Stripped (34 page)

She began pulling Stride out of the office. Sawhill stood up and laid his hands flat on his desk. “See that you do,” he called after them. He and Stride exchanged icy glares, and then Amanda had them back in the corridor, with the door closed behind her.

Amanda leaned back against the wall and wiped her brow. The air-conditioning was back on, and the office air was frigid, but she was sweating. She gave Stride a smile and a low whistle. “That wasn’t too tactful.”

“I know. Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in the middle of it.”

“This is a corporate town,” Amanda pointed out. “Image matters to these guys.”

Stride shook his head. “Money matters.”

“You’re not going to change the city, Stride.”

He nodded. “I know.” Before he could stop himself, he added, “I’m not sure I’m going to stay.”

Amanda looked shocked. “What?”

“They want me back in Minnesota,” he explained. “I’m thinking seriously about it”

“What about Serena?” she asked.

Stride didn’t say anything. That was the question, he knew. The one on which his life hung. What about Serena?

“Nothing’s set in stone,” Stride told her. “Let’s catch Blake Wilde first”

Amanda pulled into the parking lot of the downtown library and got out of the car, the heat searing her lungs. It was late afternoon, when the October weather in Las Vegas should be perfect, but the sun still felt like an oven cranked to the broiler setting.

She had been stewing about the idea of Stride leaving since he told her. There was no reason to be angry at him, but she was angry anyway. For once, she had a partner she could work with, and suddenly she might lose him. She hated the idea of starting all over again with someone new. Anyone she got would probably be like Cordy, making jokes behind her back, ogling her tits, looking for ways to drive her out. It made her wonder again what she was doing here, and whether she and Bobby would both be better off if she followed Stride’s lead. Get out. Head for San Francisco. Leave the city and all its craziness behind.

She was in no mood for games. Her patience was worn down, like a T-shirt washed so many times you could see through it. When she looked across Las Vegas Boulevard, she saw the car again. A steel gray Lexus SUV. She had seen it twice before that afternoon and had already run the plates. She knew who was driving.

Amanda crossed the street. The car windows were smoked, so she couldn’t see inside. She rapped her knuckles on the driver’s window and waited.

The window rolled down. She felt a blast of cold air.

“Hello, Leo,” she said, trying not to boil over. “You following me?”

Leo Rucci was wearing sunglasses. The red veins in his neck bulged like barbells. “It’s a free country, ain’t it?”

“Sure is. Where any shithole hood like you can become a millionaire. God bless America.”

“Hey—”

“Don’t play games with me, Leo. I’m having a really bad day. Now get out of here, and don’t let me see you behind me again, or I’m going to haul your ass downtown.”

“For what?”

“For obstruction of justice and being really annoying to a police officer.”

“I can help you,” Leo said. “My way’s a lot quicker than some monkey trial. You get a lead on this guy, you call me. I take care of the rest.”

“Go back to the golf course, Leo. Let us worry about Blake.”

Amanda turned on her heel and stalked back across the street to the library. She heard Rucci’s car start up and roar away. Inside, she made her way to the reference desk.

“I’m looking for Monica Ramsey,” she said.

The librarian pointed at a tall woman in her fifties who was refiling microfiche boxes from a cart. Amanda approached her.

“Ms. Ramsey? I’m Amanda Gillen. You left a message on my voice mail?”

Monica had owlish glasses and long black hair tied in a ponytail. She was built like a walking stick and wore flimsy plastic gloves on her hands. “Oh, yes. You’re the detective. You’re looking for that man.”

“That’s right,” Amanda said, feeling a tiny glimmer of hope after hours of frustration. “Have you seen him?”

“Well, I think so, yes, although it was a number of weeks ago. I don’t see what help I can be.”

“You’d be surprised. Please tell me about it.”

“Oh, of course. Let’s sit down.”

They sat at the corner of a long reference table near the bookshelves. Monica peeled off her gloves. “I always wear these, you know, when dealing with fiche. The film is so delicate and so old.” She tapped her finger on the sketch that Amanda placed between them. “This man, he was so rough at handling the fiche. I had to ask him to be careful.”

“You’re sure this is the man?”

“Oh, yes. Those eyes are quite unforgettable.”

“No offense, but can I ask why you didn’t call me earlier?”

“I’m so sorry. We’ve been away. A Caribbean cruise. I just got back to the library today.”

’Tell me what you remember about the man,” Amanda said.

“Well, again, this was quite a while ago. Midsummer, I think. July? Maybe August. He came in on successive days, three or four days in a row, looking up all sorts of material related to Las Vegas in the 1960s. I pulled fiche, magazines, books. He wanted it all.”

“Did he tell you specifically what he was looking for?”

“Well, he had me run a Lexis search on one of the old casinos. The Sheherezade, I think. Yes, that’s right, because he was also reading about Boni Fisso, and as you can imagine, we have
quite
a lot of material about him.”

“Did he say why he wanted this information?”

“Oh, no. He really didn’t say much at all. Not a very talkative type. We get lots of requests for archival information, so it wasn’t at all unusual.”

“Did he ask you to research any other individuals? People besides Boni Fisso?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Monica, I really need your help here. We need to find this man right away. I’m going to ask you to think back, think real hard, and remember anything distinctive about him. What he wore, what he said, what he carried, what he did. Anything that might give us a clue about who he is and where we can find him.”

Monica sat up very straight in her chair, and her neck looked elongated. The librarian’s tongue slipped out to wet her lips. Amanda was reminded of a giraffe at the zoo, reaching to get a leaf from a distant tree branch.

“He had a blue backpack with him,” she said. “That was where he carried his materials. I really don’t remember how he was dressed. Jeans, maybe? Otherwise, there wasn’t anything special about him. I’m very sorry.”

Amanda was disappointed. “How about a car? Did you see him come or go, or see what direction he might have headed?”

Monica shook her head.

“Have you seen him since then?”

“No, he never came back, not when I was here.”

Amanda stood up. “I appreciate your time, Monica. Thanks very much for calling me. If you remember anything else, please let me know.”

“Of course I will.”

As Amanda turned to leave, she heard Monica giggling. She reversed her course. “What is it?”

Monica blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s very silly. I was just thinking, if you want to catch this man, you should stake out doughnut shops.” She laughed again.

Amanda looked at her, wondering if this was a stupid police joke. “Why?”

“Well, I remember now, the man was obsessed with Krispy Kreme doughnuts. I caught him eating a doughnut at the fiche machine, and I had to tell him that he couldn’t eat in the library. I told him I couldn’t resist those things either, and he said they were addictive.”

Amanda felt her heart race. “Thanks again, Monica.”

Son of a bitch
, she thought
Krispy Kreme doughnuts
.

Claire sat with one leg tucked beneath her and the other leg dangling from Serena’s sofa. She cradled a warm mug of coffee in both hands. Her hair was loose and uncombed, and she wore a roomy, extralong T-shirt that stretched to the middle of her thighs. She had bare feet, with nails painted red.

She glanced at the wall clock that tick-tocked behind them, counting away the minutes. “It’s late,” she murmured. “Past eleven. Where’s your lover?”

Serena looked up from the computer on her lap, although she could barely concentrate on the screen. Her eyes were tired.

“He’s still out trying to find Blake,” Serena said.

“You resent it, don’t you? Being here with me.”

“No, I don’t resent being with you. Sitting around just isn’t my style. I want to be where the action is.”

“That’s right,” Claire said with a grin. “You’re tough, aren’t you?”

“That’s me.”

In fact, it had driven her crazy, being shut up in the town home all day. She had made calls, hunted down leads on the Internet, and gone back through her notes to find something she had missed, but none of it was the same as being on the street. She felt isolated, cut off from the investigation.

“He’s attractive, your man. I see what you see in him.”

“Thanks.”

“He loves you. It’s there when he looks at you.”

Serena remembered that Jonny had said the same thing about Claire the previous night. “I love him,” she said.

“I’ve been with men, too, you know,” Claire said.

“Meaning?”

“It’s not like I don’t understand the attraction.”

Claire unfurled her legs and climbed off the sofa. She padded to the white wall and examined the desert photographs hung there. “Did you take these?”

She looked back, and Serena nodded.

“They’re striking. You have an eye for the land. That’s what they can’t teach, you know. The eye. A lot of people understand the mechanics, but they can’t see the picture.”

“You’re pretty calm about it,” Serena told her.

“About what?”

“About almost getting killed.”

Claire shrugged. “I wasn’t calm last night. But I feel safe with you.”

“I could take you to Boni’s place. It’s like a fortress there.”

“That’s not safe. That’s a prison.”

“He wants to make up with you,” Serena said. “He was glad you called him.”

“Oh, are you a family therapist now?”

“No, but I know what it’s like to be an adult without parents. There are a lot of times when I wish things were different.”

Claire continued to stare at the photographs on the wall, but Serena thought she had touched a sensitive spot. “I wish things were different, too, Serena. But they’re not.”

“He says he doesn’t care that you’re gay.”

“Catholics never care if you’re gay, as long as you’re celibate,” Claire said.

Serena watched Claire smile and realized it was false. She thought Claire might cry.

“It has nothing to do with your being gay, does it?” Serena asked. “The split between you and Boni.”

“No.”

“What is it, then?”

Claire shook her head. “It was a long time ago. I don’t want to go back there.”

She could hear it in Claire’s tone. The secret was profoundly horrible, whatever it was. “I’ve got monsters like that, too.”

“I know you do. That’s why we click. We both have pasts we’re trying to run from.”

“Did you get therapy?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Claire sighed. “Please, Serena. Let’s drop it. I couldn’t talk about it then. I can’t talk about it now. Not to anyone. Not when my father’s name is Boni Fisso.”

Serena let the silence stretch out while Claire stared blankly at the photographs. She could see raw pain in her face.

“Boni says you’ve got millions in the bank,” Serena said.

Claire smiled, a real one this time. “Are you after me for my money now?”

“I was just curious.”

“When I left, I wanted to be independent. I am. Boni didn’t give me a stake. I built it myself. So yes, I’ve got a lot of money. I’m Boni’s daughter; genes count for something. Plus all that time I spent in business school.”

“But you’re happy living in a small apartment? Singing your songs?”

“I’ve learned a lot being on my own,” Claire said. “I’m free, and no one owns me. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t have any ambition. There’s a part of me that still longs to be in charge of the hotels and run them
my
way.”

“You still could be.”

Claire shook her head. “Not if it means going back to my father.”

“How would you run them?” Serena asked. “If you had the keys to the kingdom.”

“Me? I’m tired of all the bigness. Big shows. Big names. I think people want intimacy. They don’t want to get lost in a crowd. They want to see singers, not shows. Talent, not names. And glamour, like in the old days. The huge resorts have glitz but not much character.”

“You could start your own place.”

Claire was wistful. “Maybe someday. It would be nice to show Boni that I can do it without him. And that you don’t have to sell your soul to the devil to be successful.”

Serena heard bitterness creep back into her voice. “You want to tell me what he did to you?”

“It wasn’t him,” Claire said. “It was someone else. But Boni let it happen. The business came first, like it always does.” She looked as if she were about to say more, but she clapped her arms around her body and shivered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“It’s in the past. I don’t worry about it. I like to sing and drink and talk about life and make passionate love.”

“I like two out of the four,” Serena said, laughing.

“Which two?”

“Well, we know I don’t drink.”

Claire laughed, too. She came over to where Serena was sitting and knelt by the side of the easy chair. She leaned forward, her bare arms on the cushion. “I’m going to bed,” she said.

“Okay.”

“How about you?”

Serena didn’t want to look into Claire’s eyes, but there seemed to be no other place in the room to stare. The blue eyes teased her. “Is that an invitation?” Serena asked. As if it were a joke.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think Jonny would be too happy to come home and find us in bed together.”