An Eye For Justice Page 11

  Pascal had been studying the CCTV systems used in the hotel, reading up on the dry technical specs. She had also lifted Dolores passkey and got Rob Galloway at MI6 to make a copy, before slipping the original back into Dolores bag.

  She stood in the lobby reception area completing the check-out procedure. She glanced at the clock on the wall behind the desk and surreptitiously pressed the stop watch starter button on her wrist. Then she slapped her hand against her forehead. ‘Hot damn. Forgot my shoes. I know I left them under the bed. Mind of I just run back up and get them?’ she asked the girl.

  ‘Sure,’ the girl said handing her entry card back.

  In her old room she opened her bag, took out some clothing and quickly dressed in black jeans, tee shirt and beanie hat. She also put on some disposable rubber gloves. Then she moved out into the corridor with her small carry bag, and into the fire escape. Two floors up she came on a large utility store room she’d scouted earlier. It contained maintenance and cleaning paraphernalia, industrial sized vacuum cleaners, mops, brushes, bleach and other cleaning fluids. In the corner was a pile of sheets used for covering furniture. She moved over to them, crouched down and opened her bag again, and took out a cigarette and disposable lighter.

  During her stay she’d watched O’Leary whenever she could, trying to get a handle on the guy. He was an inveterate smoker who seemed to take a puff whenever he could get away with it. A corollary of that was his habit of taking his disposable lighter, or more usually, an unlighted cigarette out of his pocket, and toying with them whilst speaking to staff or talking on the phone. So when he’d done just that, whilst on the phone in the bar, and then suddenly got up and left, leaving the cigarette in a cup on the table, she’d grabbed it.

  Now she lit that very cigarette, holding her gloved fingers over her lips so none of her DNA would get onto it, and drew on it until the tip burned bright. Then she opened the lighter and poured the contents onto the pile of sheets, knelt down and held the cigarette to the moist area until it started to burn.

  She stood up, checked her stopwatch and scanned the smoke detectors above the growing embers and small licking flames. Then she dropped the plastic lighter and ground it into splinters with her boot heel, then the cigarette as well, and then she moved to the door. If there was a major investigation they’d find the cigarette, and might get O’Leary’s DNA. It was just a precaution as far as she was concerned.

  She watched the smoke build and curl up under the alarm, then as it started to shriek, she was moving into the stairwell, then up towards O’Leary’s room. She knew he wouldn’t be around that day as he was due to be giving evidence at Calver’s murder trial. She peeped around the fire door and watched for a moment as some guests exited their rooms and ran for the lifts. She checked her watch; seven minutes down, and now she could hear fire sirens in the distance and there was a tannoy announcement telling all guests to exit immediately.

  She dug her dummy door card out and approached the room, and then she was in. It looked like a tramp lived there, dirty as hell with unwashed clothing lying around as well as plates with half eaten meals congealing on them. There was a laptop sitting open on the desk, running. She looked at the screen and was startled to see herself - it must be monitoring the room. If it was feeding to O’Leary he could be watching her right now, but then he wouldn’t be allowed to use his phone in court so maybe she’d be okay for now.

  She quickly tossed the room - nothing. The only personal thing in the room seemed to be the picture of a young girl on the desk, no doubt his daughter. She went back to the laptop, ignoring her image on the screen. It would be password protected, and she didn’t have time to crack it. She made a quick decision. She powered it down, put it in her bag and left. If it had a tracking device, she reckoned Rob would be able to disable it.

  In the corridor a few last stragglers were moving to the lifts even though the tannoy was saying don’t use them. Pascal ran to the service elevator and pressed for ground floor. She checked her watch again; twelve minutes gone. On the ground floor as the doors opened in the back service area, it was empty. She peeped around the corner looking into the lobby as a group of fireman came running in towards the elevators and stairs.

  She turned back and moved into the small office and looked at the monitors, then she sat down at the console. She had gone over the hotels CCTV system theoretically with Christoff when trying to work out how Calver had been framed, and also as preparation for this little jaunt, but it was a different ballgame trying to operate it in the real world. She checked into the central operating system and looked for the delete and overwrite monitor and controls. She knew they would quickly be able to discover that the CCTV covering the period of the fire had been deleted and overridden, but she didn’t care about that, so long as they didn’t discover the identity of their arsonist.

  She couldn’t find the controls and was starting to sweat and curse. Any second now she would be found out, maybe a fireman or more likely a staff member. She stopped, counted to five, took a deep breath and started again. After a tense few seconds the system control page materialized. She checked her watch again; fourteen and a half minutes gone. She clicked on the command to delete and overwrite the last sixteen minutes of CCTV recording, and then adjusted the timing and clock. That was the best she could do right now. She took a last look around, grabbed her bag and moved out of the office and peeked around the corner, awaiting the right moment. Then as three burly fire guys ran past her towards the entrance she pulled her beanie hat down over her head and coughing and covering her face as if suffering from smoke inhalation, she veered out from the side so it would look on the monitors that she was coming from the lifts, and then she followed them out onto the street.

  Chapter 11

  People v Calver – Manhattan Supreme Court

  I studied O’Leary as he answered Stahl’s initial questions about who he was and what he did at the hotel. With that name, pale complexion and reddish hair, an Irish ancestry was a pretty safe bet, but the blarney seemed to have been removed from O’Leary at birth. His answers were short, sharp and monosyllabic - a prosecutors dream. Stahl appeared to have him under tight control; after each question there was a very slight pause as he considered his answer, before he opened his mouth.

  ‘And when did you first come across the defendant?’

  Pause, then, ‘It was early hours of the morning of the murder, about 1.45 am, in the hotel bar.’

  ‘Tell us about that?’

  O’Leary paused for a bit longer this time. ‘I was on my rounds and had stopped off in the bar. Mr. Calver was there on his own. He invited me to join him for an Irish Coffee, which I declined. But I chatted with him for a few minutes, which is all part of the job,’ he said.

  ‘And how did this chat end?’

  ‘A message came through that Helena Palmer had called down and asked that Mr. Calver should go up to her room.’

  There was a rustling sound of movement coming from the jury box. I had known that answer was coming because it was in the discovery provided by the prosecution, but the jury didn’t. I looked at O’Leary, lying through his teeth, and there wasn’t a flicker.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He finished his drink, and left, I assume to go to Helena Palmer’s room.’

  ‘What time did he leave?’

  ‘Around about fifteen, twenty minutes after two.’

  ‘And how did he seem?’

  Longer pause than usual, then O’Leary said, ‘I’d say he was used to drink, but he’d had a lot, and his speech was slightly slurred, eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and when he walked to the lifts, it wasn’t exactly in a straight line.’

  ‘How was he dressed?’

  ‘Blue suit, pale pink shirt and distinctive green silk tie.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Much later I got a call from housekeeping about 9.35 in the morning that they couldn’t get a response from Helena Palmer’s room. Seems she had been insist
ent she get a wake up call for 9 am, which they’d tried then sent someone up at 9.30 and he couldn’t get a response so I was called up there.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I used my passkey and gained entry to the room at 9.40 am.’

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘Helena Palmer naked on the bed, dead, with a green silk tie around her neck. The room was neat and tidy, with no signs of disarray.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I called 911 at 9.45 am and NYPD were there within ten minutes.’

  ‘Thank you Mr. O’Leary. I have no further questions.’

  I rose without waiting for the judge. This was a witness I had to shake, because he had to be lying; trouble was I didn’t know what had really happened, so I was fishing blind, and that could be dangerous. ‘You ran a nice little scam, back in the day, didn’t you, O’Leary?’ I said, gloves off, looking down at a copy of an extract from a newspaper from around five years earlier.

  Stahl was already on his feet, bristling. ‘What is this your honour?’

  ‘You opened the door, Stahl. He’s a top notch hotel security specialist with fifteen years experience, according to you. Well, lets have a look at some of that experience, shall we? Jury need to know.’

  ‘Enough,’ Judge Gonzalez said, eyeing both of us.

  I handed copies of the newspaper extract to the usher for distribution. I knew I was on firm ground; I watched the judge as she scanned it and nodded. ‘I’ll allow it,’ she said.

  I watched O’Leary as he briefly read the same extract; again, not a flicker. The guy seemed to have ice water running through his veins.

  ‘Tell us about the blackmail scam,’ I said.

  No pause this time, maybe he was getting angry; good. ‘There was no blackmail scam, counselor,’ he answered, emphasizing the last word with a hint of sarcastic contempt. ‘You know how many people a year make false claims against the hotel for money? How many times we pay up, because its mostly easier and cheaper, given we can’t take bad reputational publicity? This was just another example.’

  ‘Fine. So tell us about it. We’ve got the time,’ I said, allowing myself a half smile at the jury.

  If O’Leary could squirm, he was doing it now. ‘A rich, bored housewife got found out cheating on her husband at the hotel, and said the staff were running a scam and she had been offered silence and the tape for money. It was all bullsh—. It was all baloney,’ he said, biting off the epithet and correcting himself.

  ‘But NYPD were called in?’

  ‘Initially, yes, but they soon dropped the investigation and no charges were brought.’

  ‘You paid her off?’

  ‘The hotel made a small ex-gratia payment to make it go away, yes.’

  ‘The allegation was that the victim was identified as a mark by a member of the hotel staff and surveillance equipment - you can buy it for nickels and dimes these days - was set up prior to the tryst. The sexed up couple were then filmed in flagrante and the squeeze applied. But this couple didn’t play ball, did they? Seems your boys miscalculated. The husband loved his wife, indeed knew about the assignation.’

  ‘Not true, and they weren’t “my boys”, as you put it. And do you really believe I would still be working for the hotel if there was anything in these allegations?’

  ‘Maybe you’ve got something on your boss as well,’ I said with a smile, before quickly adding, ‘I’ll withdraw that,’ as Stahl started to rise to his feet. Then, before he could utter an objection, I switched direction. ‘Tell me about the message. The call down allegedly made by Helena Palmer at around two fifteen in the morning, that I should go up to her room.?’

  ‘Nothing to tell. It was just that, she called down to the bar and said to ask you to go up to her room. That was it.’

  ‘Okay, but who took the message.’

  ‘You don’t remember, then?’ O’Leary said slowly, a taunting smile playing on his lips. Then, perhaps emboldened by my silence, he continued in the same vein, ‘Drink can do terrible things to a persons memory, right, counselor?’

  I could feel my face start to redden and the jurors eyes on me, waiting for a response. O’Leary had turned the tables and now I was the one squirming. I couldn’t seem to think of a suitably cutting response, so settled on. ‘Just answer the question, Mr. O’Leary. My memory is not the issue here, but your reliability is.’

  ‘The call was taken by Lorraine, who was behind the bar. She passed the message to me and I told you. That’s it,’ he answered.

  ‘One last thing. How did Helena Palmer know I was down in the bar? I never told her, and by then she’d been back in her room for an age?’

  O’Leary shrugged. ‘I have no idea,’ he said. Then with a quick smile, ‘but she knew you were a booze hound, so maybe it was just a lucky guess.’

  I felt like slugging the guy, but I kept my cool. ‘Thank you. I have no further questions,’ I said.

  * * * *

  Pascal sipped from a bottle of spring water as she made her way down to the basement at the consulate. Rob was already there, working away online and speaking on a telephone wedged between the crook of his neck and his chin, his hands hovering over his keyboard. She lifted O’Leary’s laptop out of her bag and placed it on Rob’s desk just as he straightened up in his chair and replaced the phone back in its cradle.

  ‘They’ve finally got some work for you to do,’ he said, then noticing the laptop, added, ‘what’s this?’

  ‘Little rush job I’ve got for you,’ she said, opening up the laptop and powering it on. ‘I need this baby password cracked, decrypted, copied and then returned to its place of origin, all within the hour.’

  ‘You don’t want much, do you?’ Rob said, tapping a random key and watching the screen shimmer into a scene that looked like a Belfast street after an IRA car bomb, circa early seventies. ‘Happy bunny, isn’t he?’ he said, and then, ‘where d’you get it?’ He was looking up at her and then his eyes widened. ‘Fire engines, sirens, Mid-Town hotel going up in smoke. Let me guess.’

  ‘We don’t have time for that. With any luck the owner of this laptop is still in court giving evidence, so we need to get it back to the hotel before he comes out and starts monitoring his feeds. Take it back and covertly offload it somewhere prominent like a toilet or trash can were they’ll find it quick. If we’re lucky they’ll buy it as a looter getting caught short inside, maybe seeing a cop and dumping it.’

  Rob nodded. ‘I’m on it, boss,’ he said, fingers descending onto the keyboard.

  She was beginning to like Rob because he just got on with it. No stupid questions - her kind of guy. She checked her watch and started to move towards the door, but then stopped short, looking back. ‘You said they’ve got some work for me?’

  He looked up irritated at the interruption. ‘Oh, yeah. Seems Bob Jeffreys, Homeland security’s been pressing us for intel on what he calls, London Jihadi’s. Essentially anyone we’ve ID’d in London, but who subsequently turns up in New York. And guess what? Because of your background and experience, you’ve been nominated. Your brief: to look into it and report to him.’

  ‘Great,’ she said unenthusiastically.

  ‘Thought you’d like it,’ Rob said with a smile, then, ‘We’re in,’ as he punched another key, keenly watching the screen, but Pascal had already gone.

  She made her way out of the building and began to walk down third avenue, deep in thought, unaware of the people bustling past either side, but then she did became aware of someone beside her. ‘Detective Daly,’ she said, out of the corner of her mouth. ‘What a nice surprise. What can I do for you?’

  ‘You can start by telling me about the fire today at the hotel where your boy Calver murdered Helena Palmer,’ he said. Maybe she was imagining it, but she thought she detected a faint hint of humour in his words.

  They carried on walking side by side but then both stopped at the same time, and she turned to face him, middle of the wide pavement, pedestrian
s still walking by either side. He looked calm and in no hurry to hustle her. He was dressed down in dark chinos, pale blue shirt and casual jacket. Maybe he was off duty.

  ‘You stalking me, detective?’ she said, eyebrow raised, beginnings of a smile. She checked her watch again, thinking quickly. ‘Tell you what. Why don’t you take me somewhere down and dirty in this great city of yours, and buy me drink? We can get drunk together, swop tall stories about what great fearless seekers after truth and justice we are.’

  ‘That sounds cool,’ he said, smiling and raising his arm to hail a cab. ‘And then maybe you can start being straight with me as well.’

  They were silent for a while as the cab moved off from the curb. Later she saw a sign, ‘

  Canal Street’, which she knew meant Chinatown. Couple of minutes later the cab dropped them off in front of a large building and Daly led her inside. It looked like some kind of sports bar, big and roomy with flags and pendants, football jerseys, and balls of all shapes hung around and draped over everything. And along the walls were mounted giant TV screens showing ball games, and the place seemed to be full of jocks, and no women. ‘Thanks, Daly. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,’ Pascal said, lifting a Coors beer off the waitresses tray as she walked by. ‘But, hey, the beers good, right?’

  ‘The beer’s great, and the scotch is even better,’ he said sipping from a large tumbler of amber coloured liquid. He checked his phone for messages, and said, quiet, as he scrolled down his screen, ‘I checked you out after we spoke. That was quite something you did in London. Taking down a terrorist, saving the monarch, almost getting blown up, and turning down a medal.’

  She smiled. ‘I did get blown up, but he wasn’t really a terrorist in the sense that you mean,’ she said, taking another drag on her bottle. ‘And I’m way too young for a medal.’