Brass in Pocket

by Jeff Mariotte

  “Sometimes,” the big man said.

  “You want to see our personnel records?” the short one asked. “Come back with a warrant.”

  “I’m not asking for his Social Security number,” Nick said. “I just was surprised to see him there. You know Vic?”

  The short man glared at him, but didn’t speak. That was answer enough for Nick. They both knew Victor Whendt. “Never mind,” Nick said. “Let’s go.”

  “Have a good night, boys,” Riley said on the way out. “Don’t break any laws.”

  The big guy locked the door behind them and stood there watching until they were back in the department SUV.

  “What was that about?” Riley asked. “Who’s Vic Whendt?”

  “He works for Supra Racing,” Nick said. “But he seems to have other outside interests, too. He was in the motel room where Deke Freeson was murdered. And from which Antoinette Blago disappeared.”

  “Interesting,” Riley said. “I guess Supra is worth taking a closer look at.”

  “Probably. But during business hours seems to make more sense—I don’t think these guys could tie their own shoes, much less manage a criminal enterprise.”

  “Or a racing team?”

  “Definitely not a racing team.”

  Catherine knew she shouldn’t go to Victor Whendt’s house without a detective along. It was unprofessional. It wasn’t safe. She would pitch a fit if one of her CSIs had made the same decision without consulting anyone.

  But involving the LVPD might mean answering questions about the case that she wasn’t comfortable talking about yet. If Whendt was home, he might bring the conversation around to Brass. She wasn’t ready to reveal her concerns about Brass to anyone outside of her immediate circle, and certainly not to any of the detectives on duty tonight. Since finding out what she had about the connection between Brass and Antoinette O’Brady, she was sorry that she had taken Sam Vega to Cliff Gorecki’s place, because he would want to keep tabs on the investigation’s progress.

  So she took two uniformed cops, who wouldn’t expect to be kept in the loop, to Whendt’s condo near Decatur and Washington. She assigned one to watch the back and the other to cover her from in front, making sure the officer would stand back far enough that he wouldn’t overhear any conversation.

  There was nothing especially glitzy about Whendt’s complex. It had been built sometime in the last decade and looked like about a million others in Las Vegas, with light brown stucco walls and red tile roofs. The desert landscaping incorporated palm trees, not native to the region, on the theory, she supposed, that one desert was pretty much like another. Outside the buildings were carports, most of their spaces full this time of night, but the one labeled “1219,” matching Whendt’s unit, was empty. One of the four units had lights on inside, but not 1219 itself, which was an upstairs condo with a wide balcony facing out toward a pool. Moonlight sparkled on the water. She heard the steady hum of an air conditioner, the strident chirrup of crickets, and the sound of her own heels clacking on the sidewalk. Someone had been outside smoking a cigar, but not for a while; the fragrance was an afterthought on the still night air.

  Catherine rang the doorbell of 1219, standing on a mat emblazoned with pictures of daisies. The word welcome didn’t appear on the mat, and considering the time of night, she doubted that it would be applied to her in person, either.

  The second time she pushed the illuminated button, the door opened abruptly while her finger was still on it. The person opening it wasn’t Vic Whendt, though, but a slender young woman with red hair and a deep tan, wearing a black tank top that showed off most of her stomach and low-rise cotton pajama bottoms. She wrinkled her forehead and studied the badge Catherine showed her.

  “It’s kinda late,” she said.

  “I know it is,” Catherine said. “I’m sorry about the hour. I’m looking for Victor Whendt, is he here?”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m Mrs. Whendt.”

  She didn’t offer a first name. Instead, she showed Catherine her left hand. A gold ring gleamed there, the metal still buffed to a high polish. It encompassed a rock easily four times the size of the one Eddie had bought Catherine, so many years ago. Not that diamonds were a girl’s best friend in any but the most romantic of fantasies, or really meant a lot to Catherine. Still, a woman remembered these things.

  “How long?”

  “Seven weeks,” Mrs. Whendt said. Still new enough to make it fresh and exciting.

  “Where’s your husband?”

  Mrs. Whendt shrugged, a motion that seemed to involve her entire body and not just her shoulders. She was willowy and toned, with a pretty, perky face anchored by deep brown eyes. Catherine could see what the attraction was, for Vic, at least. She had yet to find out what Mrs. Whendt saw in a husband who would let her live in such a bland condo while spending what must have been several months’ worth of mortgage payments on the ring. “He’s out. Working, probably. He works some funky hours.”

  “Doing what?”

  “He doesn’t say, and I don’t ask. He works for a racing team, that’s all I know. And we get some awesome seats at the track. But it’s noisy as all hell there, and it really doesn’t smell great.”

  Catherine sniffed the air wafting from inside, catching the scents of a pine-scented cleanser and maybe a peach-flavored candle. “Something like that’s important to you?”

  Mrs. Whendt touched the tip of her tiny nose. The gesture was so cute Catherine almost couldn’t stand it. “Vic says I have a nose like a bloodhound.”

  “Does he smoke cigars?”

  “Never! God, no. Our downstairs neighbor does, but his wife won’t let him smoke them in the house. He has to do it outside. I don’t blame her, except that I wouldn’t let him back in as long as he had that smell clinging to him.”

  “When did you see Vic last?”

  Another shrug, but this one was slightly less animated. “Lunchtime, I guess. He had a tuna sandwich. I made a roast for dinner, and rolls, but he couldn’t make it home.”

  “Does that happen often, Mrs. Whendt? That he doesn’t come home when you expect him to?”

  “Sometimes. Like I said, funky hours. He doesn’t always know when the team’s going to need him to do something.”

  “Do you know Emil Blago?”

  Mrs. Whendt’s forehead wrinkled again. Catherine had known puppies that weren’t as cute. “What’s this all about, anyway?”

  “It’s about a police matter. If you don’t know anything about his business, then maybe it doesn’t concern you. But if you do…”

  “I told you I don’t. I’m not really into cars anyway. All I know is they have a shower at the shop, so he doesn’t have to come home smelling like grease. And they pay him pretty well. He said he was probably in for a bonus this week.”

  “Did he say for what?”

  “Am I not making sense to you? I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me about his work. Sometimes he talks about the other guys on the team, but he doesn’t tell me what they do. Changing carburetors or whatever… I wouldn’t even understand what he was talking about. The only thing I know about cars is how to drive one, and I’m not so great at that, either.”

  “Okay,” Catherine said. This was looking like a dead end. If she could bottle Mrs. Whendt’s adorableness, she could retire from the lab, but otherwise she wasn’t making any headway here. “Do you know when he’ll be home?”

  “All I know is, whenever he is, it won’t be too soon for me!”

  Catherine was afraid the new Mrs. Whendt would start jumping for joy at the mere prospect of his return. She thanked the young woman, and left her to steep in her own cuteness.

  If Vic Whendt had actually killed Deke Freeson and went away for it, his next roommate wouldn’t be nearly so appealing.

  19

  NICK AND RILEY HAD traveled less than a block from Supra Racing when a dark blue Mustang with racing stripes turned a corner and came toward them. Nick barely glanced its way unti
l it passed beneath a streetlight, illuminating the driver for an instant. The man was talking on a cell phone, holding the wheel with his left hand and wearing a worried expression. He had short hair, deep eyes, and blunt features, and it took a second for them to register.

  “That’s him!” Nick shouted.

  “Him who?” Riley asked.

  Nick was already pulling the Yukon into a screeching U-turn. “Vic Whendt!”

  “The guy in the pictures?”

  “Yeah. The guy in the motel room with Deke Freeson.” His voice was tight. He muscled the SUV back into the lane. The Mustang was already accelerating, tearing past Supra Racing and continuing down the same road.

  “I hope he’s not one of the team’s drivers,” Riley said.

  “Didn’t look like it in the pictures on the wall.” He didn’t know for sure, though. He had never heard of the guy, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t had some racing experience, only that he wasn’t Mario Andretti or Jeff Gordon.

  Nick put his foot down on the gas and the Yukon bolted forward. Up ahead, approaching an intersection, the Mustang’s brake lights flashed briefly. “Oh boy,” Nick muttered. The Mustang cut left, already accelerating halfway through the turn. “Hang on, Riley.”

  “Did you think I haven’t been?”

  Nick hit the lights and the siren. He couldn’t outrun the Mustang, so if Whendt knew how to drive at all, Nick had to hope the obvious accoutrements of law enforcement would persuade him to stop.

  Riley grabbed the microphone and called for backup, giving their position and a description of Whendt’s car. They had his license plate number. They would catch up to the car, sooner or later, but if it wasn’t sooner, there was no guarantee that Whendt would still be in it when they did.

  At the corner, Nick braked just enough to slow their forward momentum and slid into the turn. The SUV’s rear end started to fishtail, but he leaned on the accelerator and the vehicle straightened.

  He heard sirens in the distance, but the chase had already ended. Whendt had boxed himself in. Ahead of him was a railroad track, its gate down, a long freight train lumbering past. Red lights flashed, out of sync with the lights the crime lab’s Yukon threw on the surrounding buildings and bounced off the Mustang’s rear window.

  Nick cut the siren but left the lights going. Vic Whendt was already opening his door.

  “Cancel the backup,” Nick said. “Doesn’t look like we’ll need it.” Nick drew his weapon, stepped out of the Yukon, and aimed at Whendt’s door. “On the ground, now!” he shouted. “Facedown, hands above your head!”

  “It’s cool!” Whendt called. He assumed the prone position so quickly Nick was sure he had done it before. With Riley covering Whendt, Nick handcuffed him, searched him, and then hoisted him to his feet.

  Whendt was clean. No weapons, no drugs. His keys were still in the Mustang’s ignition. Nick fished Whendt’s wallet from his back pocket. It held a couple hundred dollars in cash, some credit cards, a driver’s license, and other assorted plastic. He wore a yellow cotton short-sleeved shirt open over a clean white T-shirt, expensive jeans, and leather loafers. Nick had been hoping for bloodstains, but there weren’t any to be seen. He smelled of cologne, not gunpowder.

  “Mind telling me what this is all about?” Whendt asked once he was on his feet.

  “You should know. You’re the one who rabbited.”

  “Of course I did. I was driving to work and you took one look at me, then flipped a U-ey and started chasing me. Scared the hell out of me.”

  “With lights and siren going,” Nick said.

  “Not at first. First you just came after me. I freaked. When someone starts chasing you down on a city street in the middle of the night, it’s nerve-wracking. You didn’t hit your siren until after I made the turn, and when you did, I stopped.”

  “You stopped because there was a train in your way.”

  “Dude, I work around the corner, I know there’s a train track here. I just panicked because you looked like a stranger trying to heist me or something.”

  “Nick.” Riley gave him a beckoning nod.

  “Don’t move an inch,” Nick warned Whendt, and then stepped aside so Riley could address him out of the suspect’s earshot. He kept his gaze fixed on Whendt and his hand on his weapon, just in case.

  “Nick, he does have a point,” Riley said. “He was around the corner before you hit the siren. He did stop at the train tracks, but look where he stopped.”

  Nick glanced at the Mustang. She was right. Whendt had pulled out of the traffic lanes and parked on the right shoulder, where a law-abiding citizen would stop for a police car.

  “I guess so. But he works for Emil Blago. And he was in that motel room.”

  “We don’t know when or why. And you already might know this, but he’s innocent until proven guilty,”

  Nick released a sigh. The adrenaline rush from the brief chase would take a while to wear off, but he couldn’t deny the validity of Riley’s argument. “Okay, okay, fine. I know. I’ll dial it down a few notches.”

  “Good idea,” she said.

  They returned to Whendt, and Nick unlocked the handcuffs. “Sorry, sir, honest mistake,” he said. “Thing is, we did go to Supra looking for you, so when we saw you and you ran… well, you can see how it looked.”

  “Looking for me?” Whendt seemed genuinely surprised. Nick had been sure he was on the phone to the guys at the Supra office, being told that the police were looking for him. But that was a supposition, not a fact. And CSIs had to deal in facts. “What for?”

  “Do you know someone named Deke Freeson?”

  Whendt pressed two fingertips into his left temple, as if suffering a sudden headache. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “You sure about that? Think before you answer.”

  “I hear a lot of names. Maybe I heard that one once, and maybe not. It’s not somebody I know personally, though. He in the racing business?”

  Nick ignored the question. “You were in a room at the Rancho Center Motel recently. Your boss’s wife was in the same room.”

  “My boss isn’t even married. His name is Frank—”

  “I’m talking about Emil Blago.”

  “Who?”

  “The owner of Supra Racing.”

  Whendt cracked a smile. “Oh, him, yeah. I’ve heard of him. He hardly ever comes around, though. Apparently he owns a lot of businesses in town. He’s a busy guy with lots on his plate besides us.”

  “So I’ve heard. You know his wife?”

  “Annette, something like that? Seen her a couple times. She’s kind of hot, for an old lady.”

  “So what were you doing in that motel room?”

  “What does anybody do in a motel room? Sleeping.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Mostly all,” Whendt said with a shrug. “I was in a bar not far away. This is, I guess, last Thursday night. Met a woman. We had some drinks, had some laughs. When we were ready to leave, neither of us was in any condition to drive, and we wanted the fun to continue. So we walked over to the motel and got a room.”

  “So if I go over their registrations, I’ll find your name there?”

  He considered the question before answering. “No, I guess not. She paid for the room.”

  “What’s her name?”

  He took even longer with this one. “Janey, Janet, Janice… something like that.”

  “Last name?”

  Another shrug. “No clue.”

  “Nice. You get her phone number? E-mail?”

  “It was a bar hookup, man, that’s all. And a late one at that.”

  “And it’s just a big coincidence that Blago’s wife was in that same room tonight?”

  “I guess it is. Pretty sure there was only one woman in there when I was there, and she wasn’t nearly as old as Mrs. Blago.”

  Nick caught Riley’s eye. “Do you mind if we swab your hands and shirt?” she asked. She had gone back to the Yukon for her field kit.
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  “What for?”

  “Gunshot residue,” she said.

  “First you think I’m taking my boss’s wife to a motel, and now you think I shot someone? What the hell is going on here?”

  “It’s a yes or no question, Mr. Whendt,” Nick said. “And if the answer is no, we just might have to hold you while we get a warrant.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “You did run from us.”

  “And I explained why I did that.”

  “It’ll only take a second,” Riley said.

  “Whatever,” Whendt said. “If it gives you a thrill, do it.”

  That’s not what it’s about, Nick wanted to say. Putting away bad guys is where we get the thrills, and if you are a bad guy…

  So far, however, Whendt hadn’t given them anything to go on. “Where were you earlier this evening?” Nick asked while Riley broke out the swabs. “About eight-forty-five?”

  Whendt glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist. “I would have been having dinner, I guess. I think we were wrapping up right around then?”

  “Where?”

  “A friend’s house.”

  “But there were other people there, who can vouch for you?”

  Whendt stood there as Riley swabbed his hands and wrists and the front of his shirt. “Seven of them. That enough? You need sworn affidavits?”

  “We’ll look into it.” If Whendt was involved in Blago’s criminal enterprises, in addition to being employed by his racing company, it wouldn’t be hard for him to round up seven people to provide him an alibi.

  “Negative,” Riley said, having tested her swabs. Nick knew if they took Whendt in, they could check further—raid his closet for other clothes he might have worn earlier, look in his hair for traces of gunshot residue invisible to the naked eye but not to a scanning electron microscope. He hadn’t given them cause to make an arrest, though, and he’d had the right answer to every question. His attitude had been combative, but his actions compliant.