A single light shone on the grill in the kitchen. All the same, Mac could only marvel at its cleanliness. Every brass pot and pan gleaming; every surface polished to a sheen. The floor damp from a recent mopping.
“You’re the last one here?” asked Mac, as the dishwasher led the way through the swinging doors into the dining room.
“Someone has to be.”
Mac took a long look around, listening as well as observing. The room, bathed in shadow, appeared cavernous. The tables were set for tomorrow’s lunch service. He advanced a step. He did not see, hear, or sense another presence.
“Take a look.” The dishwasher’s name, Francis, was embroidered on his smock. “They clean up after every service. I didn’t hear anything about a diamond bracelet.”
But Mac wasn’t interested in looking for a bracelet, real or otherwise. “You have the keys?”
A look of confusion clouded Francis’s face. “Keys?”
“To lock up,” said Mac. “You are the last one here.”
“Of course.”
“And to the other offices? I need to look at the security cameras.”
“But the bracelet . . .”
“No bracelet,” said Mac. “I need to see the monitors. I was here earlier with a woman. She disappeared while we were eating lunch. I think someone took her against her will. Where do they keep the monitors? It’s the law. Every public establishment is required to have cameras. Where are they?”
“I don’t know,” said Francis.
“Sure you do. In the boss’s office?”
“Who are you? What do you really want?”
“I told you,” said Mac, holding out an open palm. “The woman I was with vanished. I need to find out what happened. Give me the keys. S’il vous plaît.”
Francis took a step back. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Don’t,” said Mac. “You won’t make it.”
But Francis was young and fit and strong, and Mac was, well, practically an old man. So Francis made his move. He spun and dashed back into the kitchen. Mac was on him in three steps. He threw him against the serving counter. Francis tumbled to the floor. Mac dropped onto his back, a knee pinioned against his spine. “Just give me the keys.”
Mac didn’t see the elbow coming. It glanced off his cheek, stunning him. He threw a hand to his face as Francis rolled to one side. Mac toppled onto the floor. Francis jumped to his feet, aiming a kick at Mac.
“Go screw yourself!” shouted the younger man.
Mac threw out his hand to knock the leg away. With his other hand, he grabbed Francis’s ankle. Francis brought his free leg down on the back of Mac’s neck. The blow was ineffectual. Mac released his ankle, rolled to one side and stood. Francis dashed around the counter. He looked wildly around the kitchen, searching, searching. His eyes locked onto something. He leaned across the counter and freed a copper pot from the rack.
“You don’t want to do that,” said Mac.
“Get out,” said Francis, brandishing the pot as if it were a saber. “Leave ... whoever you are.”
“I can’t do that,” said Mac as he lunged toward Francis. As expected, Francis lashed out with the pot. Mac dodged it and slugged the kid in the jaw. Francis was stronger than he looked. He took the blow like a pro and swung the pot at Mac a second time. Mac ducked and felt the pot graze the top of his head. Coming out of a crouch, he threw a jab. His fist landed just below the man’s eye. Francis stepped back, teetering. His gaze clouded. Mac caught him as his knees buckled and he lost consciousness.
Mac found the key ring in his front pocket, along with the €600. He took the keys and left the money, then returned to the freight elevator and locked the door. He didn’t have time to keep an eye on Francis, and he didn’t want the dishwasher causing any more problems.
With haste, he returned to the dining room and advanced down the hall leading to the guest elevator. Two unmarked doors flanked the entry. The last key he tried opened the door to his left. It was a storeroom for cleaning supplies: vacuums, towels, brooms.
He had better luck with the other office. The second key he chose opened the door. It was an executive’s office, with a large desk and fancy chair and photographs on the wall of a man and his family.
He found the monitors inside a closet in an adjoining room. Six screens. A keyboard to control recording and playback. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. The system was currently asleep, probably to save storage space. A relief. He didn’t have to worry about being caught on camera.
Mac powered up the system, then set the time to the previous day at 1:00 p.m., approximately when he and Ava arrived. A check of the monitors showed the positioning of the cameras. There were cameras in the elevator, the entry hall, and the dining room, as well as in the kitchen. All the views Mac needed. He pressed Play, and the restaurant Jules Verne came to life.
