Dark Eye (11 page)

“I don’t feel right, leaving you by yourself.”

I patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. “Don’t be silly. You can’t babysit me forever.”

“But it’s only-”

“We’d drive each other crazy and we both know it. You’re my best friend, Lisa, but even you can only tolerate me in limited doses.” We both laughed. “You’ve gotten me a great place to stay. I need some time to get it in order.”

“I could help.”

“Hey, you did all the packing. It’s only fair that I unpack.”

“There’s no rush.”

“I want the place looking nice before Rachel comes back.”

Lisa fell silent.

“You run along,” I said quickly, papering over the gap. “I’ll call you later.”

She smiled a little. “Okay. But if you need something, call me on my cell.”

“I will.”

“I won’t be far. I could be at your place in a heartbeat.”

“You shouldn’t say that. I might call. Interrupt some CPR.”

Her smile faded a bit. “I wish you would. But I know you won’t.”

Lisa hugged me again, then drove off in a sports car cloud of smoke and I made my way to the new apartment.

She’d done a terrific job, especially considering how little time she’d had to work on it. Wasn’t too expensive, either. The monthly rent was considerably less than my mortgage had been, when I paid it, so I might end up with a little extra spending money-a pleasant thought.

What little furniture I had was in storage, so I was stuck with the rudimentary apartment-provided stuff. The mattress was lumpy and hard, but I had a hunch I’d be sleeping soundly anyway.

I started by doing what little had to be done to make the joint habitable-sheets on the bed, Mr. Coffee in the kitchen. Most everything else could wait. I really needed to relax. What an ordeal this day had been. I was exhausted.

I should’ve just watched television, but I couldn’t resist going through the packing boxes, making sure everything was safe and still in one piece. Lisa had taken great care with my belongings. But she couldn’t know everything. She couldn’t know that the scruffy, torn T-shirt that looked as if it must be a dust rag was actually my favorite pajama top. She couldn’t know that I folded my sweaters along the vertical bias, not the horizontal. And she couldn’t know that I had left a full bottle of bourbon in my gym bag.

But I knew.

He had just unfolded the morning paper when Harv Bradford entered the canteen.

“Can you believe those cops are still running around outside, Ernie? Took me twenty minutes just to get into the hotel.”

He shrugged. “They have a job to do. They must keep the crime scene secure.”

“Yeah, right.” Harv poured himself a cup of coffee, took a sip, then winced. “Are we reusing yesterday’s grounds?” He tossed the drink into the sink. “You had any contact with the cops?”

“No.”

“Neither had any of the boys on the night shift. Kind of a snub, if you ask me.”

“They’re LVPD. Why would they consult with us?”

“We’re the hotel security force. We work every damn day right here where they found the body. Seems like we might be able to tell them a thing or two.”

“Such as what?”

“Well… I don’t know exactly. But something. At any rate, they could ask. To treat us like we don’t exist…” Harv shook his head. “Just seems disrespectful.”

“City cops never have any respect for private security,” he replied. “They call us rent-a-cops.”

“I think that sucks.” Harv was a little over six feet, but he carried a spare tire that made the gray uniform bulge in all the wrong places. He looked ridiculous, out of shape, stupid. And he wondered why the police didn’t want to consult with him. “I could tell them a thing or two.”

He lowered his paper. “You know something about the body they found?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. But it’s possible I might’ve seen something without knowing I saw it, you know what I mean?”

I know you’re a fool, he thought.

“Hey! Is there something in the news about it?”

Harv snatched the paper out of his hands without even asking. It was because of his height, of course. Because Harv towered above him, that gave him free rein to disregard common courtesy.

“What do you know?” Harv said, slapping the paper. “The Transylvania made the front page. Did you read it?”

“I
was
reading it,” he answered sharply.

“This is pretty cool. Look at the size of the headline. I bet this is getting national play.”

“We can but hope.”

“Kinda exciting, ain’t it? Being a part of a big story like this.”

“I don’t believe that either of our names is mentioned.”

“Maybe not. But it happened right where we work. And I know the guy who found the body.”

“You’re a celebrity, Harv.”

“If you ask me, this is what the money boys get for choosing such a creepy theme for this place.”

“The children like it.”

“Yeah, and since when did Vegas care about children? This new crowd-they got more bucks than brains. I liked the town better when the mob ran it.”

“Those were the good old days.”

“You really don’t think those cops would want to talk to me?”

“I really don’t, Harv.”

The paper crumpled in his hands. “Know what? I always wanted to be a cop. A real one, I mean. When I was a kid. But I couldn’t afford the school and I couldn’t pass the test. So I went into private security.”

“And isn’t that satisfying? You wear a uniform. You have the occasional opportunity to hustle prostitutes. Strong-arm card cheats.”

“It ain’t the same. People look up to cops.”

“Do they?”

“Cops are like heroes. They make TV shows about cops. When was there ever a series about a private security guard?”

And that of course proves, a posteriori, that security guards are without merit. “I suppose you have a point.”

“I mean, here I am, right on the premises, with a badge and a gun and everything, but those guys outside would never dream of asking for my help. Wouldn’t even cross their minds.” He released a slow sigh. “Here.” He tossed the paper back. “All that little print makes my head hurt.”

There were smudges on the main story, big black remnants of Harv’s Frankensteinian thumbs. He hated that. He didn’t want to read a paper that had been pawed over by illiterates. And this one was important; he needed this story for his History. He would have to pick up another copy on his drive home.

His eyes returned to the main story under the banner headline:

BY JONATHAN WOOLEY

An unidentified nude female corpse completely shaved of body hair was discovered early Tuesday morning in a mock graveyard located at the multimillion-dollar Transylvania resort hotel, authorities revealed yesterday afternoon. The body was placed in a wooden coffin and buried under a thin layer of dirt. The graveyard is part of the hotel’s Edgar Allan Poe gallery, one of several horror-themed tableaus on the ballroom floor.

“We’re just glad the body was discovered before the doors were opened,” said Transylvania owner Katherine Wentworth. “We wouldn’t want any of our guests to be disturbed.”

Police officials remained tight-lipped about the investigation, but LVPD Chief of Police Robert O’Bannon indicated that they were pursuing several leads.

“Obviously, the irony of depositing a body in a fake graveyard was more than someone could resist. We’ve taken evidence, which should allow us to identify the victim in time. The large number of tourists coming in and out of Vegas makes a quick ID difficult. Nonetheless, we have all our top officers working on it and have every reason to believe we will identify the victim-and her assailant-in short order.”

At a press conference later in the day, a representative of the LVPD Homicide Department, Lieutenant Barry Granger, stated that preliminary tests indicated that the victim had died of suffocation. Several unanswered questions still remained about…

In other words, they knew nothing. He allowed himself a tiny smile. They didn’t know who Helen was, they didn’t know who he was, and they had no glimmer of the magnitude of what they had stumbled across. At least not most of them…

His eyes scanned the page and then the continuation on page three, searching for the information he wanted. Yes, yes, he knew O’Bannon, that blowhard was on television all the time. There were repeated references to Lieutenant Granger, who during his initial crime scene appearance seemed almost deliberately slow-witted. But what of the raven-haired beauty? Who was she? What was she doing there? Given the way she was treated by most of the other police officers, it was tempting to conclude that she was an unauthorized visitor, that she had no connection to them. But he knew that was wrong. He had seen the way she moved, the way she carried herself. She was on familiar ground. She had done this before. Had she been brought in from another jurisdiction? He had to find out.

“So I’m thinking maybe I’ll just march right up and introduce myself to ’em. What’d’ya think about that?”

“What?” He looked up. Had Harv been babbling the entire time he was reading? “Who?”

“The cops, Ernie. I’m thinking maybe I’ll tell them I’m available. Who knows? They might like the chance to work with someone who knows the lay of the land.”

“They won’t give you the time of day,” he replied. “If you had something to tell them, then maybe-”

He stopped short. That was it. If he had something to tell, something they really wanted, he could command anyone’s attention. Even hers.

“I’ll be out this afternoon,” he said, tossing down the paper. “Cover for me in the casino.”

“Sure, but-”

“Keep your eyes open and your lips sealed,” he added as he slid into his coat. “And most importantly, Harv-don’t hassle the police and don’t go near the Poe room. You never know what might happen there.”

The phone must’ve rung twenty times before it finally registered in my brain. Exerting all my available strength, I managed to pull my head out from under the pillow. It throbbed. More than throbbed-it felt as if someone were running an electric mixer inside my cranial case, scrambling my brains.

I grabbed the receiver, knocking over the end table in the process. The bottle fell to the floor with a bang but thank God didn’t quite break.

“ ’Lo,” I managed. My tongue felt like Velcro.

“Pulaski? Is that you?”

I stiffened. It was Chief O’Bannon. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you all right?”

“ ’M fine.”

“Took you forever to answer the phone.”

“Sorry. I was in the shower.”

He was silent for a moment. “Are you able to come out to a crime scene? As soon as possible.”

Truth was, I felt like shit. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. “You want me at a crime scene? After last night-”

“I’ve changed my mind. Decided to give you a second chance.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Out of respect for your father. And David.”

“Bullshit.” I shifted the phone from one ear to the other and pushed my aching self up to a sitting position. “There’s been another murder, hasn’t there?”

“Yes, but-”

“Buried alive?”

Again the silence. “No. This one’s worse.”

“You’ve got a psycho on your hands.”

“Looks that way.”

“And that’s the real reason for this call. Not any charity toward me. You need my expertise.”

“Look, I don’t have time for this. Are you coming or not?”

Get a grip, I told myself. Take the job before he changes his mind. “All right, I’m in. I’ll stop by headquarters and get my badge and-”

“No badge. No gun.”

“But you said-”

“I’m willing to hire you on a part-time consulting basis with respect to this one case. That’s it.”

“No way.”

“Those are my terms. Take it or leave it.”

“You-” I pounded my fist into the pillow, biting back what I really wanted to say. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“You’re not ready to be reinstated.”

“How the hell would you-”

“You have a problem, Susan. A major problem. And until you’ve overcome it, you’re not going to play on my team. But I still need a behaviorist, at least until the Feds move in.”

“Feds?” I whistled.

“So I’m asking one last time. Will you take the consulting position or not?”

“I’ll take it.” Even though I found the whole situation offensive, I needed work if I wanted to get Rachel back.

He told me where to meet him. “I’ll be there in about an hour.”

“Twenty minutes,” he answered. “Or you’re off the case.”

“But I just got up-”

“I thought you just got out of the shower.”

I pressed my hand against my forehead. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

“See you in twenty.” He made a grunting noise, then disconnected.

My entire body ached. The head was the worst, but it was just part of the overall miserable package. I felt broken, shattered, both in body and in spirit. I looked down at the bottle rolling around on the floor-empty-and it made me sick in so many ways I couldn’t count them all.

My first night alone since the big breakdown, and I’d found a hell of a way to celebrate. I couldn’t be trusted for one night. I’d done exactly what everyone said I would do, and I was lying about it afterward, just as everyone knew I would.

Hell. I had work to do. That would be my cure-bury myself in a case. Get too busy to indulge in bad habits. I’d made one mistake, but I was determined not to let it happen again.

The hollow anxious aching in my chest reasserted itself. My wrist tingled.

I found the crime scene on the back forty of McCarran International. Out here in the desert, you could barely tell you were anywhere near a major city. The airport terminal was to the north; other than that, it was big-sky country. Hard to imagine what could’ve inspired those Mormons to settle down here all those years ago. John Fremont, now mostly remembered for the tourist trap street that bears his name, first wrote about the area he discovered in 1844 while he was out harassing Indians. But Mormon cattle ranchers set up the first settlement in these fertile plains, around 1855. By 1905, we had a train station-and casinos-and they held the first Las Vegas land auction, the event that put this city on the map.