by AR Winters
“What are your shifts like?” I asked.
“Rotates. Sometimes days, sometimes nights.”
“Do you know everyone who lives here?”
“Most of them.” George looked at me warily. “Why?”
“It must be hard remembering all those names and faces,” Ian said.
George set his shoulders and glared at Ian. “What’re you accusing me of?”
“Nothing, nothing,” I said quickly.
“Yeah,” said Ian. “I just can’t remember names, that’s all.”
“Ok,” said George begrudgingly. “It’s hard. But you try, yeah? And it’s not like you need to know all the names, just know when someone who’s not living here walks in.”
Just then, a white-haired lady walked out of the lift with the grace of a dancer. She was dressed in a grey pantsuit, and carried a big maroon bag that looked like a Birkin. George nodded at her politely, and we waited till she’d left the building to continue our conversation.
“What’re the residents like?” I asked.
George shrugged. “They seem nice enough. Keep to themselves, know what I mean?”
“Sure,” I said. “Except when they choose to kill each other.”
***
George had told us that there were over a hundred apartments in this building. It was a bit smaller than most of the near-Strip complexes, which were generally made up of four to eight buildings. This complex only had the one building, which meant, for some reason, it was more expensive to live here. There were four lifts and four sets of fire-escape stairs. There was underground parking, but the residents hardly saw each other, except when they came and went from work. A lot of the apartments were empty, owned by folks who either leased them out as short-term rentals or who made the apartments their homes only when they flew over for work or pleasure.
Ian and I decided to work our way from the top floor down. George had told us there were two duplex penthouses on the top floor; both were answered by housekeepers who claimed to have never met Max. They didn’t recognize his photo, and yes, they’d heard that someone had been killed in this building and were a bit nervous about working here. Not that they thought the place was unsafe, but…
I jotted down the names of their employers and moved on. It was mid-afternoon, and I assumed some of the corporate-types would be returning home in a few hours. At this time of day, however, most of the apartments were empty. We met a few housewives and a few more housekeepers, all of whom told us the same things as the penthouse housekeepers: no, they’d never met Max, nor did they recognize him from his photograph. I left my card with everyone we talked to, asking them to give me a call if they remembered anything – anything at all.
Ian and I decided to leave Max’s floor for last. We were both a little wary about running into the cat lady again, so we worked our way down the building, where we repeated the same unhelpful conversations over and over again.
On the third floor, we met an old lady who seemed to be this building’s Mrs. Weebly. She’d never met Max, and didn’t recognize him from the photo, but she did have an opinion on his death.
“Young men getting shot in their own homes,” she said angrily. “What’s the world coming to? I swear, young people just get more and more violent each day.”
“Not me,” said Ian. “I’m non-violent. I don’t even own a gun.”
“Well then, you should get one,” said This Building’s Mrs. Weebly. “What kind of detective are you, if you don’t even own a gun?”
“You’re right,” said Ian, nodding his head and looking over at me. “Maybe I could go to shooting practice with you and Stone?”
I looked at him skeptically. “Maybe. But, back to the shooting…did you know Max Langton?”
This Building’s Mrs. Weebly shook her head. “No. Folks here just keep to themselves. I swear, it’s not like when I was growing up in Indiana, and we all knew our neighbors. I hardly know anyone here, other than that nice young Jacinta Gondalez. If my son and his kids weren’t living in this city, I’d just go back to Indiana.”
“Who’s Jacinta Gondalez?” Ian asked.
“Like I told you. The only decent person here, and the only one who bothers to ask me how I’m doing and would I like any help carrying my groceries. Nobody else even talks to me. Oh, you mean which apartment? Downstairs, 2F.”
We thanked her, left our card, and door-knocked through the rest of the apartments on her floor with no success; only two other people were home – a twenty-something-year-old man who was home sick from work and a tourist who’d only been staying there for the past week – and neither knew Max.
Jacinta Gondalez’s apartment was the first second-floor one we knocked on, and she opened the door within a few seconds.
She turned out to be a slightly overweight brunette with a button-nose and chocolate-brown eyes. Her hair was cut in a short bob that fell just below her chin, and for some reason she looked vaguely familiar. I could tell from Ian’s stunned silence that he was instantly smitten, and when she smiled, her cheeks dimpled. “Can I help you?”
“You’re Jacinta Gondalez?” She nodded. “We’re looking into the death of Max Langton.”
“You’re with the police?”
“No, we’re private investigators. Max’s mom hired us.”
She sighed. “Horrible thing, getting killed like that. But I can only talk for a few minutes before I head off to my shift.”
“What shift?”
“I work at Jerry’s Diner.”
So that’s why she looked familiar! “I eat there all the time!”
She peered at me closely. “I’ve seen you! You’re the only woman who orders dessert and finishes it. All the other women just have a bite and throw out the rest. Or they go into ladies’ room and barf it back up.”
“Yuck. I could never throw up on purpose.”
“Me neither,” said Jacinta. “But I guess that’s why I’m a little – you know – wide. And everyone else is pretty and skinny.”
“You’re very pretty,” said Ian. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
I rolled my eyes. Jacinta laughed and said, “Aren’t you sweet!”
“I mean it,” said Ian. And I could tell that he did mean it.
“I wish I could help you about Max,” Jacinta said. “But I hardly knew him.”
“That’s better than everyone else here, who don’t seem to have met him at all. Were you two friends?”
“No, but we met in the lifts a few times. He used to come back from the casinos at the same time my shift was over, so sometimes we ran into each other. I saw him at the diner sometimes, by himself.”
“None of this was in the police report,” I said. “How come you didn’t tell the cops you were friends?”
Jacinta looked sheepish and shrugged. “I got nervous when the cops came around. And I kind of froze. And then later, I… Well, I didn’t see how it would help. I kept meaning to go to the station to talk to that detective, but I just… Well, I guess I forgot, later. Cops make me nervous.”
“Sounds like Max wanted to ask you out,” Ian said.
Jacinta shook her head. “No, no. He was just being friendly.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Ian asked.
She shook her head again. “I don’t have time for one. I’m trying to save up to buy a share in Jerry’s. Jerry Gergeiv, who owns it now, wants to sell out.”
Ian said, “So that’s why Jerry changed the name! Just before selling – but hey, maybe I could help you buy in.”
I gave Ian a warning nudge, but it was too late. Jacinta looked at him hopefully and said, “What do you mean, are you an investor?”
“Ian’s got a trust fund,” I said quickly, before Ian could start throwing his money about, like he did whenever he saw a pretty lady. He always fell quickly, and hard, and never seemed to come out well when the relationship inevitably ended. “But it’s controlled by his parents and a lawyer, and they don’t let him spend much.
”
The hopefulness in Jacinta’s eyes died. “Oh. Well, it doesn’t matter, I’m working overtime to save more.”
I admired her ambition, but we were getting off-topic. “Did Max have any enemies?” I said. “Anyone who could’ve wanted to hurt him?”
Jacinta shrugged. “I didn’t know him all that well, but I don’t think so. He seemed pretty lonely to me, and he always ate at the diner alone.”
“I think he only went to the diner to see you,” Ian said.
Jacinta looked at Ian warily, as though the idea had occurred to her before. “Maybe,” she said slowly. “But we weren’t really friends. I guess he just wanted to see a familiar face after his poker games.”
“What did he tell you about the games?” I said. “Did he win much money?”
Jacinta twisted her lips in a facial shrug. “He always said he was close to figuring out the right system. Never said he was making much.”
“Then how’d he cover his expenses here?” said Ian.
“I guess he had some savings he was living off.”
“We heard he was dealing drugs,” said Ian.
Jacinta looked at Ian thoughtfully. “I never heard that.”
I said, “So, you don’t think he dealt drugs?”
“Well… I guess you can never know. But I don’t think so.”
“Was Max friends with anyone else in the building?”
Jacinta shook her head, no. “I don’t think I saw him ever talking to anyone here.”
“Nobody at all?”
Jacinta frowned. “You know, now that I think about it. I’d almost forgotten about this. But one time, we were in the lift, and a lady was in there, going up. And Max looked at her and said, “Hello, Wynona Beyers.” And she just kind of pursed her lips and glared at him. Like she was angry for some reason.”
“Wynona Beyers?” The name sounded familiar. “Does she live here?”
“Yeah, I think so, probably on his floor because she didn’t press any other buttons on the lift.”
“What did she look like?”
“Posh. Blonde hair, tall, skinny. Very pretty.”
Ian and I looked at each other. We knew one tall, pretty blonde lady who lived on Max’s floor. I said, “Did she have blue eyes and a mole on one cheek?”
Jacinta’s brown eyes widened in surprise. “Yeah. Do you know her?”
I stifled a groan. “I’ve met her once. Did she say anything to Max?”
“I was in the lift with them just a few seconds, before I got to my floor. They didn’t say anything else while I was there. Maybe I was imagining that she was angry. Maybe it was nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“You can see for yourself,” Jacinta said. “We’ve got security cameras in the lifts, one of the guards should be able to get you the recording.”
“That’s brilliant!” said Ian. “You’re so smart.”
Jacinta smiled politely. “It was probably nothing. But Max didn’t seem to know anyone else in the building.”
“No,” said Ian. “It’s probably something. You’re so smart. And pretty. Can I take you out to dinner sometime?”
I saw a hint of exasperation flicker in Jacinta’s eyes for a split second, before she masked it with a polite smile. “I’m sorry. I told you, I’m really busy with work and trying to save up to buy a share in Jerry’s.”
Ian looked crestfallen. “Oh. That’s ok, then.”
I said, “I’m sorry to have bothered you. But we do appreciate your help. And here’s my card. If you remember anything else, please give me a call.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ian and I found George flipping through his iPad. He didn’t seem all that thrilled to see us again, and when we asked about the footage from the lift’s security cameras, he admitted that the security company stored six months’ worth of footage in their cloud server.
“But I can’t let you access it,” he said. “It’s private, and protected, and you don’t have a warrant.”
“Can you access it?” I asked.
“Only if I need to.” He looked at us suspiciously. “And you’re not cops, so like I said, it’s private.”
Ian slid a Benjamin over the reception counter, and George’s eyes lit up. He looked at Ian and me like he was seeing us for the first time. “Ok. I guess I do need to get the files – but they’ll take a few minutes to find.”
“Take your time,” I said. “We’ll speak to some more people, in the meantime.”
As we took the lift up to Max’s floor, Ian said, “See, if we were partners, I could cover expenses like these. I always have a few Benjamins on me.”
“That was a good move,” I admitted. “I don’t have that kind of cash lying around, and I definitely don’t keep Benjamins in my wallet.”
We were at Katrina’s door. I took a deep breath, and knocked.
***
Katrina opened the door after a few moments. She wore a sky-blue dressing gown, her blonde hair was disheveled, and her eyes were half-closed. She looked at us, and then raised her arms above her head in a big stretch and yawned. “Yes?”
“Katrina?” I said. “We’re sorry to bother you, but—”
“I was sleeping,” she said, stating the obvious. “I had a big night last night, and – hey! Aren’t you that chick? You know, the one dating Jack.”
I winced involuntarily. “Yeah. Um.”
“How can I help you?” Her look changed to suspicion. “You’re not here to see how the kitten’s going, are you? Because I don’t know what’s going on, the cat just got out on its own this time. How’d you even get my address?”
She leaned forward, and I took a step back to avoid her alcohol-breath. Phew. She really did seem to have had a big night, and from what I could see, she was still a little bit tipsy.
“I’m not here about the kitten,” I said. “We—”
“Who’s your friend?” Katrina said, peering at Ian. “I thought you were dating Jack. Hang on, I need another glass of wine, my head’s starting to hurt again.”
Ian and I exchanged a look and followed her into the apartment. I wondered if alcohol was the only thing she was high on – but at least she hadn’t suspected us of stealing Snowflake. Not that she’d ever cared about little Snowie.
The place looked just like it had four months ago – clean and sleek and modern. The lounge-room, with its chrome-and-leather sofa and glass coffee table, looked barely lived-in. A sleek kitchenette was set against one wall. Katrina headed towards the kitchenette, pulled out a bottle of wine and a glass, and poured herself a huge drink.
“I’m Tim,” Ian fibbed. “Tiffany’s business partner. We’re private investigators.”
Katrina turned slowly to face us, wine glass in hand. “What do you mean, ‘private investigators?’”
I took a deep breath. “We work for private clients, looking into things for them.”
“Like?”
Ian said, “Well, right now we’re looking into the death of Max Langton.”
Katrina took a big gulp from her wine glass. “Max who?”
I said, “Max Langton? He lived a few doors down from you.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Tall guy,” said Ian. “Wore glasses.”
“Nope.” Katrina powered through her wine. “Never met him.”
“Jacinta said you did,” said Ian. “She said he called you Wynona Beyers.”
Katrina sighed, exasperated and barely listening to us. “I should’ve made myself a screwdriver instead of opening this stupid wine. You guys don’t want anything to drink, do you? It’s no fun drinking alone, and my boyfriend’s been in China for the last three months. Doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who.”
“I’m sure he’s missing you,” I murmured.
It was clearly the wrong thing to say.
“I don’t think so,” said Katrina, gesturing with her wine glass. “I wish I’d never moved to this stupid city. This is so dum
b! I’d move to China but I don’t want to deal with living in Beijing, you know. I like living here, where you can get good food and drink and meet nice people. I was going to break up with him, but then I found a ring in his sock drawer. If he marries me – hey! Maybe I should move to San Francisco. There’s lots of startup millionaires there, and not enough hot ladies.” She looked at me closely. “Maybe we could move together! You’re not very happy with Jack, are you?”
“Sure she is,” said Ian. “Anyway, Max. Jacinta said he knew you.”
Katrina waved her arm dismissively, and made a noise that sounded like a helicopter landing. “Jacinta! Who the hell is she?”
Ian crossed his arms defensively. It was obvious that his momentary interaction with Jacinta had made him think that she was pure, innocent and lovely. “The pretty Hispanic lady who lives on the second floor.”
Katrina took another sip of her wine and looked at us thoughtfully. “Hang on. Jacinta. Short, brown hair, kind of a fatso?”
Ian looked like he was about to explode, so I gave him a warning look and quickly said, “She works at Jerry’s Diner.”
Katrina laughed. “Sure, she works at Jerry’s Diner.”
Ian looked like he was about to challenge Katrina to a duel. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Katrina, her voice as saccharine as a high-school queen bee. “I’m sure she does work at Jerry’s as well.”
“As well as what?”
Katrina looked at me. “You’re investing Max Langton’s death.” She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and said, “This is the guy who was dealing drugs, right?”
I wondered where she got her information from. “Why do you say that?”
“The cops came round a few months ago, I remember now. They said something about Max dealing drugs. And you know, Jacinta deals drugs, too.”
“That’s not true,” said Ian. His face was changing color from red to white. “How could you say that?”
Katrina smiled coldly. “Because I’ve bought coke off her. She’s my dealer.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“She deals outside the Peacock Club in the evenings,” said Katrina. “If you go there now, you’ll probably see her. But she only stays about an hour, so you’d better hurry.”
