This wasn’t what Stitts intended to ask, but decided to let the man continue. It was likely that he was so forthcoming with this information because he had rehearsed it or was reliving it now. Either way, he allowed the man to continue with some gentle probing to see what else he would reveal.
“They were gone?”
Shane shifted uncomfortably.
“Whoever did this… whoever killed them. They were gone. It was horrible… all the blood and…”
They.
Whoever killed them. They were gone.
It might’ve just been a slip of the tongue, but it might’ve also been a revealing fact.
“What was the time frame between when you got the call about fireworks and when you entered the room?”
Shane shook his head.
“No, I didn’t—I didn’t enter the room. Not until after. It was one of my security guys. I sent them to the room.”
“Okay, fine. How much time passed between when you got the call about the fireworks and you sent your security to go check on the room?”
Shane scrunched his nose.
“I… I don’t remember. I told this all to the cops, like I said. I was—”
“Approximately how much time, Shane? Ten minutes? An hour?”
Shane shrugged.
“Well, I didn’t send my guy right away. I mean, people get prank calls all the time with stuff going on in the rooms. I guess it wasn’t until the second call that I sent my security up there. So, I’m guessing… ten or fifteen minutes after the first call?”
In the matter of several minutes, the man’s story had already changed. First, Shane had said he sent his men after the phone call, now it was after a second call.
“What prompted the second call? Was it more fireworks?”
Shane shook his head.
“No, they said that they heard something like breaking glass or something like that.”
Stitts’s mind flicked to the broken bottles that surrounded Mike Hartman’s fallen body. Chase had suggested that it might be personal against the man, and while he’d initially shrugged this off as improbable, it was looking more likely now. Especially if the killers had gone to his body after the shooting was complete.
“All right,” Stitts began. “Let’s take a step back. When did you find out about the game?”
This time, Shane’s answer was immediate.
“About two weeks ago we had a special request from one of the regular guests: Kevin O’Hearn, a high-roller poker player wanted to set up a private game.”
“And at these games, do the players use chips or cash?”
Shane suddenly looked constipated.
“Usually chips.”
Stitts read between lines. Usually chips because the gaming license required them, but in this case, it had been cash. Chase had already told them as much.
Rather than press Shane on this, Stitts switched course.
“When was the last time, before this one, you held a private game?”
Shane swallowed hard.
“I dunno… not sure. Maybe a year ago? More? I can’t remember. You should speak to the other managers, they set them up, too. It’s not just me.”
Stitts made a mental note of the man’s defensiveness and did another about-face.
“What about the people that were working the room? The two men from Luther’s investments, the bartender, the dealer, etc.”
“We usually have extra security for games with these stakes and contract it out. Luther’s is fairly popular. As for the bartender and dealer? These high rollers like to tip big, so I give them to my best guys. Guys who deserve it. Because we like to keep these games on the DL, we usually don’t tell the staff until right before the game.”
Stitts noted this as well; Shane was the one who made the decisions about the staff, which meant that if Mike was the target, they would only be able to find this out from him.
“Have you used Luther’s for security before?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
Shane hesitated, and Stitts could tell that he was almost tripped up. He knew when the last game took place, but for some reason, he wasn’t willing to open up about it.
“A while ago; I don’t remember.”
“Okay, fine. What about video? Do you have video of the hallway? Inside the room?”
Stitts already knew the answer, but wanted to gauge Shane’s reaction. He’d seen the video of the waiter bringing the food service cart and leaving it at the door. No one came and went until the security guard arrived an hour and a half later to check on the report of fireworks and breaking glass.
“I already gave the hallway footage to the police. But there’s no footage inside the room. The poker players wanted it this way.”
Shane continued to spin the pen as he spoke and it was starting to annoy Stitts.
“Think you can put the pen down? You’re making me nervous.”
“S-s-sorry,” Shane said, immediately dropping the pen.
Stitts rose to his feet and was about to leave with some parting words when something occurred to him.
“Shane, are there security cameras in this office?”
Shane swallowed.
“My office? This one?”
Stitts raised an eyebrow.
“Do you have another office?”
“N-no. This is it. There are no cameras inside.”
“What about outside?” Stitts pointed to the door behind him. “Floor cameras that cover the area just outside this office.”
“Yeah… I think so, I mean I’m pretty sure. Why?”
“Just wondering. Think you can do me a favor and send me the tapes of the day before and after the shooting from any cameras that show the office? Would that be alright?”
If Shane looked uncomfortable before, now he looked like a man with underwear full of tics.
“I’ll have to ask my boss. He’ll have to approve—”
Stitts flashed him a winning smile and then showed the man his badge again.
“You see this? It’s a government seal. F-B-I. That’s your boss. Just send me the tapes, I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Chapter 29
Chase groaned and opened her eyes. She had a thick, fuzzy taste in her mouth as if her tongue had swollen to twice its regular size, and her headache had come in full force.
Confusion washed over her; she had no idea where she was.
Where am I? How did I get here?
Her time back at the crack den in Seattle flashed in her mind then, as did Tyler Tisdale’s face. Was she… back there? How is that possible?
But she couldn’t be. A quick glance at her surroundings didn’t reveal refuse and soiled mattress, drug paraphernalia, but a massive, king-sized bed and stately ceilings.
And yet this did little to calm her panic; her chest was tight and her heart thrummed in her chest like a hummingbird stricken with Parkinson’s.
Chase sat bolt upright, which only served to tilt the entire world on its axis. She gagged then and bile filled her mouth. It was all she could do to swallow it back down. Along with the acrid bile, she tasted something else on her tongue: scotch. Expensive scotch. Fifty-year-old scotch.
The pieces finally fell into place.
With another hard swallow, she turned her head to her right and saw Stu Barnes. He was lying beside her on the bed, eyes closed. He was wearing silk pajama bottoms, but no shirt.
My God, Chase, he’s old enough to be your dad.
Glancing down at herself, she was surprised to see that she was fully dressed. After waiting another minute for the nausea to pass, she slipped silently off the bed and made her way toward the door. Before leaving, however, Chase peered back into the room and stared at Stu for a moment.
I came here… I came here to find out about Kevin, to see if Stu might’ve been involved in the heist and murders. And I leave here… like this?
Tears threatened to overwhelm her then, and her ex-husband’s voice echoe
d in her head.
Get well, Chase. That’s all we want for you. Get well, and then you can see Felix again.
As she made her way downstairs, Chase felt shame envelop her like a frigid embrace. When she saw that it was now dark outside, her shame became a cradle of disgust.
Stitts was right not to trust me. And I was right not to trust myself.
Only when she was safely inside her partner’s rental did she dare take a full breath and pull out her phone.
There were no calls or text from her husband, of course, or a voicemail from her son. But she hadn’t expected any. They had moved on, and she was struggling to do the same. But what hurt her most that moment was the fact that Stitts hasn’t called. She’d missed their dinner plans, and he hadn’t even reached out to her.
The one person in this world who still cared for her finally seemed to have moved on as well.
Chapter 30
Stitts had completely forgotten about Greg Ivory and nearly stumbled into the man as he turned the corner leading to the stairwell.
“Shit, sorry,” Stitts grumbled.
Greg just shook his head and raised a palm as if to say, no problem.
“Did you catch the kid?”
Stitts hesitated for a moment. After his ‘interesting’ conversation with Shane McDuff, he’d forgotten all about the blond man smoking a cigarette.
“No, fuck. He got away. I thought… I thought he looked like someone from the board. Mike, maybe, but I’m not sure.”
“I didn’t get a good look. These eyes ain’t what they used to be. My contact reached out, said he compiled some information about Mike Hartman and his family.”
Stitts stopped mid-step.
“Family?”
Greg indicated the elevator and Stitts changed course.
“Yeah. Apparently, his father used to work for the casino. Died a couple of months back from a heart attack.”
The elevator pinged and they stepped inside.
“Interesting. Do me a favor? See if he can dig up anything on Shane McDuff, the manager as well.”
“Anything, in particular, you’re looking for?”
“Yeah, when the last ‘secret’ poker game was held.”
“I’ll see what he can do. And the manager? How is he?”
“Oh, you know, he’s a piece of shit,” Stitts said as the elevator doors opened and they made their way toward Greg’s squad car. “Slimy bastard, lying about some — no, not some, most things. I’m guessing he’s always like that, though.”
As they approached the car, Stitts noticed something on the windshield. Only when they got closer did he realize that it was a parking ticket.
“Seriously?” he said as he picked it up. It was a $350 fine for parking in the fire lane.
Stitts looked at Greg, but the man seemed unsurprised.
“I guess they know my tag number,” he offered as an explanation.
Stitts made sure to put the ticket into his pocket and then got into the driver’s seat. With a sigh, he glanced at his cell phone.
It was coming up on 6:30 and there was still no word from Chase. The way he saw it, she had to call him. After all, she was the one who had taken his car. She was the one with… issues. And yet, despite telling himself this, he had to fight the urge to reach out to her.
There was no word from the hospital, either.
“Where to now?” Greg asked.
Stitts mulled this over for a moment. He didn’t want to go back to the cramped office with Greg, nor did he feel like running into the ATF or DoD assholes.
“You know what? I’m going to check out the crime scene one more time,” he said at last. “You’re welcome to join or feel free to go back to the station. I can get a ride later.”
Greg stretched his leg.
“I think I’m better off just sitting here. Twig is flaring up something fierce. I can start to go through the stuff my contact sent me about Mike Hartman. See if there’s anything of interest.”
Stitts nodded and then opened the door again. He was about to exit when he turned back to the passenger seat.
“Thanks, Greg.”
The man nodded.
He was turning out to be a valuable asset and something told Stitts that the blowback Greg was getting from the rest of the LVMPD was unwarranted. And yet, there was a part of the story, an important part, that the man was unwilling to share.
Yet.
***
Stitts took the elevator to the seventh floor and when the doors opened he was immediately stopped by a uniformed officer. He flashed his badge and the man let him through. A network of yellow police tape crisscrossed the hallway and Stitts had to bob and weave to move through it. As he walked, Stitts looked around, observing first the ceiling, then the stairway door at the far end of the corridor. Eventually, his eyes found the camera nestled just above the door trim.
So distracted was he, that Stitts nearly bowled over a CSI tech who was crouched and working on the food service tray.
“Sorry,” he grumbled. The tech didn’t even look up. As he moved toward the door that was wedged open, Stitts noticed that the silver platter on which the food lay was completely full; there didn’t appear to be a fry missing, let along a bite from the burger. This struck him as odd as the food was delivered long before the first shot.
Pausing outside the room, he fired off a quick text to Greg.
See if you can find out who ordered the food to the room prior to the shooting.
Donning plastic shoe covers by the door, Stitts finally entered the crime scene. The bodies had since been removed, but CSI was still going over every item in the place using potions and lotions and powders and whatever other alchemy they had at their disposal to uncover evidence. As Greg had informed them earlier, so far, they’d come up with zilch.
Ignoring the techs in the room, Stitts walked the perimeter, trying to absorb the scene. He attempted to do what Chase did, to breathe everything in and then spontaneously regurgitate it as a vision later. But as time passed, he found himself more focused on Chase than the scene.
It was too soon for her to be back in the field, he knew this, just as Director Hampton had known it back in Quantico.
But he’d already lost one partner and Chase was… special, in ways he was only beginning to understand.
Stitts eventually found himself by the windows absently rapping on them with his knuckles, staring down at the bright lights of Las Vegas below.
If he had to get in and out of the room without using the doors the only other options were the windows. The only problem was, they were completely unblemished, solid and impossible to open.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” someone said from his right.
Stitts jumped and he shot the tech a look that was equal parts shock and disgust.
It wasn’t beautiful; they were standing in a room where less than 24 hours ago a massacre occurred.
It wasn’t beautiful, it was horrific.
“Just splendid,” he replied pushing his lips together tightly.
“Yeah, nice of the window cleaners to come by and give them a good scrub.”
Stitts nodded and subtly suggested with his body language that he wanted to be left alone. The tech nodded and started back toward the bar when Stitts thought of something.
He reached over and grabbed the tech by the shoulder, this time startling him.
“You were here before?” he asked sharply.
The man gave him a queer look.
“Before what?”
Stitts fought his frustration.
“When did the window cleaners come”
The man shrugged.
“An hour ago? I really don’t know; me ‘n Archie over there took a late lunch. When we got back, they were just leaving. Saw the carriage lowering down.”
Stitts turned his attention downward, not at the city street this time, but at the building itself. He thought he could make out the dark outline of a window carriage as it nestled on the ground b
elow. Dusk had settled over Las Vegas, and the casinos cast long shadows.
Drawing Dead (A Chase Adams FBI Thriller Book 3) Page 11
