Spider - Michael Morley [100]
‘Very restrained,’ said Jack sarcastically, ‘how very responsible of you.’
Tariq put the remote down on his lap and frowned again at Jack. ‘You’re Jack King, aren’t you? I remember seeing a photograph of you when I was at Reuters, what, four, five years ago now. Am I right?’
Jack stared him down. ‘We don’t have time for this. Just play the video.’
Tariq studied the man’s face. He was sure he was right. He pressed play and the pictures started rolling.
Howie and Jack didn’t flinch or react at all when they saw the awful scene of the girl’s convulsions. They were unemotionally scanning every inch of the picture frame, searching for clues and any possible evidence that would tell them where she was, when the recording had been made and whether she might still be alive.
Jack’s mind turned to the reasons why someone would record the scene through fixed cameras, rather than be there in the room with the victim. Why wouldn’t he film it himself with a hand-held camera, so he could get up close and personal?
Maybe he would, if he had a choice. Which meant he wasn’t in the building wherever the girl was kept.
Why wouldn’t he be in the building? Because he was working during the day? Or, more likely, because he wanted to be away from the crime scene when she died, making it much harder therefore to connect him to the murder.
The tape ran for almost four minutes. After seeing the victim motionless for around thirty seconds, Howie called time out. ‘Hold it. Stop it for a second. What do you think, Jack? Is she dead, or what?’
Jack scratched the back of his neck and was about to give his opinion when Tariq’s companion spoke for the first time. ‘If I may introduce myself, I am Dr Ian Carter; I am a consultant to the television station and formerly a member of the World Health Organisation. I have seen the footage only three or four times, but from what I have observed I would say she has suffered a terrible convulsion and blacked out. I cannot conclude that she is dead. Sadly, nor can I tell you with any great confidence that she is still alive.’
‘How long has she been like that?’ interrupted Jack.
‘It is possible that this footage was shot some time ago and the girl is already dead. Or it could be that this is very recent footage. If that is the case, then I can tell you that, in my expert opinion, even if she survived the convulsion she is critically close to death.’
‘How long would you give her, doc?’ asked Howie.
Carter took his time thinking about it. ‘Forty-eight hours max.’
PART EIGHT
Sunday, 8 July
66
Holiday Inn, New York
It was the early hours of the morning when Howie had finally gone home for round two with Carrie while Jack checked in at the Holiday Inn on Lafayette Street.
Jack guessed the Bureau had a deal on the slate price because the room was tiny and stank of the unseen and unclean who’d been there before him. He flopped down on the bed and discovered it had springs crafted by cavemen. He rang reception and asked if there was a chance of a sandwich and a glass of milk. The guy laughed and said something in Spanish that Jack guessed meant ‘no way’. He put the phone down and at first was pissed as hell, but then figured that missing a midnight snack might turn out to be a good thing. He remembered the girl in the video and felt guilty. Poor kid would kill just for the bottle of water in his room, let alone a bar of chocolate from the mini-bar, and there he was cursing about not being able to get room service.
Jack kicked off his shoes, checked his watch and called Nancy. Just approaching one a.m. in New York, meant it was seven a.m. in Tuscany and he timed things perfectly so he caught her seconds after her alarm went off. Nancy was a creature of habit. The clock was always set for the same time, even on holiday. She saw no point in lying in bed and always wanted to start the day as early as possible. They didn’t speak for long, just long enough to say they loved each other, and for Jack to send Zack a hug and a kiss.
After hanging up,