I wrote down their names and numbers, and after a brief chat with my mother about how Nanna was doing, I called Charlie Stiggins.
“I suppose I could talk to you,” he said, his tone implying that he’d much rather not. “But I’m sure the LVMPD’s already done a thorough investigation.”
I ignored the last part of what he’d said. “Great! When can I come by to talk to you?”
There was a pause, and then he said, “If you’ve got to come along, I guess you might as well come today. Might as well get it over with.” He made it sound like a tooth extraction. “I’ve got a bit of free time before lunch.”
I glanced at the clock. It was only eleven. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
“Fine.”
My next call was to Johann Tapley, who picked up after a few rings and told me that he was bored stiff in Montreal, and hadn’t been back to Vegas since he’d left.
“It’s an eight month contract with the company here,” he told me regretfully. “I couldn’t even get time off to go to Adam’s funeral.”
I murmured my condolences for having to work for such a strict company, grabbed the company’s name (Invicta Oil and Holdings), hung up, and Googled their contact details. I made a quick phone call to the company’s “employment enquiries” number, and got routed through to an HR lady who informed that Johann had, indeed, gone to work every single day for the last six months.
My final call was to Barry Wardle, whose voicemail informed me that he wasn’t in his office at the moment, but if I’d like to leave my name and number, he’d call me straight back. So I did just that, fixed my makeup, grabbed my large black tote, and went over to Ian’s condo.
“We’re going to speak with Adam’s friend Charlie,” I told him, and let him trail after me happily.
Detective Charlie Stiggins met us in one of the tiny LVMPD conference rooms, usually reserved for suspects and witnesses giving statements. It was white, with little bits of color, but the complete opposite of Claire’s warm white sitting room. This room was about half, or maybe a third, the size of Claire’s room, and it was as sterile as any space could be. The walls were shiny, the lights bright, and the chairs hard.
“We go way back,” Charlie told us. “Adam and I went to high school together. Can’t believe someone shot him.”
We asked him all the questions we asked everyone else, but once again, we got the same answers. Adam had no enemies, hadn’t acted any differently before he’d been killed, and Charlie had no idea what “red roses” could’ve meant to Adam.
“I’m sorry it’s your nanna who’s accused,” he told me, not sounding very sorry. “But all the evidence points to her, right now.”
“It’s not her,” I told him. “I know her better than anyone else here, and I know she’s nuts, but she’d never kill anyone. I don’t think she’s even owned a gun, or shot one, ever.”
Charlie shook his head slightly. “Whoever it is, we’ll get justice soon. We don’t need an inexperienced PI messing round with stuff.”
He looked at me, his face a polite blank, and I tried not to blow up in anger.
We left, feeling worse for having talked to him, and ran into Elwood just before exiting the building.
“Your nanna’s not mad at me, is she?” he asked, and I scowled.
“She should be. You should be ashamed of yourself, arresting an innocent woman like that.”
He shrunk back, knowing better than to defend himself, and said, “Well, if there’s something else going on, I’m sure you’ll uncover it. Even though you never found out who stole that Van Gogh, did you?”
I narrowed my eyes. I had, actually, found out all I wanted to know about that theft, but I was sworn to secrecy, so I held my tongue.
“How’s your wife?” I asked, instead, and Elwood stared at the ground.
“I don’t know. Counseling’s not going so well. She doesn’t seem to want to get back together.”
My anger disappeared. “I’m sorry. Maybe you could try sending her flowers? Does she like roses?”
“I don’t know,” Elwood said, looking from me to Ian. “Do you think she’ll like roses?”
I shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Try sending her a big bouquet – maybe some nice red roses.”
He nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
When we got back to the condo, it smelled like roast chicken. Nanna had made us lunch, and we gobbled up the chicken, mashed potatoes and a tiny bit of the salad, before Ian and I rushed out again to talk to Cynthia Pruttley.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cynthia Pruttley was certainly very beautiful. She had delicate, waif-life features, and light blond hair that framed her face. Her features were dainty and, as everyone had already told us, she was tall and slim. Ian became tongue-tied as we introduced ourselves in the café below her office, and she ordered herself “lunch.” It wasn’t lunch; it was a tiny green decoration.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, jumping straight in. “I’m really grateful you made time to meet us.”
She made a big show of looking at her slim, gold watch. It matched the buttons on her white blouse, and she said, “This is my lunch break. I’ve only got a few minutes.”
“Oh,” I said. “Are you having a busy day at work?”
She nodded wordlessly, and I didn’t believe her. She looked like she spent all day playing Solitaire.
“Ok then,” I said, “I won’t waste your time. What can you tell me about Adam?”
She shrugged and nibbled her food. “Not much.”
I waited for her to say something else, and when she didn’t, I said, “What was he like?”
She shrugged again. “Pretty nice, I guess. I’m sad he died.”
“You were together a while.”
She looked at me and smiled. “Yes.”
It was like pulling teeth, but I kept my polite smile. “What did you like best about him?”
She looked off thoughtfully into the distance. “He was nice,” she said, finally. “Really nice to me.”
“Did you two share any hobbies?” She shook her head, no. “What did you do for fun?”
She shrugged. “We went out to eat and stuff.”
“Did you go to charity galas?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Those were ok. Fancy. I made friends with a bunch of women there.”
“Right. Did Adam volunteer at those charities?”
She gave me a confused look. “How do you mean?”
“Like, did he… umm, help out? Spend time with them raising money, or building houses for the homeless, or whatever?”
She shook her head. “No, of course not. Adam had no time for all that. And these are mostly arts’ charities.”
“So how’d he go to the galas?”
Cynthia looked at me like I was stupid. “By paying money, of course. He paid for the tickets and that stuff.”
“How much did the tickets cost?”
“I’m not sure, but it was usually a few grand per ticket, and then a couple of grand more in donations.”
“Right,” I said. “But he wasn’t making much money at his job.”
She tilted her head. “I don’t know how much he made. But he made enough to treat me well. And to go to these galas. We went all the time.”
“So he bought you lots of gifts?”
“Sure.”
“Like what?”
“Jewelry, nice dinners, cruises, holidays. Flowers. A new iPad. Perfume, lingerie, the usual. I’d never be with a man who didn’t take care of me.”
“You deserve it,” Ian piped up.
This was the first time I’d heard him speak during the whole conversation, and Cynthia smiled graciously at him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“I feel the same way about women,” Ian went on. “Ever since I became I dot-com millionaire, I’ve always treated women like princesses.”
Cynthia looked at him, confused. “I thought you were a PI?”
“It’s just
something I do for fun,” Ian said. “Just spending money is boring. So, what else do you like to do?”
“Well, I party a little,” Cynthia said. “I live in Vegas, right? Might as well take advantage of it.”
“Of course,” Ian said, and I kicked him under the table before he could make an awkward pass at her.
Ian didn’t seem to get what I meant and said, “Were you and Adam happy together?”
“Yes.” Cynthia nodded. “He was always busy and stuff, but I was happy with him.”
“What didn’t you like about Adam?” Ian asked.
“Well.” She took a delicate sip of water. “He was always working late and busy. It would’ve been nice if he’d spent more time with me. But I guess that’s why he earned the big bucks.”
“Hmm,” I said noncommittally, and Ian jumped in with our standard questions.
“Well, thanks for your help,” I said, getting ready to leave, as we hadn’t learnt anything new. Ian beat me to the finish line.
“This is my card,” he said. “Call me if you ever need anything. Or, er, think of anything else to talk about.”
“Sure,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. “And this is my number.”
She wrote it out on a napkin, and passed it over to him. I looked the other way and tried not to gag.
I was about to drag Ian out with me before he could profess his undying love for Cynthia, when she said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” I turned to look at her again, and she rummaged through her bag. “I brought this for you guys.”
She handed Ian a bunch of papers, and he unfolded them. “Bank statements.”
“Yep. The cops asked for a bunch of stuff, and they mentioned something about Adam’s financials. So I though you guys might want to go through those.”
I looked at her, surprised and pleased by her forethought. “That’s really nice of you,” I said. “I appreciate that.”
“Yes,” Ian chimed in. “You’re so smart to have remembered this. Beauty and brains.”
Cynthia shrugged modestly. “I just hope it has something useful in there.”
So did I.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The first thing I saw when I walked into my condo was Nanna, sitting huddled around a laptop with her “boyfriend.”
“We’re practicing a poker simulation game,” Nanna told me. “You don’t mind that I invited him over, do you?”
“No, of course not.”
I couldn’t get over my suspicion that Nathan was a con-man or had some deep, dark, secret, and I didn’t really like seeing him in my condo. But I didn’t want to sound like a disapproving old biddy.
“I’ve got to talk to Tiffany privately,” Ian said. “Maybe we should go over to my condo.”
I gave Nathan a look, and he immediately said, “Maybe I should get going.”
“No, stay,” Nanna said. “Tiffany’s going out soon anyway, aren’t you, dear?”
I nodded, wondering why her memory was still so sharp, and headed over to Ian’s place.
As usual, the moment I stepped into Ian’s place, I spent a few seconds being overwhelmed by the adolescence of the décor. This was what happened when a man had too much money, too little taste, and nobody to “impress” their views of interior design on him; shelf after shelf of “collectable” action figures, dingy curtains and a carpet that seemed to have never met a vacuum cleaner.And, of course, the innumerable posters screaming about Star Wars, Wonder Woman and unheard-of characters who were either robotic or super-human.
“What did you want to talk about?” I said. “I need to head out for drinks with Emily in a few minutes.”
“Can I come?”
I frowned. “No. It’s a girls’ thing. Besides, I don’t want you hitting on her.”
“I wouldn’t hit on her.”
Ian looked dejected and I said, “Are you really going to give Cynthia Pruttley a call?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“We’re investigating her. She might be a suspect.”
“Nah. She wasn’t even here when Adam died. But maybe you’re right. I shouldn’t date anyone from the investigation till it’s over.”
He looked proud of himself, as though he’d just remembered an Investigations Rule from one of the cop shows he watches, and I smiled to myself.
“What did you want to talk about?” I repeated.
Ian sat down on his dirty, printed sofa, and cleared the coffee table of its stash of various magazines and remotes. “We should have a quick look at those bank statements before you set out.”
My phone pinged, and I checked the text. It was from Stone: “Pre-work gun range?”
I dragged a chair closer to the coffee table, texted back, “Can’t. Meeting Emily at Swivel Bar,” and pulled out the papers Cynthia had given me. I hate going through paperwork – it’s usually meaningless, doesn’t turn up anything, and is as boring as listening to my mom tell me all about her friend Jackie’s granddaughter.
“Maybe we could do this tomorrow,” I suggested, as I handed Ian the papers.
Ian split up the papers and handed me half. “No time like today.”
He was right. If I’d been investigating anything other than this case, I would’ve put it off till tomorrow. But, as it was, I stifled my yawns and pored through the papers. It wasn’t long before strange lines jumped out at me, and when I’d finished my review and looked up at Ian, I knew from his expression that he’d seen something, too.
“You go first,” I said, glancing at my watch. I had ten minutes before I needed to leave.
“All these incoming deposits. $2500 each month from Michelle Ackermann–”
“Plus, $2200 from Rachel Nge and $2500 from Nicole Weiss.”
We looked at each other and I said, “Well now we know where he’s getting the money for all those charity galas and expensive gifts.”
“So what was he, dealing drugs on the side? Being a male prostitute?”
“Maybe he was cheating on his girlfriend with these three women. And they gave him cash.”
“Sounds like prostitution.”
“Hold that thought,” I said, gathering up all the papers and standing up. “I need to run.”
“With those in your bag?” Ian looked at me disapprovingly. “You’re going to work after this, right?”
“Since when did you become my mother?” I frowned, but he had a point. I placed all the statements gingerly on his coffee table. “Don’t lose them.”
“I won’t,” Ian called, as I let myself out and rushed back to my condo.
Thankfully, Nathan was gone by then.
“You drove him out,” Nanna told me. “He’s not an idiot, you know. I don’t know why you’re so harsh on him.”
“I’m not harsh on him,” I called from the bathroom. “You need to be more careful. We don’t know what he wants.”
I didn’t have time to shower, but I topped up my lipstick, added a spritz of deodorant, and stuffed my red and black dealer’s uniform into my big black tote.
“He wants me,” Nanna said. “Why can’t you believe he wants to be my boyfriend?”
“Because twenty-something year olds generally don’t date seventy-something year olds.” I grabbed her in an impulsive hug, suddenly scared that my investigation wasn’t going fast enough. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” I called, as I hurried out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Swivel Bar was a half-hour’s walk away from the Strip. It had faded wallpaper, cheesy photos of Sinatra and Elvis, and a karaoke machine that was constantly in use. Even though the martinis were $5 each, the tourists never had any reason to come in here; which was all the more reason why the place was so popular with the before-work and after-work groups of Strip employees.
Emily and I sat in one the red fake-leather booths at the back. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a group of men sitting around one of the plastic tables in the middle of the floor, eyeing us and wondering if they should approach. I
wasn’t surprised – although she’s never aware of it, Emily has elfish good looks, with her short-cropped dark hair and beautiful, deep eyes.
Thankfully, the men didn’t gather up the courage to annoy us, so we sipped our club sodas and chatted about our lives. I told her how my investigation was going so far, and she nodded sympathetically, but didn’t offer any help. I was just about to broach the topic of what the cops had learnt, when a deep voice from behind me said, “Mind if I join you ladies?”
I waited a split second for Emily to chew off the man’s head, but she just smiled up politely, so I turned around, assuming it was my turn to do the honors.
When I saw who it was, I raised an eyebrow and tried to keep the disapproval out of my voice. “Stone! What’re you doing here?”
He shrugged. “I had some time to kill before an appointment near the Strip. Thought I saw you wander in.”
I glanced at Emily and made a face, before sliding over to make room for Stone. I didn’t believe his story for a second, but I couldn’t see why he’d bother to crash my girly-time with Emily.
Emily and Stone exchanged polite hellos, and then there was an awkward silence for a few seconds.
“Am I interrupting?” Stone asked.
I shook my head. “Not really. I was just telling Emily about the investigation.”
He took a swig of his beer and looked at Emily. “I assume you’ve told her what you guys’ve learnt?”
“Actually,” I said, “I hadn’t asked Emily to tell me. I know the LVMPD takes their secrecy seriously.”
Emily nodded. “Yeah, I could lose my job for talking about an open case. And it’s not even my case.”
“Still,” I said slowly. “Is there anything at all you could tell me? You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t for Nanna.”
She looked at me sympathetically. “You know I want to help, Tiff. But I can’t. I really shouldn’t. Besides, there’s not really much to tell.”
“So you’ve taken a peek?” I brightened up a little. If Emily had taken a look, she would’ve told me if she’d found anything serious. I hoped.
A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 03 - Red Roses in Las Vegas Page 9
