Dead Hand: A Cold Poker Gang Mystery

by Smith, Dean Wesley

  “Both extremely thin,” Robin said after a moment. “And a lot of the victims have a memory of a smell of roses.”

  Pickett just shook her head. This was beyond strange and ugly.

  Then Sarge twisted it one more twist.

  “Robin, would it be possible for your people to review missing persons’ cases where a near-future bride went missing. I know I dealt with a lot of them and always thought it was just the bride getting cold feet.”

  Pickett looked at Sarge who was frowning and intent. “You think the women who were set free are only the tip of this?”

  “I have a hunch,” Sarge said. “And Robin, if not too much problem, add in the men who vanished right before getting married as well.”

  “Crap, just crap,” Robin said. “I’ll get more people on this. Back with you two as soon as I can.”

  And Robin hung up.

  “God, I hope you are wrong on this hunch,” Pickett said.

  “So do I,” Sarge said.

  He turned and looked at her intently. “But you don’t think I am, do you?”

  “No,” Pickett said.

  And she hated that more than she wanted to admit.

  CHAPTER TEN

  October 19th, 2016

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  SARGE GLANCED AT Pickett, then back at the Elvis chapel. “Is Stein some sort of marriage expert?”

  “Wrote the major book on how to get married in Las Vegas,” Pickett said.

  “What’s with this old chapel?” Sarge asked.

  “It’s not used anymore,” Pickett said. “Stein’s husband, Bernie, was the Elvis here who married people and kept the building up. He died of a heart attack about twelve years ago and Stein wrote her book and then started freelancing for other chapels and numbers of the casinos.”

  “How much do you trust her?”

  “She helped Robin and me on more cases than I want to count,” Pickett said. “So a lot. She knows weddings and a lot about the darker sides of this city. She and Bernie lived and worked here through the mob days.”

  Sarge nodded. They were going to have to trust someone at some point and if Pickett thought Stein good, they might as well trust her for the moment.

  “I think we need more information about Elvis chapels,” Sarge said, “why they came about, and if Stein has an estimate of how many marriages are performed in Las Vegas every year.”

  “Robin can get us the license information easily from the Clark County clerk,” Pickett said. “But how many actually happen would be another number completely. Stein might have a guess on that.”

  Sarge nodded and then climbed out into the heat. The day still wasn’t that warm and chances are would end up being one of those really wonderful fall days that Vegas had a lot of. Not too hot, not cold at night. Spring and fall here were the best times, and over the years Sarge had really come to appreciate the nice days.

  Sarge held the large front door for Pickett and she nodded to him and gave him that wonderful smile he was coming to really enjoy as they entered the lobby.

  Stein appeared almost at once, her white beehive hair still towering over her like a magic act. This time she smelled more of smoke, as if she had just crushed out a cigarette. Sarge stared at her hair for a moment trying to figure out, without success, what held the thing up. Maybe it really was magic.

  “Saw you two still sitting out there on the security cam,” Stein said. “Figured you would be back. What can I help you with?”

  Pickett gave Stein a quick summary of some of the information, including the rape victims remembering being married by a tall man in an Elvis mask.

  Stein just shook her head at that. Sarge could tell that upset her, but didn’t surprise her.

  “So how did this Elvis marrying people come about?” Sarge asked. “Always wondered, never knew.”

  “Elvis and Pricilla got married here in the old Alladin Hotel in 1967,” Stein said. “That started it all and it became a thing to attract tourists who wanted to get married, just like drive-through weddings and underwater weddings and all of that.”

  Sarge nodded. Vegas was the home of the Elvis impersonators, so it made sense from that side as well.

  “So how many marriages actually happen in Vegas every year?” Pickett asked.

  Stein shrugged. “Not a clue, actually. Every casino, hotel, and small place like this one can perform them. To be able to perform a legal marriage all it takes is a simple license from the state that anyone can get for a small fee.”

  “Isn’t there more?” Pickett asked, sounding surprised.

  Sarge was surprised at that as well.

  Stein shrugged. “Not much. Each couple needs to get a license from Clark County, and I think there are over eighty thousand or so of those a year normally. You can file for that online and just pick it up with proper ID when you get here. Very easy and cheap. But not sure how many of those marriages actually happened and were legally filed after they did.”

  Pickett nodded. “Robin should be able to find that number if we need it.

  “I heard one place claim,” Stein said, “that on average there were over three hundred weddings every day here. But the math on that doesn’t work out compared to the licenses. I would estimate about two hundred a day is closer to the number.”

  Sarge just shook his head. Two-hundred weddings a day. No wonder the industry around weddings was so huge in this city.

  “So how regular do either the bride or the groom get cold feet and vanish?” Pickett asked.

  Sarge was impressed she had managed to stay on topic. He was still lost in the number of weddings.

  “All the time,” Stein said, shaking her head. “All the time.”

  “So much so that it’s normal?” Sarge asked.

  “Completely normal,” Stein said. “Maybe one out of four weddings don’t make it to the final kiss.”

  “Oh, god,” Pickett said.

  Sarge felt his gut clinch.

  “Why?” Stein asked, looking worried and puzzled.

  “We think our rapist might be doing more than raping women,” Pickett said. “Just our gut sense.”

  Stein’s face got even whiter, if that was possible under her layers of makeup, and she bent forward.

  And once again, her hair remained solid and in place.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  October 19th, 2016

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  PICKETT LED SARGE out to her Jeep and they both climbed in and she got the air-conditioning going again. She just felt stunned at how large this had become. It was no wonder the detectives investigating the rapes hadn’t gotten anywhere.

  “So now where?” Sarge asked. “I honestly have no idea where to even jab a stick into a mess this big.”

  Pickett laughed and nodded. “I have no idea either.”

  “So until we hear from Robin and all her computer geeks,” Sarge said, “let’s try August’s Tux Shop. Nothing to lose at this point.”

  “Don’t let Robin hear you call her computer people geeks,” Pickett said, laughing as she backed the car around to head back out onto the Strip.

  “What does she call them?” Sarge asked.

  “Elves,” Pickett said, grinning at Sarge before pulling into traffic. “But she’s the only one allowed to and only with me.”

  “Got it,” Sarge said, laughing.

  Pickett drove, really enjoying how having Sarge beside her made her relax. She usually got all wound up in a case about this point and stressed, but his humor and just solid presence beside her made her stay level and focused. And that felt damn good.

  She was really, really starting to be attracted to this man and she hadn’t even known him for a full day yet. She wasn’t sure how that was possible, but she sure wasn’t going to slow it down. She could see no point in that in the slightest.

  And even better, he seemed attracted to her. And at times they almost seemed to think the same.

  It took her about ten minutes to get them into the parking l
ot of August’s Tux Shop just off the Strip. It was a clean, modern, single-story building with windows across the front full of different forms of tuxedos. Under the name of the store it said, “Established 1967.”

  “Wow, almost fifty years in business,” Pickett said as they climbed out and headed through the warm afternoon air toward the front door. “That’s downright ancient for this town.”

  “Family business,” Sarge said, “if I remember right. Let me lead on this one. I have an idea.”

  “Be my guest,” Pickett said, smiling at him as he once again held the door open for her. A girl could get used to that kind of treatment.

  Inside the place was cool and bright, with racks of tuxedos along three walls and a lot of them on mannequins in different poses.

  A man about their age came forward, smiling. “Can I be of service?”

  The man had dark blue eyes and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He was perfectly dressed in dark slacks and a tan shirt and matching tie. His gray hair was combed back, also perfectly.

  “Detectives Carson and Pickett,” Sarge said. “Would it be possible to ask you or one of the owners a few questions?”

  Now the smile actually reached the man’s eyes as he said, “I’m August LaPine, the owner. Be glad to answer what I can.”

  LaPine shook both of their hands in a formal manner and then led them to a counter in the back. LaPine went around the counter and then again smiled.

  The counter was a display for all sorts of things like cufflinks and tie clasps and behind the counter were two desks, both neat, yet clearly used with new computers on both. This most certainly looked like a solid, well-run business.

  “We’re working on the Trudy Patterson case from 2010,” Sarge said as Pickett watched LaPine.

  The man showed no signs of awareness of the name in the slightest.

  “Trudy was in town for her wedding and disappeared and was found dead about five days later. One of her stops that day was supposed to be here to check on the tuxes for her future husband and his friends.”

  “Oh, the poor girl. What day was that?” LaPine asked.

  “May 17th, 2010,” Sarge said.

  LaPine indicated they should wait a moment and he went to one desk and sat down and started working on a computer. A moment later LaPine nodded, hit a print button, waited for a moment for a paper to print, and then came back to the counter.

  Pickett was impressed at how willing he was to help and how clearly organized his records were. But all the smiles and help seemed slightly fake and that bothered Sarge a little. Not sure why, but he made a note of it.

  LaPine slid the paper around for the detectives to see. “She did reserve and pay half-down for the tuxedos. She never picked them up, so as per contract we kept her deposit. I have a note that a Detective Carson stopped by a week later to ask about her.”

  “I did,” Sarge said, nodding. “So I was wondering, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, approximately how many no-shows like her do you have in a month?”

  “A great deal,” LaPine said, shaking his head, clearly seeming to be sad about the fact. “It’s why we must ask for half down.”

  “Do you ever hear why some don’t show?” Sarge asked. “Do they ever call in?”

  “A few do,” LaPine said, nodding. “If they give us enough notice, even though we don’t have to, we refund their deposit. But most don’t bother.”

  Pickett was impressed at where this was going. Not sure how it was going to help, but Sarge clearly had something on his mind.

  “Say if you did a hundred reservations for tuxedos for weddings,” Sarge said, “approximately how many wouldn’t show without calling?”

  “Ten or so,” LaPine said. “Nature of the wedding business in Las Vegas I’m afraid.”

  “And you keep track of all the no-shows?” Sarge asked.

  “We do,” LaPine said, nodding.

  “Thank you for your time,” Sarge said, surprising Pickett as he stuck out his hand to shake LaPine’s hand. “We’re just doing some basic research to try to understand the wedding business in this town.”

  “Glad to be of service, detectives,” LaPine said, bowing slightly as he shook Pickett’s hand again.

  With that, Sarge turned and headed for the front door and Pickett stayed with him.

  When they reached the car and climbed in, Pickett turned to Sarge. “Want to explain what that was all about?”

  Sarge smiled at her as she got the car started and the air-conditioning going.

  “We need some more data. And as I remembered, that store is, and always has been, very organized.”

  “But we have no grounds to get a warrant for their files,” Pickett said. Then the moment she said that, she laughed. “You know a guy who knows a guy, don’t you?”

  “We’re only going to use the information for deep background,” Sarge said, smiling at her. “LaPine will never know it’s been borrowed. I’m just trying to figure out a way to narrow this mess down some.”

  Pickett just sat there smiling at the handsome man beside her.

  “Lunch?” Sarge said.

  “My stomach was thinking the same thing,” Pickett said. “Bellagio Café is good and we’re right out here.”

  “Perfect,” Sarge said. “Want to have Robin join us?”

  “We’ll call her when we get there and see,” Pickett said. She didn’t say that waiting to call Robin until then would give her more time alone with Sarge and she wanted to get to know him better.

  “Sounds great,” Sarge said.

  “Scares me how we think alike at times,” Pickett said, finally moving and getting the car headed back toward the street.

  “I kind of like it,” Sarge said, smiling at her.

  “Yeah, actually,” Pickett said, “So do I.”

  And then she couldn’t believe she had actually said that.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  October 19th, 2016

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  THE BELLAGIO CAFÉ had an atmosphere Sarge really liked. Brown tones of oak and cloth, with lots of plants between the booths to give each booth a sense of privacy.

  The sounds of the casino were muted and even the sound of others talking didn’t seem to get very loud.

  He often came here for lunch or dinner when out this far along the Strip. Almost always alone. His condo was far, far closer to the Golden Nugget than here, but this was his second favorite place.

  One of the big reasons was that not only was it comfortable, but the food was good and the selection amazing at any time of the day or night.

  He knew that Julia and Lott and Andor also came out here a great deal, but he didn’t see them today, which he was glad about, actually. He really wanted to just spend a little time with Pickett to get to know her better.

  Sarge waited until they got seated in a back booth before calling his friend Mike Dans while Pickett called Robin.

  Mike and his girlfriend, Heather Voight often worked with Julia and Lott on cases as well. Sarge had met Mike on a robbery case about ten years before and liked him. Mike was a former Special Forces guy who hadn’t lost a step or a bit of muscle. He kept his hair short and had an infectious smile that hid a brilliant mind.

  He also controlled a small army of Special Forces retired soldiers for all sorts of jobs, many off the books.

  Mike had done Sarge favors at times over the years and Sarge had done a few in return. Mike ran a security firm, only not a famous one like Robin’s husband’s firm, but a firm that stayed behind the scenes.

  Mike and his people were also experts in all sorts of computer issues.

  Mike sounded happy to hear from Sarge and was pleased to hear Sarge was back working again with the Cold Poker Gang.

  Sarge quickly told Mike about the case they were working on, that it might be huge, and what he was thinking about the August Tux Shop records and how it might help them cross-reference a few details. And that no one would know and the records would only be used for deep bac
kground.

  Mike seemed to have no issue with the favor and said he would e-mail Sarge the files that night.

  As Sarge clicked off his phone, Pickett clicked off her phone as well.

  “Robin will be here in thirty minutes,” Pickett said. “She’s bringing some information.”

  “My friend is getting us the August Tux Shop records tonight,” Sarge said.

  “Is this the same friend that works behind the scenes with Julia and Lott at times?” Pickett asked, smiling.

  “One and the same,” Sarge said.

  “Got to meet this guy someday,” Pickett said, shaking her head.

  “I would think that with Robin and her husband’s business,” Sarge said, “you wouldn’t need my friend.”

  “Oh, we need him,” Pickett said, laughing. “For things like the reason you called him. Robin’s people could never do that. Wouldn’t dare.”

  “Then I’ll be glad to introduce you when we get a chance,” Sarge said, smiling.

  They both ordered coffee and water and then Sarge decided he needed a snack while waiting for Robin, so he ordered them some chips and salsa.

  After the waitress moved away, Sarge turned to face Pickett. She had scooted to the back of the booth to leave room for Robin. Sarge liked being that close to Pickett. It felt right and that should be worrying him, but it wasn’t.

  “So why did you retire?” Sarge asked. That seemed like the easiest question to start with to try to get to know her better.

  Pickett smiled and stared at him with her wonderful brown eyes. “Honestly, both Robin and I were tired of the grind. Tired of the paperwork, and tired of being submerged in the cesspool of the lowlife of this city.”

  Sarge just nodded to that. “I know that feeling.”

  “After the ex ran off with his bimbo girlfriend,” Pickett said, twisting her coffee cup in her hands, “I had enough money to do what I wanted, so figured I would do some traveling.”

  “Did you?” Sarge asked.

  Pickett shrugged. “Don’t much like hotel rooms considering all the crime scenes I saw in hotels here. And I would be away from Vegas for a few days and get bored and miss this stupid town.”