“The front desk. The clerks call housekeepers to determine whether a room has been cleaned and is ready for check-in, or they’ll call up to have more towels or soaps delivered to a room if a guest requests it,” Hernandez said.

“She cleaned a total of twelve rooms that night,” Hernandez said. “Trust me, there’s nothing more worth watching, so I’m gonna speed it up to show you the last room Jazmin cleaned that night, room 133, because I’m tired and I want to go home and see my family and take a bath.”

Drue thought better of protesting.

“Here we go,” Hernandez said, pausing the video at the 11:05 point.

The video showed a housekeeper in a Gulf Vista smock and baseball cap stopped outside a room. The woman passed her key card over the door’s lock and entered. At 1:32, she emerged from the room and set off down the hallway with the cart, getting into the elevator, then walking down the walkway to the laundry room.

“And that’s it,” Hernandez said. “The last time we have her on camera.”

“Can you back that up so I can see it again?” Drue asked.

Hernandez sighed dramatically but did as her guest asked.

Drue leaned in closer, staring at the computer screen. The angle of the security camera showed the housekeeper from above, but her face was obscured by the bill of the baseball cap.

“That last room she cleaned, did you guys find anything there?” Drue asked.

“Nothing. Turns out Jazmin was a really thorough worker,” Hernandez said. “We questioned the last guest who’d stayed in the room, but he didn’t know anything. He checked out late that afternoon because he had a family emergency. In fact, we checked all the rooms in that wing the next morning, and found zip.”

“Meaning, you never discovered where she was killed,” Drue said.

“It’s a big property. Two hundred rooms, guests checking in and out, and hotel staff busy cleaning up what could have been evidence.”

Hernandez stood up, stretched and yawned. “Okay, party’s over. I’m out, and so are you.”

Drue hesitated. “I’d really like to watch that video again. All of it.”

“No way,” Hernandez retorted. “I’m not hanging around here for another minute. And you’re done poking your nose in police business.”

“You could just transfer it to a flash drive,” Drue suggested. “I’ll take it with me and watch it again. Who knows? Maybe a fresh set of eyes will catch something you missed.”

Hernandez shook her head again and muttered something under her breath. But ten minutes later Drue was back in the white Bronco, the flash drive tucked securely in her purse.

47

She let herself into the deserted office again, switching on lights as she went. “Next paycheck,” she muttered, seating herself at her desk, “I buy myself a laptop. Screw the roof.”