Killing Hope (Gabe Quinn Thriller) (41 page)

The driver looked Vietnamese. His cab smelled like incense.

‘I take you downtown?’ He speculated happily as I eased onto the back seat. ‘We got plenty hot ladies downtown. Plenty sexy.’

He seemed genuinely disappointed when I declined his offer.

‘You not here for hot ladies?’ He asked as he caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘Maybe hot boys?’

‘No.’ I said. ‘Channel Ten News studios.’

Smiling toothlessly, the driver notched up the volume on his stereo as we pulled out into heavy traffic. Asian hip-hop. Rebounding off my eardrums. We bounced southwards down The Strip. Passed more monstrous hotels. Droves of tourists. Half a dozen lanes of nose-to-tail traffic at every intersection, separated by a palm-treed median.

My cell rang.

‘Yes, Bill?’ I shouted above the stampeding din.

‘Just a heads-up,’ he said. ‘Fuller’s been on the phone to the Governor of Nevada. Who has just mobilized the National Guard. We’re having them set up road blocks and stop checks on every route leading out of the city. Screening passengers leaving via McCarran. If anyone in the least bit fucking suspicious tries to leave town they’ll be hauled in for questioning.’

‘Won’t that raise public alarm?’ I said.

‘Yeah, maybe. But we’re feeding the Media with a Homeland Security cover story. Presently, the Advisory System stands at Severe. We’re saying it’s routine exercises.’

‘Which is great,’ I said, ‘but you and I both know that stop checks are only effective when those doing the checking know who they’re looking for. And then the hit rate is less than one in ten.’

 
Fuller’s angry heart might be in the right place, I thought. But simply throwing dozens of bodies at an investigation doesn’t necessarily guarantee a conviction.

‘Besides, Bill,’ I continued, ‘The Undertaker may have already fled the State.’

‘I know that, Gabriel. But I’m betting he’s still here.’

‘And you don’t gamble.’

‘Which means my hunch is right on the money.’

I wasn’t sure about Bill’s logic, but I let it be. ‘Okay, so how about our base of operations? Any luck with that?’

The show was being put together and run from our newly-commissioned command center: one of the Grand Ballrooms located inside the
MGM Grand’s
Conference Center
– right beneath the crime scene. Turned out the Las Vegas Field Office was undergoing a refit and was therefore out of the equation. I didn’t mind; the Special Agent-in-Charge over there wasn’t in my fan club. Then again, I wasn’t in his.

Bill had also commandeered a terrace suite at the hotel, on my behalf, next to his. Connecting doors. Key on the pillow. I thanked him for his generosity. But told him I was happy where I was.

‘We’re flying people in from Langley,’ Bill told me. ‘Mainly techies. Equipment. Most of my team. We got ourselves a major fucking witch hunt going on, Gabriel. If your boy’s here, we’ll catch him.’

Or kill him,
I thought.

I told Bill about Sonny’s idea to screen flight manifests against hotel guest lists. Heard him whistle on the other end of the line. Even with all the formidable FBI’s resources available he knew it would be a mammoth undertaking. All the same, he promised to get his team on it soon as.

The taxi pulled up outside the
Channel 10 News
studios at the back of Paradise Road.

‘Fifty buck.’ The driver announced happily over his shoulder.

I nearly fell off the seat.

‘The meter says ten dollars.’

‘Don’t matter what meter say. Meter broke.’ He even rapped it with his knuckles to try and prove the point. ‘Fifty dollar or I call cop.’ He gave me another one of those smug, toothless grins – like the kind Dick Turpin had gotten down to a tee.

I flashed my badge.

‘You take this kind of currency?’

And his smugness vanished like donuts at a police convention.

113

^{___________________________}

The sunny reception area at
Channel 10 News
had plasma screens the size of pool tables on the walls. Broadcasting various newsreels. Including Stacey Kellerman’s character assassination. I went through tedious introductions with a cheerleader receptionist. Who, after a little obfuscation, buzzed me up to the second floor.

I found the Chief News Director signing off forms with his secretary in a sunlit office. He nodded an acknowledgement when he saw me.

‘Sign my life away if I’m not careful.’ He remarked as the secretary presented one sheet after another for his attention. ‘Be two ticks, Detective.’

I used the time to survey my surroundings.

One whole wall looked like a shrine to the
Dallas Cowboys
. Signed photographs of the Chief News Director shaking hands with individual players in their blue-and-white jerseys.
Super Bowl Champions
memorabilia.

‘Used to play a bit myself, back in the good old days,’ the Chief News Director told me as the secretary packed up and left. ‘Nothing major. Could have been, if this lousy knee hadn’t busted itself up.’

‘They couldn’t fix it?’

I saw him smile ruefully. ‘Long before the days of keyhole surgery. This rock’s older than he looks.’ He stuck out a hand. ‘Hal Beecham. I run things round here.’

We shook. The grip was strong, but fair.

Hal Beecham reminded me a little of the late JFK, Jr. – had he lived another couple of decades. He had on a sky-blue shirt open at the collar, a bright red necktie and a cream-colored waistcoat to match his chinos.

‘Interest you in a homemade lemonade?’ He said as he got up and walked over to cabinet in the corner. ‘My wife spikes it with nicotine. Don’t ask me how. Maybe it’s better not to know. It’s the business, though. Got itself a real kick.’

‘Sure.’ I said. ‘You an ex-smoker, Hal?’

‘No, just a smoker who’s no longer smoking.’ He poured two tall lemonades from a pitcher sat in an ice bucket. Threw some ice in for good measure. Handed me the drink. ‘You look hot underneath the collar, Detective. Vegas can do that to a man.’

I tasted the lemonade. ‘This is good.’

‘Glad you like it. So, Detective, how can I be of service to the Los Angeles Police Department?’

‘Actually, I need to speak with one of your reporters.’

‘Don’t tell me: Stacey. She’s a wild card all right. Probably pissed you off like she pisses everybody else off.’ He chuckled into his lemonade.

I smiled uneasily.

‘Fact is, though, she’s popular with the people. And that’s what counts in this game. You see, Detective, it’s all about ratings. The higher the ratings, the bigger the sponsors. The bigger the sponsors, the better the money.’

‘She’s a loose cannon.’

‘Now how’d I know you were going to say that?’

Hal Beecham weighed me up over the top of his lemonade like a father meeting his prospective son-in -law for the first time.

‘Stacey’s driven.’ He said. ‘No shame in that. This is a dog eat dog business, Detective. That girl’s got her sights on the big boys.’ He saw my frown and added: ‘The networks: MSNBC, CNN, CBS, ABC.’

‘Ah, all the abbreviations.’

Beecham snickered, ‘Hell, if the deal was right she’d even take a job at Fox.’

‘I’d like to speak with her.’

‘May I ask why?’

I sensed Beecham’s demeanor get a little prickly.

‘Of course, you don’t have to tell me, Detective. But I’m Stacey’s boss. Everything goes through this office.’

I wondered if I’d need his signature on a chit before he’d grant me an audience.

‘It’s about her newscast.’ I said.

‘Knew it would be.’

‘Some of the things she said. We hadn’t released those facts to the Press. I need to know how she came by them.’

‘And you think she’s in contact with the killer?’

Beecham was smart, I realized.

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘Should I be calling the Station’s lawyers? You need to tell me right now if that’s the case, Detective. You and I both know the source of a journalist’s information is confidential.’

‘Her life might be in danger.’

Beecham cocked an eyebrow. Didn’t buy it.

‘What about moral obligation?’

He shrugged. ‘The First Amendment doesn’t deal with morals.’

‘Even if her informant is the killer?’

‘Makes no difference. Unless instructed to do so by a court order, we aren’t obliged to reveal our sources. You of all people should know that, Detective. It’s a breach of civil liberty.’

I was taken-aback by Beecham’s sudden closed-shop attitude. I’d hit a raw nerve with him and he had no reservations about going on the defensive.

‘But I’ll tell you what I’m prepared to do, ‘ he said, leaning toward me. ‘If her informant is the killer, we can both benefit. In exchange for Stacey’s cooperation, we get first bite of the cherry at the upcoming Press conference. Now don’t look so surprised, Detective; Sonny Maxwell’s a good friend of mine. News travels fast in this town. We get exclusivity on all the visuals. And if you catch this killer in Vegas I want it caught on Channel Ten cameras.’

I drank some lemonade. Let Beecham stew.

Without his consent I wasn’t going to get to speak with Stacey Kellerman – at least not on my terms.

‘Okay.’ I said. ‘But here’s the condition: Kellerman tells me everything I need to know. Today. Before we arrange any kind of news conference. She tells me who her contact is. When he contacted her. What deal she’s struck with him. Everything.’

Hal Beecham’s lips formed the letter S on its side. ‘Why do I feel like there’s an
or
coming?’

114

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