Wednesday, September 14
Aftermath
“You did what?”
I stare at him. What can I say?
“Are you completely insane? Why on earth would you do that? Why did you lie? I don’t…These arerealpeople, Erin. Real dead people and real living people. We have no idea who they are or what kind of resources they have. I cannot believe you could be so stupid! Why? Why did you do it?”
I say nothing. I just stand there. I know! I’m an idiot, he’s perfectly right, but we do need to fix this now. That’s all I care about. I just want to fix it. I don’t want to die.
He slumps down on the sofa. We’re in the lounge. I called him over as soon as I opened the door and I told him everything. The companies, the emails, the texts—everything. He sits there thinking, frowning, his mind racing.
“All right,” he finally says. “Okay. Erin, what does he know?”
I shrug, shake my head. I don’t know. There’s no way of being sure.
“No. Think about it, sweetheart. Stop, and think about it. What does he know?” He says it slowly, deliberately.
I swallow. Take a breath.
“He knows someone other than the plane people have the phone.” That much I’m sure of.
“Great, and what will he infer from that?” he asks.
“That we stole the phone, I suppose. That we either killed them or we robbed them. They seem like the two most probable explanations.” I look up at him.
He nods. “So he’s going to want to find us, isn’t he?” he says, thinking it through. “How can he find us?”
“Through the phone signal. Or through where we accessed the email account. They’re the only links,” Isay.
“Okay. So, the hotel computer. The hotel computer room. And how will he know it was you on the computer? Rather than anyone else in the hotel?”
I see where Mark’s going with this.
“The CCTV footage in the lobby and hallway. The time codes, me walking toward the room, away from the room. Before and after the access time.” Shudder. Shit. Even though there weren’t cameras in the business center itself, I’m still on film going in there for anyone to see. We need to get rid of the footage.
I notice my sudden jump in logic. From making a mistake to actively committing a crime. Just like that. Iwonder if that’s how it starts for a lot of criminals; I wonder if that’s how it started with Eddie. A mistake, a cover-up, and then a slow inevitable chain of events. Nothing like this has ever crossed my mind before, the impulse to get rid of the evidence. I have no idea how one would even go about getting rid of footage. It’s never occurred to me, of course, because I’m just an ordinary woman on her honeymoon, and aside from going over eighty on the motorway sometimes, I don’t even consider breaking the rules. Maybe in my mind sometimes, but never in reality.
“So that’s the only link to you personally, is it? That CCTV footage? Aside from that footage it could have been anyone in that room on the phone, on the computer?” Mark gives me an encouraging smile, not too much but enough.
“Yes, that’s the only link,” I assure him.
—
We go for a walk. We have no idea where they might keep the CCTV monitors and recording equipment, but we head for reception. It’s a pretty logical assumption that it’ll be in the room behind the reception counter. If not, we’ll have to keep an eye out for a security guard and follow him back to wherever he goes.
The plan is simple. Of course it’s simple, we’re not actually criminal masterminds. If there’s no one on the desk, then I’ll slip into the back room, find the video system, and delete as far back as I can. It can’t be that hard, right? If I can delete a whole month, so much the better. Cover our tracks completely, why not? If there’s someone in the back room, we’ll go with plan B.
There are two receptionists at the desk when wereach the main hotel. Mark takes my hand in his as we approach the lobby. He holds me firmly and leads me on, toward the library room. Plan B it is then.
Plan B is I have food poisoning and Mark wants to make a complaint. Hopefully, we’ll be ushered into the back room so we can check if the system is in there. If it is, we’ll need to get rid of the receptionist for a minute and deal with the footage. It’s not foolproof for sure but I’m a film grad and Mark’s an unemployed banker, so cut us some slack.
“Look sick,” he whispers. I tilt my head back and inhale noisily through my nose. I put my hand to my head and exhale slowly through my mouth. Like someone desperately trying to hold it together. I look around for a seat. Mark plays the concerned husband. Where do I want to go? What do I need? I am silent, I am pale. It must be bad, my illness. I sit gingerly down on a chair outside the hotel library. One of the receptionists glances up at us. Reads the situation. She throws a look to her colleague, who is slightly older, maybe her senior. The older woman nods,You can deal with it,then dips back into her paperwork. The younger receptionist makes her way over.
Here we go. My part here is easy, I just need to look distant and breathe deeply. Mark has the hard work.
He starts before she makes it to us.
