Red Roses in Las Vegas (14 page)

Ian and I found ourselves sitting in Claire’s expensive cream-and-white-with-expensive-artwork living room once again; except, this time, Claire wasn’t there.

We were sitting opposite Mike Bitzer, who I suppose looked like an older version of Adam. He was a little under six feet tall, had dark circles under his eyes and was thin enough to look haggard. There was a three-day growth of beard adorning his jaw, and he was dressed in ratty, soft-looking jeans and an equally soft-looking blue t-shirt. His hair was thinning and dark, and fell gently across his face.

“I’m still not quite believing it,” he told us, staring at the ground. “I keep thinking Adam’s gonna call, and we’ll meet up for drinks at the pub or something.” He let out a sigh. “I can’t believe I’ll be watching the Superbowl without him, this year.”

Ian and I were silent, not quite sure what to say to comfort him, and Mike sighed. “Anyway,” he said. “I guess we should get started. I’m happy to help you guys out, even though I don’t believe the cops would get things wrong. Besides, Adam was a really nice guy. He had no enemies, wasn’t mixed up in anything bad. He had good friends, a good job – he’s a pretty boring guy, if you think about it.”

He smiled sadly and I said, “I’m sure the cops did everything they could, but it’s my job to just make sure that… they didn’t miss anything.”

Mike shrugged. “Sure, I get that. My wife says she’s sorry she couldn’t be here, by the way. She had work.”

“That’s ok, I understand.”

Mike shook his head. “The funeral’s on Sunday. I mean… my little brother’s funeral.”

I twisted the band of my watch uncomfortably, and Ian said, “Hey, it’s a good thing you made it back in time. Where’d you go, Nebraska?”

“Yeah. I wanted to come back as soon as I got the news, but I couldn’t just let Joe down.”

“Joe?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Mike nodded. “His dad’s got Alzheimer’s, and Joe and his wife’ve been taking care of him, not getting any time together and stuff. So I told them I’d be happy to help out – give them a week to get out of town, just relax, make sure their marriage is ok. I’m a nurse, so I figured I should help out my buddy.”

“That’s really nice of you,” I said. “I know it’s hard to care for a parent with Alzheimer’s.”

Mike shrugged. “It’s the least I could do. We were best friends in high school, and Joe’s not quite ready to send his dad off to a nursing home. Besides, that’s why I became a nurse in the first place – to help folks out when they need me.”

I smiled. “Yeah, Claire said that’s one of the reasons you got together in the first place. That you both like helping people.”

“I suppose that’s right.”

I watched him with admiration. Living in Vegas, most of the people you meet are selfish hedonists – though I suppose that’s the case in most cities, of course. Everyone knows there are bad things in the world, but we expect other people to “take care of it;” Claire and Mike were those other people.

“How are things between you and Claire?” Ian asked. “You both seem so busy with your careers.”

Mike shrugged. “You make time. And I guess we’re both lucky in that we’ve got flexible work hours, so we can adjust our times and stuff.”

“Right.” I took a deep breath. “Anyway. We’ve got to ask a few questions about Adam – standard stuff, we’ve been asking everyone, but we need to ask you, too.”

Mike nodded. “Sure.”

“What was he like?”

“Just a regular guy, I suppose. He’s got his work, his girl. But he works long hours sometimes, so he doesn’t – didn’t – have hobbies and stuff.”

“But he was part of the charity circuit.”

“Yeah, he made time for that. Claire and I encouraged him a little – I mean, what’s the point of earning the big bucks if you don’t give some of it to charity?”

Except he wasn’t earning the big bucks. And I didn’t really believe in the charity circuit – if people want to give money to charities, why don’t they just do that, instead of going to swanky parties?

Ian said, “Did you know that he’d had a pay cut recently? Did he do any other work on the side?”

Mike shook his head. “First I’m hearing about a pay cut. I reckon he still made a lot after that, we didn’t really talk about cash.”

“Did he have any other girlfriends?” Ian asked. “Did you ever see him with any other women? Beautiful women?”

Mike looked at him, slightly puzzled. “How’d you mean? He was always faithful to Cynthia, as far as I know. He never mentioned any other women, didn’t even really check out other women when we went out and stuff. He’s a good, stable guy.”

“Was he planning on getting married?” I asked.

Mike shrugged. “I’m not sure about that. He never mentioned it, but he wasn’t interested in other women, if that’s what you mean.”

Ian and I exchanged a glance, both thinking the same thing. I decided to go ahead and ask it. “I went through Adam’s bank statements. He was getting money every month from a couple of different women. Do you know anything about that?”

He looked at me blankly and shook his head. “No. That makes no sense. But maybe they were giving him money to manage and didn’t want to give it to Verdant Wealth directly?”

“That actually makes sense,” I said. It certainly made more sense than him accepting money for prostitution or drug dealing.

“Why don’t you just ask those women?” Mike said.

“We can’t get in touch with them,” Ian said. “They’re not listed or anything.”

“But maybe
you
know them,” I said. “You do hang out in the same circles, after all.”

It was worth a shot. I grabbed my bag and found my notebook with all my case notes in it, and found the page listing all the girls’ names. 

“Rachel Nge, Nicole Weiss, Michelle Ackermann and Alexia Boyle.”

“I’ve got photos of them on my phone,” added Ian.

“Hang on,” said Mike, “I’ll go get my Rolodex.”

He returned in a minute, and went through it, looking for the names that I’d reeled off. Funnily enough, he found every one of them, and gave us their phone numbers.

“They’re really private people, though,” he said. “They probably won’t like it if you call them. I’m not sure I should’ve given you their numbers, really.”

“It’s ok,” I said. “It’s for a good cause, and I’m sure they won’t mind helping out.”

We looked at each other doubtfully. In my experience, rich people either like flaunting their cash and pretending they’ve got more than the gazillion bucks they already have, or they like hiding away in some cubby hole somewhere, pretending they don’t exist. I don’t really understand either of the types, but it was already obvious to me that those six women wouldn’t appreciate my barging in and destroying their privacy.

“Back to Adam, though,” said Ian. “Did he have any enemies that you know of? Anyone who might want to hurt him?”

“No, of course not. Like I said, he was just a regular guy. And then he lost an old lady’s money and got killed for it?” Mike frowned. “No, that just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“If he was investing money for these women,” I said slowly, “Maybe he lost one their funds. Maybe one of these women killed him.”

“I don’t believe it,” Mike said, shaking his head. “I don’t believe anyone would want to kill Adam, and I don’t believe it’s…”

“It’s what?” asked Ian.

Mike sighed. “Nothing. I don’t want to believe it’s real, but I guess it is.” He looked up at the big painting that was hanging on the wall opposite, and sighed. “I go back to work tomorrow. But you can call me if you’d like to know anything else. Good luck.”

He stood up, and Ian and I took it as our cue to leave. I gave him my card, we shook hands and thanked him for his help, and then we headed back to my condo – once again, not really sure that we’d made any progress.

Although, at least now we had some phone numbers, and I knew that the first thing we’d do when we got back to my condo would be to start dialing them, one by one.

I had an hour before my shift started, and I was tempted to call in sick. But that wouldn’t really do any good – I didn’t know what I’d spend that time doing, and maybe I’d need to take a night off later. So I saved my sick day, and began dialing the numbers Ian and I had gathered from Mike.

The first four calls went straight to voicemail. All the voicemail messages were the same – “Please leave a message after the beep.” No explanation about whose phone it was, or even what number I’d dialed. Those women sure took their privacy seriously. I knew they were all screening unknown numbers and I wasn’t sure what good a voicemail message would do. But still, I gave it a shot.

“This is Tiffany Gomez,” I said each time. If I told them my real name, they’d probably think someone was trying to play a prank on them. I’ve hated my mother since I was ten years old for giving me a stripper’s name, but it was too late to change things now. “I’m an investigator looking into Adam Bitzer’s death,” I went on, intentionally being a bit vague about whether I was working for the LVMPD or not. “I’d really appreciate it if you could give me a call back.” And then I reeled off my number, and hung up, not really expecting anyone to call back.

My next call was to Michelle Weiss, and finally, after two rings, somebody answered.

“Michelle’s phone,” said a high-pitched male voice.

“Hi,” I said, trying sound confident as Ian and Nanna watched me, eyes wide open, hoping for some miracle. “Is that Michelle?”

“No, honey it’s not. Can’t you tell a man’s voice from a woman’s?”

I thought I could, but I didn’t want to risk offending Michelle. Who knew, maybe she had a particularly deep voice?

“Uh,” I said, feeling a little rattled. “Is Michelle around?”

“No, she’s not. Who is this?”

“This is Tiffany Gomez. Is Michelle going to be available to speak to anytime soon?”

“No honey, she’s not. Who did you say you were again?”

“Tiffany Gomez.”

“I need more than that. Are you a friend, a hairdresser, what?”

I put on my best “official voice.” “I’m an investigator looking into Adam Bitzer’s death. It’s very important that I speak to Michelle.”

“Ri-ight.” The high-pitched male voice didn’t sound too convinced. “And are you working for the LVMPD sweetie? No? I didn’t think so.”

I took a deep breath. “Look. I’m a private investigator but that doesn’t make what I’m doing any less important. I really need to talk to Michelle.”

“About what?”

“About Adam Bitzer’s death.”

“Ri-ight. Sure.”

“Will you tell her to call me please? It’s very important.”

“Sure, hon,” he said, disdain dripping from every syllable.

I gave him my number anyway, hung up, and exhaled.

“Well?” said Ian. “What happened?”

“Yeah,” said Nanna. “That didn’t sound too good.”

“She’s not going to call back,” I told them glumly. “One number to go.”

The next call was to Nicole Ackermann, and once again, the call went straight to voicemail.

I put my phone away and looked from Ian to Nanna.

“Well, at least you tried,” Nanna said.

But she looked tired and worried, and her voice didn’t sound as upbeat as it usually did.

I looked at Ian, but he just shrugged. We’d all become a bunch of Negative Nellies.

I was the first to stand up.

“I need to change,” I said, “And then I’m heading to work. You two, go get some KFC or McDonald’s or
something.
Have some fun. Tomorrow, we’ll hunt down these women and talk to them. I’ll stalk them, if I need to; I’ll accost them outside their homes, whatever. We’ll get it down. Until then, have some fun.”

Nanna and Ian looked at each other. My pep talk might not’ve done much good, but Nanna shrugged. “No harm in getting some KFC,” she said.

Actually, there
was
some harm. As I changed into my dealer’s uniform, I thought about her clogged arteries and blood pressure and all those things that KFC’s bad for. I figured they were a small price to pay for cheering up Nanna for the night. 

For once, I was actually thankful for work. I tried to focus on the cards, on the players, on being a fun, friendly dealer. I cracked jokes, I laughed at everyone else’s jokes, and I even tried to flirt with a few sweet-looking old men.

It was the breaks in between my work that were terrible. Those fifteen minute breaks crept along as slowly as a kitten stalking an ant and, unlike the kitten, I never got a chance to pounce. My phone was silent, remarkably free of voicemail messages and calls from rich women trying to get back to me.

On my third break, my heart soared when I discovered that I had a text message – but it was just from Jack. “Breakfast afterwards?” he asked, and I sighed, disappointed that it wasn’t one of the women I was trying to get in touch with. Still, breakfast didn’t sound like a terrible idea.

Once again, we met at The Blueberry Café. There were about ten other people there this morning, scattered through the shiny red booths that lined one wall. All of them looked like Strip employees; their faces plastered with that “thank God it’s over” look.

Jack was waiting for me when I got there, and he smiled and slid over, making room for me next to him. He wasn’t wearing a suit today – just a white, tie-less shirt with rolled-up sleeves. His dark hair fell over his forehead, and his green eyes glittered against his tan skin. I smiled, happy to see him again.

When a waitress materialized, we ordered the same stack of pancakes with honey-ricotta topping that we’d had last time. I remembered it being so delicious, and I didn’t want to mess up by ordering something risky. We both ordered decaf, and once the waitress had left, I said, “Since when do you work nights?”

Jack shrugged. “I can work whenever I want. I’d rather time it so I can be with you.”

I smiled and stared down at the table. This was pretty much the only good news I’d received in the last couple of days. Even though I was worried about the women not getting in touch with me, I had butterflies in my stomach, and I knew that was the effect of being around Jack.

The waitress came by with our food, unloaded it, and left us alone.

“You look exhausted,” Jack said. “How’s the investigation going?”

I bit my tongue before I could say, “Are you implying that I’m ugly?” I was turning into one of those hysterical females, forever asking if her jeans made her butt look fat. Maybe I did
look exhausted, but Jack was still sitting with me in a crappy breakfast café at five o’clock in the morning.

I took a sip of my coffee.

“Not good,” I admitted. “People who talk to me know nothing, and people who might know something don’t want to talk to me.”

“Who doesn’t want to talk to you?” Jack asked. “That’s pretty suspicious behavior.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think.” I stuffed my face with soft, fluffy pancakes topped with ricotta and honey.

“So?” Jack said, as he watched me making a big dent in the stack of pancakes. “Who are these people?”

I looked up at him, struck by the sudden idea. “You might know them, actually. A bunch of rich women who probably go to the same charity galas you do.”

“And they don’t want to talk to you?” The corners of his lips went up, and his green eyes twinkled. “Well, now it’s sounding less suspicious. They’re probably just a bunch of snobs.”

“I guess they are. But they’re a bunch of snobs that I really need to talk to. Maybe you could introduce me, or something.”

“Even better. They go to the charity galas, right?” I nodded, and Jack went on. “There’s one tomorrow night. I mean, tonight. Now that it’s already morning. You can come with me.”

“Really?” I almost dropped the piece of pancake I’d just speared with my fork. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged. “Sure. I wasn’t going to go, myself – those things are incredible bores. But if it helps the investigation…”

I tried not to let my jaw drop. “That would be amazing. Yeah, it would really help my investigation. I think.”

A hint of doubt crept back into my mind and I frowned as I chewed thoughtfully, and helped Jack polish off the rest of the pancakes. What if the women weren’t at the gala? Sure, they liked those parties, but if one of them had something to do with Adam’s death, maybe she’d want to lie low, for a while. On the other hand, those women were wealthy and well-connected, and they probably weren’t worried about trivialities like being suspects in a murder investigation.

And even if they were at the gala, they probably wouldn’t want to talk to me.

“You’ll need to take time off from work,” Jack said. “Party starts at six, some kind of cocktail thing.”

“Of course. Who cares about work?”

I smiled broadly, thankful that at least I’d get a chance to talk to the women. Even if they didn’t want to talk to me.

“I really appreciate this.”

Our eyes locked for a moment and I felt a shiver run through my veins. Jack placed his hand on the back of my neck, and I felt the warmth of his palm radiating downwards along my spine, and I leaned forward slightly. I could see his lips, inches away from mine, and then suddenly, a chubby waitress reappeared beside us.

“You folks want anything else?”

I leaned back and glanced at Jack, my face feeling hot, and he moved his hand away.

“No thanks,” he said. “Just the check.”

“I should get going,” I said awkwardly, as the waitress waddled away.

“Would you like a lift?”

I shook my head. “No, but thanks. My place is just a few minutes from here, anyway.”

He settled the bill and we walked outside, our goodbye almost immediately interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Jack glanced at it and frowned.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Work emergency. I’ll see you at five-thirty tonight, then?”

I nodded and headed back home, nervous about what the evening would bring.