Sin City Homicide (7 page)

“Let’s pretend for a minute I believe you. Then who’s responsible for that body?”

“It was a cop, man. A fuckin’ cop did that shit.”

“See, now here’s the problem. Mateo told me that a cop got paid off to tip you last time we were supposed to meet. So, one of you is playing me for a bitch
, and that ain’t the right move.”

“Nah
, man, it’s the truth. Cop did that body, and then when the keys was gone, he got five G’s when he ratted you out.”

“What cop was it? Did you see him?”

“Nah, I talked to him on the phone, though, yo.”

“What was his name?”

“Jon, man. Jon something.”

“Jon what?”

“Stanton.”

13

Stanton walked into police headquarters with Mindi, and she told him to follow her. They walked down a long hallway with photographs of various sheriffs and lieutenants on the wall. Toward the end was a photo of the president and one of the attorney general. They passed a janitor’s closet, and Mindi opened a door and walked inside. He followed her into a makeshift office that held a desk, a chair, a computer, and a couple of filing cabinets. The supply closet had clearly been a large one, and it still stank of chemicals and cleaning products.

“It’s not much,” she said, “but it’s yours. Orson said you would want something private
, and this is as private as it gets.”

“It’ll be fine. Thanks.”

“So, when do you want to go get Freddy?”

“I need to speak to a tech expert first.”

“What kind?”

“Imagery, DVD specifically. Do you have one on site?”

“No, we contract with a lab. Do you want to go out there?”

“Actually”
—he pulled the blank disc out of the file—“can you head there and give them this?”

“What is it?”

“It’s a disc I found in the Steeds’ home. I think it may have had something on it that’s been erased. Have them see if they can bring it up.”

“All right, no prob. What are you going to do?”

“I need to speak with Orson for a bit. Let me know what the lab says.”

“Okay
. I’ll be right back.”

Stanton waited
for her to leave then sat down. The carpet was stained so deeply that he thought dark brown was its natural color, until he noticed splotches where it was clean beige. He took out his cell phone and dialed his ex-wife. His oldest, Matt, should’ve just finished a tennis lesson, and he wanted to ask him how it had gone. The call went straight to voicemail. He took a deep breath and rose to find Orson.

Although the headquarters served as a fully functioning precinct, equipped with holding cells and SWAT lockers, it still had the air of an administrative headquarters.
He saw more office workers than field uniforms, and it gave him an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. He had never felt at ease with the top brass. His only experiences with them had revealed pettiness and bureaucracy at best and corruption at worst. He felt much more at home with the frontline cops.

Stanton
hurried to Orson’s office. Orson, who was on the phone at his desk, looked surprised to see him.

“I’ll have to call you back.” Orson hung up the phone and put his hands behind his head in a relaxed posture. “What’s up, Jon?”

“Just wondering if you had a minute.”

“For you? Anytime.”

Stanton shut the door and sat down. “Why am I here, Orson? I know the stats. Crimes like this happen here every day. Even with their contribution money, the Steeds’ murder couldn’t be the top priority of the whole department.”

“You don’t think the rape and murder of two prominent citizens should be
our top priority?”

“I didn’t say it
shouldn’t
be. I said it
couldn’t
be. Unless everything I know about how bureaucracies work is wrong, you’d want to underplay your hand on this and hope it goes away until it’s solved. Bringing me in here’s bound to get some press. You knew that.”

“Yeah, I did.” He exhaled loudly and rubbed the bridge of his nose
between his thumb and forefinger. “There’s no other city like Las Vegas in the world, Jon. Not since ancient Rome has there been a place like ours. It’s set up to cater to vice and nothing else. Nothing. So, the people who provide that vice are the true governors. Hell, our mayor’s a mob lawyer. That’s our essence.”

“You need to be straight with me.”

“I know, I know. The thing is: the mayor, the sheriff, the city council—we don’t run this place. We know who we really work for, and that’s the casinos.” He pointed to a photo on his wall of him shaking hands with a man in a tuxedo. “You see that guy? That’s Bill James. He owns more of this city now than Wynn, Trump, or any of those others. He also happens to be the prime suspect in this case.”

“There was nothing in the file about him.”

“No, there wouldn’t be. He hasn’t been officially mentioned, but everyone kind of knows. They were suing each other, or more specifically, Daniel Steed was suing him. And not just a few million here, a few million there. The lawsuit was for billions. It would’ve bankrupted Bill James.”

“Has he been questioned?”

“You kiddin’ me? The county attorneys would have my ass. He’s donated more to campaigns in this county than every other organization and individual combined. He knows how to grease the wheels.”

“So, you brought me in here to find evidence against him?”

“No, we didn’t. The opposite, actually. Bill James brought you in. He came to me and asked who the best investigator I’ve ever met was. I told him you were. He said to spare no expense and get you here. He knows everybody thinks he did this. He says he wants his name cleared by finding the actual perp.”

“You believe him?”

“I don’t know. He comes from a different time, back when casino owners solved their problems with holes in the desert. And that would just be for stealing a few thousand bucks in chips or cheating at craps. I can’t imagine how far he would go to protect his entire fortune.”

“You think I could talk to him?”

“Absolutely not. He wants no involvement in this. We’re serious about that, Jon. Papers get ahold of that, and they’ll start painting him as the prime suspect. He’s footing the bill for you. You speak with him, and we’ll have to have you on the next plane out of here. I really don’t want that. I don’t want any of this. I just want to find the sick fuck that did this and forget about this damned case.”

Stanton rose. “I appreciate you being honest with me, Orson.”

“Jon,” he said as Stanton turned to leave, “never forget who the real bosses are here. As long as you do that, you won’t step on any toes. That’s how I get by.”

“I’ll see you later.”
Stanton shut the door behind him, walked back down the hall, and waited for the elevator. The man who had been yelling was now huddled over the desk, the receiver glued to his ear, weeping softly and apologizing. The elevator dinged, and Stanton stepped on.

14

Stanton waited in the office until six o’ clock, but Mindi didn’t make it back in time. He headed outside after stopping briefly the front desk to ask where Marty was.

“Ain’t seen him,” the receptionist said without looking up from a form she was
working on.

The streets of Las Vegas were warm
, and an energy, something between excitement and fear, filled the air. It was Friday night, and the weekends were the town’s busiest nights. During the week, few tourists actually came out, and the people packing the casinos were degenerate gamblers who didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.

He didn’t feel like driving
, so he grabbed a cab. The young cabbie had a flattop and army tattoos on his forearms. He sped through a few parking lots, cut off cars, and had Stanton back on the strip within minutes. Stanton tipped him well as he stepped out in front of the Luxor. The billboard up across the street advertised criminal lawyers offering to handle cases for only one hundred bucks.

He decided he didn’t want to go back to his hotel yet, so he went inside the Luxor. The Egyptian hieroglyphs and statues were truly
awe inspiring. People walked past them without so much as a glance, yet they would have paid thousands of dollars to see the originals in Egypt. The only difference between the two was their ages.

The casino was designed like any other casino, but it was more open
, and the ceilings were higher. A black Lamborghini was placed on a lighted pedestal; a sign next to it proclaimed that it could be won for a one-dollar bet. Beyond that were television cameras pointed at a magician performing tricks for a crowd.

Stanton
walked over and stood behind two drunken women in tight skirts. One of them looked at him and smiled, and he smiled back.

“You looking for a date?” she
asked.

He pulled out his badge. “No.”

“That don’t mean nothin’ here, baby.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

The magician was levitating about four inches off the ground, to the amazement of the crowd. Stanton instantly saw what was happening. The magician was wearing long pants and had his back turned to the crowd, exposing only his heels to the people. He lifted himself on one foot, making sure that both heels were stuck together and that the other foot was flat and in the air. Gasps rippled through the crowd. It was a clever trick. The magician turned back around to applause and noticed Stanton.

“You, my friend. You think I can read your mind?”

Stanton shrugged.

“Does anyone here believe that one person can read another’s mind?”

About half the people in the crowd raised their hands.

“For those of you nonbelievers, if I read the mind of a total stranger, would you believe?” He walked over to Stanton
, holding a piece of paper in his hand. “I want you to think of an item—any item—right now. Get it in your mind, and I’m going to draw it on this paper.” The magician made some scribbles then lowered the paper.

The magician closed his eyes, his breathing slowed, and he touched Stanton lightly on the shoulder.

“What was your item?”

“A shark.”

“Did you say a shark?”

“Yes.”

The magician held up the paper, showing a drawing of a shark coming out of the water like the one on the posters for
Jaws
. The crowd cheered and clapped.

Stanton leaned in close to the magician and said, “I could see the lead tip on your finger.”

The magician smiled, shrugged, and moved on to someone else. He had drawn the shark after Stanton said it, using the lead tip. With the paper lowered, no one should have noticed.

Stanton
ambled around the casino a bit more then headed back outside. He was about to walk back to the Mirage when he remembered that the tram was nearby. Several blocks down, he found an entrance, where he bought a ticket with his credit card. He caught the northbound tram, and when he got on, he was alone.

The tram appeared
to be clean, except for marker scribbles on the interior close to his seat. A route map over the doors showed which casinos were near which stops.

A voice over the speakers announc
ed the next stop, and the tram started with a jolt. It weaved in between buildings and over trees, and neon lights glimmered just outside the windows. On the opposite side of the strip, out a thousand yards or so, were the cheap motels and hostels.

At the Harrah’s stop
, two women and a man got on. They were middle-aged, perhaps in their late fifties, and drunk. The man had on a pinstripe suit, and his shiny hair was slicked back. He wore pinky rings on each hand and had a diamond stud in his ear. He had a hand on each woman, and they were speaking softly to each other.

“I think it’d be hot if you two kissed,” the man said.

They giggled then proceeded to kiss. Stanton looked out the windows, pretending not to pay attention.

“What the fuck you lookin’ at?”

He looked back to see the man staring right at him.

“I wasn’t looking.”

“The fuck you weren’t.”

“Honey,” one of the women said, “calm down.”

“I asked you a question. What the fuck you lookin’ at?”

Stanton felt like pulling out his badge and teaching him a lesson
by making him get off the tram, searching him, forcing him to divulge information about himself, humiliating him, and making him feel powerless. But he fought the urge. Such thoughts didn’t come from man or heaven, but from a darker source. The man wanted to feel powerful in front of the women. Stanton pitied him.

“I’m sorry you’ve taken offense. I was trying not to look.”

“That’s damn right you’re sorry.” A grin crossed his face. He turned to the women. “See, that’s how you gotta treat people. Just grab ’em by the balls.”

As the trio
stumbled off the tram at the next stop, the man gave Stanton a quick glance and a smirk. Stanton got off at the next stop near the Bellagio and got into the last car of a southbound tram.

He was out of the camera’s view, where the man he was looking for would have sat. He stared at the empty seats in front of him
, picturing Daniel and Emily Steed, the smiles on their faces, and the love between them. He could feel rage and hatred. It bubbled up in him, and he knew what he would do, what he was there to do. He could feel the heaviness of the gun and the itchy promise of the woolen ski mask in his pocket. He knew they were going to die, and they had no idea. He had absolute power over their lives, matched only by their parents, who had created them. He was their executioner. It was… exciting.

That’s why you had an erection already, didn’t you, you son of a bitch
?

Stanton rose and walked over to the spot where the man had stood. He lifted his arm toward the seats
, reached over, and pulled as if grabbing someone by the hair. He held that person bent over with one hand and fired a gun with the other. Looking up at his reflection in the windows, Stanton saw the exact posture the perp had been in. He looked at every inch of floor and window as well as outside the windows. He looked behind him. The tram slowed and came to a stop as the voice announced the Flamingo and Caesar’s Palace—the stop where the perp would have exited. Stanton stepped off the tram and looked to the right and left: an elevator and stairs. He didn’t want to take the elevator. It was only a short ride one floor down, but he would be trapped there. Right now, he felt like flying.

He ran to the stairs and took them two at a time, pulling off the ski mask
and tucking away the gun. On the first floor, he attempted to act normal, to fit in. He glanced around.

People would be coming into the terminal
there. Having other people so near was exciting. The tram rumbled past overhead, two bodies slumped in its seats. Stanton watched the tram, following it, and watched other people’s reactions to it. But they didn’t see it, not like he did. In that way, he had power over
them
, too.

He continued out of the terminal and
arrived at a narrow corridor of concrete. This was a prison. The walls closed in on him. He was a Titan, and the walls were crushing him. His excitement was fading. The tingling in his belly, the fire in his bowels, and the racing of his heart… it was all leaving as he re-entered the world out on the street corner.

A woman walked past him by herself. She held
tightly to her purse when she saw him. Stanton looked around him. It was secluded and dark. No one within fifty or sixty feet…

He watched the woman as she
entered the terminal. Who was she to him? How dare she walk by him without acknowledging his greatness. The great deeds he had just performed? The acts that so few others had the guts to do?

The excitement was back.
He was just behind the Flamingo on Winnick Avenue. No one was around to help. The perp would have had to run somewhere.
Where would I go?

Stanton walked past a building with no clear name or purpose
then saw the Hilton vacation suites at the Flamingo. It was his first sight of civilization since he’d gotten off the tram. He walked there and went to the front desk, where a security guard was sitting off to the right, reading a magazine and surfing the Internet at the same time. There was a half-eaten sandwich on the desk in front of him.

“Excuse me,” Stanton said, “I need a list of all the crimes that were reported here on June twelfth, just after ten at night.”