The Dead Don't Speak (12 page)

After some rapid-fire Spanish curses from Humberto, the man at the Sheriff's Office said they would put out an AMBER Alert.

*****

Simon spit his scotch, his fifth of the day, halfway across the living room when Cassandra Hernandez's face appeared on his television screen. His eyes searched frantically for information about when she was found. It took a moment for his drunken brain to realize it was an AMBER Alert. That meant they thought she was missing.

So they hadn't found her.

Simon's phone rang. He answered, "What?"

"Stay calm…" It was Chris.

"I am looking at it right now."

"No big deal. I'll come over and we can talk about it. Try to stay on an even keel. You sound like you've been drinking."

"I am and will continue."

The line went dead.

Chris arrived half an hour later. Traffic was kind. In that time Simon had consumed another two drinks.

"What do we do?" Simon said to Chris when he let him in.

Chris shrugged, "Nothing. Just a missing girl. Probably met a guy and ran away. There's nothing to worry about."

"She was at my show! They will find out that much. If anyone remembers you bringing her backstage, I am dead. Both of us are dead!"

"Please," Chris scoffed. "People hardly look twice at the skanks I bring to you. You're overreacting."

"What if they find her body?" Simon asked.

"Then they’ll perform a murder investigation," Chris shrugged again. "We wiped her clean and the desert is working on her as we speak. Whatever they find, if anything, will not be the Cassandra Hernandez with the sexy curves and pretty face. It'll be a rotten sack of half-eaten, dried-up meat and bone. We don't have much to worry about."

"Lenny?" Daphne said into her cellphone.

"Who's calling, please?"

"Daphne Carter."

"How's Sarah?" Lenny Murdock asked.

"Alive, unresponsive. In a coma. The doctors aren’t telling us much beyond that." Daphne shook her head and looked out the window at the row of houses along Innisbrook Avenue. "I really can't talk about it, Len."

Lenny understood. A father himself, he didn't want to think about what Daphne must be going through. He changed his tact, "How are you holding up?"

"Tired. So, so tired."

It was true. She'd returned home, taking Tim's suggestion that she get some rest. She'd showered, closed the black-out blinds in the bedroom, and crashed for fourteen hours. Upon waking, an hour prior to her call to Lenny, she felt as if she hadn't slept at all. The feeling of disconnect and apathy hadn't changed. What had changed was her mindset. A woman like Daphne couldn't remain a victim for long. It wasn't in her DNA. She would find out who did this to her daughter. She would see justice done.

"I would think. Man," Lenny exhaled. "If Samantha had that happen to her, I'd be taking the Beretta from under my bed and looking for the son of a bitch who did it."

"I'd like to see the footage you have. I know chunks are missing. But still..." Daphne said.

"Any time. Let me know when you're coming and I'll go through it with you."

"I appreciate it, Lenny."

"We dinosaurs have to stick together," Murdock said.

Daphne hung up her phone.

She lingered outside the hospital's rear entrance smoking a cigarette. Daphne had kicked the habit years ago at Tim's behest. Now with her little girl in a coma, most likely forever, what did it matter?

Daphne finished the cigarette and went inside. She found Tim reading to Sarah. She stayed out of the room, leaning against the wall, listening like she used to do when Sarah was younger. Daphne listened for a few moments; she didn't recognize the book.

She walked into the room and said, "What book is that?"

Tim finished reading the paragraph and answered, "Treasure Island.” One of Sarah's childhood favorites.

"I spoke with Lenny Murdock a little while ago. Remember him?"

Tim nodded. He set the book in his lap and used a finger to hold the page. Daphne hadn't said much since the accident. If she was ready to vent, he wanted to give her his full attention.

"Said he'd go through the security camera footage with me. I didn't ask about what's missing. I'll bring that up in person."

Tim studied her face, "What's on your mind, Daph?"

"I've been thinking a lot about this. Whoever ran Sarah over may have been there before the cameras went down. That means there could be pictures of them somewhere. I'm going to find out who it was."

"Then what?" Tim asked.

Daphne held her husband's gaze but couldn't answer. Then what?

*****

Dylan Tovak smiled as Margaret, Walter, Zach, and Cayte walked through the door to his office and arranged themselves in the four chairs Molly had clustered around the desk.

Dylan began, "I'm prepared to make you an offer." He spoke in the direction of Margaret and Walter. "Three years for eight hundred thousand with half guaranteed and paid bi-annually. The first payment coming as soon as the contract is signed."

"Eight hundred?" Margaret asked, incredulous. "What happened to seven figures?"

"We will also," Tovak continued, unperturbed, "provide your family with one of the homes in our corporate village for the duration of Zach's employment with Versailles. It is two stories, four bedrooms, three baths, around three thousand square feet. It features a couple large living rooms, a decked out kitchen, nice office, dining room, sun room, in-ground pool, and hot tub. The home is valued around five hundred thousand. That puts us at 1.3 million not including perks at Versailles, which will be doled out on an as needed basis."

Walter whistled, "Big house."

"Sure is," Margaret agreed.

Zach and Cayte stayed quiet. They knew none of this was really about them. However, Zach listened intently.

Dylan went on, turning his attention solely to Zach, "The show schedule would be two shows a week, a few days apart. I'm thinking one in the middle of the week and one on the weekend."

Zach nodded.

"I have our legal team looking into child labor laws to make sure your rights are protected. They don't foresee a problem with two shows weekly, but due diligence and all. You will get time off each year. We don't expect you to work three years straight through. The entire three-year schedule will be worked out in advance, and I want your approval too, Zach. Your dad will be the one signing everything but I want to make sure you're happy."

"Thank you," Zach said. He thought a moment and asked, "How big is the theater?"

"We have a hundred-seat room that I think will be perfect for your show. It's cozy. Crowd noise will be minimal. It's a nice space. I plan on taking you to it after this meeting."

Zach brightened. "Okay."

"Plus, you are a brand new performer and we want to start you out slowly. The last thing we want is for you to get overwhelmed. Do well in the hundred-seater and we'll look at moving you into something larger."

This time Zach said nothing. He liked the idea of a hundred seats. Just enough people to get multiple hits on his opening questions without an overwhelming crowd response. Zach smiled at Tovak; one hundred seats was his Goldilocks zone. Tovak returned the grin.

"What about Cayte?" Zach asked.

Dylan looked at Cayte who seemed surprised to be brought up in this conversation.

"She'll live with you," Dylan said, unsure of what Zach meant.

"I know. But she's a singer, a really good one. Cayte should be able to sing."

"Is that true, Cayte?" Dylan asked.

Cayte nodded, "Yes, sir."

"We have plenty of open-mic nights. We could get you a performer's pass so you could enter the casino."

"No," Zach said. "Cayte deserves her own show. I'm not doing my show if she can't have one, too."

Holy shit, this kid is already playing the part of a star
, Dylan thought, his smile broadening at the boy's gumption. He asked Zach, "What did you have in mind?"

"Now wait just a goddamned minute," Walter interrupted, feeling his opportunity at a large payday slipping away. "Zach, you shut your mouth. This man was kind enough to offer—“

"Mr. Hepson," Dylan interrupted. "You are not going to speak to Zach like that in my office. Please remember one thing,
he
is the performer. You are just a name I need on a piece of paper."

Blood flooded Walter's cheeks, "You listen to me, you little shit," Walter began to rise from his seat. "He is my
son
and I will talk to him however I damn well please."

Dylan also rose as he spoke, looming over his desk at the diminutive Walter, his voice remained eerily calm. "Mr. Hepson, Zach may be your son, but the poor child is neglected. Forced to travel seven or eight months out of the year. I assume he's not enrolled in school. I further assume the same is true for Cayte," he glanced at Margaret who looked away. "Either you treat your son the way he deserves to be treated or I will file charges for neglect, the state of Nevada will take Zach away, and then I'll file for temporary custody. Once I have that, and I
will
get it, I will file for permanent custody. Zach gets a better life than he ever had with his neglectful father and goes on to do amazing things with his gift."

Walter Hepson had nothing to say. Margaret kept quiet as well, but gave Dylan a coy grin.

Tovak turned back to Zach, "I will look into a lounge show for Cayte." Then he turned to the girl, "What type of music you sing, sweetheart?"

"Country," she said in a barely audible voice.

Tovak continued to hover over his four guests as he spoke. "Good, people like country. Common myth that only rednecks listen to country. Or maybe it's not a myth. Either way they've got money and Versailles wants it. I will need you to audition for some folks, myself included."

"All right," Cayte said.

"Fantastic," Tovak straightened his posture and clapped his hands.  He brightened visibly, the smile returning to his face. "Mr. Hepson, I will have the contract ready for you in a few days. Until then please remain in your suite as our guest. Kids, you're welcome to remain in your room as well. If you need anything, please let Julian know."

Dylan noticed Cayte blush at the mention of Julian's name. That was good. She was obviously important to Zach, so her having a crush on Julian could be useful.

"Zach, if you'll accompany me, I will show you the theater."

"Cayte, too?" Zach said.

"Sure."

Dylan and the children left Walter and Margaret sitting in the office, alone, looking dumbfounded.

The meeting had gone better than Zach could have imagined. Seeing Tovak manhandle his father was reassuring. The one person who truly frightened him wasn't immune to a verbal thrashing. Walter Hepson was human, just like everyone else.

"The theater is named for, and modeled after, Salon d'Hercule at the actual Palace of Versailles," Dylan said as he, Zach, and Cayte walked. "It's got the same ceiling murals, gilded trim, and pink stone. It even has a mock-stone fireplace at the back of the stage. It's quite a room."

They arrived at the doors to the theater and Dylan held one open for Cayte and Zach.

"My word," Cayte said when Dylan switched on the lights.

"Mine, too," Zach said.

"Cool, huh?" Dylan goaded.

Tovak's description of the theater did not do it justice. The deep, smoky pink stone walls reminded Zach of the wild roses that grew in the summer in Pennsylvania. The "gilded trim" was actually gold plate, polished within an inch of its life. It boasted an intricate design that descended three feet from the ceiling on every wall. Hovering over all this was a beautifully muraled ceiling, a wonderful copy of "The Apotheosis of Hercules."

"I love it," Zach said. "It's perfect."

Julian arrived then, cellphone in hand.

"Daphne Carter for you," Julian said holding the phone out.

"All right. Can you stay with Zach and Cayte? This shouldn't take long."

"You got it," Julian said.

Cayte visibly stiffened.

"So what do you think?" Julian asked.

"It's great," Zach said. "I can't believe I get to do my show here. It's like a castle!"

"It's gorgeous," Cayte agreed.

"Get up on the stage. Try it out," Julian said.

"Me or Cayte?" Zach asked.

Julian looked at Cayte. He asked, "You're a performer too?"

"You go, Cayte, sing us a song," Zach prodded.

"No, no, no. I couldn't. I need to warm up and there's no music... and… no."

"I only know how to do one thing on stage," Zach said. "Is it okay?"

Julian nodded although he wasn't sure what permission he'd just given.

Zach ran, climbed onto the stage and began to pace back and forth. Julian took a seat in the front row, Cayte took one beside him. In Zach's mind this was his masterstroke, his final winning-over of both Cayte and Julian.

He had what he wanted, a means of gaining his independence from Walter and keeping Cayte around indefinitely. It was okay now. He could tell his closest friends the truth, or rather, a piece of it.

"I'm getting something," Zach said in his projected stage voice. His words echoed in the empty theater. He lowered his volume to a normal speaking tone and continued. "It's coming from over here," Zach's hand hovered toward Julian and Cayte. "Someone with a close relative who's passed."

Julian tensed.

"Yes, an older relative." Julian relaxed at these words. Zach went on, "A woman. Her name begins with an M. It's an older lady, a mother, or an aunt, maybe a much older sister or cousin."

"I had a great aunt Mary," Julian said.

"Mary, yes, good... that's it. She was an old fashioned woman, set in her ways."

"That's right."

Cayte watched, enjoying the show.

"She wishes your family hadn't left people behind. Is this making sense?"

"Yes," Julian said, leaning forward now.

"She doesn't like that you're in Las Vegas. It's not a place she'd ever go." Zach saw Julian nodding with a knowing smile, "But she's proud of you, proud of how you turned out."

"Is she?" Julian said.

Zach stopped pacing. He grinned at Julian, "How should I know?"

"What... just happened?" Julian asked, confused.

Zach's grin grew, "Just messing with you. It's called cold reading."

"What the hell?” Julian shook his head, still not completely understanding. “Where'd you learn to do that?"