The Murderers' Club

by P. D. Martin

  We look at him, waiting for more.

  “Rodney wasthemosthelpful,” Cross says. “He spent a lot of time with Janice and Cindy. He said he was suspicious of Cindy’s story about medical treatment. Said she was never a good liar. He thought maybe she was going back home. To try and mend things with her folks.”

  “Did he say why it needed mending?”

  “Yeah. Nasty business by the sounds of it.” He pauses. “She was raped by some family friend, Ronald, when she was sixteen. Rodney didn’t know the guy’s last name. Anyway, she didn’t tell anyone until she found out she was pregnant. Then she went to her folks, told them what happened.”

  I shake my head, already getting the picture. My empathy for Cindy just shot through the roof and my hands clench into fists.

  Cross continues, “They didn’t believe her. Told her she was a slut and ordered her out of the house. She came to Vegas, had an abortion and started work.” He shakes his head. “Tough start in life.”

  “Tougher finish,” I say.

  16

  Finally Darren and I are alone, having checked into a rather seedy motel off The Strip. It was all we could get on such short notice, unless we wanted to pay for a ritzy suite in one of the main hotels—we’d never get reimbursed for that. We sit in my room, case files unpacked on the small table.

  “You saw something at Cindy and Janice’s place, didn’t you?”

  I lie. “No.” I stand up and start shuffling the files. I can feel Darren’s eyes on me.

  “Sophie, what’s up?”

  I don’t respond.

  He stands up and spins me around so I have to look him in the eyes. “You’ve been acting weird ever since you were in Cindy’s room. What happened?” He takes both of my hands. “What did you see?”

  That is the question…what did I see? “I—I don’t know.”

  “Look, Sophie. I know you saw something. Why can’t you trust me?”

  I shake my head. “It’s not you I don’t trust.”

  “Then who is it?”

  I look down. “It’s me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It just doesn’t make sense.” I drop into the chair behind me and Darren kneels down in front of me, keeping hold of my hands. “I must be…I must be seeing things.” I take a deep breath. “I mean hallucinating.”

  He smiles and it almost turns into a laugh. “That’s all this is about?”

  I snatch my hands away from him. “That’s all? I’m questioning my sanity here and you’re making fun of me?”

  “No, no.” He shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. Sorry. Okay…” He grabs my hands again. “You’re right, it is about trust. It’s about trusting yourself and trusting this gift of yours. I don’t know what you believe, if you believe in God or some other sort of higher being. But one thing’s for sure, this is a calling, a calling that puts you in touch with all sorts of things. I know something you saw at Cindy’s has frightened you, but you have to trust it.”

  The intensity in Darren’s compassionate blue eyes sucks me in. I do trust him. “I saw Cindy.”

  “Yes?”

  “She was dead…but she was talking to me.”

  “Oh, Isee.” He moves from his knees on to his haunches. “Shecame to you.”

  “So it was…it was her ghost?”

  “My aunt believed in spirits of the dead. And even if she didn’t see a ghost as such, sometimes she felt it was spirits who were guiding her, sending her the messages.”

  I nod. It felt like Cindy was trying to get my attention. “She asked me to help her.”

  Darren sits down. “You are helping her.”

  I shrug. “Am I?”

  “Of course you are. That’s what we’re doing now. And that’s why you tried to induce a premonition in Cindy’s bedroom today, even though it scares you.”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  We’re silent for a little while. What Darren says makes sense, but sometimes logic and emotion are light-years apart.

  “Have you spoken to Stone?” I change the topic.

  Darren looks at me and I know he’s deciding whether to pursue the conversation. But after a couple of seconds he stands up. “No. I’ll call her now. See if there’s any news from Tucson.” He punches the speed-dial button on his cell. He holds the phone out from himself and talks into it like a walkie-talkie, converting his cell into a speakerphone. “Hey, Stone.”

  “Hi, Carter. How’s Vegas?”

  “You know. It’s Vegas.”

  She laughs. “Don’t sound so excited. I’d rather be in Vegas than Tucson.”

  “You’ve got a point there. Sorry I couldn’t call you earlier. We’ve been on the road all day with Cross.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “It seems both Malcolm and Cindy were excited about wherever they were going. And neither was close to their folks. Other than that, we’ve got nothing to tie these vics together…yet.”

  “And Cindy’s roommate?” Stone asks.

  “Everyone who knew her is convinced she wouldn’t have been into heroin again.”

  “So the three deaths are related.”

  “Looks that way,” Darren says. “What about your end?”

  “I’ve spoken to all of Malcolm’s clients but nothing suspicious. A few of them fit the profile in terms of age, occupation, et cetera, but they’ve all got alibis for the Thursday Malcolm was killed.”

  “Mmm. Okay. Let us know if anything else turns up.”

  “Will do. And have a hand of blackjack for me.”

  “Maybe I will, Stone.” He hangs up and looks at me.

  The silence and his look make me uncomfortable. I stand up and stare at the files on the table.

  “I’m starving. You?” Darren says.

  I’m relieved he’s kept the conversation away from my vision of Cindy. “Sure,” I say, happy with the prospect of the distraction. “And maybe Stone’s right. Maybe a round of blackjack would do us the world of good.”

  “Really?” Darren is clearly shocked.

  “Hey, I may be a workaholic, but I can have a good time, you know.” It’s only the second flirtatious thing I’ve said to Darren since I got here and already I’m stressing about it.

  He’s halfway through my motel door. “Meet you in the foyer in twenty minutes?”

  “Sure,” I say, even though part of me could easily just roll into bed and sleep for twelve hours.

  Exactly twenty-one minutes later I rush into the foyer. Darren’s sitting on one of the stained lounges reading the paper. He’s wearing black jeans, cowboy boots and a red sweater.

  “Where we going?”

  He looks up and closes the paper. “Thought we might try a casino.”

  I laugh. “Gee, thanks for the clarification.”

  We join the masses on The Strip. “Do you like rides?” Darren asks.

  “Love ’em.”

  “Great.” He looks up.

  I follow his gaze. We’re standing outside the Stratosphere, one of the northern-most places on The Strip. “Oh, no. No way!”

  He shakes his head. “You’re telling me an FBI agent is scared of a little-bitty ride?”

  “You bastard!” He’s got me. I have to go on the stupid ride now—my pride won’t let me refuse. I sigh. “Let’s go.”

  We make our way up to the top of the Stratosphere and Darren selects Insanity as the ride.

  “Three Gs, at one-hundred stories up. You ready?”

  “Uh huh,” I say with more gusto than I feel. The rides are all on the rooftop but we get in line a few levels down. I watch the video promos and am relieved I haven’t eaten yet. Insanity consists of an arm that extends from the top of the Stratosphere tower over the edge, so you’re literally hanging in mid-air. It’s certainly aptly named. The ride takes ten people at a time. Eventually they send us up to the rooftop. In real life, the ride looks even scarier than it did in the posters and video promos.

  The expressions of the people get
ting off vary from exhilaration to horror, with some looking very green around the gills. I’m shooting for the first look.

  Now that we’re up close, even Darren looks worried. “Mmm, they really should set it up so you can’t see it before you get on.”

  I laugh. “A big Homicide cop like you, afraid of a little-bitty ride.”

  He shoots me back a challenging yet cheeky look.

  By the time we’re ushered over to Insanity’s tentacles, I’m shaking slightly and my stomach feels like it’s in my throat. In fact, it’s not that dissimilar to the feeling I get when we’re on a bust. Adrenaline. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. Oddly enough, I think I’m more scared of the stupid ride.

  I strap myself in and prepare to be scared shitless. I glance around and the other passengers all have similar looks of anticipation and fear. The ride starts off with a fairly gentle spin that lulls me into a false sense of security. This isn’t so bad, right? But then the speed picks up and the arms extend upward and outward so we’re suspended in the middle of nowhere.

  I look down and scream, a combination of excitement and fear. Darren’s grinning at me but his smile is misshapen from the g-force. I grin back. After a couple of breathless, terrifying minutes the ride slows down again and the arms retract, returning us to the safety of the rooftop. I unbuckle myself and slide out of the seat, my legs slightly wobbly, perhaps not convinced that I really do have solid ground under me. After all, I’d just been dangling one-hundred stories in the air.

  “That was amazing,” I say.

  “I knew you’d love it.”

  “You did not. You hoped I’d be scared.”

  He grins.

  “I’m just glad I haven’t eaten in the last few hours,” I say.

  “I’m with you there.” He pats his stomach. “Although give my stomach another few minutes and I think I’ll be hungry again.”

  We decide on an Asian restaurant in the Stratosphere complex, and enjoy some sushi and noodles before hitting The Strip again. If anything, the street is more crowded now, at 10:00 p.m., than it was at

  8:00 p.m. We’re jostled along with the crowd, me ogling all the way. “Time to experience the real Vegas.” Darren points to the Mirage and we make our way through its doors and into the belly of the casino.

  “Well, what’s your game? Slots, blackjack, poker?”

  “Blackjack.” I pause. “Small limit.”

  “Suits me.”

  We make our way through the busy slot machines, with their lights and sound effects, to the card area. The first table is a ten-dollar minimum bet, so we move on until we find a spare seat at the one-dollar table. Darren motions me into the seat.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll watch for a start.”

  I hand the dealer a twenty—big spender—and get my twenty chips in return. I’m in the game. Before the first hand is even over, a waitress is asking Darren and me what we’d like to drink. Darren orders a beer and I order a piña colada. When in Vegas…

  I’m on a winning streak, up by ten dollars after only ten minutes, when Darren manages to get the seat next to me. The dealer hands out the cards. I’ve got a ten and a five—tricky. The general rule I was told with blackjack is to sit on sixteen or more. I stick with the rule and ask the dealer to hit me. He deals a five and I sit, unable to wipe the smile off my face. One good thing about casinos—you don’t have to worry about bluffing.

  “Having a good time?” Darren asks.

  “Great time.” I take the last sip of my drink, which was delicious but served in a very small glass.

  Darren sits on his hand and the dealer busts, making us both winners.

  Multiple hands blur into one, broken up with a couple more drinks and lots of laughter. When I finally look at my watch I almost fall off my stool.

  “It’s 2:00 a.m.!” I say. “That’s incredible.”

  Darren looks at his watch too, needing visual confirmation. “Wow! I guess we better call it a night.”

  “I’ll say. What time is Cross expecting us in the morning?”

  “First thing.”

  “Great.” I count my chips—thirty-two in total. Not bad. I’ve won twelve dollars, been entertained for a few hours and had four free piña coladas. Darren’s down, but only by a few dollars.

  The walk back seems to take forever and the people and lights now seem overwhelming rather than magical. That’s what tiredness will do to you.

  “What a great night,” I say to Darren as we walk down the corridor to our rooms.

  “I’ll say. You needed some R & R. To take your mind off things.”

  We stop outside my door. “I guess I did.” I rummage through my handbag for my key card. “It’s in here somewhere.” My hair falls into my face and I push it back before resuming the search. Once again, a few strands of hair fall into my eyes. This time it’s Darren who smoothes my bangs back, gently touching my face. I pause, momentarily forgetting what I was doing. But I don’t look up at Darren. Looking at him now would be too dangerous.

  I resume the search. “Found it.”

  Darren runs his hand along my face, and finally I can no longer resist the urge to look at him. As soon as our eyes meet he bends down and kisses me. Although a large part of me wants him, I only half respond. The kiss is brief and we’re both aware of the awkwardness. He drops his hand and the rest of his body seems to slump a little too. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” He spins around and walks the two doors down to his room without looking back. He’s in his room before I’ve even unlocked my door.

  Once inside I lean on the door. Shit! I really have a knack with men. Darren is a great guy and I am attracted to him, but it’s too soon. My last relationship is unresolved. Are we having a break or have we split up? And the whole thing’s complicated by the damned Slasher case and the uneasiness I still feel when I’m around any man. Will that ever go away? Darren’s perfect for me in so many ways, but it’s not right. Not yet.

  BlackWidow: I’m surprised Danny shared that pizza.

  DialM: Yes, very out of character for him.

  AmericanPsycho: It’s also lucky for him.

  NeverCaught: Why?

  AmericanPsycho: Let’s just say the pizza’s not going to agree with them.

  DialM: This latest scheme is devious, Psycho. What did you use?

  AmericanPsycho: A nasty strain of salmonella.

  NeverCaught: Lethal?

  AmericanPsycho: Maybe…if he’d had the whole thing.

  BlackWidow: Wonder why he did share?

  NeverCaught: He might be sick of everyone hating him.

  BlackWidow: Maybe. But I think his motives are more strategic than that. How long until we start to see the effects?

  AmericanPsycho: Food poisoning’s usually four to six hours, so any minute now. Danny’s already starting to look a little queasy.

  BlackWidow: Yes.

  NeverCaught: Check out Clair and Jonathan. I think they’re sweet on each other.

  DialM: They’re actually quite compatible. They’re both into music—if you could call it that. Did you try to match anyone? For our viewing pleasure?

  AmericanPsycho: As a matter of fact…

  NeverCaught: Hope they ***. That’d be cool. Then I can get all my viewing pleasure in one package. Right here.

  DialM: Look at Danny now. He’s certainly looked better.

  NeverCaught: The others aren’t so hot, either.

  AmericanPsycho: Here we go, the first run to the toilet. Danny.

  DialM: He did eat the most pizza.

  BlackWidow: Oh, I’m turning my speakers down.

  DialM: Agreed. The sound’s getting to them, too.

  NeverCaught: Here goes Susie. This is gross, man.

  AmericanPsycho: Well, you can always log out.

  NeverCaught: Yes, but I might miss something. Something other than puking.

  BlackWidow: Can you imagine the stench in that toilet?

  DialM: I’d rath
er not!

  AmericanPsycho: This is fun! Did you hear Jonathan’s plea?

  NeverCaught: Medical help. Please!

  BlackWidow: It’s sweet that he’s worried about Danny. I wouldn’t be.

  NeverCaught: But you’re a cold-blooded killer.

  17

  The alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m., but the radio is drowned out by the deathly thud in my head. I moan, turn over and hit the snooze button. I don’t think I’ll be going for a run this morning. I only had four small piña coladas! What’s with the hangover? I guess my tolerance is low these days.

  Finally, I get up at 7:30 a.m. Bloody Darren. I’ll kill him. Then again, I could have said no to the drinks he ordered for me. Vegas and its free alcohol is a damn effective way to keep people at the tables. I struggle out of bed over to the bar fridge and guzzle the only bottle of water. Time to phone Darren. I hesitate, my hands hovering over the keypad. The kiss. This is going to be tricky. Okay, I’ll pretend nothing happened. That’s always a good strategy—kind of.

  “Hello.” His voice sounds fuzzy. “Detective Carter,” he adds, at the last minute.

  I manage a laugh. “It’s me. You up?”

  “Yup. Yup, I’m up.”

  “I’ll see you at the front desk in thirty minutes?”

  “Mmm.” His voice is still foggy. Unlike me, Darren didn’t have to limit his alcohol intake.

  “Thirty minutes,” I repeat before hanging up. When it’s self-inflicted, it’s nice to know someone is suffering more than you. Teasing Darren might also be a good way to avoid the awkwardness of last night’s kiss.

  When I arrive at the reception area, just over thirty minutes later, I am surprised to see him already checking out. I stand still and watch him from a distance, knowing I’m out of his field of vision. Darren is a great catch, a great guy. Maybe I’m a fool. Will he still be free if I wait? I take a deep breath, trying to quiet the tornado of butterflies in my stomach, and walk casually over to the front desk.

  “You weren’t really up, were you?” I ask.

  He turns to me and the look on his face shows me his attraction. “Of course,” he says, but shakes his head at the same time. “I don’t need much work in the morning.” He runs his hand over his face. “Shower, shave…”