Strip Search (2 page)

“It’s the only place it could have occurred. We’ve reviewed the tapes. No one intercepted the money on the floor. If someone had stashed the dough in the elevator downstairs or intercepted it on its way to the vault, we’d have tape. And once it’s in the vault, Superman couldn’t get it out.”

“Why don’t you have a camera in here?”

Olivestra answered. “We did. The line was cut. The security officer in the video control room noticed immediately, but by the time he determined it wasn’t a power or monitor blip—which was only about five minutes—it was all over. The thief thunked poor Dominic over the head, took the cash, and climbed out that window—we found it gaping open. It leads to a parking lot. From there, he could be halfway down the Strip in sixty seconds.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t taken from the vault?”

Castle looked at me as if I were stupider than stupid, but I got the general impression he thought anyone with breasts was stupider than stupid. “Let me guess—you’ve seen
Ocean’s Eleven
? Let me assure you that in the real world, getting into a casino vault isn’t that easy. You’d have better luck trying to steal plutonium from Los Alamos.”

Which I believed, because I knew perfectly well he’d taken the money. But I didn’t want him to know that I knew. “How much was swiped?”

Castle gave his boss a look, got the nod, then replied. “Two hundred sixty-eight thousand, four hundred twelve bucks.”

I whistled. “Day’s take?”

He gave me another withering look. “One hour.”

“And none of your videos show any unauthorized personnel coming in here?”

“Unfortunately, none of the cameras are trained on the outer door to this particular room.”

“That is unfortunate.” Or perfect, if you’re the thief. Or a person picking a place to pretend there was a thief. “Darcy, what do you think?”

Darcy was standing on a chair, his face flattened against the window-pane, sniffing the curtains.

“Darcy?” I repeated, wiggling my fingers. “Yoo-hoo?”

He looked up, startled. His foot slipped off the chair and he tumbled to the carpet, barely avoiding a head injury. He pulled himself up, tugged down his T-shirt, and grinned his goofy, angelic grin. “Did you ever know that humans spray two-point-five drops of saliva into the air for every word they speak?”

I was mildly puzzled. The expressions on the faces of Castle and Olivestra suggested that they were, well, more extremely puzzled. “No, I must confess I didn’t.”

“That comes to, on average, three hundred drops per minute. When someone is talking.”

Castle appeared irritated and annoyed. “Is this some kind of joke? Is he making this up?”

“Darcy never makes anything up,” I replied. “He doesn’t know how.”

Olivestra gave Darcy a quick once-over—the long shaggy brown hair, skinny frame, worn sneakers. Darcy was twenty-six but he looked younger. “May I ask what exactly is this young man’s function? He doesn’t appear to be a member of the police department.”

“He works with me. As a consultant,” I bluffed.

“But I was told you were—”

“And he’s the consultant’s consultant, okay? Don’t sweat it; he won’t cost you any extra.”

Olivestra folded his arms, frowned, but let it go.

“Notice anything else, Darcy?” I asked.

“Did you see me try to get the window open? I tried really hard to get that window open. I couldn’t make it budge.”

“Perhaps you should reconsider that gym membership.”

“I think that maybe even for a strong man opening this window would be tough.”

“But the window
was
open,” Olivestra insisted. “The shark was obviously strong if he clubbed Dominic unconscious, yanked open the window, and survived that jump.”

Darcy ran his fingers through his hair, as if washing it with invisible shampoo. “No one jumped out of that window.”

That caught us all by surprise. “How do you know?”

“That would be twenty-two and three quarters feet straight down to the concrete.”

I glanced out the window. “Looks about right.”

“That is exactly right. I think that if I had stolen that money—I mean, I would never steal any money, but if I did, I would be in a hurry. And I would be carrying a heavy sack or briefcase or something. I see no sign that there was a rope or ladder. The officer outside told us that they looked really really hard but they found no blood or torn clothing on the concrete. And look at the mud.” He pointed down below the window. “That is from last night’s rain. I do not see any footprints. Do you see any footprints?” He grinned sheepishly. “Or butt prints, depending on how well he fell. I do not think that anyone could possibly have jumped out that window with all that money.” He continued staring at the transparent pane of evidence.

“I already had my boys go over that window with a fine-tooth comb,” Olivestra said. “There’s no prints on it.”

“Which proves Darcy’s point,” I said. “If this was some outside crook or hopped-up crackhead making a desperate run for it, why stop to wipe his prints? No, the thief had to wipe the window clean after he got it open, because he knew you’d be able to ID his prints.” I slowed, giving Olivestra a minute to catch up. “Because you print all your employees before you hire them, don’t you, Frank?”

I didn’t wait for him to respond. I already knew the answer. “The open window was just a decoy. A clever bit of misdirection. What else have you got on the thief, Darcy? Who he was?”

“Even though it was hard to get the window open,” he replied, “he got the window open, so I think that he was a strong person. Do you think that he was a strong person? I do not understand why he would go to all the trouble of opening the window if he was not going to go through it, though. Do you think that maybe it was really hot in here? Because it does not seem that hot now.”

In this perfectly climate-controlled casino? I don’t think so. “Darcy, if you can’t tell us anything use—”

“And he was five foot five.”

“Excuse me?”

“Or less. Five foot five or less.”

“But how—”

Darcy raced to the other side of the room, then pressed himself up against the wall, giggling excitedly. “See how all the chairs are lined up against the wall? Evenly spaced. Except one. I hate that. They should all be in an evenly spaced straight line. Don’t you think they should be evenly spaced? And then I thought—maybe they’re not evenly spaced—”

“Because he needed to move one to get up on the window riser.”

“If he’d have been five foot six or more, he could’ve stepped up there himself. But five foot five—”

“He needed a chair.” I glanced across at Mr. Castle, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable. I’m not nearly as good at estimating height or distance as Darcy—well, in his case, it isn’t estimating, it’s just plain knowing—but I’m almost six feet tall, and Castle appeared to be eye level with my clavicle. Which suggested to me…

“I think that maybe he took off his shoes and walked around in his socks when he was in here, because he did not leave tracks,” Darcy continued. “As soon as he left the room, he put his shoes back on.”

Which would be easy to do without attracting notice, if you worked right next door. But we still didn’t have any proof.

“I think that even though he was a strong man he had to work really hard to open the window,” Darcy continued.

“I know, Darcy, you’ve already—”

“He probably maybe even said a swearword, like my dad does when he can’t get the attic door unstuck.”

“Your point being…?”

“If he said something…he left behind saliva.”

My eyebrows rose. “Two-point-five droplets a swearword?”

Darcy nodded. “Plus sweat. I smell sweat.”

“Both saliva and sweat could be tested for DNA, if we can find enough of it.”

“And Skin Bracer Cooling Blue aftershave lotion.”

I did a double take. “You can smell his aftershave?”

“In the curtains.” Darcy shrugged, then stared at the floor, fidgeting with his fingers.

“This is absurd,” Castle protested. “This isn’t real detective work. It’s like…a stand-up comedy routine.”

“Funny you should think that, Mr. Castle,” I said, deciding to make my move. “Because it’s clear to me we’re looking for someone on the inside, someone your height, your strength, someone with intimate knowledge of the casino security system and how money is transported from the casino floor to the vault. Someone with an office nearby where the cash could be quickly stashed during the five-minute camera blackout. Someone who is smart, patient…and extremely fastidious.”

“What the hell are you implying?”

“Well, I don’t have Darcy’s sense of smell, but that spray or pomander or whatever it is you have on your hair is practically gagging me.”

“Also the foot powder,” Darcy murmured quietly. “Pee
yew.
”

“You know what I think, Mr. Castle? I think you knocked yourself on the head, pried open the window with a crowbar or something, then stashed the cash in your office.”

“Now look here, Susan,” Olivestra said, throwing back his shoulders and poking out his paunch. “I invited you here to solve a crime, not to latch on to the first suspect you met. I’ve known Dominic Castle for over fifteen years. He’s one of my main men and there’s no way I’m going to believe that he—he—” His face reddened and I was pretty sure he was exceeding the average saliva droplet expulsion rate. “—that he
stole
from me.”

“Well, I could call Forensics, but you said you wanted to keep this quiet. I know you take DNA samples from your employees at the same time you fingerprint them, so I’ll leave it up to you. Test the curtain for saliva and sweat, compare them with a sample from your main man, and see what you come up with, okay? You lay out enough money, you can have the tests done downtown in forty-eight hours. In the meantime, I noticed Mr. Castle has a grooming kit in his bottom desk drawer. Why don’t you go open it and see if it has any Skin Bracer Cooling Blue aftershave? ’Cause if it does…” I wagged my finger under Castle’s nose and put on my best faux-Cuban accent. “Lucy, I think you’ve got some ’splainin’ to do.”

Olivestra remained silent, but I could see his indignation concretizing into a cold realization of truth.

Castle began to sputter. “This—this is an outrage. Utterly reprehensible. I’m calling my lawyer and filing charges for slander and gross police misconduct. You haven’t heard the last of me, Ms. Pulaski.”

I stared deeply into Olivestra’s simmering eyes. “Somehow, Mr. Castle, I kinda think maybe I have. Like, maybe, everybody has.” I grabbed Darcy by the shoulder. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. “C’mon, Darcy. You’ve earned yourself a custard. My treat.”

“WHY?” AMIR PLEADED, his hands pinned behind his back and his body pressed against the stainless steel plating of the fast-food grill. “Why are you doing this to me? I do not even know you!”

“I know you. I know who you are. More important, I know
what
you are.”

“Please do not hurt me, sir. Please!” Amir cried, but it was no use. Thunderbolts of pain radiated up his arms and through his shoulder blades. “Is it my skin color? I am not from Iraq, if that is what you are thinking. Or Iran, or Saudi Arabia. I am from New Delhi.”

“I don’t care about that,” Tucker said, pulling the man’s arms even tighter.

“Then please stop. Please. I have a wife. I have three daughters. A newborn son.”

“Uh-huh. And when was the last time you saw any of them?”

“I saw them—I saw them—why do you ask me this question?”

“Just wonderin’.” Tucker was a big man, not tall, but thick, and rippling with muscles, muscles born of hard work, physical labor, not pushing weights around in some fancy-ass gym. He shoved Amir forward, pressing his bare chest against the edge of the cooking stove. Amir screamed, trying to push himself away. “Be careful! Please! I have not yet turned off the equipment.”

“I noticed. I’m cookin’ a little somethin’ up for you.”

“But why? I am nothing. I do not even run this place! I am just the assistant manager.” His face was stricken, desperate. “Please—my wallet is in my back pocket. I do not have much, but whatever I have, it is yours.”

Tucker tightened his grip on both of the man’s arms, bending them almost to the breaking point. After all those years living off the streets, moving from one hardscrabble job to the next, Tucker knew what he was and what he wasn’t. He might have many failings. But he was not a thief. The very suggestion made his blood boil. He wrapped a rubber cord around Amir’s wrists, then secured him to the grill. “You got pictures of your little girls in that wallet?”

Amir hesitated. “Well…no. There is not so much room.”

“Pretty much written them off, haven’t you?”

“That is not true. I love my little darlings. I—”

“You got a new piece of ass, some slutty teenager who’s workin’ as your fry cook and will spread her legs for the cost of a quarter pounder.”

“That is not true!” Amir squirmed, trying to keep his stomach off the super-heated stainless steel.

“Is. She’s makin’ it with Wilfred, too. The janitor. You know. The one with more acne than face.”

“I—I do not believe it.”

“And for that you gave up your family. Your wife. Your three girls.”

“Listen to me, my man. There are things you do not know. Financial matters. My wife is better off—”

“And what about Anna, Khouri, and Indira? Are they better off?”

“Please. I do not know why you are asking me all these questions. I do not know…what business it is of yours. But I take care of my girls. I visit whenever I can—and I give them whatever—”

“When was the last time you made your child support payments?”

“My—” Amir stopped short. “Is that what this is about? Are you from the DHS? I know I am a little behind—”

“More than a little.”

“But it is so hard, trying to make a living in this country, working sixty hours a week at a Burger Bliss. I barely clear twenty thousand American. I have told them that. I filed a report. Talk to your bosses.”

Tucker gave the knot a twist, sending another searing bolt of pain coursing through the man’s body. “Do I act like I’m from DHS?”