Michael Connelly - Void Moon

"Then let's stop talking and get it handled. The clock is ticking."

"All right, Vincent. Whatever you say."

Karch looked down at the card he still held by the corner. He knew he could call in a favor from Iverson over at Metro and run the card for latent prints. But that would bring Iverson into something that Karch expected was going to get dirty. He decided to keep the idea as a last alternative. He went over to the table and opened the folder containing the hotel information packet. There were envelopes and writing paper inside one of the pockets. He slipped the playing card into an envelope and put it into his inside jacket pocket.

"Prints?" Grimaldi asked.

"Maybe. I'll try a few other things first."

They went back across the hall to 2014 and took a final look around while they discussed their options. Grimaldi said Miami didn't care what became of the courier and so that left things open. They could back out of the room and let things run their course when the housekeeping maid discovered the body. Or they could bring a laundry cart to the room, put the body in it and take it down the service elevator to the loading dock and a waiting van. Any trace of the courier's stay in the hotel could be wiped off the computers and tapes and his body could then be planted out in the desert after nightfall.

"It will take four guys to lift that sack of shit," Grimaldi lamented.

"You widen the circle of people who know about this and you widen your exposure," Karch said.

"But if we let things go, that means Metro comes in, and talk about the hotel getting a black eye. I can't remember the last hotel homicide we had in this town. They'll go after this like Tyson went after Evander's ear."

"That's true. But maybe that sort of pressure on our guy will be useful. Maybe force him into a mistake."

"Yeah, and what if Metro Homicide gets to him before you?"

Karch just looked at Grimaldi with an expression that said the idea was absurd.

"You call it, Vincent. We're wasting time. I want to look at the tape downstairs and get on with it."

Grimaldi nodded.

"Okay, no Metro. I'll have some people come up and take care of things here."

"Good call, Vincent," Karch said, but in a way that might make Grimaldi wonder if he really meant it. "Let's go watch the tape."

They both backed out of the room then, leaving the dead man behind on the bed. Grimaldi made sure he hooked the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door handle.

ON numerous prior occasions Karch had been in Grimaldi's office on the second level of the casino. He held a secret security consulting contract with the Cleopatra – no records, payments in cash – and as such he most often met with Grimaldi in his office, even though the tasks he was given normally had little to do with anything that went on in the casino below. Karch was most often involved in what Grimaldi liked to call ancillary security issues and problems. Karch liked his outside status all right. He knew he would never be the kind of man who could willingly wear a blue blazer with the profile of the Queen of Egypt emblazoned on the breast pocket.

The office was large and opulent, with a desk area, a sitting area and a private bar. The entrance was through the casino's huge security center, where dozens of video techs sat in rows of booths watching the screens of video tubes showing the ever-changing views of the hundreds of cameras focused on the casino floor. This room was dimly lit and never warmer than 65 degrees because of the delicate electronics. Most of the techs wore sweaters beneath their standard blue blazers. In Las Vegas, when you saw somebody wearing a sweater to work in the summer, you knew he worked inside, watching tubes all day.

One wall of Grimaldi's office had windows looking out into the security center. Another wall had windows viewing the casino. And located directly behind Grimaldi's desk was the door leading out to the crow's nest. It could be reached only through Grimaldi's office and he had never once invited Karch out for a view of the casino floor. This was something that bothered Karch and his frustration was compounded because he believed Grimaldi knew.

As they entered the office, Karch noticed a man sitting behind Grimaldi's desk and working the control board of the multiplex video station to the right of the desk.

"What have you got?" Grimaldi said as he turned to lower the blinds on the windows viewing the security center.

"I gotta surprise is what I got," the man behind the desk said without looking up from the four screens he had active on the video station.

"Tell us."

The word us made the tech look up from the screens. He nodded once to Karch and then cast his eyes back down.

"Well, looks to me like this guy mighta been ripped off by a woman," he said.

Grimaldi came around the desk and looked over the tech's shoulder at the screens.

"Show us."

Karch remained on the other side of the desk but could see the screens. He glanced past the two other men and out the glass door that led to the crow's nest. Grimaldi did not bother to introduce the technician to Karch.

For the next five minutes the tech used tapes taken from several overhead cameras to intermittently show Hidalgo's last night in the casino. It was called a video trail. There were enough cameras over the casino floor – any casino floor in Las Vegas – to never lose sight of an individual once he entered the so-called video net. The best techs had the quadrants of the net memorized and with fingers flying across a keyboard could jump from one camera to another to follow a target.

Grimaldi's tech did that now, only it wasn't live action. He had pieced together Hidalgo's video trail from the night before. He showed Hidalgo playing baccarat and blackjack, even a couple of spins on the roulette wheel. Whatever game he was playing, he seemed to do it with a minimum of conversation with fellow players and casino employees. Finally, when the counter showed the time on the tape to be 10:38 P.M. they watched as Hidalgo headed to the VIP desk and retrieved the brushed-aluminum briefcase from the vault. He was met at the desk by a security escort who then walked with him to the elevators.

"Who's the escort?" Karch asked.

"His name's Martin," Grimaldi said. "He's a shift supervisor. Been here a couple years, coming over from the Nugget. I had him escorting the fat man all week."

"We'll have to talk to him."

"I don't know what it will get you but it will be no problem."

The tech pointed to a new screen where Hidalgo's trail continued. It showed the fat man and the blue-blazered Martin stepping onto an elevator. Hidalgo took his card key from his pocket and Martin took it and plugged it into the control panel before hitting the penthouse button. Though the tape did not have audio it was clear that the two men were not engaged in conversation.

"And that's the last we see of him," the tech said.

"No hallway cameras, right?" Karch said.

"Nope. We lose him once he's off the elevator in the penthouse."

"What about when the fire alarm went off later?" Grimaldi asked. "Any sign of him then?"

"Nope," the tech said. "I checked all elevator and stairwell cams. He didn't evacu – "

"Wait a minute," Karch suddenly said. "Go back. Back the elevator tape up."

The tech looked at Grimaldi, who nodded. He backed the tape up until Karch said he had gone far enough and then replayed it. They watched silently. It was clear Martin said something to Hidalgo, who then reached into his pocket and produced his card key. Martin then used it to engage the penthouse button.

"Vincent, you said Martin's a shift super?"

"Right."

"Wouldn't he have a key to the penthouse?"

Grimaldi was silent for a moment as he computed what they had just seen on the tape and the meaning of Karch's question.