“Where are you going to stay?”
There was as clear a signal as any.
“I don’t know. I didn’t reserve anything yet.”
“Harry, I don’t think it would be good for you to stay here.”
“Right.”
The line was as silent as the three hundred miles of desert between us.
“I know, I can get you comped at the Bellagio. They’ll do it for me.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks, Eleanor. You want me to come to your place after I get in?”
“No, I’ll come pick you up. Are you checking luggage?”
“No. You already have my bag.”
“Then I’ll be parked out in front of the terminal at seven-fifteen. I’ll see you then.”
I noticed she was whispering again but I didn’t say anything about it this time.
“Thanks, Eleanor.”
“Okay, Harry, I need to juggle some things to get free tonight. So I’m going to go. I’ll see you at the airport. Seven-fifteen. Bye.”
I said good-bye but she had already hung up. It sounded as though there was another voice in the background just as she disconnected the call.
As I thought about this, Louis Armstrong started singing “What a Wonderful World” and I turned it up.
30
At 7:15 that night Eleanor and I repeated the same airport scene. Right down to the kiss when I got into the car. Afterward, I turned awkwardly and lifted the heavy murder book I’d been carrying over the front seats to the back. I dropped it on the backseat next to my suitcase which was on the seat behind Eleanor.
“That looks like a murder book, Harry.”
“It is. I thought I might be able to go through it on the flight.”
“And?”
“I had a screaming baby in the seat behind me. Couldn’t concentrate. Why would anybody bring a kid to Vegas anyway?”
“It’s actually not a bad place to raise a kid. Supposedly.”
“I’m not talking about raising. I mean, why take a little kid like that on a vacation to Sin City? Take him to Disneyland or something.”
“I think you need a drink.”
“And some food. Where do you want to eat?”
“Well, remember when we were still . . . in L.A. and we’d go to Valentino on special occasions?”
“Don’t tell me.”
She laughed and just being able to look at her again thrilled me. I really liked the way her hair accented her lovely neck.
“Yep, they have one here. I made a reservation.”
“They must have one of everything in Las Vegas.”
“Except you. There’s absolutely no duplicating Harry Bosch.”
The smile stayed on her face as she said it and I liked that, too. We soon dropped into a silence probably as comfortable as it can get with two formerly married people. She expertly maneuvered through traffic that looked like it could easily rival anything found on Los Angeles’ clogged streets and freeways.
It had been about three years since I’d been on the strip but Vegas was a place that taught that time was relative. In three years it had all seemed to change again. I saw new resorts and attractions, taxicabs with electronic ad placards on their roofs, monorails connecting the casinos.
The Las Vegas version of Valentino was in the Venetian, one of the newest jewels in the crown of high-end casinos on the strip. It was a place that didn’t even exist the last time I had been in town. When Eleanor pulled into the valet parking circle I told her to pop the trunk so I could put my suitcase and the murder book in it.
“I can’t. It’s full.”
“I don’t want to leave this stuff out, especially the murder book.”
“Well, put it in the bag and put it on the floor. It will be all right.”
“Don’t you have room back there for just the book?”
“No, everything is jam-packed in there and if I open it, then it will all spill out. I don’t want that to happen here.”
“What is in it?”
“Just clothes and things. Stuff I want to take to the Salvation Army but haven’t had the time.”
Two valets opened our doors simultaneously and welcomed us to the resort. I got out, opened the back door and leaned in to open the carry-on bag and put the murder book inside it. After closing the bag I slid it down to the floor behind Eleanor’s seat.
“You coming, Harry?” Eleanor asked from behind me.
“Yeah, I’m coming.”
As the valet was driving the car away I looked at the trunk and back end. It didn’t seem particularly heavy. I looked at the license plate and silently read it three times to myself.
Valentino was Valentino. As far as I could tell, the L.A. restaurant had been perfectly cloned. It was like trying to tell the difference between one McDonald’s and another—on a much different culinary level.
I didn’t force the conversation while we ate. I was comfortable and happy just being with her. At first the conversation, though spare, was focused on me and my retirement or lack thereof. I told her about the case I was working, including the connection to her old friend and colleague Marty Gessler. In another lifetime Eleanor had been an FBI agent and she still had the analytical mind of an investigator. When we were together in L.A. she had often been a sounding board for me and on more than one occasion had helped with a suggestion or idea.
This time she had only one piece of advice and that was to stay clear of Peoples and Milton and even Lindell. Not that she knew them personally. She just knew the FBI culture and knew their kind. Of course, her advice came too late for me.
“I’m doing my best to do just that,” I told her. “It would be fine with me if I never see any of them ever again.”
“But not very likely.”
I suddenly thought of something.
“You don’t have your cell phone on you, do you?”
“Yes, but I don’t think they like you using cells in a place like this.”
“I know. I’ll go outside. I just remembered I have to make a call or the shit’s going to hit the fan.”
She got her phone out of her purse and gave it to me. I left the restaurant and stood in an indoor shopping mall that had been built to look like a Venetian canal complete with gondolas. The concrete sky was painted blue with wisps of white clouds. It was phony but at least it was air-conditioned. I called Janis Langwiser’s cell number and told her the coast was clear.
“I was beginning to worry because I hadn’t heard from you. I’ve called your house twice.”
“Everything’s fine. I’m in Vegas and will be back tomorrow.”
“How do I know you’re not under duress? You know, being held and forced to say that.”
“You got caller ID?”
“Oh, that’s right. I saw it was a seven-oh-two number. All right, Harry. Don’t forget, call me tomorrow. And don’t lose too much money over there.”
“I won’t.”
When I got back to the table Eleanor wasn’t there. I sat down and was anxious about it but she came back from the rest room in a few minutes. As I watched her approach I felt she was different but I couldn’t place how. It was more than the hair and the deeper tan. It was like she carried more confidence than I remembered. Maybe she had found what she needed on the blue-felt poker tables on the strip.
I gave her back the phone and she dropped it into her purse.
“So how has it been here?” I asked. “We’ve been talking about my case. Let’s talk about your case for a while.”
“I don’t have a case.”
“You know what I mean.”
She shrugged.
“Things are going well this year. I won a satellite and took a button. I get to play in the series.”
I knew she was talking about winning a qualifying tournament for the World Series of poker. The last time we talked about poker she had told me that her secret goal was to be the first woman to ever win the series. The winn
er of a qualifying tournament can take the cash prize or a so-called button, which is an entry into the series.
“This will be your first time in the series, right?”
She nodded and smiled and I could tell she was proud and excited.
“It starts pretty soon.”
“Well, good luck. Maybe I’ll come over and watch.”
“Bring me luck.”
“It still must be hard, Eleanor, making a living on the turn of the cards.”
“I’m good at it, Harry. Besides, I’ve got backers now. It spreads the risks.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s how it works these days. I have backers. I use their money when I play. They get seventy-five percent of what I win. If I lose, they take the loss. But I don’t lose too often, Harry.”
I nodded.
“Who are these people? Are they . . . you know?”
“Legitimate? Yes, Harry, very. They’re businessmen. Microsoft men. From Seattle. I met them when they were out here playing. So far I’ve made them money. With the way the stock market’s been, they’d rather invest in me. They’re happy and so am I.”
“Good.”
I thought about the money Alex Taylor had offered me. And then there was the reward offered on the heist case. If I solved it, got back some of the money and somehow qualified for the reward, I could be her backer. It was a pipe dream. I wondered if she would even take my money.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked. “You look so concerned.”
“Nothing. I was just thinking about the case for a second. Something I want to ask the insurance investigator tomorrow.”
The waiter brought the check and I paid after getting my AmEx card back from Eleanor. We left and got the car and I checked to make sure the suitcase was still in the back. We drove over to the Bellagio, a short distance that took a long time because of the traffic. I grew nervous as we got closer because I didn’t know what was going to happen when we got there. I checked my watch. It was almost ten.
“What time do you play?”
“I like to start around midnight.”
“Why do you like to play through the night? What’s wrong with the day?”
“The real players come out at night. The tourists go to bed. There’s more money on the table.”
We rode in silence for a little bit and she eventually continued as though there had been no pause.
“Plus, I like coming out at the end of the night and seeing the sun coming up. Something about it, like you’re just happy you survived another day or something.”
Inside the Bellagio we went to the VIP desk and picked up a card key that had been left under Eleanor’s name. It was that simple. She led me to the elevator like she had been in it a hundred times and we went up to a suite on the twelfth floor. It was the nicest hotel room I had ever seen, with a living room and a bedroom and a view that looked down on the signature lighted fountains in the front pond.
“This is nice. You must know some people.”
“I’m getting a rep. I play here three or four nights a week and it’s starting to draw people. High rollers who want to play me. They know that here, and they don’t want me to play anywhere else.”
I nodded and turned to her.
“I guess things are really going well for you.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“I guess . . .”
I didn’t finish. She walked over to me and stood in front of me.
“You guess what?”
“I don’t know what I was going to ask. I guess I wanted to know what was missing. Are you with somebody now, Eleanor?”
She drew closer. I could feel her breath.
“You mean am I in love with somebody? No, Harry, I’m not.”
I nodded and she spoke again before I could.
“Do you still believe in that thing you told me? About the single-bullet theory.”
I nodded without hesitation and looked into her eyes. She leaned forward, her head against my chin.
“What about you?” I asked. “Do you still believe what that poet said, that there is no end of things in the heart?”
“Yes, I believe it. Always.”
I raised her chin with my hand and kissed her. Soon our arms were around each other and her hand was on the back of my neck pulling me toward her. I knew we were going to make love. And I knew for a moment what it meant to be the luckiest man in Las Vegas. I pulled away from her lips and just hugged her to my chest.
“All I want in this world is you,” I whispered.
“I know,” she whispered back.
31
On the flight back to Los Angeles I tried to refocus on the case. But it was a fruitless effort. I had spent a good part of the night watching Eleanor win several thousand dollars from five men at a table down in the Bellagio poker room. I had never watched her play at any length before. It is fair to say she embarrassed the other players, cleaning out all but one of them, and even he was left with only a single stack of chips by the time she cashed out five racks of her own. She was a cold, hard player who was as impressive as she was mysterious and beautiful. I spent my life learning to read people. But I never read anything off of her while she was playing. There was not a tell anywhere in her game as far as I could see.
But when she was finished with those men she was also finished with me. Outside the poker room she told me she was tired and had to go. She said I couldn’t go with her. She didn’t even offer me a ride to the airport. It was a short good-bye. We parted with a kiss as lacking in passion as our moments in the suite above had seemingly been full of it. We parted without promises of rejoining or of even calling each other again. We just said good-bye and I watched her walk away through the casino.
I got to the airport on my own. But once on the plane I couldn’t let it go. I tried opening the murder book but it did me no good. I kept thinking about the mysteries. Not the good moments, the smiles and the memories and the making love. I thought about our abrupt departure and how she had skillfully avoided the question when I’d asked if she was with somebody. She’d said she wasn’t in love but that didn’t really answer the question. I thought about why she had wanted me to stay in a hotel room and why she wouldn’t open her car’s trunk. On the front page of the murder book I wrote down her license plate number from memory. After doing it I felt like I had in some way betrayed her and I then crossed it out. But even as I did this I knew I could not cross it out in my memory.
32
The investigative offices of Global Underwriters were in a six-story black box on Colorado about six blocks from the ocean. When I got there the secretary who guarded entrance to the office of Sandor Szatmari looked at me as though I had just ridden the elevator down from the moon.
“Didn’t you get the message?”
“What message?”
“I left a message for you after getting your number from Mr. Scaggs’s office. Mr. Szatmari had to cancel your appointment this morning.”
“What happened, somebody die?”
She looked slightly insulted by my brashness. Her voice took on a tone of impatience.
“No, in reviewing his schedule for the day he decided he did not have the time to fit you in.”
“So he’s here?”
“He cannot see you. I’m sorry you didn’t get the message. I thought there was something wrong with the number I got, but I did leave a message.”
“Please tell him I’m here. Tell him I didn’t get the message because I was out of town. I flew in for this meeting. I’d still like to see him. It’s important.”
Now she looked annoyed. She lifted the phone to make the call but then thought better of it and hung up. She got up and walked down a hallway off to the side of the waiting room so she could deliver the message in person. A few minutes later she came back and sat down. She took her time in delivering the news to me.
“I talked to Mr. Szatmari,” she said. “He’ll try to get you in as soon
as he can.”
“Thank you. That’s nice of him and nice of you.”
There was a couch and a coffee table with a spread of outdated magazines on it. I had brought the murder book with me, mostly as a prop, so I could impress Szatmari with it and the access it showed I had. I sat down on the couch and spent the time waiting by leafing through it and rereading some of the reports. Nothing new hit me but I was becoming well versed in the facts of the case. This was important because I knew it would help when I sifted through new information to not have to check the murder book every time.
Lost Light (2003) Page 22
