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“I’ve got the film from all seventh-floor cameras starting at four-twenty last Saturday, when you said Simmons had checkedin.”
“Concentrate on the camera near the elevator,” Ethan said. Room seven-fifteen was likely in the middle of the floor, too far away for clear images on the cameras mounted at either end of thehall.
The younger man bent over a screen, punching some buttons to fast forward the digital footage on one screen. After a couple of minutes, he pressed another key to halt it. Backed it up for a moment and then stopped it again. “Here’s four-twenty.”
The three of them stood staring at the screen for long minutes. Every time the elevator doors opened, Ethan leaned forward to scan the faces of the disembarking passengers. It was exactly thirty-two minutes after four according to the time-stamp on the screen when the elevator doors slid open and three people stepped out, one a dark-hairedman.
Identification was difficult from the man’s profile alone. Ethan stared at the film. Turn toward the camera, dammit. A young blond woman took the elbow of the elderly woman at her side and led her slowly down the hall. The man turned his head to watch their progress, his gaze focused on the blonde. “There. Right there.” Ethan stabbed his finger at the screen. “Halt it. Can you freeze it where his face is turned directly toward thecamera?”
“Sergeant, I can do about anything with these cameras,” Phil said happily, his fingers dancing over the keys. “State-of-the-art system, you know?” A moment later he had an image frozen, and then, focusing on the face, enlarged it, distorting the image a bit with eachmagnification.
But that didn’t matter. Because it was still easy to tell that the man on the camera was FelixSimard.
* * *
Haskell stood behind Ethan,wringing his hands. “I’d feel so much better if you had awarrant.”
They stood outside room seven-fifteen, the manager making no move to open thedoor.
Ethan reached for professionalism. “Sir, I’m an officer of the law and I’ve made a positive ID on an image taken on your hotel camera that matches a homicide victim discovered yesterday. I can assure you, Mr. Simmons isn’t his name and he’s not able to complain about our accessing his room. He’s deceased. Please open thedoor.”
After a moment, Haskell handed the card to Ethan. Clearly he wanted to shield himself as much as possible from any repercussions. So much so, that when Ethan waved the card over the magic eye near the door handle and opened the door, Haskell merely held it open to watch Ethan’s progress, but didn’t stepinside.
Forgetting the man, Ethan glanced inside the bathroom, noting the toiletry bag on the counter. He moved toward the closet wardrobe next to the TV, opened the doors, and found a navy suit hanging next to a lightweight dark, hooded jacket. Pulling a pair of plastic gloves from his suit pocket, he checked the pockets. The jacket yielded nothing save for a folded metal object. Withdrawing it, Ethan flicked the button in its center. A wicked-looking blade unfolded. He pursed his lips in a silent whistle and refolded the knife. Replaced it. It’d be easy enough to lift prints from the weapon that would verify his ID of Simard’s image on the securityfootage.
A moment later he realized that wouldn’t be necessary. The wallet in the suit pocket bore a driver’s license in the name of John Simmons. But the image on it was FelixSimard.
Muscles tightening in anticipation, he moved to the black suitcase sitting on one of the beds. He rifled through it, tossing clothes aside until he came to a black zippered laptopcase.
Satisfaction speared through him. It was likely password protected, but they’d see what the IT analysts could do with it. There was nothing else of note in the bag or the secreted zippered pockets. Ethan straightened and scanned the room consideringly. There were no overt signs that the room had been the primary crime scene. Hotels were public places, filled with people and security. The killer would have taken a risk, killing Simardhere.
To be thorough, he headed in the direction of the bathroom. “Are you about done, Sergeant?” The manager’s voice barely registered. “I don’t mind saying, I continue to be uncomfortable with this entire process. I’d hate to have guests aware that we…” The words continued. Ethan wasn’t listening. He lifted an arm toward the opaque shower curtain. His brain registered the slight movement behind it even as the curtain and rod plunged toward him, a figure behind it leaping out of the tub to shove Ethan hard against thecounter.
The quarters were tight, and he was off-balance. He reached for his attacker, grappling with the plastic to find the opening of the curtain. A fist shot out, clipping Ethan on the jaw, before he grabbed for the curtain rod and drove it forward, hoping to knock his assailant off his feet as the back of his knees hit thetub.
He got a glimpse of the man as the curtain slid away in their struggle. Shaven head. Bearded. Heavily muscled. Swarthy. The stranger grabbed the rod to keep Ethan from pressing it against his windpipe. With a mighty shove, he wrenched it to the side and aimed a kick at Ethan’s groin. When Ethan dodged to avoid it, the man used that moment to break free and charge for the door, Ethan a step behindhim.
“What in the world…are you Mr. Simmons? My apologies for this…” The stranger grabbed Haskell and pushed him violently into Ethan, taking advantage of the few moments it took the men to disentangle to sprint toward the exit at the end of thehall.
“Sergeant, what in heaven’sname…”
“Your radio!” Ethan snapped, already reaching for the instrument clipped to Haskell’s belt. “What channel for Phil insecurity?”
The hotel manager was white-faced and shaking. “This is highly unusual.Highly…”
“The channel!” Radio in hand Ethan was already inpursuit.
“Three-one-nine. But you can’t just takethat…”
Ethan reached the door that the attacker had gone through and began descending the stairs three at a time. He pressed the code that Haskell had given him. “Phil. I need Phil on the cameras.Now!”
There was a scuffling noise, and the man he’d talked to earlier came on, his voice surprised. “Mr.Haskell?”
“RCMP Sergeant Manning. We’ve got a person of interest who just went through the east stairs on floor seven. Caucasian. Five-nine. Two hundred pounds. Dark complected. Shaven head. Black beard. Jeans and dark windbreaker.” Ethan passed floor five. Started toward four. “I assume he descended, but he may have gone up first instead. I need camera angles that would catch the exits on each floor. Any door to the outside from the lobby. Findhim.”
“Yes, sir.” Ethan ran by a woman in pink spandex who was power-walking the stairs, and she jumped to the side to avoid being bowled over, then shot him a filthylook.
“No cameras in the stairwells, I assume?” He rounded the third-floor steps and headed toward thesecond.