was looking for. Had the person who’d dropped the matchbook been a guest? Someone just passing through the lobby? Someone who worked there? Man? Woman? Old? Young?

He hadn’t been at it long before he realized how ridiculous this was. What the hell did he actually expect to see? The murderer walking through the frame wearing a T-shirt that said I DID IT?

Unfortunately, he couldn’t just get up and walk out. That would raise more questions than his request to view the footage had. Enough, most likely, to provoke Evans or Conway to call the department and ask what was up.

Jake definitely didn’t need that.

Having no choice, he focused on the screen.

It took nearly an hour to get through one day of one camera. Not surprisingly, no one stood out to him. He increased the pace, and got through the second twenty-four hours in only thirty-two minutes.

He decided to skip the other lobby camera and move to the one covering the front entrance. In and out, in and out. People coming and going and returning and leaving again. On the screen the day grew later, then night descended, but the flow of people never stopped. In and out, in and out, in and—

Jake tapped Pause, then leaned over the desk, bringing him a few inches closer to the monitor on the wall.

“See something?” Parker asked.

Jake stared at the image. Two men had just come outside. A doorman—not the one who’d let Jake in earlier—was holding the door open for them. They were both dressed casually, dark pants and dark shirts. One was even wearing a dark gray sports coat. They didn’t look like they were together, but there was
something
Jake couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The camera had captured a good shot of both men’s faces. Neither was remarkable. If he’d met either of them before, that might explain the feeling he was having, but he couldn’t place their faces, which meant this was the first time he had ever seen them. His memory was exceptional. He’d never forgotten a face before, and was sure he wasn’t forgetting one now.

So why did I stop?

“Hey, you all right?” Parker asked.

Jake pulled his eyes off the screen. “What?” he asked, confused.

“You were studying that pretty hard. I was just wondering if you’d seen something interesting.”

Jake quickly donned his neutral cop look. “Not sure. Maybe. Is there a way to print out images?”

“Sure,” Parker said. “We have a mavigraph. Gives you a nice glossy print. We’re not supposed to use it too often because it’s expensive, but I’m sure Mr. Evans wouldn’t mind.”

“Excellent.” Jake nodded at the screen. “Can I get a print of that?”

“You got it.”

Parker fiddled with a computer keyboard, then a few moments later a machine in the corner behind them began to hum.

“It takes a little while to print,” Parker said. “But it’s got the image now, so you can continue looking if you want.”

Jake nodded, then hit Play and watched the men walk out of frame. He stopped the footage, reversed it to just as they were coming out the door, and noted the time stamp. He then switched over to the feed from a lobby camera right on the other side of the entrance. Using the time code as reference, he went to the corresponding point.

On the screen he could see the backs of the men as they were passing through the door. He began scrolling the footage backwards. As he noted from the other angle, though the men were leaving at the same time, they didn’t seem to be together. He followed them to the extent of the camera’s range, then found the next camera they were on, then the next. The lighter-haired one had stopped in the lobby, and put his cell phone to his ear. The other, dark-haired one had walked backwards all the way to the elevator where he entered/exited the number two elevator.

Jake turned his focus on the man in the lobby, until he, too, walked to the elevators and went up, in his case riding in car number four. Jake switched to the interior footage from car four, and followed the man in reverse all the way up to the eighth floor. No feeds covered the upstairs hallways, so he couldn’t see which room the man went to.

“Here you go,” Parker said, setting something on the counter beside Jake’s elbow.

Looking down, Jake saw the promised glossy print of the two men outside the hotel entrance. There was a wide white border around the edges that almost gave it a retro feel.

“Thanks,” he said.

He returned his attention to the screen, then hit Play, watching in normal speed, forward motion this time. The light-haired man reentered the elevator on the eighth floor, then headed down. The car made three stops before it reached the lobby: on the sixth, fourth, and third floor.

Jake hit Pause again, scrolled back a few seconds, then let it play once more. When a man entered the car on the third floor, it looked like the light-haired man had given him a tiny nod. Jake played it a couple of times. The movement was so slight it was hard to tell.

The man who had just gotten on turned and faced the door. It could be they’d only recognized each other from when they were checking into the hotel. Then again, maybe it hadn’t been a nod at all. Just a tick, or even a glitch in the camera.

Jake continued forward.

It wasn’t until the dark-haired man entered the lobby from the number two elevator that Jake stopped again. He’d missed it before but now there was no mistaking it. The light-haired man and the dark-haired man had shared a look. Brief, yes, and most people who saw it would probably have dismissed it, but Jake saw it for what he was sure it was—a signal of some kind. The moment they looked away from each other, the light-haired man put his phone in his pocket and headed for the door. The dark-haired man had then headed in the same direction, a few feet behind him.

Okay,
Jake thought.
There’s a connection between the men, but absolutely no connection to the murder out on Goodman Ranch Road. They could be anybody.

Then his fingers reached out and slammed the Pause key.

The dark-haired man had slowed next to a table, his hand hovering over a bowl filled with matchbooks.

A tingling feeling ran across Jake’s shoulders.

He scrolled forward, frame by frame. The man’s hand inched downward, first touching the stack of blue booklets, then picking one up and slipping it in his pocket.

Jake stared at the screen, no longer seeing the image it held.

He knew this still didn’t prove a damn thing. Dozens of people must have taken matchbooks from that bowl every day. That, and the fact Jake’s interest in the man was based on no more than a
feeling
, made it all the more unlikely. Yet, he continued to have a sense that the men were…were…

Different.

That was it. There was something about them that set them off from others. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what that difference was, but he knew it was there.

He finished watching the men exit the hotel. There were no more causes to pause, no more what-the-hell moments.

He checked his watch and was surprised to see he only had a half hour to get to the substation. Where had all the time gone?

He was about to thank Parker and tell him he was done when he remembered the man who’d entered the elevator on the third floor. He knew his sense about this man was even weaker than his feelings about the other two, but it was best to play it safe.

He found the appropriate footage of the man exiting the building a few minutes before the other two did, and paused the picture. The guy was probably in his early forties, in decent shape, and had a bit of a scowl on his face.

He looked at Parker. “Can I get a print of this, too?”

•    •    •

As Jake walked back through the lobby, he considered stopping at reception. He knew there was a very high likelihood that the men had been guests at the hotel, and if one of the women at the desk could ID them, then Jake would have names. The thing that stopped him was the promise he’d made Conway about not asking for any guest information without the proper warrants. If he reneged on that, he’d once more open the possibility of his superiors finding out about his visit.

There was a less official way he could at least get some basic information, though.

As he reached the exit, a different doorman than earlier pulled it open for him.

“Thanks,” Jake said as he passed through.

“No problem at all. You have a good day.”

Jake slowed. “Say, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

Jake unrolled the picture he’d been given of the two men. “Do you recall seeing either of these men?”

“Sure. That’s Mr. Redmond,” he said, pointing at the light-haired man. He moved his finger to the other guy. “And that’s…Mr. Walters.”

“They’re guests here?”

“They were. Left this morning, I believe.”

“Did they have their own cars or…”

“No cars. Taxis. They both seemed to enjoy walking, too. I’ve seen both head out on foot.”

Which could have meant they had a car they weren’t parking at the hotel, Jake thought.

He showed him the other picture.

“Yeah,” the doorman said. “Saw him a few times, but don’t know his name.”

“Also a guest?”

“Not sure.”

Jake rolled the pictures back up. He had last names now, at least for two of them. It was something, but not much. “Thanks,” he said.

“You got it.”

10

Jake was up early the next morning. Patrol the night before had been uneventful, and both he and Haywood had finished on time. Jake had spent most of the shift as they drove around thinking about the men in the pictures. Could it possibly be that they were connected with the murder? Should he tell someone about them?

He still had no answer for the first question, and his immediate response to the second was no. No one would believe such a tenuous connection. A
feeling
? But then he’d reconsidered. There was one person he could talk to who wouldn’t think he was crazy, not more than usual, anyway.

Around 11 p.m., while Haywood had been doing his flirting thing with Maria the waitress, Jake had called Berit and asked if she wanted to grab breakfast the next morning.

“Breakfast? You mean get out of bed before ten?” she said.

“I was thinking eight-thirty? At Di’s?”

“Eight-thirty? Ugh! Why?”

“I’ve…I’ve got something I need to talk about.”

She was quiet for a moment, then said, “Fine. Eight-thirty. You owe me.”

Back at the academy, when they’d both realized they were different than most of the recruits, they’d made an agreement to always be there for each other. A sounding board, a pressure release, whatever the other one required.

This was definitely one of those times.

Jake arrived at Di’s fifteen minutes early, took a booth by the window, and contented himself with coffee until Berit arrived. As was her habit, she was right on time. The way she was dressed—a pale green button shirt and blue jeans—people would have been hard-pressed to guess her profession. She just didn’t give off that police vibe. But Jake knew her kind eyes and disarming smile were deceiving. It was like she had a thin layer of sweet covering a solid don’t-fuck-with-me body.

Like Jake, she was a voracious reader, a habit that led them into conversations about such subjects as microbiology, Middle East history, computer programming, and the future of paper money. They could go on for hours about almost anything. It was like being in college without actually enrolling anywhere.

As Berit slipped into the other side of the booth, their waitress walked over.

“Something to drink?” the woman asked.

“Coffee, please,” Berit said.

“Sure thing.” The waitress retreated to the counter.

Berit stared at Jake for a moment, then said, “Four and a half hours.”

“I’m sorry?” he said.

“Four and a half hours. That’s how much sleep I got. I should still be in bed, but I’m not. You owe me three and a half hours of sleep.”

“You get eight every night?”

The waitress returned with the coffee before Berit could respond, and set it on the table.