Cisco reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and matches. He shook a cigarette out of the pack and then put it inside the folded matchbook.
“Oldest trick in the book,” he said. “You light the cigarette and it slow burns down to the matches. The matches go up and ignite the accelerant. Gives a three- to ten-minute head start, depending on the cigarette you use.”
I nodded more to myself than to Cisco. I was getting a sense of the state’s case against my client and was already working out strategies and moves. Cisco continued.
“Did you know that by law in most states, any brand of cigarette sold in that state has to have a three-minute burn-down rate for unattended smoking? That’s why most arsonists use foreign cigarettes.”
“That’s great,” I said. “Can we get back to this case? What else did you get from the apartment building?”
“That’s about it at this time,” Cisco said. “I’ll be going back there, though. A lot of people weren’t at home when I knocked.”
“That’s because they looked through the peephole and got scared when they saw you.”
I meant it in jest but it wasn’t without a point. Cisco rode a Harley and he dressed the part. His usual outfit consisted of black jeans, boots, and a skin-tight black T-shirt with a leather vest over it. With his imposing size, dress, and the penetrating stare of his dark eyes through a peephole, it was no wonder to me that some people didn’t answer their doors. In fact, I was more surprised when he reported the cooperation of a witness. So much so that I took pains to make sure cooperation was fully voluntary. The last thing I ever wanted was a witness backfiring on me while on the stand. I personally vetted them all.
“I mean, maybe you should think about wearing a tie every now and then,” I added. “I have a whole collection of clip-ons, you know.”
“No, thanks,” Cisco responded flatly. “Can we move on to the hotel now or do you want to keep taking shots at me?”
“Easy, big guy, I’m just poking you a little bit. Tell us about the hotel. You had a busy night.”
“I worked it late. Anyway, the hotel is where this thing gets good.”
He opened his laptop and punched in a command as he spoke, his big fingers punishing the keyboard.
“I managed to obtain the cooperation of the security staff of the Beverly Wilshire without even wearing a tie. They—”
“All right, all right,” I said. “No more discussion of neckties.”
“Good.”
“Go on. What did they tell you over there?”
6
Cisco said it wasn’t what they told him at the hotel that was important. It was what they showed him.
“Most public spaces in the hotel are under camera surveillance twenty-four seven,” he said. “So they have almost all of our victim’s visit to the hotel Sunday night on digital. They provided me with copies for a nominal fee that I will be expensing.”
“No problem,” I said.
Cisco turned the computer around on the table so the rest of us could see the screen.
“I used the computer’s basic editing program and put the various angles together in one continuous take in real time. We can track her the whole time she was there.”
“Then play it, Scorsese.”
He hit the play button and we started watching. The playback was in black and white and had no sound. It was grainy but not to the point that faces were obscured or unidentifiable. It began with an overhead view of the hotel’s lobby. A time stamp at the top said it was 9:44 p.m. Though the lobby was busy with late check-ins and other people coming and going, Gloria/Giselle was easy enough to spot as she strolled through the lobby toward the elevator alcove. She was dressed in a knee-length black dress, nothing too risqué, and looked totally at ease and at home. She carried a shopping bag from Saks that helped her sell the image of someone who belonged.
“Is that her?” Jennifer asked, pointing to a woman sitting on a circular divan and showing a lot of leg.
“Too obvious,” I said. “Her.”
I pointed to the right of the screen and tracked Gloria. She smiled at a security man who stood at the entrance to the elevator alcove and passed him without hesitation.
Soon the angle changed and we looked down from the ceiling of the elevator alcove. Gloria checked her phone for e-mail while she waited. Soon enough an elevator arrived and she got on.
The next camera angle was from inside the elevator. Gloria got on and pushed the 8 button. As she rode up, she raised the bag and looked inside it. The view we had did not allow us to see the contents.
When she arrived at the eighth floor, she stepped off the elevator and the screen went black.