The Picasso Flop

by Vince Van Patten

  “Let me think,” she said. “They usually cover that when they televise these tournaments.”

  Jimmy took a hotel pad and pen from his pocket. He slid them across the table to her. She moved her decimated fruit plate off to the side. Kat didn’t eat meat or anything she thought was impure—or so she said. Jimmy had seen her destroy a cheeseburger when the urge hit. Today, however, she was nutrition conscious.

  She wrote a name, thought a moment, wrote another, and then a third, all with the tip of her tongue sticking out.

  “There, the spellin’ may not be right. That’s either all of them or all I can remember.”

  “Okay.” He poured himself some more coffee from the carafe on the table. Kat reached over and captured the cinnamon bun crumbs that were left on his plate with a damp forefinger.

  “Are you gonna talk to her, too?”

  “Who her?”

  “Sabine Chevalier,” she said. “The woman who used sex with you as an alibi.”

  “How do you know she told them we were having sex?” Jimmy asked. “Maybe she told them we were playing cards.”

  “Ha!”

  “That’s what you told them.”

  “You’re too old for me to have sex with,” she said, “but not her. She’s gotta be—what—forty?”

  “She can’t be a day over thirty-two.”

  Kat made a face. “Still old.”

  “God, sometimes I forget how young you really are, girl.”

  “Dude,” she said, “what’s playin’ detective gonna do to your game? You not playin’ your cards right.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to cut my brain in half.”

  “How are you gonna do that?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  “Dude, you’re playin’ a one outer. Fold now while you have the chance.”

  “Too late—and, damn, what’d I say about that poker lingo?”

  NINETEEN

  When they left Palio, Kat said she was going to play some quarter slots to calm her nerves. Jimmy said he’d see her at the game. Armed with the names she had given him, he went to see if he could locate the other posse members. Coincidentally he ran into someone else he wanted to talk to.

  He was entering the elevator court when an elevator opened and Sabine Chevalier stepped out. They both stopped short.

  “I guess you want to talk to me, oui?” she said after a few seconds.

  “Why would I want to talk to you?” he asked. “All you did was throw me to the cops. Why would you think I’d support your alibi, Sabine?”

  She shrugged. “I thought you were a gentleman.”

  “That’s funny,” he said. “In the past when I’ve lied about having sex with a woman she’s been upset.”

  “Just a—how do you say?—little white lie.”

  Her makeup was impeccable, her complexion clear and smooth, her expression serene and beautiful. She didn’t look like a woman who would slide a blade into a man, but Jimmy had known a lot of violent men who didn’t look like criminals.

  She also didn’t look like a woman who was worried that her alibi had fallen apart.

  “I’m curious,” he said. “Why’d they let you walk after I blew your story?”

  “They have no evidence to arrest me on,” she said. “For now, all they have are suspicions.”

  Jimmy had to move aside as another elevator opened and several people got out.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk about this?” he asked.

  “What is there to talk about?” she asked. “I am not mad at you.”

  “You’re not mad at me?” he asked.

  “Oh, come, come,” she said. “I saw the way those detectives were looking at me. If you had lied, you would have been the man to them. And you want to be the man, Jimmy, n’est-ce pas?”

  “It’s funny, but I usually prefer having done the work before I get the credit.”

  “And you think sleeping with me would have been work?” she asked with a smile.

  “I think we should go someplace and talk,” he said, as they had to move aside again to allow more people to leave an elevator.

  “I really do not think we have anything to talk about, Jimmy.”

  “Oh no? How about whether or not you killed Tim Bennett?”

  “I did not,” she said. “End of conversation.”

  “Then why did you lie about being with me?”

  “Look,” she said, starting to get annoyed, “I will apologize to you for that, okay? But I do not want to talk about this.”

  “I don’t either,” he said, “at least, not in an elevator court.”

  She glared at him.

  “You are not going let this drop, are you?”

  “No.”

  She took a deep breath and said, “Oh, all right. I was on my way to the Pool Café. Come with me, if you wish.”

  “Lead the way.”

  “I like being outside,” Sabine said as they sat down beneath an umbrella. “I do not get to sit in the sun much.”

  He didn’t comment on the fact that she wasn’t sitting in the sun now. It was a beautiful spot, however, overlooking not only the pool but also the Bellagio courtyards.

  A waitress came and took their order. Just coffee for him; coffee, a chocolate croissant, and assorted cheeses for her.

  “I watch what I eat when I am home,” she said, when she had the croissant in her hand, “not when I am away.”

  “So what was your relationship with Bennett?” Jimmy asked.

  “That creep?” She made a disgusted face. “I did not have a relationship with him.”

  “Okay, what was your connection?”

  “Phiff! I did not have one.”

  “Then why do the cops think you killed him?”

  “They do not think I killed— Look, they are only partially sure that a woman did it. They are talking to a lot of the women players.”

  “Well,” Jimmy said, “none of them claimed they were sleeping with me at the time. Why did you?”

  “The truth?”

  “That would be refreshing.”

  “I panicked,” she said, echoing Kat’s reason. “I thought if I told them I was in bed with someone, they would believe it. Then I tried to think of who I would want to be in bed with.”

  “And you came up with me.”

  “Oui.”

  “I’m flattered,” he said, “but could it simply be that we’d had dinner the night before and I was the first one to come to mind?”

  “That could be, I guess.”

  “Less flattering,” he said, “but more probable.”

  “Honestly,” she said, “most men would be flattered and not try to reason it away.”

  “Believe me,” he said, “I often wish I was like most men. It would save me a lot of time and trouble to just go along, fat, dumb, and happy.”

  “Well,” she said, “not so fat.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Look, Jimmy,” she said, “I admit I lied and it was foolish—and I am sorry if I inconvenienced you—but I did not kill Tim Bennett.”

  “If you didn’t, then who do you think did?”

  “Take your pick,” she said. “When Tim came on the scene he was obnoxious. After he won a bracelet, he was even worse.”

  “What about his buddies?”

  “His posse? Why would any of them kill him? He was the star of the group, getting them all their attention.”

  “Jealousy?”

  “Without him no one would know who the hell they are,” she said. “Does not sound like a motive for murder to me.” She leaned forward and asked, “Are we playing detective? Am I your—how do you say it—moll?”

  “That’s what you’d be if we were playing gangsters,” he said.

  “Oh. Well, c’est la vie.” She sat back in her chair. “How do you stand in the tournament?”

  “I’m doing okay.”

  “This whole business ruined my concentration yesterday,” she said. “I sat out mo
st of the hands the rest of the night.”

  Which was the difference between a pro and an amateur. Sitting out hands was what Kat should have done as well.

  “I know it’s easy for me to say since I’m not a suspect,” he said, “but don’t think about it today. If you keep looking around for the police to come and get you, you’ll be knocked out of the game in no time.”

  “I am a suspect.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I guess so.”

  She thought a moment, then said, “All things considered, I’d rather be a moll.”

  Later, when he thought back, it would still seem odd to Jimmy that the sound of the broken glass had come last. First came the splash, as the body hit the water in the pool. It sounded more like a sack of cement striking the ground, but the accompanying splash made it clear that something had struck the water.

  Next came the shower of glass, with the sun glinting off it so that it looked like someone had sprinkled the pool area with fairy dust.

  And that was when they all heard the tinkling sound of glass, which—for a moment—increased the whole fairy-dust image because it sounded more like bells.

  Then it all came together and the horror of what had happened struck them.

  “Oh, my God!” Sabine cried out.

  Most people around the pool were frozen. Jimmy was one of the few who left his place and went to the pool to see what exactly had happened.

  First he saw the body. It had plummeted to the bottom when it first hit and was now floating back to the top, ribbons of red streaming from it. But it took a moment for him to realize it was blood. Suddenly, there was screaming everywhere. Horrified guests began running about aimlessly. But Jimmy didn’t hear any of that. It was all dull background noise to him.

  Then, while most of the others were still watching the body, he saw three things floating on top of the water. Instinctively—although not on a conscious level—he knew they had come from the dead man’s pocket.

  Two of them were floating faceup: the jack of spades and the king of clubs. He knew that the card facing down would turn out to be the queen of hearts.

  And he knew that the man in the water would turn out to be a poker player.

  TWENTY

  The name on the driver’s license in his wallet is Jesse Dell,” Detective Cooper said.

  Why did that not come as a surprise? Jimmy thought. Dell was a posse member, one of the names Kat had written down for him.

  Once again Cooper was depending on Jimmy for information about poker players. And there was also the little fact that Jimmy was a witness to Jesse Dell’s swan dive.

  “Right through a window on the top floor,” he told Jimmy.

  “The high-roller floor.”

  “Is that right?”

  “So they tell me.”

  “You’re not a high roller, Mr. Spain?”

  “Far from it, Detective Cooper. I’m just a working stiff, like you, only my job is poker.”

  “That’s the way you look at it?”

  “That’s the way I look at it.”

  Around the pool, uniformed police and detectives were taking statements from people, checking their IDs, and then letting them leave. Off to one side Sabine Chevalier was still sitting in her chair.

  “Tell me something about Jesse Dell, Mr. Spain,” Cooper said.

  “He is—or was—a member of the posse.”

  “The same group Tim Bennett was a member of?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would anyone want to kill posse members?”

  “They’re obnoxious?”

  “That may be the case, Mr. Spain,” Cooper said, “but that wouldn’t be a motive for murder . . . would it?”

  “I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “I’m not the expert in that department. You and your partner are. By the way, where is your partner?”

  “On another assignment, thank God,” Cooper said before he could stop himself.

  Jimmy looked over at Sabine.

  “What happens now to Miss Chevalier?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she was a suspect for the first murder,” Jimmy said, “but there she was, sitting with me when the second happened.”

  “Yes, I guess you are her alibi this time.”

  “Me and everybody else around the pool.”

  Cooper turned his head up and looked at the building.

  “Not exactly the way a woman would kill someone,” he said. “Not throwing him through a window, anyway.”

  “About the only similarity I see here is the cards,” Jimmy said.

  Cooper looked at him.

  “Are you playing detective now, Mr. Spain?”

  “Hey,” Jimmy responded, “there they were, floating in the pool. I couldn’t help noticing.”

  The cards were now in a plastic bag in Cooper’s pocket. The facedown card had, indeed, been the queen of hearts.

  “Still no significance to these particular cards, Mr. Spain?” the detective asked.

  “None that I can see, but I can ask around, if you like. Somebody else might know.”

  Cooper regarded him for a moment, then said, “Yeah, why don’t you do that for me . . . but don’t play at being a detective, Mr. Spain. Just a question or two.”

  “That’s all I ever intended to do, Detective.”

  Jimmy waited while Cooper took a statement from Sabine. He wondered if the word had traveled through the hotel yet, if Mike Sexton and his bosses had heard about the second murder. Were they still going to want him nosing around after a second killing?

  Jimmy replayed in his head Cooper’s warning about not playing detective. He needed to talk to other members of the posse. Maybe they’d tell him something they wouldn’t tell the police, although why they’d hold anything back he didn’t know. But while he wanted to talk to them, he also had to start the third day of play. He was sure the police would still let the tournament continue; it was virtually the only way to keep everyone in one place.

  What he needed was a proxy, somebody to do some legwork for him. He didn’t know who it could be, though, and suddenly it hit him. If the man would even talk to him again . . . He went off to find a phone book and make a call.

  When Jimmy returned to the pool moments later, the police were still conducting interviews. He walked over to Sabine Chevalier, who had graduated from coffee to mimosas. He didn’t know how many she’d had, but her eyes were shiny. He wondered if she was in shock.

  “Sabine?”

  She had been staring off into the pool, the body having been removed.

  “Jimmy?”

  “Come on,” he said, putting his hands out to her. “They’re going to start playing.”

  She put her hands into his, and he helped her to her feet.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, I am fine.”

  “Did the police take your statement?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re free to go.”

  “I suppose . . .” She turned her head and focused on his face. “Am I off your list of suspects?”

  “I don’t have a list, Sabine,” he told her. “I think you should be more concerned about getting off the police’s list, which I think you did just by being here when the body hit the water.”

  “Well, good,” she said. “Then that man’s death accomplished something, right?”

  “I suppose you could look at it that way.”

  He wasn’t all that sure whether Sabine actually knew she was clear to leave, but he was sure someone would stop them if she wasn’t.

  As they walked through the casino, Jimmy realized he didn’t know how to get in touch with Mike Sexton or his bosses except to wait for play to start. Once he’d located Sexton again, he was going to have to find out if he was staying in the hotel and what his contact numbers were. It would have been helpful to be able to locate Sexton when he needed to.

  He walked Sabine to the poker room, where she went off t
o find her table. She was walking a little unsteadily, and he hoped the mimosas would not inhibit her play.

  “Excuse me?”

  He turned and found himself looking into the myopic eyes of a tall, muscle-bound young man with unruly black hair. He was wearing a very earnest, intense, expression. He had a crucifix dangling from one ear, and a wraparound tattoo of a big slick—an ace and a king—smothered his bicep. Also on his neck, just beneath the earring, was a tattoo of a pair of deuces. He wore a very tight maroon T-shirt.

  “Yes?”

  “I saw you come from the pool. . . . I heard that another posse member has been killed,” the man said.

  “That’s right,” Jimmy said. “Are you a member?”

  “Well,” the young man said, “we’ve had some conversations about me joining, but I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “So you know them, then.”

  “Oh, yes, sir, I do.”

  “Can you point them out to me?”

  “I don’t see any of them here right now,” the man said, “but they usually hang out together—except for Tim Bennett. He sometimes goes off on his own. He’s dead, too, you know. Somebody killed him.”

  “I know that.”

  “It’s all over the hotel and the casino,” he went on. “They don’t know who did it, but somebody stuck a knife in him.” The young man did not seem all that broken up about either killing—and he had his facts wrong.

  “What’s your name?” Jimmy asked. The man’s intensity was palpable. It almost floated around him like a thick haze.

  “Oh, sorry,” the man said, “I’m Leonard Krieger. My friends call me Lenny.” He stuck out his hand. Jimmy took it, releasing as soon as he could without seeming rude. Lenny’s grip was hot and moist, very powerful and very unpleasant.

  “How well did you know Tim Bennett, Lenny?”

  “Pretty well,” Lenny said. “He was always tryin’ to recruit me.”

  Jimmy had the feeling the young man was lying. It was more likely he was the one trying to recruit himself into the group. How much of a geek, he wondered, did you have to be to be rebuked by a group of geeks?

  “Lenny, my name is Jimmy Spain. If you see any of those guys, would you tell them I’m looking for them?”

  “If you’re lookin’ to make them an offer of some kind,” Lenny said, “I’m your man, Mr. Spain.”