The Dead Don't Speak (13 page)

"A long time ago my mom took me to see a guy who did cold reading. I thought about it for a long time afterwards. I realized it didn't matter what he said, really, someone would raise their hand because the details were so vague." Zach took a seat on the edge of the stage.

"But how'd you know about my aunt?" Julian asked.

"I have no idea about your aunt. I started with the letter M because it's a soft consonant that also sounds like N. I had two letters working for me, popular ones to begin a name: Mary, Mavis, Margaret, Madeline, Nancy, Natalie, Natasha. Or I could play it off as a name that began with a vowel but sounds like an M or N: Anna, Annie, Emily, Emmett. That's a bunch of names and one of you would probably had a relative who fits the description."

"I’m confused,” Julian confessed. “Do you really hear voices or are you always cold reading people?”

Zach grinned one more time, not answering the question.

*****

Daphne sat in her silver Mercedes S600, stuck in traffic on the Strip, her cell phone in hand. She had expected Molly, Dylan Tovak's administrative assistant, to answer the phone. This boy Julian was new. A protégé?

"Dylan, Daphne Carter here. I see you hired an assistant."

"Yeah, smart kid. Only been at the job a couple days. Doing well. How's Sarah?"

"She's stable but unresponsive. Doctors are just not sure how to read it." She said. Daphne scanned traffic ahead. Driving along the Strip was always a headache.

"I'm very sorry to hear it."

"Thanks. Reason I'm calling, what do we know on the Simon Simmons deal? Shelly told me you were still considering it. I thought we'd agreed to move forward."

"You see the piece in the Herald? Some twelve-year-old boy made an ass of Simmons during his last show. I'm not so sure about him," Dylan said.

Daphne's grip tightened on the wheel. "He did, huh?"

"Yes. I was thinking we could put the deal on hold until you get back fulltime. It's your baby and I'd like to have you around for input. Last thing I want to do is screw it up."

Corporate man, Daphne thought, fucking vertically-minded snake.

"Whatever you think is best. You're the entertainment man," Daphne said. "Got anything else cooking?"

"Not at the moment. Always scouting talent but no deals in the works. Kind of in a holding pattern right now."

"All right. Look, I've got to go." Tovak had told her enough. While she was out of the office he would do everything within his power to get her fired. Strangely, and for the first time in a decades, it didn't matter. Sarah came first.

"Okay. My best to Sarah and Tim."

"Thanks." Daphne hung up.

The realization that work had been her first priority for half her life came crashing down on her like a tsunami. Along with the crushing feeling of regret, a new set of tears flowed from her eyes. She blinked them away. It was time to focus.

Tovak is up to something. That man is never in a "holding pattern."

Daphne's Mercedes came to a stop in the outdoor parking area at Camelot. She couldn't bring herself to use any of the garages, even if they meant a shorter walk. After having spent so much time indoors, the sun felt warm and therapeutic on her skin as she covered the ground to the casino.

The air in the lobby was cool, familiar, and distressing. Daphne told the girl at the front desk, her name-tag said Tasha, she had a meeting with Mr. Murdock from security. Tasha asked Daphne to have a seat anywhere in the lobby, or try her hand at a game, while she contacted Mr. Murdock.

Ten minutes later Leonard Murdock arrived in the lobby.

Lenny called to Daphne as he strode across the floor, "Daphne, good to see you." She rose as he approached. Lenny continued, "I wish it was under better circumstances."

Leonard Murdock looked much like he had back in their Stardust days. The only difference was he'd lost most of his hair, except for a dark halo around his head, and he'd developed crow's feet. He was still tall and strong, appearing to be made entirely of right angles.

"Good to see you, too," Daphne said. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Follow me."

Lenny led her to his office. It could have been a box at the center of the Earth for all its charm. The walls were pale yellow and faded, a large desk occupied about half the room, there was barely space enough for Lenny to sneak around to his side. The ventilation was such that the room perpetually smelled like a mix of Lenny's cologne and the last meal he ate at his desk. When the air conditioning ran, the room became a freezer.

"It's a terrible thing, what happened to Sarah. Anything I can do to help," Lenny said.

"I appreciate that and your meeting with me today. I know you're busy."

"Hell, Daphne, if it'd been my daughter I'd be bustin' heads all over town."

The thought had crossed her mind. Daphne said, "What can you show me?"

"In a minute," Lenny said. "I wanted to talk to you first. I've learned some things that are troubling. First off, you know about the missing footage?" Daphne nodded, so he continued, "It seems someone called the security company pretending to be me and had this dumb shit named Dennis reset the entire East bank of cameras. Took out the whole hotel and hotel parking."

"Damn," Daphne said.

"The timing is too perfect." Lenny winced as the words left his mouth. "I'm sorry! What I mean is, this feels premeditated. Do you know any reason why someone would want to hurt Sarah?"

Daphne shook her head, "I don't think so. I work such long hours, I don't know much about what was going on in her life."

"I wanted to put that in your head before we watch the footage, if you recognize anyone let me know," Lenny said.

"I will."

Lenny turned the LCD computer monitor so it faced Daphne. He came around the desk, they would watch together.

"I've seen this footage twenty times at least," Lenny said. "I'm going to start it from when Sarah arrives. Is that okay?"

"I trust you," Daphne said.

Lenny leaned over his desk and grabbed the keyboard, pulling it to him. He pressed a key to set the video in motion. It was moving four or eight times faster than real time, Daphne couldn't be sure. The display was split into for different boxes, each from a different angle of the garage.

Lenny narrated. "Here's Sarah," he pointed out the Jaguar. "She parks here and waits... waits... vehicles come and go... no one appears to be watching her."

There was a long stretch of inactivity, and then the screen went black. No one walked past the camera and no one bothered Sarah. She remained in her vehicle the whole time.

"What about before she arrived? Could someone have been waiting for her?" Daphne asked.

"Not likely but we can look."

Lenny restarted the video an hour prior to Sarah's arrival. In that time only one person passed the camera.

"That's Chris, Simon Simmons' manager," Daphne said.

Lenny looked at her. He blinked.

"I'm in talks with Simmons. I did a little research on them both."

Lenny smiled, "Poacher."

Daphne smiled a little too, the first time she had in days, "It's the business I'm in."

The video played until Sarah's Jaguar came into view and parked.

"That's it," Lenny said.

"Not much to work with," Daphne replied. She sank a little further into her seat.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," she said.

"It's just... You're awfully calm. It's a little alarming."

"What do you mean?" Daphne asked.

"What happens if you find the people who did this?"

Lenny could see revenge in Daphne's eyes. He had watched her watch the video. The moment Sarah's vehicle appeared her eyes had flashed. As a former corrections officer, Lenny knew that look. He'd seen it too many times in the eyes of inmates and guards alike.

Daphne said, "That's what the police are for."

"I've heard stronger denials. Remember what I told you on our phone call? What I'd do if this had happened to my little girl?"

"I remember," Daphne said.

"Let me know if you need anything."

The two stood and shook hands. Lenny closed the security footage program on his computer, revealing the Las Vegas Herald website. Daphne noticed large red letters spelling the word Missing. Beneath the words a photo was prominently displayed. It took a moment for the face to match a name in Daphne's memory.

"You okay?" Lenny asked. Daphne had gone pale.

"What's that?" Daphne pointed at the screen.

"Missing girl. Why? You know her?"

"She's Sarah's friend, Cassie."

It had been a long time since Simon had pre-show jitters. As he waited backstage for his show to start, his stomach felt like a ball of lead and his thoughts refused to take shape.

Is the kid in the audience?

Simon looked at the index cards in his hands, moving one behind the other. The words on them, spelling out the details for tonight's show, made no sense to his eyes. The note cards may as well have been written in hieroglyphs.

"Fuckin' kid," Simon muttered. He wiped a single line of perspiration from his temple.

The cue came, Simon dropped the index cards, strode out on stage, and prepared to begin with the usual patter. The stage lighting seemed brighter than usual. The spotlights glared more than he remembered, irritating his eyes. Simon squinted, beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. He felt moisture forming on his upper lip. The words came out, rehearsed as they were, but Simon's gut told him this was not going to go well.

Simon began his first read,

"Someone has a grandmother whose name begins with L?"

There were no hands raised.

"Grandfather?" Simon asked the crowd in the crescent.

Nothing, not even the chirping of crickets.

They're expecting you to fail.

An audience member coughed, and the sound echoed through the room. Simon looked out at the seats, unable to see them because of the bright white spotlights.

Is it a full house?

There was murmuring now. Soft-spoken words floated from the crowd. Simon knew they were talking about him. Who else would they be talking about right now?

"Simon!"

He heard his name being whisper-shouted somewhere to his left. It wasn't coming from the crowd but from beside the stage. He looked; it was Chris, waving for him to come over.

Simon dropped his microphone on the stage. When it hit, the resounding feedback made the audience cringe and cup their ears.

"What the hell is going on?" Chris demanded.

By the time Simon reached Chris the feedback had nearly echoed itself into oblivion.

"I can't do it. I can't remember. You think that kid's here?"

"Jesus Christ! You need to get a grip! You fuck up here and that's it. No more show at Camelot. No more offer from Versailles. Nothing! You'll be working the corporate retreat circuit again. Do you want to go back to doing shows by day and stealing SS numbers by night? Now nut up and get it done."

"I can't. Not tonight." Simon pushed past Chris and staggered toward the elevators.

The leaden feeling in Simon's stomach had given away to an overpowering, acidy ache. He folded in half and vomited on his shoes. A couple of stage hands saw this but didn't move. They watched Simon stand up straight, wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his suit coat, and continue walking. He left a trail of rancid footsteps in his wake.

Chris also watched Simon leave. He could see Simon was coming apart. They'd lose the offer from Versailles now. It might come back, though for a fraction of the original offer, if Simon got his head on straight. That was a big if and Chris knew it.

More likely, Chris thought, Simon would come unraveled and do something stupid. Either get drunk and let information slip to the wrong person about Cassandra or commit some offense that got his show permanently cancelled.

It was time to put some distance between himself and Simon. Formulate an exit strategy to come away clean. Leave Simon holding the bag. The guy was an asshole anyway. Simon had told Chris he had money in a safe deposit box. That could provide Chris with a fresh start somewhere far away.

*****

Julian went to his new boss's office.

"Mr. Tovak around?" He asked Molly.

"Nah. Gone home for the day."

"He keeps you working pretty late," Julian said, congratulating himself on guessing Tovak would be gone.

"Sometimes, yeah. He's got me doing paperwork for that kid with the psychic act. There's a lot to get done and he's really pushing this one through."

"Zach is quite a kid. You should meet him sometime. One second he's a normal twelve-year-old boy, the next he's a damn genius. It's something to see!"

"Sounds like an interesting boy," Molly said. She set aside a small stack of manila file folders. Molly used the open space where the folders had been to rest her elbow on the desk with her chin nestled in the palm of her hand. She looked up at Julian.

He didn't need another signal, "So, working late; you have dinner yet?"

Molly shook her head.

"Would you like to?"

"That depends," she said.

"On what?"

"On whether or not you plan to sleep with me after."

Julian wondered if she was joking. "I don't know about
sleeping
..."

Molly smiled, "Good." She grabbed her purse from under her desk, "So where we going?"

After a quick dinner, a few drinks, and sex that was better than Julian had expected from a good looking girl, the two lay in bed.

Molly spoke first, "What do you think of Dylan?"

"Mr. Tovak? He's a smart man. I think he's a shark but that's not necessarily a bad thing, especially for his position. The entertainment industry is cutthroat. He's very good."

"He is a shark," Molly confirmed with a nod. "He's going to kill Daphne Carter's deal with Simon Simmons."

"How do you know that?"

"He likes to talk after," Molly said. Julian didn't have to ask after what.

"Why would he do that?"

"I think he's after Carter's job. Too bad what happened to her daughter."

"Mmm, it is," Julian said. His phone rang.

The display showed the cell phone number of Julian's buddy, Josh, who worked the front desk at Camelot.

"I have to answer this," he told Molly.

She waved a disinterested hand at him.

Julian answered, "Josh, what's up?"

"Not much. Listen, got something for you. I just heard from a couple guests that Simon Simmons had a total fuckin' freak-out tonight on stage. Walked off and left the audience with no idea what was going on. When he didn't come back they were told by the ushers that the show was cancelled."

"No shit? I was just talking about him with someone. Bailed, huh? That's crazy."

"Yeah, total meltdown."

"Thanks for letting me know," Julian said.

"Sure thing. Figured with your new, important job in the world of entertainment you might like to know ASAP."

"True story. Good lookin' out."

"No problem. Gotta' get back to it. See ya."

"Bye, and thanks again," Julian punched the End button.

"Anything good?" Molly asked.

"I need to call Mr. Tovak."

*****

Detective Pushkin hated driving on the Strip at night. The other motorists there were an oddball mix of speeders and gawkers.

"It'd be safer driving the front lines of a WWI battlefield," he said to himself.

Pushkin hadn't been entirely lax in his investigation of Sarah Carter's hit and run. He had spoken to a few of her friends from school. They had told him about Cassandra Hernandez's disappearance. Cassandra and Sarah were best friends, they did almost everything together. If Cassandra had been abducted, perhaps the two were connected.

The Clark County Sherriff's office was helpful in providing information on the Hernandez girl. Her most recent credit card statement showed she'd purchased two tickets to the Simon Simmons show. According to Sarah and Cassandra's friends the second ticket was for Sarah but she'd been sick and unable to go.

Cassandra having recently gone to a Simon Simmons show and Sarah Carter being struck by an unknown vehicle in a Camelot parking garage meant that Pushkin had to at least speak with Simon Simmons. And what better way to do that than with an unexpected visit?

Pushkin walked up to the front desk at Camelot. A costumed young man stood on the other side wearing a nametag that said Joshua.

"Evening, sir," Joshua said.

"Evening. I’m Detective Pushkin from Las Vegas Metro," he showed the young man his badge. "I am looking for Simon Simmons' suite."

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't give out that information."

"I understand. May I speak with Leonard Murdock, please?"

"One moment," Joshua said. He picked up a telephone and punched a few numbers. Seconds later he began to speak, "Hi, this is Josh from the front desk. I have a Detective..." Josh looked at the detective.

"Pushkin," he said.

"Detective Pushkin here from Las Vegas Metro. He needs to speak with Mr. Murdock."

Josh put a hand over the mouthpiece, "She's transferring me," he said to Pushkin. "Hello, Mr. Murdock, sorry to bother you. I have a Detective Pushkin from Metro here asking to speak with you." Josh listened a moment and said, "Yes, sir."

He handed the telephone to Pushkin.

"Detective Pushkin, what can I do for you?" Lenny asked.

"I want to speak with Simon Simmons. I know he lives in the hotel. I'm looking for his room number."

"You bet, it's 1147."

"Thank you, Mr. Murdock."

"Anytime," Lenny said.

Pushkin handed the phone back to Josh.

Josh said, "I'm sorry, company policies and all."

"I understand," Pushkin said. "Don't want you to lose your job over something that I should have done from my office. Have a good night."

"Be careful up there," Josh said, impressed by how reasonable this cop was. "Word is Simmons had an onstage freak-out tonight. He might not be in the best mood."

"It'll be a short visit, just a couple questions. I'll make it as painless as possible."

A freak-out huh?

"Good luck," Josh said as Pushkin walked away.

Simon gazed out his floor-to-ceiling windows. The sky was darkening and the lights became more vivid along the strip. A streetlight flickered to life in the distance.

There was a loud knock at the door. Simon crossed his apartment to answer, thinking Chris had shown up unannounced again. He opened the door.

The man before Simon was half a foot shorter than himself with thick hair that was mostly gray.

"Can I help you?" Simon said.

"I hope so," he held out a badge and said, "I'm Detective Leon Pushkin, Vegas Metro."

The little color that was left in Simon's face drained away. Pushkin smiled.

"May I come in, Mr. Simmons?"

Simon walked away, heading toward the bar, but left the door open. Pushkin followed him in and closed the door. He watched Simon grab a glass and then an unlabeled decanter of transparent brown liquid.

"Mind pouring me one of those?" Pushkin said. Sure, he was on duty but he prided himself on having the alcohol tolerance of an Irish dock worker. Pushkin had caught the Fremont Slasher. He knew he was above an Internal Affairs probe for having a single drink on the job.

Simon didn't answer. He placed a second glass beside his and poured a healthy slug in both. Simon drained his and poured a second helping. He carried the other glass to Pushkin.

Pushkin swirled the liquid in his tumbler and sniffed.

"Whiskey, man," Pushkin said.

"Better believe it."

Simon mentally patted himself on the back for his cool head and steady nerves.

Pushkin thought the initial drink of whiskey seemed to fortify Simon. Perhaps he was an alcoholic.

"So what brings you by, detective?"

"I'm investigating the hit and run accident that occurred in the East parking garage four nights ago."

"Heard about that. Too bad. Young girl, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, name's Sarah. Her mom is CFO at Versailles."

"Wonder what she was doing here," Simon said.

"Not sure. Maybe she was going to catch a show. Maybe she was meeting someone. Hard to say."

"Mmmm," Simon nodded and sipped his drink.

"Damnedest thing though, Sarah had a friend named Cassandra. Her father reported her missing, saying the last time he saw her was the night of the accident."

"No shit?"

Pushkin shook his head, "Cassandra had tickets to a show of yours a few weeks ago. Does her name ring any bells?"

Simon took another sip, shook his head, "I'm sorry. I do so many shows. The names all run together after a while."

"Also, there is security camera footage from the parking garage." Pushkin snorted. "A little bit. You know how it is. I have to follow up on every possibility."

"I had a show four nights ago." Simon grimaced when he added, "You may have read about it in the Herald."

Pushkin nodded, "What I figured. It was a shot in the dark anyway. Got to chase down every possibility, you know."