Carl lifted a body toward me. Dark hair. The girl. “Here, take her, she’s gone, man.”
“Shit.”
Grabbing under her shoulders, I pulled her to safety and laid her out on the sidewalk. Smoothing her hair from her face, I put my cheek to her nose as I felt for a pulse in her neck. With neither breath nor pulse, her skin was clammy to the touch.
Carl pulled himself out of the hole and crouched next to me. “She’s not movin’. I don’t think she’s breathin’. Dammit, have we lost her?”
Fingers laced, with one hand on top of the other, I pressed firmly into her sternum, as I silently counted. “Come on.”
Thirty seconds, then I shifted to her mouth. Opening it, I tilted her head back and pulled her jaw toward me then felt to make sure her tongue wasn’t blocking her airway. Pinching her nose, I covered her mouth with mine and blew, while I watched her chest. Two breaths strong enough to make her chest rise, then back to the compressions. As I shifted, I glanced at Carl.
Eyes wide, but calm, he picked the baby up and cradled it as he watched me. “I found her just going out, clinging to a piece of wood wedged in an opening. She had the baby above water even as she was going under.”
Another thirty seconds of compressions. On autopilot now, I moved toward her head.
As I pinched her nose, I thought she moved. I slapped her face. “Come on. You can do it.”
She coughed.
“Yes!” I rolled her onto her side and pounded her back.
She gagged. Water spewed out as she gagged again.
“That’s right.” Kneeling behind, with one hand on her shoulder, I held her.
Finally she took a deep ragged lungful of air.
Shifting back, I sat. Pulling her into my lap, I held her tight, as her breaths finally slowed.
Her body tensed. “My baby?”
“She’s okay.” I smoothed her hair. Looking up, my eyes found Carl’s, tears welling.
He looked like a bedraggled lumberjack or something. What was that guy’s name? Reruns on TV when I was kid. Grizzly Adams, that was it. I giggled as my body started to shake. Uncontrollable spasms. Shock.
My vision tunneled. I thought I felt a hand on my shoulder. A voice in my ear said, “It’s okay. We called nine-one-one. Help is on the way.”
Sirens in the distance. I felt myself slipping. My world went dark.
Chapter Seventeen
“No!” A male voice. Angry. Shouting. Noise.
“Sir, you are going to have to come with me.” Something clattered. The smell. Oh God, the smell. Hospital.
My eyes fluttered open as my heart galloped. Bright lights. Squinting, I struggled to move, but a weight held me down. Panic. Why couldn’t I move?
“Sir, you are not making this any easier.”
My thoughts tumbled as memories flooded. The storm drains. Water. A baby. I focused on the source of the sound. I could just make out shadows and forms. Where was I?
“I. AM. NOT. LEAVING. LUCKY.” Carl. He had been in the drains.
Blinking furiously, I felt like I was looking through a pair of binoculars as I thumbed the focus wheel. Hazy at first, slowly my world took shape. Bright lights. Too bright. And that smell, ammonia…and death. I squinted against the light. Two men dressed in purple scrubs held on to Carl. His shoulders bunched, his hands tight hammers of flesh, he shook them off as easily as a bear would a couple of dogs. They lunged for him again.
My mind formed the words, but I couldn’t find the breath to give them sound. Sucking air into my lungs, I concentrated. “Carl.” My voice came out all pinched and small.
The three men froze, their heads swiveling toward me.
Carl beamed. “Lucky!” He shrugged out of the orderlies’ grasp and rushed to my side. Still wet and smelling of the storm drains, he leaned over me and grabbed my hand. “I thought we lost you.”
“No Wheaties this morning,” I whispered. Waves of cold rolled through me, chattering my teeth. Lying in bed, my cocoon of warm blankets helped, but it wasn’t enough. Flashes of memory hit me—bits and pieces, jerky, like an old silent movie. “Jeremy?”
“Waterlogged but safe. The fool has a hero complex—something about coming back to save us. He damn near drowned. The cops fished him out.” A huge tear trickled out of Carl’s eye. “Lucky, don’t go leaving me, okay?”
“How long have I been here?” Testing, I wiggled my feet. My ankle screamed, which I took as a good sign.
“You’ve been out a while.” Carl touched me, tentatively, like a child who wasn’t sure he had permission. “I wasn’t worried. I knew you’d be okay. It wasn’t your time.”
I’d learn to trust Carl’s odd assertions—this one I held on to like a drowning swimmer clung to a raft. “The girl and the baby?”
“They got the kid under some lamp thing, like they’re trying to make her sprout. I’m sure her mama is close by. That detective friend of yours has gone to look for her. He made me promise not to leave you until he got back.” Carl threw an angry look over his shoulders at the orderlies who shrank back, then turned tail and fled.
As if waiting for his cue, Romeo stepped through the doorway. He looked angry and relieved at the same time, which I sorta understood. I wasn’t exactly happy with me either. “You and me have some talking to do,” Romeo said, trying to keep the mad in his voice. He was marginally successful. “But we can cover that ground later.” He pulled the girl from behind him. “This is Estella and I thought you might want to talk to her.”
Without the heels, the uniform and the makeup, Estella looked to be a fresh-faced nineteen, tops. With her hair dry, a bit of color back in her cheeks, and wearing a set of scrubs so large the sleeves and pant legs had to be rolled several times, the hardened girl I remembered had all but disappeared. Only the barest hint remained in the defiant tilt to her chin. “I did nothing wrong.” And in the hard edge to her voice.
“Matter of opinion, I’m sure.” Rolling, I pushed myself up on an elbow. Struggling against the weight of the blankets took more strength than I thought possible—they felt as if they were made of lead. Romeo stuffed another pillow or two behind me and I leaned back. Half sitting, I looked at the girl with fresh eyes. Thin. Pale. Young. So very, very young. “The night before last, you were in the hotel, yes?”
She nodded, her arms folded across her chest. Like a cornered animal, she wanted to run. I could see it in the way she held her body, in the slightly wild look in her eyes.
“It wasn’t the first time was it?”
Shock flashed across her face, and fear. She shook her head.
“The uniforms, where did you get them?”
She swallowed hard, then glanced at Romeo.
“Tell her the truth, you owe her at least that much.” He nodded in my direction. “Carl got you out of the sewers, but she breathed life back into you.”
This time, when the girl looked at me, the fight leaked out of her. “This ugly man, and not so nice.”
“Describes Marvin Johnstone pretty well.” I gave her his physical appearance and she nodded. “Yes, that’s him.”
“So tell me how it went down.”
“He’d give us the uniform, mostly they were from Housekeeping. We’d go from room to room looking for stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Jewelry, that’s all he wanted.”
“Then what?”
Estella pursed her lips and shrugged. “We’d give him what we found, he’d pay us.”
“What’d he do with it?”
“I have no idea. Please believe me. I took the jewelry—he said insurance would pay for it. I didn’t think it was so bad.” She wrung her hands as the weight of her situation landed on her shoulders. “What’s going to happen to my daughter? Who’s going to take care of her if I’m in jail?”
I looked at Romeo and he shrugged. I was fresh out of answers myself. “God, what a mess.” I sighed as I leaned back and closed my eyes. Kids falling through the cracks. Next time I saw my mother
I’d give her a new spin on a political platform. “Estella, you know what you did was wrong, don’t you?” Opening my eyes, I saw her nod. “I don’t know what to do, but I’ll try to think of something. And, Detective Romeo will help. Won’t you?” I didn’t need to look at him to see his wide-eyed look.
I ignored him. Turning instead back to the girl. “The cocktail waitress uniform was a departure. Did Mr. Johnstone say why? What were you supposed to do?”
“Watch.”
“For what?”
“Not what, who.” She dropped one hand, her fingers nervously tapping her thigh as she glanced around the cubicle.
“For whom, then?”
“A couple of the poker dudes. Watalsky, Slurry, DeLuca, Grady—if any of them wandered into view I was to give the heads-up.”
“To Mr. Johnstone?”
“No, to Sylvie.”
Romeo’s head popped up. “Sylvie? But Mr. Johnstone gave you the uniform?”
“Yes.”
“They were working together?” This time it was my turn to sound incredulous.
“Maybe that’s not the right words.” Estella paused, her brows crinkled in thought. “I don’t know, but I felt Sylvie was forcing him to do something, I don’t know what.”
Well, that muddied the waters. I motioned to one of the two orderlies who had stuck their heads in the doorway. “A cup of hot tea? Would that be possible?”
Nodding, he looked thankful for a mission as he grabbed his compatriot, and both of them disappeared. Now I knew how many orderlies it took to make a cup of tea. There was a joke in there somewhere. Fighting with my wandering thoughts, I pulled them back.
“I’m not lying.” Estella swiped at a tear, then threw her shoulders back as if a show of strength was needed to discount the sign of weakness. “Mrs. Dane, she was a nice lady.”
“So, let me get this straight. Marvin wanted you to scout for Sylvie Dane?”
“Sí.” She shook her head. “Sorry, yes.”
“And she wanted you to give her a warning if you saw any of those men?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She had something to do in the dealership and she didn’t want them to see.”
“Was she meeting someone?”
“Not that I could tell.”
“You didn’t see anyone go into the dealership?”
“No.”
“What was she doing, then?” I couldn’t get my mind around it—not enough sugar left in my system to fire my thinker.
Estella just shook here head. “She didn’t tell me.”
Romeo piped up. “She was looking for something? Or maybe hiding something?”
He looked at Estella who shrugged. “Possibly.”
“Or someone came in the backdoor?” I added. “But the tapes didn’t show anyone,” I continued, shooting that theory down. I turned my attention back to Estella. “Mrs. Dane was worried about all the men you named.”
This time the girl paused before answering. “I don’t think she knew who to be afraid of.”
The orderly came back with the tea, which he put on a movable table that he rolled up to my bed. Pretending to be engrossed in adding fake sugar and a touch of milk, I took a few moments to process. I pushed myself up a bit more then took a sip of tea. As the warmth washed through me, I succumbed to its restorative powers. Tea? Who knew? “And after she was dead you stole the necklace, ripping it from her neck.”
“I stole it, yes. But not from her.”
Romeo’s head swiveled as focused on the girl. “You didn’t take it from Mrs. Dane?”
Estella toed the ground. “I took it from her, yes. But I had stolen it from one of the big rooms at the hotel a couple of weeks ago.”
“Then how did Sylvie Dane get it?” I asked, beating Romeo to the punch.
Estella looked at the floor, grinding her toe into the linoleum. “She caught me,” she whispered.
“Caught you? When? Doing what?” Losing interest in the tea, I set the cup down.
“That day. The day I stole the pretty watch. I tried one more room. I knew I shouldn’t, I’d been there too long.” She looked up at me—a furtive glance, her eyes deep and dark…intense. “Mrs. Dane got wise to me. She said she would go to the police if I didn’t tell her the whole story.”
“And did you?” Romeo asked.
“She had me cold. I gave her what she wanted.”
“And then what?” I prompted.
The girl shrugged. “I gave her the watch—that’s the only piece she wanted. And she let me go.”
“That’s it?” I asked, feeling there was a bit more to the story.
Estella let her breath out slowly. When she looked up, her eyes were clear, her gaze level. “Mrs. Dane wanted me to tell the ugly man what happened.”
Romeo and I looked at each other—I could tell our minds were riding the same wavelength. “Do you think Sylvie was blackmailing Marvin into helping her?” I whispered to him.
He shrugged. “Could be. But help her with what?”
“Beats me,” I added unnecessarily.
“I didn’t kill her.” Estella’s voice, now brittle with fear, had lost its edge. “I just stole things.”
The classic dodge—admit to a lesser crime.
“She was already dead when you took the necklace?” I confirmed.
“Yes, and the shoes. I took them, too.” Estella eyes were bright. “I needed the money. My baby was hungry and Mrs. Dane wasn’t going to need those things anymore.”
Harsh, her words underscored a toughness no teenager should have. The thought made me sad.
“Tell me why you ended up in the dealership and what you saw and did.”
“I saw Slurry and Watalsky and tried to get Mrs. Dane on the phone.”
“You called her?”
“Yes, on her cell.”
“What did you use?”
She looked at me like I should be in a remedial life class. “My cell, what else?” She punctuated my stupidity with one of those irritating teenage snorts that make one almost understand why a parent could hit a child…almost.
“You don’t have anywhere to live, but you have a cell.”
“There’s a charity or something that hands them out to all the homeless kids. We keep in touch to keep each other safe.”
The phone number Sylvie called—things were starting to add up…a bit. There were still some pretty large holes in the puzzle.
“Mrs. Dane didn’t answer and I got worried.”
“And Slurry and Watalsky?”
“They argued for a bit, near Delilah’s. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but then they went back to the Poker Room.”
“And the dealership?” Romeo prompted.
“Mrs. Dane was dead when I got there. All laid out on that car. Blood everywhere.” Estella wiped her eyes with a trembling hand. “I freaked. I grabbed the necklace and stuck the shoes on my feet. Then I ran.”
“And your shoes?”
“That man had given me a pair. They were too big. I tossed them in the red car, the one Mrs. Dane…” She shuddered. “I figured no one would look for them there. And if someone found them, they’d just think some guest had left them.”
“And Mr. Dane? Was he there?”
Her eyebrows scrunched into a frown. “Mr. Dane? I don’t know him.”
“Tall, handsome, cowboy thing going on. The guy in the storm drains?”
Recognition bloomed across the girl’s face. “That guy was her old man?”
“Did you see him in the dealership that night?” Romeo asked.
“He came through the door as I was leaving. He caught a glimpse of the body and went postal. I wasn’t sticking around.”
Romeo’s eyes met mine and I could see we were riding the same wavelength. Dane might actually be telling the truth about not killing his wife. So, if he didn’t…
My head spun with all the facts and all the probabilities. Trying to make sense of the mess was
like throwing darts at balloons. Of course, a brain needed sugar to function, and I couldn’t remember my last meal. My muscles drained by cold, exhausted through effort, and now deprived of their high-octane fuel, refused to budge no matter how hard my brain prodded. A hollow pit lurked at the bottom of my stomach. Like a rabid dog, sleep nipped at me, then sank in its teeth.
“You have no idea who Sylvie was meeting at the dealership?” That seemed to be the key, so I asked it again.
“No.”
“Do you have any idea why she was meeting whoever she was meeting?”
“That’s all I know.” Keeping her eyes focused on her feet and hugging herself tightly, she turned inward. “Can I see my daughter now?” She asked in a small voice as she glanced at Romeo, directing her question to him.
The girl looked anxious, tired, hungry…and…I narrowed my eyes. Scared. Yes, she looked scared. But scared of whom? Us? Somebody else? God knew, she had enough to be scared about. But, me being me, I wanted the specifics.
“Okay,” Romeo said. “But we’ll have more questions later.” He motioned to someone I couldn’t see outside the door. A tall woman, dressed in street-cop blues, stepped into the room. “Officer Mendoza will show you the way. She’s going to stay with you. Understand?”
“What are you going to do with me?” Estella’s voice had lost its swagger.
Romeo glanced at me before answering. “I don’t know yet. For now, keep you both safe and fed.”
A weak smile lit the girl’s eyes as she turned to the officer waiting patiently just inside the doorway.
When the two had gone, I leaned my head back. “Let me guess, we have no idea where Dane is.”
Before Romeo could answer, Jeremy strode into the room brandishing his phone. “You may not, but I do.”
***
Only tourists drove up or down the Strip, and maybe the occasional townie looking to waste time soaking up some atmosphere. In Jeremy’s Hummer, we were neither, so we darted down the back streets, taking the local route.
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