"So, whoever put that footage in place has enough mechanical understanding to be able to rig the system, so it’s undetectable by security. Not only are they watching it, but when they need to access footage from a particular time, what they pull up is actually from a recording, but it seems to be footage from the camera. That's fairly sophisticated,” Eric says. “Somebody really doesn't want anybody to know what's happening over there.”
“They don't want anybody knowing about that boat,” I say. “That's where they're bringing the drugs in.”
“So not everybody at the resort's in on it,” Bellamy completes the thought.
“That's what it seems like,” I nod. “They bring the boat up to that area and unload the drugs onto the beach. It goes unnoticed by anyone because security doesn't know about it, and the security camera is fake.”
“Why don't you sound convinced?” Eric asks.
I shake my head.
“It's more than that. It's more than the drugs," I tell him.
"What do you mean?"
I look down at my hands, remembering the way the dirt looked under my nails last night after dragging myself up on the cliff. The image in my mind changes to Rosa's hand the morning we took her from the pool. The police dismissed the way one hand was curled like it was clamped around something, saying she must have grabbed onto the edge of the pool right before drowning. I still don't believe it.
Sitting down on the couch, I pull my computer close to the edge of the table and open it again to pull up the emails I sent myself.
"When I was talking to Catherine, and she went to get the security camera footage for me, I looked through her computer."
"Emma," Eric scolds. "You know you can't do that. We have absolutely zero jurisdiction here. The FBI doesn’t hold sway over international waters.."
"Then I’m just a civilian," I tell her. "I'm not investigating on behalf of the Bureau, and I'm not here as a Sherwood deputy. I'm just a person who happens to know where to dig stuff up. Besides, I wasn't looking for evidence. I was looking for directions. And that's exactly what I found. Look at this."
Bellamy sits down beside me to look at the screen.
"What is this?"
"I emailed myself some of the files from her desktop. The incident at the spa interested me, and I wanted to check out the guest receipts to find out if anything stood out. They aren't just going to advertise it right there, but there has to be some way of keeping track. Not just for the cost, but also to keep track of the guests. Every good business knows you make more money from an existing customer than you do a new one. If you can learn what they like and keep it coming, you'll encourage more purchases and higher dollar investments."
"And what are these guests investing in?" Eric asks.
"At first the receipts look pretty normal. Just regular resort guest charges. Room services. Purchases in the lobby shop. Boat rentals. Tours. But then on some of them, I noticed a couple of odd notations. Right here," I point to the screen. "Spa, enhanced, A. Spa, enhanced, D. Spa, enhanced, H. Things like that show up over and over."
"There are different types of drugs available," Eric says. "It's noting the ones the person selected."
"Exactly. But those aren't the only notes. Look at these. C3. Three hours. Strawberry." I pull up a series of receipts one after the other to show them other notations. "C6. Two hours. Strawberry. C8. Two hours. Vanilla. C3. One hour. Chocolate. C3. Full. Special Request. C3. Half-hour. Special Request."
"C3, C6, C8. What are those?" Eric asks.
"Cabins," Bellamy says, realization settling over her. "It's talking about the cabins in the staff village."
I nod.
"Remember, I overheard that conversation between Alonso and Rosa. He said cabin three. None of the expense reports have the guests’ names on them. That's not all that unusual. It's a privacy issue. And I'm sure the extra amenities offered by Windsor Palms requires additional privacy. What they do have is the room number. This one for cabin three is for room three-eleven. These two, the special requests, are for room five-o-two. That's the room Emmanuel Vargas is in. Those requests are the night that Alonso told Rosa had been requested, along with the day before she died."
"What do you think that means?" Eric asks.
"The note from Emmanuel gave me his room number and said 'tomorrow'. I went to his room this morning, but he didn't answer when I knocked on the door. A woman from down the hall came out of her room and said Emmanuel goes out for a jog and a swim every morning, so that's where he probably was. But then she looked at me a little strangely and mentioned Emmanuel must be trying something new. Something about a ‘spring sampler’. I thought she was just being crass, but she mentioned she's been here the same time as he has before."
"She's seen him with other women," Bellamy says. "She must have known about him and Rosa."
"Not just Rosa, I would presume," I say. " But what about these other notations? Vanilla, strawberry…"
"Other codes for drugs?” she asks.
“Hair colors,” I offer. “Blondes. Redheads. Brunettes. Special request.”
“Well, that's tasteless,” she comments.
“Not as tasteless as why they're describing them that way. Cabin three. Three hours. With a redhead. These women are being trafficked.”
Chapter Thirty-One
"The resort is providing guests with women as a special amenity?" Eric asks.
I nod.
"Think about it, B. When we went to the village, and we saw those girls."
"The housekeepers?" she asks.
"That's how we know them because
