Green Eyes in Las Vegas (3 page)

“Your nanna’s friend’s brother, Louie, saw you walk in. What’s going on?”

I sighed. Nanna had moved to Vegas ten years ago to live with my parents, and though she’s not a local, she quickly infiltrated Vegas’
Mafia-like Old People’s Gang. She and her friends are never up to any good, and seem to know every other person who lives here. A rumor can never die safely with them around.

“I’m just talking to a new client,” I told my mother.

“For PI work?” she asked suspiciously, and I sighed.

“Yes. For PI work. What other kind of work would I do?”

“I don’t want to even think about that,” my mother said. “Why can’t you just get a regular job, where you don’t have to walk into places like Neil’s Diner?”

“Neil’s Diner isn’t so bad,” I told her. “And I have to go now, I’m late for a meeting.”

I hung up before she could say anything else that would remind me of how big a disappointment I was to her, and headed over to The Palazzo, where Crystal’s boyfriend Max was staying.

Maxwell Gomez was not what I’d expected. He was stocky, balding and obviously distressed about Crystal’s death.

“I shouldn’t have let her go out that night,” he told us. “I asked her if I should
go with her, but she said it was a work party and I’d be bored.”

He sat miserably
on the edge of the hotel sofa, head resting on one hand. We were sitting in the “living” area of his Palazzo VIP suite, with its cream leather sofas and bright abstract artwork. At my request, Max had given us a quick tour; the place was larger than my condo, obviously much cleaner and came complete with in-room hot-tub and gorgeous views down the Strip.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have come down here,” he continued. “But it was our three year anniversary, and I wanted to do something nice for her.”

And he had, I thought, trying not to feel jealous. In addition to the massive suite, I was pretty sure he’d also been shelling out for fancy dinners and shows, and probably a nice gift or two.

“That reminds me,” I said. “Samantha told me you’d given
Crystal a diamond ring she wore that night.”

“Yes.” He got up, and retrieved the ring from a box nearby. “The cops kept it in evidence for a bit, but they gave it back to me because they think the case is solved. Speaking of which,” he glanced from me to Samantha, “I don’t know about this PI stuff. I mean, it’s hard enough to accept that she’s gone. I don’t – don’t like the idea of –”

He paused, unable to find the right words, but I knew what he meant. He wanted to accept the closure provided by the cops, grieve and move on with life. At least, I thought that’s what he meant.

Samantha nodded sympathetically, and said, “Honey, we all want to put this horrible thing behind us. But what if the cops were wrong? I owe it to
Crystal to do this. I know you understand…”

Max sighed. “I guess you’re right.” He turned to me and said, “What did you want to ask?”

“Well, for starters, how long are you in Vegas for?”

“Till Friday. I’ve also got meetings with local clients till the weekend.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a quant at CBN Investments.”

I looked at him, puzzled, and Max began explaining his work to me eagerly – something about neural networks and deltas and investments. It didn’t make much sense, but I made my “Ah! Now I get it!” face and smiled and nodded.

When he was done explaining, I turned my attention back to the ring he’d given me. It was an anniversary band, white gold and
studded with diamonds all the way around. Whatever his job was, clearly it involved earning lots of money.

“Tell me about Crystal,” I said. “What was she like?”

Max’s face transformed into a dreamy reverie. “She’s wonderful. Beautiful and kind and funny. Generous. Smart. I never thought she’d go for a guy like me – she’s gorgeous enough to have any guy in the world, but she picked me.”

“Why do you think that was?”

Max shrugged. “I was good to her, I guess. I supported her, loved her – I gave her anything she wanted. But any guy would do that for a woman like Crystal. I guess I was just lucky.”

He sighed deeply, and I wondered how much of their relationship was based on him giving her “anything she wanted
.” It was tempting to ask him what he got her for her last birthday, but instead, I said, “I hate to ask this, but was Crystal… did you ever suspect any other guy of being with her?”

Max laughed. “This is Hollywood we’re talking about. Every other guy hit on
Crystal, some sleazy director or screenwriter was always thinking she’d sleep with them.”

“And did she?”

He shook his head, no. “I would’ve known. And I think she would’ve just broken up with me, instead of cheating on me. I get a bit jealous sometimes, but she had standards. Morals. A lotta guys offered to get her roles in movies, but she always said no. She was ambitious; she wanted to do it all herself, the right way.” He looked at me, his eyes shining with belief. “There was no-one else.”

I glanced at Samantha, who was looking intently out the window. “What about enemies? Was there anyone who might want to hurt her?”

“No, she was a sweetheart. Always got along with everyone.” He paused for a moment and frowned. “Unless that stalker thing wasn’t a joke.”

Samantha turned around and we exchanged glances. She said, “What stalker thing?”

Max said, “She never said anything to you?” He got up, walked over to the desk and sorted through some paperwork. “Here.”

He handed me an envelope, and I opened it to find stacks of photos. Crystal talking with some other girls, Crystal doing her grocery shopping, Crystal looking over her shoulder.

I frowned. “What’re these?”

Max turned to Samantha and asked, “
Crystal never told you anything about the stalker?”

Samantha looked as puzzled as I felt and shook her head.

“She got these in the mail. I asked her what was going on, but she just laughed and said a friend of hers was being funny and pretending to be a stalker. Pretending like she was a big movie star. It was a joke, she said.”

I turned one photo over. There was nothing on the back. “Did she seem upset?” I asked.

“No. She found it funny.”

I passed the photos over to Samantha who looked at a few and shook her head. “No.
Crystal never said anything about a stalker.”

“I wonder…” Max paused. “Do you think she was just trying to make me feel better by saying it was a joke? These photos look pretty… stalkerish.”

We were all looking at the photos thinking the same thing: if someone was really stalking Crystal, maybe this person had also killed her. And if they hadn’t killed her, but were watching, maybe they’d seen who had.

I squinted at one of the photos. “Where was this taken?”

Max went through the photos slowly. “All of them were taken here in Vegas.”

“Did anyone know about the stalker?”

He shook his head again, looking helplessly at Samantha. “I thought you were
Crystal’s best friend. If she didn’t mention it to you, I don’t think she told anyone else.”

“He’s right,” Samantha told me. “She didn’t tell me anything. Either it wasn’t important enough to her, or she was keeping it secret.”

I nodded, and gathered up the photos.

“What about her work?” I asked. “What was
Crystal doing here?”

Samantha had already told me, but I wanted to see if Max’s version of the story matched up with Samantha’s. It did, and I listened while Max told me all about how Crystal was trying to make contacts at the Indie Movie
Convention, and how the role in Casino Kings might’ve been her big break.

“Did she have any other friends in Vegas? Maybe other actors at the convention, or working in Casino Kings?”

Max frowned. “She did talk to me about work, but I can’t remember names. She was pretty close with this one girl who worked on the set… Maggie, Marjory, Macey-”

“Minnie,” said Samantha. “She’s a makeup artist on set.”

“How come they’re already shooting the movie?” I asked. “I thought roles were always decided ages in advance?”

“It’s an indie movie,” Max said. “Low-budget, but expected to win some prizes.
Crystal would’ve gotten a side-role. Sally Herbert was meant to play it, but she got sick, so they needed a quick replacement. Crystal was all set to be it.”

I frowned. “Do you think someone might’ve been jealous that
Crystal got the role?”

Max shook his head. “It wasn’t a done deal, but she’d probably have signed on in a few days. I’m not sure who would be jealous – it was just a supporting role in an indie move. Though
Crystal had high hopes.”

“But you never know with these Hollywood types,” Samantha added, and I agreed. Not that I knew any Hollywood types in person – but what little I’d seen in
OK!
and
People
made me think they weren’t very nice people. Although the role didn’t sound like much to kill for.

“Anyway,” Max said, getting up and walking over to the desk again, “These are her papers. Mail and stuff – in case it helps.”

“Thanks.” I was a little surprised by how organized he was, but pleased that he’d put the papers aside for me. As I shoved them into my purse, I wondered if his helpfulness was genuine. Had he sorted through the papers since we’d called, putting away something that might incriminate him? Was his naïve, heart-on-sleeve misery just a big act?

Looking at him, I found it hard to believe he’d ever yell at a person, let alone kill them. But I still asked, “Did you and Crystal have any fights recently? Any major disagreements?”

He shook his head. “We never fought. If I disagreed with her, it was always about something minor, so I let it pass.”

Whipped
, I thought, and tried not to smirk; I groaned, and tried to get Elwood’s voice out of my head.

Samantha and Max both stared at me.

“What’s wrong?” Samantha said.

Max looked concerned.
“Was it a bad thing we never fought? Should I have disagreed with her more often? Some people say you need to fight to keep a relationship healthy, but I never saw it that way.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said
, staring at Max, and tried to stop the voice inside my head from making a reappearance.“Umm… did Crystal seem any different recently? Stressed? Afraid?”

Max and Samantha both shook their heads. “No,” Max said, “If anything, she was more upbeat than ever, because she thought she was getting her big break.”

“Yeah,” said Samantha, “she said this might be her last time coming down to Vegas.”

“And she wasn’t always running around anymore,” Max added. “She used to spend all her time updating social media, trying to get in touch with people, making phone calls and texting. But the day before she died, we spent the whole
day together. Didn’t even leave the hotel – just hung out in the spa, spent time together, relaxed. I can’t believe…” He shook his head. “I just can’t believe it.”

I nodded, trying to think of things I might be overlooking. “What about her family?” I asked. “Was it just her sister?”

“Yeah,” said Max. “Christine. She’s a couple years older than Crystal, married to her high school sweetheart and lives out in Nebraska – Crystal and I visit go see her on holidays.”

I nodded. “And did they get along?”

Max shrugged. “They weren’t besties, but Crystal told me they grew closer after their mom died a few years ago. Their dad died when they were teenagers.”

“Any other family?
Uncles and aunts, cousins?”

“A handful – but they don’t live in Nebraska or the West Coast, so I’ve never met them.
I know Crystal adored her sister and little nieces and nephews, but she didn’t want her sister ever coming to Vegas, just in case…”

“How ’bout you? Did you and Christine get along?”

Max shrugged again. “Decently enough. She’s pretty conservative. And she wanted to have the funeral in Nebraska, but of course that’s not possible – all Crystal’s friends are in LA.”

I turned to Samantha and said, “Did you ever meet Christine? Or any of Crystal’s other relatives?” She shook her head and I took a deep breath. “Right. Well…” I wasn’t looking forward to having to talk to someone about the death of their only sister, but it had to be done. I manned up and asked Max for Christine’s phone number, and then said, “Could you give her a call tonight
, please? Let her know that I’ll be calling tomorrow.”

“Sure thing.”

I couldn’t think of anything more to ask, so I gave Max my card and told him to get in touch with me if he thought of anything else.

As Samantha and I headed out and down to the parking lot, I asked her what she thought of Max.

“He seems sweet,” she said. “Pretty upset.”

“Seems like he really loved her.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “It’s every stripper’s dream – marry a rich guy and settle down. But not Crystal’s dream. And he’s not even that rich.”

“But he treated her well.”

“And she never had anything bad to say about him. Loved him, I guess.”

But not enough to tell him that she was a stripper.

***

I gave Emily a quick call, and headed back to the station.
As per my luck, the first person I saw when I stepped inside the building was Elwood. He must’ve just been returning from a cigarette break, because he stank like a chimney. A fat, grumpy chimney.

“Hey
!” he said, frowning at me. “What’re you doing here again?”

“I’m an investigator, remember? I needed to look at some papers.”

He stared at me blankly, like he was processing something hugely complicated. “I thought you were a dealer. I remember you saying that, ’cause my wife’s a dealer, too.”

“I thought she was your ex.”

“Whatever.” He waved the inaccuracy away with one hand. “I’ve never heard of a PI named Tiffany Black.”

“Really? Because I helped solve the Ethan Becker murder. Put my life at risk and all that. I was in the papers.” Well, ok, just the local paper, but still.

Elwood frowned at me, and I knew he had no clue what I was talking about. But I used this opportunity to slip away and find Emily.

It was good to see Emily again, even though she was busy with work and I didn’t want to waste her time. We spent a few seconds complaining about our lives to each other, and then I said, “What’s wrong with Elwood?”

Emily laughed. “He’s really not that bad. Better than some of the pigs here.”

I had to agree. LVMPD officers tend to be overworked and underpaid, and most of them are wonderful people. But some of them – like cops everywhere –
really are just pigs. Corrupt, greedy and high on power.

“Did you ever meet the former Mrs. Elwood?”

Emily nodded and I followed her as she walked down the hall. “Yeah, at the LEO’s ball last year. Gorgeous woman – all Amazonian curves and beautiful blonde waves.”

“Huh. Elwood said I looked like her.”

Emily made a face. “Elwood thinks every woman looks like her, now that she’s left him. Wait here.”

I stood outside the Records Room and waited for a few minutes, taking in the noise and bustle of the station.
The place was well-ventilated and studiously bland, but I could still catch a whiff of gun oil, a hint of cigarette smoke and sweat.

Two young officers were standing in a corner
, laughing about something, and a group of five older men stood around a desk arguing.

I was trying to guess what they were arguing about – interrogation tactics?
Who their lead suspect was? The Bears game? – when Emily walked out of the room with a file in her hand.

She
passed it over to me and said, “It’s the file you asked for. Crystal Macombe’s case was only closed a few days ago, so you can sit over there and go through the file, but you can’t copy anything or take notes.”

I thanked her and headed toward the tiny conference room she’d pointed out. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I thumbed through all the pages of the file anyway, desperately hoping something would jump out at me.

There were photos of Crystal’s lifeless body, gory and tough to look at. There was the autopsy report, which I deciphered as concluding that she was “stabbed to death, probably by one person.” And there were the obligatory interviews – with her boyfriend, Max; with her flatmate, Samantha; with the director of the Casino Kings, Sam Rampell; with people living in houses on the street where she was killed. But the neighbors had heard nothing that night, and neither Max nor Sam said anything interesting or revealing.

I went over the file once more, frowning and biting my lip as I tried to find something I’d missed, but there was nothing. Nada. Whoever was behind Crystal’s death, I wouldn’t find him by reading this report.

I closed the file with a sigh and left reluctantly when the clock hands had moved too far. I’d be late for my shift, so I said a hurried goodbye to Emily, and sped home to change.

The moment I opened my front door, I noticed the envelop
e lying on the floor. I thought it was just junk mail, so I locked the door behind me and picked it up.

There was a sheet of
letter size paper folded inside the envelope, and I unfolded it to read the single line of printed text.

It said, “You ruin my life, I’ll ruin yours.”

I looked up and glanced around quickly, as though whoever wrote it might be lurking, watching me.

My condo is small and sparsely furnished. The front door opens into a tiny sitting area, with an open-space kitchen and dining area behind it. There was nobody in this room, so I crept to the bedroom door and glanced inside. It was empty.

I couldn’t hear any sounds either – no sounds of somebody breathing, or trying not to make any noise. I checked under the bed, inside the closet, and inside the bathroom. I opened up the curtains and glanced at the tiny verandah that was accessed through the window. Nothing.

My breath came out in a rush, and I realized my ears were pounding with the sound of my blood. I took a moment to sit down on the edge of the bed, and tried to get my heart rate down to normal.

Who could’ve sent this letter? My brain raced around, trying to think of people who hated me, but I couldn’t come up with much. Green Eyes might hate me if he thought I was trying to cause trouble for him, but he had no way of knowing that I’d talked to the cops. He didn’t even know who I was or where I lived, which was really quite a shame.

If Crystal had really been murdered, her killer might hate me, but I’d barely even talked to anyone yet.
When I’d worked for my previous client, Sophia, I’d uncovered a casino fraud ring at The Riverbelle Casino—a group of twelve casino employees whose members included Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes, the two thugs who’d backroomed me earlier. All the guys involved probably hated me, but they were all behind bars now. In short, there was no reason for anyone to send me a strange, one-line hate letter.

I glanced at it again.
It must be a joke. Or maybe it was meant for somebody else and got slipped under my door by mistake.

Yeah, that made sense. It was probably meant for old Mrs. Weebly, who lived two doors down. She was eighty-four years old, an overly-active member of the
Home Owners’ Association, and constantly poking her nose in other people’s business, so the “you ruined my life” line made sense. She’d probably tattled about someone’s extra-marital affair, or given someone advice they didn’t want to hear. She was always giving people stupid advice – just last week, she’d told me that any job which required a woman to stay out till four in the morning was probably the Devil’s work.