by Nancy Warren
It felt strange entering Dwayne’s bedroom. It certainly wasn’t something she’d ever imagined doing again in her lifetime. It was even stranger knowing he was currently being held by police.
Dwayne had never been a particularly tidy man, and she saw that the last decade and a half hadn’t changed him. It was easy to spot the clothes he’d worn last night as they were heaped on the floor. The jeans and the shirt that he’d worn to perform in were there. No doubt he’d put on another of his many pairs of jeans this morning for his ride to jail.
She picked up the shirt first. A whiff of Stetson hit her along with the meatier notes of cigar and the scent of Loretta’s perfume clinging like gossip to a reputation. Her nose was pretty good but not good enough to distinguish whether the cigar she was inhaling now was the same as the one in Grant Forstman’s office, but she felt it safe to assume it was.
Dwayne had never been a smoker. He refused to ingest anything that he thought might tamper with his golden voice. But he’d been around cigar smoke since this shirt had last been washed, possibly even smoked one in order to fit in. She picked up the jeans, went through the pockets. In one was a pack of the very same matches she’d seen Loretta Forstman use earlier to light her cigarette. They were the same oblong shape, embossed with the casino name. In the same pocket she found the gold label thingy from the cigar. Seemed he had smoked one, then, more worried about offending Grant Forstman she wagered than he was worried about damaging his vocal cords.
If she was right, and he’d smoked this cigar in Grant Forstman’s office, she had to ask herself why. Why would he smoke a cigar with the man he was planning to kill? And why would Forstman offer a smoke to a man whose car he had deliberately damaged the day before?
She checked the rest of his room and didn’t find anything of note. His laptop was old and as far as she could tell he only used it for email and for writing songs. His email was password protected. She knew enough about him that she could probably figure out his password if she had enough time. She doubted she had much time. If the cops arrested Dwayne they’d be right behind her, seizing his laptop and the clothes he’d worn.
A scatter of change sat atop his bureau. She went through his drawers methodically. Socks and underwear in the top drawer, a bowl of blue casino chips — she wondered if he got them as tips. A box of bolo ties and cufflinks. In the middle drawer were T-shirts, a pair of athletic shorts, sweaters. And in the bottom drawer the jeans. She counted seven pairs of jeans including a black pair and a white pair.
The pockets offered up receipts, crumpled notes with lines of songs scribbled on them, a few dollars, and some phone numbers. Always the phone numbers. Now, of course, they were cell phone numbers, and there was a scatter of email addresses in there as well. She couldn’t imagine whispering to some guy, “Hey, why don’t you email me sometime?” Maybe they were the married ones who didn’t want to be bothered by phone calls.
In his closet was a collection of shirts. Denim ones, western formal wear with rhinestones, and the big belts. He owned a collection of boots, a pair of athletic shoes and flip flops.
Nothing hidden under the mattress. Nothing in the room to explain what the hell her ex-husband had gotten himself into. A scatter of papers on his bureau included a checkbook with the edges curled. Statements and bills, some of which hadn’t been opened. She took a quick look through his checkbook and the papers and got the strong feeling that Dwayne Diamond was having some money troubles.
She came out of Dwayne’s bedroom with some thoughts, some scraps of paper with phone numbers, and some unwelcome memories. Some things never changed.
Tiffany looked heartily bored with math. She glanced up her mother through thick lashes and put on her most charming expression. For a moment Toni felt like she was looking at a young Dwayne. Just for a second. And in that moment she remembered why she’d fallen for him.
“Mom, I really need a shower. Can I take a break?”
She tried not to appear as relieved as she felt. She’d been trying to figure out how to get her daughter out of earshot for a few minutes so she could ask Brent some questions. However, to avoid suspicion, she didn’t give in right away. She turned to Brent. “What do you think? Has she learned anything?”
“I’d say we’ve made good progress. Tiffany’s a very quick learner.”
“Okay, then. You go shower up.”
“And then can we go and see Dad?”
“I’ll check with the police and ask when we can see your father.”
As Tiffany left the room, she said to Brent, “And that’s not a sentence you ever think you’ll end up saying to your teenaged daughter.”
“She’s a great girl. I am really sorry she had to witness this.”
He rose from the table and packed up his notes. Before he could leave the kitchen, she said, “Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”
Brent’s expression grew hunted. “Look, I really don’t know him that well.”
She smiled at him. “If it’s women, please. We’ve been divorced forever. Anyway, it’s not Dwayne’s women I want to talk to you about.”
He looked incredibly relieved. “Oh?”
“It’s Dwayne’s money.”
Brent settled himself back into the chair he’d only just vacated. “Dwayne’s money,” he said slowly, as though those two words didn’t belong next to each other.
“When’s the last time he paid you rent?”
He adjusted his glasses and gazed at her for a long moment. Finally he said, “He is a little behind on rent.”
“Why do you let him stay?”
“Dwayne was instrumental in getting us the gig at the Double Nugget. He introduced me to Grant Forstman and got us an audition.” He shrugged. “There isn’t such a call for female impersonators as there once was in Vegas. We’re grateful to have the work.”
“Who else does Dwayne owe money to?”
“Honestly, I wouldn’t know. But he’s got a lot of friends and everyone knows he’ll pay up when he gets some money.”
Then, she thought, her ex-husband must have changed, but she didn’t say so.
She didn’t even know why she was asking. Dwayne’s lack of financial stability probably had nothing to do with the casino owner’s death.
“Dwayne wanted me to invest in some business proposition he was very excited about. Do you know what that was?”
“No.”
Brent was a CPA who owned his own home. She suspected she was not the only one Dwayne had tried to wrest money from. “Did he try to borrow money from you?”
“Yes. He did. But I wouldn’t even let him tell me what it was. Huge return, fast turnaround? I told him to put his money in the bank. It sounded like a scam to me.”
She nodded. She’d said almost the same words to Dwayne. Now she began to wonder how many other people had turned down her ex-husband. Of course, if Grant Forstman was one of them, she was only strengthening the case against Dwayne.
“If he asked both you and me for money, he must have asked Grant Forstman. He’s probably the richest man Dwayne’s ever come across.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
She was genuinely surprised. “What? Are you saying that Dwayne is hooked up with a lot of wealthy people here in Vegas?”
“No. I’m saying I’m not sure Grant had a lot of money to invest.”
He spoke carefully, his tone measured. He’d picked up a pencil and was doodling on the paper with the calculus equations.
“But that casino alone must be worth a fortune.”
Brent smiled and looked up. “You know what we sell here in Vegas, Toni? We sell illusions. Dreams. This town runs on greed and hope.”
“I’ve walked through the Double Nugget. It seemed real to me.”
“But is Forstman’s ownership real?”
She felt a little the way she imagined her daughter did trying to struggle through calculus. “I’m confused.”
“I am only telling you thi
s in the faint hope that it might help Dwayne. Frankly, I doubt anything can help Dwayne, but in case it’s useful, please understand I am telling you this in the strictest confidence.”
“Of course,” she said, snuggling her butt further forward on her chair. There was something so delicious about hearing secrets.
“Shortly after we started performing at the Double Nugget, Grant found out I was a CPA. He hired me to do some work for him. On the side, hush hush. He’d bet heavily on real estate and got caught in the crash. He borrowed money against the casino. More than he should have borrowed and from people that don’t like it when you don’t pay them back.”
“You mean the mob?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I suspect Russian mobsters.”
“So, you think Grant Forstman owed a lot of money to gangsters and when he couldn’t pay it they killed him?”
“No. Frankly, I think Dwayne killed Grant. But if I can help you throw some reasonable doubt around, I will. Forstman wasn’t the nicest guy in the world. I don’t think a lot of people will cry at his funeral.”
“Not his wife, certainly,” she said, recalling her meeting with Loretta.
“You met Loretta?”
“Yes. We met at the casino today. I went over there to see if I could find out anything and we got to talking. She seemed nice. Level headed.”
“Yes. Yes, she is.” He suddenly stood up. “Well, I’d better get going or I’ll miss my makeover.”
She let him get halfway across the kitchen then, making sure she could still hear the shower going, said, “Brent?”
He turned. “Yes?”
“How long have Dwayne and Loretta been having an affair?”
His face scrunched up like somebody was threatening it with a fist. “How did you know about that?”
“I guessed. Thanks for confirming.”
He sighed and shook his head. “It was supposed to be a big secret. I told him he was asking for trouble. I mean, come on, the boss’s wife? But Dwayne didn’t listen.”
“How long had the affair been going on?”
“I don’t know. A few months?”
“Did Grant Forstman know?”
“I thought you were trying to clear Dwayne?”
“I will if I can, but I need to know the truth.”
“Did the man Dwayne is accused of murdering know that Dwayne was having an affair with his wife?” He nodded. “Yes. He did.”
She’d decided to wait until she heard from Luke before trying to see Dwayne since she needed to know exactly what their case against him was. So, as she was headed back to the hotel, she was relieved when her cell phone rang and Luke’s photo came up. Every time she looked at the candid she’d snapped of him it made her smile. She pulled over and answered. “Hi, Luke.”
“How’s it going down there?”
“Interesting.”
“It’s about to get a whole lot more interesting.”
“Oh. You talked to your buddy?”
“Yes. You alone?”
“I’m in my car. Alone. I was going back to the hotel. Mother needs more Lady Bianca sample packs.”
There was a short pause. “Right. Not even murder stops you girls shilling your makeup, does it?”
“Believe it or not, a little cosmetics party can give everybody a break from the grimness of a murder investigation. Also, it’s amazing what people reveal when you have them in your hands. You’d be surprised.”
“Having seen you at work, I would not.”
She thought there might be a back-handed compliment under the heavy layer of sarcasm, but she decided not to press the matter.
“Okay. I’ve got my notepad out. What have you got for me?”
“Toni, they can put him at the scene. He was seen entering Forstman’s office on surveillance video. And he was seen leaving after midnight. No one else comes in until the morning when one of his henchmen shows up and finds the guy dead.”
“That’s bad.”
“There were witnesses to an altercation he had the day before, but you know that because your daughter was there.”
She scribbled notes as she talked. “Do they know Dwayne was having an affair with Loretta Forstman?”
“You beat me to the punch line. How the hell do you know that?”
If she told him she’d been snooping he’d yell at her. She said, “It was a hunch.”
She tapped her pen on her paper. The cops always approached crime from who was the most likely to have committed it. But her take was different. If she was bone deep certain that Dwayne was incapable of murder then she had to look at other approaches. Like, if he didn’t do it, then who did?
“I heard that Grant Forstman always had one or both of his hired muscle with him. Where were they when Dwayne had his meeting?”
“One of them was sick with food poisoning. The other, Milos Karank, was there at the start of the meeting. The surveillance camera shows him walking away and down the hall around 11:45.”
“Why would he leave? That doesn’t make sense.”
“He’s the one who roughed your ex up the day before. Maybe there was some delicacy involved.”
She snorted. “Nothing about Forstman or his tough guys looked delicate to me.”
“Toni, it doesn’t matter why the guy left. The fact is that he did and he didn’t go back until the next morning. Dwayne Diamond was alone with Grant Forstman and then killed him.”
“Over Loretta?”
“How do I know why he killed him? All I know is the facts are speaking pretty loudly and they’re saying twenty-five to life.” She’d done a little of her own research on the Internet. Nevada was a death penalty state.
“What about gunpowder residue? Did they find any?”
“No. But he could have worn a jacket he later threw away. He could have slipped on surgical gloves or scrubbed up thoroughly when he got home. Any fool with cable TV knows how to shoot someone and avoid gunpowder residue.”
“I keep telling you, Dwayne’s not that smart.”
“Toni, how do you explain the surveillance tapes?” He was doing his best to be patient with her, but she could hear the sharp note. He was convinced Dwayne had done the deed and clearly believed she was wasting her time.
She thought about it. “I have cable TV too. They can be tampered with.”
“They weren’t tampered with. We have experts.”
A couple of kids walked by, sullen teens. One was chewing gum like it was taking every bit of his attention; the other was moving his head in time to whatever he was listening to through his earphones. Those kids probably had normal lives, parents who worried about them. Dads who weren’t in jail. “What can I do?”
“Seems to me he’s a guy who has it coming. My advice is get on the first plane and get back here.”
“If it wasn’t for Tiffany I probably would. But I don’t want her to grow up believing her dad is a murderer.”
“Tiffany is a smart, stable girl. She’ll find a way to deal with it.”
Tiffany had only met her father a few days ago. She did not want the poor kid having to deal with him being a killer unless it was absolutely, positively certain it was true. “When can I see him?”
“They’re not letting anyone see him except his lawyer until the bail hearing Monday morning. You can see him after that.”
“A bail hearing? But that means—”
“It means that about thirty minutes ago your ex-husband was formally charged with murder.”
Chapter Ten
“Sex is like money; only too much is enough.”
— John Updike
Toni had no idea what to wear to a bail hearing since she’d never been to one, but her usual policy every day was to dress as though something wonderful was going to happen.
So she put on one of her favorite dresses in blues and purples, slipped into heels and stuffed a sweater in her bag in case the air conditioning was too cold. Her makeup and hair were flawless, and she made certain to hav
e a healthy stash of sample packs and her business cards offering free makeovers. She imagined a lot of people would hang around at courthouses with time to kill. Including her.
Talking about makeup and beauty routines would help brighten all their days.
Tiffany had slept over with them at the hotel on the pullout couch. They’d tried to pretend they were having a fun, girls’ weekend away but underneath was always the knowledge that Dwayne was spending his weekend in jail.
“Can I come, Mom?” Tiffany asked, as Toni was deciding between diamond drop earrings or studs.
“No, honey. A courthouse is no place for you. Work on some more calculus or get started on your history project.”
Her daughter threw her head back and made a sound of intense frustration before stomping off to the bathroom and slamming the door. “As if she was at home,” Toni said to her mom. “For which I apologize.”
“It’s her father. Of course she’s upset.” Linda said. “Don’t worry, honey. ,” Linda said. “I’ll look out for her. I was thinking we could go shopping or get our nails done.”
When Toni arrived at Clark County courthouse, she was very glad she’d worn bright colors, especially when she got to the courtroom where the bail hearing would take place. If the people sitting in the gallery weren’t already depressed because of their loved ones being in trouble, looking around at all the black and navy, the droopy fabrics, pale faces and unkempt hair would make them so.
She was doing a little friendly fishing, chatting to a woman who sat near her to pass the time. When the woman’s drug-dealing son made bail, she congratulated her and said, “Here’s a little gift from me to you. If you want to give yourself the gift of looking better, give me a call,” and she pressed the sample pack and her card on the stunned-looking woman.
As she moved to let the woman slide past her, she noticed her mother and daughter coming toward her. Tiffany said, “Mother, you did not seriously try to flog cosmetics to a woman who just bailed her son out of jail?”
“Name me one time when a woman wouldn’t feel better if she looked better?” Toni challenged. Then, realizing that both her daughter and her mother had turned up at the bail hearing, she snapped, “Anyway, that’s beside the point. What are you doing here?”
