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maybe an equal partner. Your partner.”
    â€œAs opposed to what?”
    â€œA stupid lackey. A pain-in-the-ass kid. A rookie.” He leaned toward her. “I may be new to Homicide, Stacy, but I’ve got more time on the force than you do. You’re a damn good cop, but I might have something to bring to the party.”
    â€œYou think so, do you? We’ll see.”
    A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He returned it. “Okay, then. We’ll see.”
    Rick Deland returned then, interrupting the exchange. He was accompanied by another man whom he introduced as Hank Barrow, La Plaza’s head of security. A large man with a thick mane of snow-white hair, he cut an impressive figure.
    â€œDetectives.” The man shook both their hands. “I understand we’ve agreed to allow you access to our security tapes.”
    â€œThat’s right.” Mac smiled. “We appreciate your cooperation.”
    â€œI’ve got a bit of bad news, I’m afraid.” The man glanced at his general manager, then back at Mac and Stacy. “The elevator tapes are no problem, but the eighth floor surveillance tape is blank. Or as good as blank.”
    â€œSon of a bitch. What happened?”
    â€œWe do our best to minimize the presence of the cameras. On the eighth floor we placed a large, potted ficus in that corner. It appears that during cleaning, the artificial ficus was placed in a way that the foliage covered the camera lens. Frankly, it’s happened before.”
    Stacy frowned. “And you only just discovered the mistake now?”
    â€œWe tape strictly for liability purposes. We don’t monitor for criminal activity.”
    â€œHow long do you save the tapes?”
    â€œForty-eight hours.”
    If their guy was smart, which Stacy was beginning to feel he was, he would have known where the cameras were located, how long the hotel hung on to them, that they didn’t monitor.
    If she was correct, this hadn’t been a crime of passion, but a premeditated murder.
    â€œI do have some good news. We have tapes of all the stairwells. I’ve brought them as well.”
    Eliminating the opportunity for the killer to bypass the elevators and the cameras he hadn’t been able to disable .
    â€œYou understand, of course, that these tapes are strictly visual. No audio.”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œI need to warn you that you may see a few shocking things on the tapes. Many guests don’t realize the cameras are there and—”
    â€œAnd some perform because they do know,” Stacy said dryly. “Thanks for the warning, anyway.”

FOUR
    Monday, October 20, 2003
2:00 p.m.
    T he Crimes Against Persons division of the DPD was located in the Municipal Building on Commerce and Harwood Streets, downtown. The building was classic urban public services, gray and grim but serviceable. On the first floor traffic fines were paid, traffic court dates arranged. The upper floors housed traffic courts, police headquarters and the offices of a number of city officials. Crimes Against Persons was located on three. The MB, as Stacy called the Municipal Building, never lacked for business.
    She and Mac wound their way through clots of people, heading for the elevators. Snatches of conversation, some in Spanish, others English, reached her ears.
    â€œHijo de una perra!”
    Living in Texas all her life, she had a working knowledge of Spanish. That gentleman, judging by his vocabulary, was having a particularly bad day.
    Of course, the MB and bad days went hand in hand. If you darkened its doors, you were in for some inconvenient shit. Or in the case of those who worked under its roof, you were putting up with someone else’s inconvenient shit.
    In her and Mac’s case, that shit was murder.
    Damn inconvenient, indeed.
    Stacy caught a whiff of an expensive perfume; it mingled unpleasantly with body odor and the stench of a multi-pack-a-day