Casino Girl

by Leslie Wolfe

  “Okay,” I replied with a slight frown, thinking, Where there’s smoke there’s always money, my own personal motto. Fire too, but always money. The best part of that motto is that it seemed to work both ways. In this case, where there’s so much money, there has to be some smoke. Maybe fire too.

  Maybe Holt was right about the boyfriend. Homicide case statistics definitely seemed to agree with that scenario. “Push his photo to our devices, I want to run it by Roxanne, make sure we have the right man.”

  “Done,” Fletcher replied after tapping on a few keys. “What else do you need?”

  “The photo of the other guy, the one who gave Crystal the chip. Maybe Roxanne knows who he is?”

  “And… done.”

  “Did your friend in HR figure out what he’s saying on that recording?”

  “No, but it’s not an exact science. Some people are better at lip reading than others. She has a friend, and she’ll ask her.”

  I sighed, waiting for him to conclude his long-winded response.

  “Long story short, I’m still working on it, but it’s not looking all that good.” He paused for a moment, giving me time to ask for anything else, but my mind was already in a different place: Crystal’s freckled sister and whatever her mom’s boyfriend was hiding.

  “Did you dig into Crystal’s social media yet? Please look at Roxanne also.”

  “On it,” Fletcher replied, already typing commands on his system.

  I turned to Holt, who still seemed to be miles away, in whatever realm preoccupied him that much. “Crystal’s sister hasn’t called yet. Let’s swing by her school on our way to Roxanne’s.”

  Holt snapped out of his absentmindedness and grabbed his keys. “Sure. I’ll need to stop by my house and change clothes first. I have somewhere I have to be later today.”

  “No problem,” I replied, walking quickly by his side toward the exit.

  On the front steps, we ran into Detective Nieblas. I squinted, seeing the glare he shot Holt. The two men measured each other from head to toe like fighters do before raining lethal blows on each other at the sound of the gong.

  “Are you ready to testify?” Nieblas asked Holt. “They want you in at four, sharp.”

  “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  “Dressed like this?” Nieblas asked, his voice filled with contempt.

  Holt’s clothes were wrinkled, and his tie loosened, a memento of the night he’d spent parked on my street, watching over Anne and me. I felt a wave of anger creeping up on me, bubbling, ready to burst.

  “Back off, Nieblas, don’t be a knob,” I said, but the detective completely ignored me, fueling my irritation.

  Instead, he continued to glare at Holt. “Don’t screw this up,” he urged Holt. “Don’t jam us up. If anyone’s going down for this, it’s going to be you, not me.”

  Holt made a dismissive gesture with his hand, but his frown deepened. “It will be fine,” he said coldly. “Everything was done by the book.”

  “Which damn book would that be, Holt? I can’t believe you’re dragging me down into your filth with you,” Nieblas said, raising his voice and taking one step closer to Holt, who didn’t back up one bit. They were in each other’s face, a mere few inches between them, Holt steady and calm, unyielding.

  Whatever was going on, it was serious. I had to know.

  “What’s happening here, Nieblas?” I asked, pushing Holt to the side a little to make some room for myself in the conversation. Any additional distance between the two men could only prove beneficial.

  “This bonehead is testifying today. Remember TwoCent, the cop killer he collared, although it was my case? He’s on trial for murder.”

  I felt a pang of anxiety ripping through my gut. That testimony could go badly in many ways. I’d had my own unorthodox role in the arrest of that cop killer, nothing I wanted to hear about again.

  “It’s routine,” Holt intervened. “I was the arresting officer, that’s all. Why are you so worked up about it?”

  Nieblas stared at Holt in disbelief, then turned to leave. “Just don’t screw this up, Holt.”

  The anxiety unfurling in my gut dried my mouth and brought up my heart rate. Nieblas was right; nothing had been routine about that arrest.

  Not a single, bloody thing.

  19

  Schoolyard

  We drove in silence all the way to Cashman Middle School, the same sense of gloom that had engulfed Holt earlier now extending its unwanted cloud over me. Only last week I’d heard of TwoCent for the first time. The day Holt and I met, he was dragging the thug in cuffs, collared for the murder of Detective Park. A few days later, I had become more acquainted to the cop killer than I would’ve wanted, maybe just because I have difficulties knowing when to draw the line, to know where the pursuit of justice stops being lawful and starts being fueled by a sense of right and wrong that supersedes any other rational thought.

  All in all, a bloody mess.

  TwoCent was facing a trial by his peers because I’d made it possible, and no one knew about it except those creeps in the rat squad; not even Holt. I hoped with all my heart it would stay that way.

  Triggered by an unrelenting wave of anxiety, unwanted thoughts started whirling in my head. What was going to happen, once Holt took the stand? Did he really break protocol when he’d collared TwoCent? Was that going to come up during his testimony?

  Ultimately, what did I really know about Detective Jack Holt?

  I looked at him with scrutinizing eyes, noticing every detail. But it wasn’t the tall forehead, the kind, hazel eyes, or the dark hair that held all the answers, nor were the warmth and the friendship I’d felt whenever I’d allowed him to get near; it was his record.

  I found myself wondering if I could run a full background search on my partner. I didn’t expect my user profile to have the necessary access levels to display information on fellow cops, but, because the IAB had asked me to investigate him in the first place, at least I had a good cover story in case I got caught trying to nose around.

  I opened my newly assigned work laptop and, keeping an eye on Holt while he was driving, I started a database search. I waited for the data to load while dealing with an overwhelming feeling of guilt. What had he ever done to me to deserve my suspicion? Only last week he’d saved my life, for crying out loud. He said he was going clean, he said he’d done nothing wrong, and I owed him as much as to believe him.

  On the other hand, he was a drug addict suspected of stealing a kilo of cocaine. And yeah, I’d demonstrated precisely zero common sense by shagging him. Twice.

  Ah… Whatever, I thought, shrugging off whatever guilt I still carried for the mistake I’d made when I crossed the line by inviting him into my bed. It wasn’t going to happen again, and that was that.

  The screen displayed his background, and I started reading, hungry to know more about my new partner.

  He was forty-one years old and not really showing his age, I concluded, after shooting him a side glance. Not a single gray hair that I could see, not even on his temples. Former Navy, he’d served two years on an aircraft carrier, then four more with a Special Warfare Group, aka SEALs. That much I already knew; he’d told me.

  I had no idea he’d been decorated as many times as his record showed. He’d been awarded the Navy Cross and Navy Expeditionary Medal for acts of valor in combat. There weren’t any more details on the subject; most likely classified, but one thing came across loud and clear from his record: the man was a hero.

  After his honorable discharge fourteen years ago, he’d joined the Las Vegas Metro PD.

  He’d started his new career on the streets, but even as a patrol officer he had an excellent performance record, except for the occasional issue dealing with red tape or specific partners. I’d heard personally the day I’d transferred in from Henderson that he was on the hook for not being much of a team player. There were multiple reports on that kind of behavior, some with warning letters, others just notes on his file fro
m his commanding officers. If I were to read between the lines, he was a brave, dedicated cop with an outstanding solve rate and a strong sense of urgency that translated into impatience, especially when he had to deal with slow thinkers, and specifically when those slow thinkers were other cops.

  Then, I asked myself, closing the lid on my laptop, why the hell did the IAB want him buried?

  “Got everything you were looking for?” he asked, giving me a start.

  Ah, yes, and apparently, he was also psychic. Either that, or he had an incredible peripheral vision augmented by an uncanny ability to draw the right conclusions. Excellent qualities in a cop, nothing a Navy SEAL wouldn’t master.

  “What do you mean?” I replied candidly, although my throat was dry.

  He shot me a side glance and flashed his crooked grin. “Really?” he asked, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes or color his voice.

  He pulled over in front of the school, across from the entrance. We didn’t have to wait long before the bell rang, and the doors opened, the peaceful neighborhood flooded with hundreds of chipper voices filled with laughter, celebrating their freedom. A long line of cars waited at the pickup curb, but we crossed the street and made our way between them, heading straight for the entrance.

  I looked everywhere for Tina, but she was nowhere in sight.

  Focused on scanning every kid who ran by me, when my phone rang I took the call without checking the display.

  “Hi,” a young voice said, whispering. “It’s me, Tina.”

  I stopped and got Holt’s attention and put the phone on speaker.

  “I see you coming, Detective,” she said, and I heard fear in her voice. “He’s here already, and he can’t see me talk to you. He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

  “Listen, if you’re afraid of something,” I said, speaking as gently as possible, “we can take care of you. You’ll be safe.”

  “No,” Tina replied firmly. “Just leave, and don’t let him see you. Please,” she added, her voice almost a whimper. “I promise I’ll call you today.”

  “Does he usually pick you up from school?” Holt asked.

  There was a moment of silence before she replied. “Yes. Every day when Mom’s at work. But I’d rather take the bus.”

  “All right, Tina,” I replied, “we’ll do as you wish, but we’ll follow you from a distance, just to make sure you’re safe.”

  “Okay, but don’t get caught,” she added, and I laughed, but that laughter died on my lips when I thought of the reasons she must’ve had to be so terrified of that man.

  “We won’t get caught, I promise,” Holt replied seriously, his furrowed brow expressing the same concern as I did.

  The line went dead and I put the phone in my pocket. We walked back to Holt’s unmarked car keeping our heads down.

  “Prison tat, huh?” I asked as soon as I climbed in his SUV.

  “Yup,” he replied, keeping his eyes riveted on the street, looking at every driver who’d picked up kids from that school, searching for Norm Chaney. “He’s done serious time, and I don’t care what his record says; I’m willing to bet on it.”

  We both waited while the long line of cars started and stopped in a never-ending ritual. Then Holt saw Chaney and pointed him out discreetly. He was driving a beige Honda minivan and barely stopped his wheels in place when he opened the door for Tina. She climbed in, and he took off in a hurry before she’d had time to click in her safety belt.

  Holt let a couple of cars slide through and joined the traffic, following the minivan from a safe distance. He didn’t want to take any chances with Chaney; I would’ve done exactly the same.

  Chaney went straight home and dropped Tina in front of her house, then drove off, going at least ten miles over the speed limit. The kid looked around carefully, then went inside, while we waited at a safe distance, tucked neatly out of sight behind a utilities truck.

  “We need fingerprints for this guy,” I said, stating something Holt knew just as well as I did. “If he’s done time, he’ll be in the system. No way he can beat that.”

  “Uh-huh,” he acknowledged.

  It didn’t take long and my phone rang again. This time, the display had Elaine Tillman’s name on it.

  “Do you see the house with the green garage doors on your left?”

  I shook my head, smiling. The kid had made us. Unbelievable. “Yeah, I see it.”

  “Meet me in that yard in ten minutes,” she said. “They’re not at home, and the dog is friendly. They don’t mind when I visit.”

  “Okay,” I said, but she’d already hung up.

  “Feel like breaking and entering?” Holt asked.

  “We were invited,” I replied.

  “Absolutely,” he replied, laughing. “We were invited to collude in the perpetration of a B&E. Let’s go.”

  20

  Sister

  I entered the backyard holding my hand on my weapon’s holster, ready to pull it out at the slightest sign of trouble. Tina was already there, sitting on the grass with her legs folded under her and scratching a Shetland Sheepdog behind the ears. The Sheltie sensed our approach and rushed to us wagging its tail, without as much as a single bark.

  “Great guard dog they have here,” Holt muttered, relaxing a little.

  “How did you get in?” I asked Tina. There’s no way she could’ve entered the backyard through the gate, like we’d done. We would’ve seen her, and that meant she must’ve jumped a few fences.

  The Sheltie curled next to her and laid its head on its front paws. Only the eyes moved, looking at us, then at her and back, sending ripples into its long, shiny coat. Tina seemed pale and frail in her dark clothes, and kept her eyes riveted on the dog, while petting it with long, soft strokes.

  She didn’t reply; she sat silent, looking down. She sniffled quietly, and I crouched next to her, gently lifting her chin with my fingers.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, although I suspected I already knew the answer.

  She still didn’t reply, but then Holt kneeled next to the dog and scratched its head.

  “What’s his name?” he asked.

  “It’s a she,” Tina replied. “Bella,” she added, and the dog promptly perked her ears and wagged her tail.

  “She seems to love you very much,” Holt said, and the girl lowered her head again, hiding her tears from us.

  I wanted to ask her what she wanted to talk to us about, but Holt signaled discreetly, and I clammed up. He seemed to have a natural talent with kids, and I couldn’t help but wonder how that came to be. He’d never mentioned a family.

  “I know Norm killed Crystal,” she said as she looked me straight in the eye through a veil of tears. Then she turned toward Holt, grabbing at his forearm. “I know he did, I know it.”

  “Why is that?” Holt asked calmly. He spoke with her as if she were an adult, and Tina responded well to his approach.

  “Because she’d told him to stay the hell away from me,” she replied, lowering her eyes and dropping her voice to a whisper, as if ashamed. “She told him if he ever came near me again she’d send him right back to jail.” She sighed, the loaded breath of air lingering on her lips as it left her chest, filled with the promise of more tears. “I don’t know why she said that, because Norm said he never went to jail.”

  I exchanged a quick glance with Holt. We both had the same question on our minds, by the looks of it. If Chaney was indeed living under a false identity, how did Crystal find out about it? Maybe she’d spied on him and overheard a conversation he’d had with a former cellmate. And that was motive, spelled with a capital M in large, bold font.

  But, beyond that, I wanted to know what Chaney had done to Tina to earn such attention from Crystal, including the threats she’d made.

  “Why did your sister tell him that, sweetie?” I asked, doing a mediocre job at hiding the sudden surge of anger coursing through my veins.

  Tina patted Bella’s side, and the dog immediately turned on her ba
ck, welcoming the belly rub. The kid’s shoulders heaved, burdened with sadness and shame, maybe even guilt.

  “He looked at me funny,” she whispered, while her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Two days after he moved in with us, the bathroom lock broke and it’s still not fixed. He never knocks when he finds the door closed. He just barges in, then apologizes and leaves, but there’s this weird smirk on his face.”

  I looked at Holt and saw his jaws clenched tightly, and a threatening glimmer in his eyes. If he would’ve had Chaney in his sights right that moment, he would’ve killed him with his bare hands.

  “Have you told your mom about it?” Holt asked, his gentle voice revealing nothing of his internal anguish.

  Tina sniffled and quickly wiped her nose against her sleeve. The dog fidgeted a little but settled again under her soothing hand.

  “Yes,” she eventually replied, barely a whisper. “She’s always at work, doing twelve-hour shifts. She wants to believe me, but he’s a great liar, and when she’s at home he never does these things.”

  I exchanged another look with Holt.

  “We’ll bring him in, sweetie,” I said, and rose to my feet. “Will you be okay?”

  She looked at me for the first time in several minutes. There was a glimmer of unspoken courage, of resilience in that little girl’s eyes. “I have to be, don’t I? Because if I’m not, you’ll take me away and I lose my mom too.”

  “You won’t lose your mom,” Holt said. “It’s a promise,” he added, crossing his heart in a gesture I hadn’t seen since elementary school.

  Tina’s lips fluttered in a tiny, shy smile and she straightened her shoulders. “It’s just me and Mom now. Crystal’s gone, and she was the strong one,” she said, and as she talked about Crystal, her smile widened a bit, fueling new tears. She stood, and the dog followed suit, weaving patterns around her ankles. “She was fierce, my sister. You should’ve seen her, getting in that asshole’s face.”