“A videotape.”
“There was no VCR in the room.”
“There used to be.”
I nodded. VCRs in hotel rooms were common then, but today, with satellite and cable, porn-on-demand, and so forth, many hotels had gotten rid of the VCRs. Room 203, for instance, no longer had a VCR, but apparently it once did. I asked Roxanne, “Do you remember if the VCR was turned on?”
“I think it was. Yes… I turned it off.”
I asked her, “Did you check the VCR to see if there was a videotape in there?”
“Yes. I pushed the Eject button, but nothing came out.” She added, “It’s part of the routine. Movie tapes that the guests brought themselves and forgot had to be given to the front desk in case people called about them. Library tapes were returned directly to the library or the front desk.”
“The hotel library. There’s a videotape lending library.”
“At the Bayview Hotel. Pay attention.”
I sat up. “Tell me about the videotape lending library.”
“You been to the hotel?”
“Yes.”
“Well, when you walk in, there’s, like, a library room. They sell magazines and newspapers, and they lend books and videotapes.”
“So, you can borrow a videotape?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Did this come up in any way when you were talking to the FBI?”
“No.”
I sat back and stared into space. It wasn’t possible that Liam Griffith and/or Ted Nash had missed this. Or was it? I mean, even I, John Corey, had missed the significance of that library when I saw it, and I’m a detective.
But maybe I was getting myself overly excited and optimistic. I asked Roxanne, “Was there a charge for a videotape? A deposit?”
“No. You just signed for it. Same with books.” She thought a moment, then asked me, “Hey, do you think this guy signed out a tape… and, like, he left his name?”
“You should be a detective.”
She was on a roll and said, “That’s what they did in the room that afternoon. Watched a movie. That’s why the VCR was turned on.” She thought a moment and said, “In fact, there were two pillows propped up on the headboard, like they were watching TV.”
I nodded. Actually, if Don Juan signed out a tape, he wasn’t leaving his real name. But if the
I asked Roxanne, “Was any kind of identification needed to sign out a book or videotape?”
“I don’t think so. I think just your name and room number.” She added, “You should check with the hotel.”
I nodded and asked, “What did the guest sign? A book? A card?”
She lit another cigarette and replied, “It was one of those receipt books with a pink carbon copy. The guest wrote the name of the book or movie on the receipt, signed it, and wrote their room number. Then, when the guest-or the maid-brought the book or videotape back, they got the pink carbon copy as a receipt, marked ‘Returned.’ Simple.”
I thought of Mr. Leslie Rosenthal and his archives, which would put the Library of Congress to shame. The guy was a pack rat and probably didn’t even throw away his gum wrappers. I said to her, “Mr. Rosenthal, who I had the pleasure of meeting, seemed to be a saver.”
She smiled and said, “He was a little anal.”
“You knew him?”
“He liked me.”
“Did he ever take you down to the basement to see his archives?”
She laughed, then thought a moment, and said, “Those library receipt books could be down there.”
I said to her, “Please keep all of this to yourself.”
“I haven’t opened my mouth about this in five years.”
“Good.”
I thought a moment. What were the chances that Don Juan or his lady borrowed a videotape? The VCR in Room 203 had been turned on, but the most likely explanation for that was they’d hooked up their video camera into the VCR to play the camera’s mini-tape, to see on the TV screen what they thought they’d seen on the beach that night.
On the other hand, they were apparently in their room for two and a half hours that afternoon, so maybe one of them went to the lending library and got a movie. But would either of them sign their real name?
I had this sudden sinking feeling that I was grasping at straws. But when all you’ve got is straws, you grasp them.
The boyfriend arrived, slightly out of breath I thought, and he leaned over and kissed Roxanne on the cheek. She said to the boyfriend, “Sam, this is Professor Corey. I took one of his philosophy classes.”
I stood and we shook hands. He had a limp shake, and in fact, was kind of dweeby, but he looked nice enough. He asked, “You teach philosophy?”
“I do. Cogito ergo sum.”
He smiled and informed me, “I’m in the advanced physics program. I don’t get philosophy.”
“Neither do I.” It was time for me to leave, but I wasn’t finished with Roxanne, so I sat.
Sam, too, sat, and there was a moment of silence, then I said to Roxanne, “What were the hours of the library?”
She glanced at Sam, then back at me and replied, “I think it was eight to eight.”
“What if a guest checked out before or after those times and wanted to return a book or videotape?”
She seemed a little uncomfortable, smiled quickly at Sam, then said to me, “They gave it to the desk clerk, who kept the library receipt book when the library was closed.”
I nodded. “Right. Makes sense.” I said to Sam, “You want a drink?”
Sam replied, “Uh… maybe we should go to the table. They’re holding it… would you like to join us?”
“No, thanks.” I said to Roxanne, “Would you remember what mode the VCR was left in? Like Play, Record, Rewind?”
“Uh… no. No, I don’t.”
Sam said, “I’m not following any of this.”
I looked at Sam and asked, “Does the physical world exist outside our minds?”
“Of course. There are a thousand instruments that can record and verify the physical world and do it better than the human mind.”
“Like a camera.”
“Right.”
I stood and said to Roxanne, “Thanks for your company.”
She stood, we shook and she said, “Thanks for the drinks, professor.”
I patted Sam on the back and said, “You’re a lucky man.” I caught Roxanne’s eye and cocked my head toward the bar, then went to pay for the drinks.
As I was paying the tab, Roxanne joined me, and I said, “Thanks for your help.” I gave her my card and said, “Call
“I will. You can call me if you need anything else. You want my cell phone number?”
“Sure.” I took her cell number and said, “Thanks.” I added, “Sam’s a nice guy.”
I left Alma de Cuba and began walking back to my car on Chestnut Street.
My butt was dragging, but my mind was already at the Bayview Hotel.
