Nightwalker (12 page)

He stood as Jerry strode across the room and opened the door.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to intrude.”

“Dillon was just leaving,” Jerry said.

Dillon thought about finding a way to stay, then opted not to. She was going to have to decide that she needed to open up to him. She was going to have to trust him.

Besides, if she wanted to speak privately to Cheever, well…

Ringo could listen in and tell him if there was anything he needed to know.

“Jessy,” he acknowledged politely, and left, deciding he might as well make good use of the time. He headed down the hall to ask the desk sergeant where he could find Detective Durso.

“Sit down, sit down, how can I help you?” Jerry Cheever asked.

Jessy took the chair in front of the desk, while he perched on the edge of it.

“Have you discovered anything more about the murder of Tanner Green?” she asked him without preamble.

He arched a brow and answered slowly. “You know, investigations take time. Unfortunately, we don’t usually solve things as easily as the crime shows would have you believe.”

“I know that. I was just anxious, I guess,” she told him.

“We’re investigating several leads, though,” he told her. “We’re doing our best, and, I’m certain, in the end, that we
will
discover the truth. Have you thought of anything that might help with the case?” he asked her.

“No. Actually…I’m just curious about Mr. Green himself,” Jessy told him.

“Oh? Why?” Cheever asked.

“I wanted to know if he had a twin, or maybe a brother who looks a lot like him,” she said.

Cheever seemed surprised, but he stood and walked around behind his desk, hit a few keys on his computer, then met her eyes. “Nope. No siblings. He was the only child of Mathew and Virginia Green, both deceased many years ago.”

“Oh,” she said with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. Great. She had asked, the question had been just as ridiculous as she’d feared, and now Cheever was staring at her as if he was about to grill her once again.

She stood quickly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken your time.”

“Why the concern about siblings?” Cheever asked, getting up to see her out.

“I just thought that…well, I haven’t seen anything in the paper about a funeral,” she said, amazed that the lie came to her tongue so easily, even though it wouldn’t stand up to close investigation.

“The body is still being held in the morgue. But there’s a note here that Emil Landon called to say that he’ll handle the arrangements once it’s released.”

“That’s nice to hear,” she said.

“Keep your eye on the papers. I’m sure there’ll be a notice when the time comes,” Jerry suggested.

“Yes, of course. And thank you.” She started out of the office, then hesitated. “It’s kind of strange, isn’t it? That poor guy who worked for the Sun is dead, too.”

“Don’t worry. We intend to find out who was responsible.”

She nodded and left at last.

Dillon hadn’t met Len Durso before, but the cop seemed to be a decent guy. He was a big-enough man that he could have been intimidating, but his response was open and friendly when Dillon introduced himself and presented his card, with the Harrison Investigations logo on it, then explained why he’d come.

“We’ve just started investigating,” Durso said, shaking Dillon’s hand and studying him from under heavy lids, as if he’d heard about him and was intrigued.

“I don’t believe it was an accident,” Dillon said flatly.

“It was a hard impact, killing the guy instantly, I can tell you that. The body is at the morgue—probably in autopsy right now. The M.E. hasn’t signed off yet, but she’s already told me that whoever hit him was going a good sixty miles an hour. There are no tire marks on the highway, so the driver didn’t try to stop,” Durso told him. “We’ll know more when we get the full forensic and autopsy reports.”

“Can you call me to let me know what you learn?” Dillon pointed to the card in Durso’s hand.

“I’m curious,” Durso told him. “What’s your interest in this?”

Durso was being honest with him, more forthcoming than Dillon had any right to expect, so he replied in kind.

“I think it was murder. I think Yorba might have been able to ID whoever killed Tanner Green, and that’s why he’s dead now.”

“You working for Emil Landon?” Durso demanded, seeming to retreat slightly.

“My boss’s call,” Dillon told him. “Landon thinks he’s a target.”

“Yeah? Well, Landon is walking around just fine, and if you’re right, two other men have died in his stead,” Durso said. Dillon decided he’d made the right call, telling the cop that he’d been instructed to take the case.

Dillon said, “I’m thinking it might be some kind of an inside job, with someone from the Big Easy working with somebody from the Sun. Because if it’s not, the Tanner Green murder is the most coincidence-filled case I’ve ever seen.”

Durso studied him gravely. “I’ll look into anything you give me. I met Adam Harrison when he was here on a case a few years back. No one ever talked about the details, but he’s clearly an amazing guy, so anything I can do…For now, tell me how you think this might have gone down. What makes you think it was an inside job?”

“The limo that dropped Tanner Green off at the casino was just out of range of several security cameras. That’s almost impossible to accomplish—unless you know the exact range and angle of view of those cameras,” Dillon explained.

“A tech guru might be able to figure it out.”

“That would be very tough and not very likely,” Dillon said. “And like I said, the reason I think the two deaths are connected is that Rudy was parking cars at the Sun that night, and I think
he
got a look at what the cameras missed. So thanks. I appreciate the offer of help.”

“I’ll appreciate yours, too, if you get anything,” Durso told him.

The two men shook hands goodbye, and as Dillon walked slowly back toward the exit, he keyed in the phone number Sarah had given him the night before.

“Hey there,” she said, once he identified himself.

“Hey yourself. I have a question for you. Do you know anything about what Tanner Green was wearing the night he died?”

“Top of the line,” she told him. “Designer all the way. His shoes must have cost more than I make in a week.”

“Was there any damage to his clothing?”

“Well, there was the hole made by the knife,” she said. “And the bloodstains.”

“Anything else?”

“Wait a minute.” He could hear her rustling papers.

“Yeah, his shirt was missing two buttons,” she read off a report.

“Thanks,” he said.
“Thanks.”

“What have you got?”

“As soon as I’m closer to really knowing something, I’ll let you know.”

Passing the squad room on her way out, Jessy looked over at the sea of desks and the officers who were
hurrying from place to place, almost as if they were ants busying themselves around their hill.

She still felt tense, and she didn’t know why. Looking around again, she found herself half expecting Tanner Green to be seated at one of the desks, staring at her. But he was nowhere in sight, a fact that should have filled her with more relief than it did.

One piece of information sat dully in her mind. Tanner Green had been an only child.

She was also curious about the fact that Dillon Wolf had been in with Cheever. She supposed it was because they were both investigating Green’s death, so they undoubtedly needed to work with one another, even if they didn’t necessarily like one another.

And why hadn’t she told Cheever what she hadn’t been willing to tell Dillon, either: that just before dying, Tanner Green had whispered a single word to her?

Indigo.

“Jessy?”

The sound of her own name startled her, and she jumped. Dillon Wolf was walking down the hall toward her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

He was tall, solid. Certainly attractive. And it wasn’t just his looks, either. It was the confident way he moved. The way he spoke. Even in a dream, she had felt the attraction, the longing to be with him. The need to be held. And touched. Was this strange attraction all because she was seeing a ghost, or was she genuinely attracted to him? She was very much afraid it was the latter.

She was edgy around him, and she wasn’t sure why.
She wasn’t afraid of him, exactly, it was more that she was afraid of…how much he seemed to know about her, the way he saw through to the vulnerability she longed to deny.

“Are you all right?” he asked, looking at her skeptically.

“Fine, thank you.” Oh, God, she was such a liar. And he could see it, of course. He didn’t ask another question, he just studied her with his dark, intense eyes, and she found herself babbling. “I just came in to see what was going on with the investigation.”

“Sure.” He glanced at his watch. “You working today?”

“Yes.”

“The same show?” When she nodded, he asked, “Does that mean you have time for a late breakfast or an early lunch…or just a cup of coffee?”

She wanted to say no. She wanted to run away.

Which was just crazy. And seriously, did she want to be alone right now?

“Please?” he added.

Why couldn’t he be so obnoxious that she would have a good reason to say no?

“I guess brunch would be a good thing,” she said.

“Great,” he told her, then laid his hand against the base of her back to usher her from the station. Outside, he suggested that they take his car, offering to drive her back afterward for hers, and she reluctantly agreed.

He drove a small hybrid. Vegas might be a city of extravagance, but thinking about the man, she decided she wasn’t surprised.

He chose a charming mom-and-pop place she’d never been to before. At first she was surprised by that,
and then she realized that Las Vegas was filled with restaurants, many of which came and went in the blink of an eye, so perhaps it wasn’t so strange after all.

The restaurant was sparkling clean; the little vases of flowers on the table were fresh. The room itself was sunny and airy, but despite that, as they sat down, she looked around, afraid she was going to see the mournful eyes of Tanner Green staring at her. Pleading with her. But for what?

“The eggs Benedict are excellent,” he suggested. “And the soups are homemade.”

She wasn’t really interested in the food. “Eggs Benedict sounds fine,” she told him.

The waitress turned out to be one of the owners. Dillon chatted pleasantly with her for a few minutes as he ordered.

Once cups of steaming coffee had been set before them, he looked at her and smiled. “Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked her.

“I—I’m not,” she protested.

“The thing is, I think you need me,” he told her soberly.

It wasn’t a line, and she knew it. Still, she tossed back a lock of hair and said, “Well, that’s a new come-on,” she said.

He didn’t reply, didn’t even crack a smile.

“I think your life might be in danger,” he said flatly.

Her fingers trembled as she held her coffee cup; she decided not to try to take a sip. “Why?” she breathed.

He leaned toward her. “Tanner Green spoke to you before he died. I saw it on the tapes.”

“But…only the cops have those tapes, right?” she
asked him. “Are you trying to tell me that the police department is crooked?”

“I don’t know how many copies of those tapes are out there. As for the police…it’s a huge department. I’m sure not everyone is crooked, but that doesn’t mean
some
one can’t be. And the casino has the tapes, too. Look, you heard about the guy who was killed in that hit-and-run—un, right?”

“Yes. It’s very sad.”

“No, it’s more than sad. I’m almost positive he was killed because he spoke with me,” he told her seriously.

“Oh, great—and now
I’m
speaking with you.”

“Jessy, you know something, and sooner or later the killer’s going to figure that out,” he said.

Eggs Benedict, aromatic and enticing, were set before her. She picked up her fork and cut a bite, then couldn’t bring the fork to her lips.

Tell him,
she thought.
Just spit out that one word and it will be all over.

She stared down at her coffee cup, but when she looked up again, about to speak, she went silent in stunned terror instead.

Tanner Green was sitting at the table behind Dillon Wolf, staring at her morosely.

Worse. At the table behind
him
—not with him, just behind him—was another specter.

She’d never met the man in life, but she’d seen his picture on the news, and she couldn’t mistake the face.

Rudy Yorba.

Dillon Wolf saw her expression and swung around to see what she was staring at.

As Dillon turned, Tanner Green leaped to his feet, jostling the table in the process. The salt and pepper shakers rattled.

And then he was gone, with Rudy Yorba disappearing seemingly into thin air right along with him.

Several other diners looked around, aware of something, but seeing nothing.

Not Dillon Wolf. He leaned toward her and said flatly, “You saw them.” It wasn’t a question.

She stared at him, blinked, and tried to deny it.

“I didn’t see anything.”

He had seen them, too, she suddenly realized.

She wanted to scream.

A part of her heard chatter, laughter, the clink of cups and the sounds of forks on plates. She heard music playing in the background, something country, pleasant and soft.

She jumped up, forgetting all about her food.

“You have to stay away from me,” she told Dillon.

He had risen when she did. He grimly dropped money on the table, and when she turned to flee the restaurant, he was right behind her.

In the parking lot, she remembered that they had come in his car.

She winced, but didn’t jump, when she felt his hand on her arm. When she turned, she saw the light of empathy and concern in his eyes, and she was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry, right there in the parking lot. She was tempted to throw herself into his arms, wishing she could forget all of this—the murder, the ghost—and suggest that she screw work and, well, hell, screw him, as well.