Sleepless in Las Vegas (29 page)

“Sorry,” Drake said, “but I don’t want to be recorded.”

A fellow investigator would especially understand that taped interviews weren’t always in the best interest of the interviewee. If the person being recorded inadvertently provided an incorrect fact, or came off sounding arrogant, or even used bad grammar, a slick lawyer would be all over that like a fly on trash.

“Old-fashioned note taking?”

When Drake nodded his assent, Tony dropped the recorder back into one pocket, pulled a small notepad from another, then helped himself to a ballpoint pen lying on the desk.

Tony began asking basic questions. Drake’s full name, address, phone numbers. The location of fire alarms inside the home. His location at time of fire. Had he left the house locked, did anyone else have keys, were there any suspicious vehicles or activities recently in the neighborhood?

Drake gave honest, short answers.

Fifteen minutes in, Tony sat back in his chair, his dark brown eyes studying Drake’s face. “You’re a tough investigator who’s made some enemies.”

“Everybody has enemies.”

“Not like you, my friend.” Tony slipped his notepad into one of his shirt pockets, placed the pen back on the desk. “We’re off the record.”

“There’s nothing in the law that puts a fence around off the record.”

“True. The only thing that’s gonna make our conversation private is the trust we have in each other.”

Drake didn’t trust most people he met. Even fewer people did he feel he could count on. To trust someone was like hoping for something—vague attributes people bandied about, as though by saying
I trust you
made it so.

Yet a part of him envied Tony that he could talk about trust as though it was a fact.

“Tell me about Yuri,” Tony said.

“My brother’s work associate, but you already know that.”

Tony had undoubtedly run a background check on Drake, a standard investigative procedure, in which he’d learned he had a brother who worked at Topaz. Tony might have dropped by the club later that night, or called, hoping to interview Braxton. He would have identified himself as an investigator—savvy enough not to say
arson
investigator. If Brax had answered the phone, he wouldn’t have said much more than confirming he was Drake’s brother. An employee, however, could have let it slip that recently Drake had been in the club, asking about Yuri.

“Hey, got the DNA results on the blood and piece of skin,” Tony said, shifting the topic away from Yuri. “Both samples match a very specific population of Caucasian males from Eastern Europe.”

They sat in silence for a while…a situation they had both been in many times, waiting for a witness or suspect to open up and talk. The interview might be tense, even confrontational, but as investigators, they would remain cool, watchful, patient as they waited to hear that one piece of information that could crack a case.

The air-conditioning hummed, Hearsay chewed and pawed at his new toy, and Tony and Drake sat across from each other, not saying a word.

Tony leaned forward, searching Drake’s face. “You don’t have to do this alone. I can help you.”

“Let’s call it a day. I’ll walk you to the door.” He felt lousy ignoring the offer, but he didn’t know if he was ready to trust Tony. Too much was at stake.

As they crossed the floor, Tony said, “You and me, my friend, we’re like foot soldiers in the war for truth, our best weapons being here.” He pointed at his head. “And here.” He indicated his heart. “We win our battles only when people surrender their most cherished commodity. Their secrets.”

As Drake opened the door, he decided to take a risk. It might be a mistake, but it could also be a win.

“Hold on.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out two plastic baggies. “They’re both sealed. Yuri Glazkov smokes this brand. I wrote where they were found, and the date, on the outside. As you can read, one was found in an empty lot, a fifteen-minute walk to my house. My bet is the DNA on both matches what was found on the gate.”

Tony slid the baggies into his shirt pocket. “Thank you, my friend.”

“I…want something from Yuri. It belongs to my family.”

“I see.” He thought for a moment. “I can delay executing the arrest warrant until you’ve had a chance to chat with him.”

After Drake closed the door, he went to the window and peered through the blinds. Tony ambled across Garces Avenue, his limp barely noticeable at this distance. Many arson investigators were former firefighters. He wondered if Tony, after being disabled in the line of duty, had segued his career into arson investigations. And to think he’d called Drake tough.

When Tony reached the other side of the street, he waved once over his shoulder, but not turning back to look, as he headed toward a small business’s parking area.

Drake got the message. Tony had just let him know he knew he was being watched, in fact, didn’t expect less.

It meant something else, too. They trusted each other.

* * *

W
EDNESDAY
MORNING,
V
AL
showed up at Diamond Investigations at nine. As she and Drake had discussed after the Riviera manager’s call, she would take off this afternoon and get some rest, as she and Drake were, as he kept reminding her,
gathering evidence—
not ghost hunting—in the Riviera penthouse tonight.

Today she wore one of her more sedate little black dresses with a pair of black pumps. She kept her hair simple, too. Yesterday Drake had finally set up the feed from the office surveillance camera to his smartphone. Now that her every move was being broadcast back to him in his man cave, she wanted to look her professional best.

As she sprinkled food into the aquarium, the yellow-blue fish glided into his castle. And to her surprise, back out again.

“Glory be, the prince is mingling with the common folk.”

Sitting down at her desk, she wondered if Drake was already in his office, watching her. Looking at the camera, she gave a small salute. “Mornin’, mentor.”

After checking email, she called the car repair shop and confirmed her Toyota was ready for pickup. After ending the call, she looked at the camera.

“I’m going to pick up my car now. The rental car agency will give me a ride to the repair shop.”

This felt weird. Like those ghost hunters on that reality show who’d walk around a dark house, asking questions to the spirits, waiting for answers that never came back. Maybe this one-way communication was good practice for tonight, she mused.

“While I’m gone,” she said, looking at the surveillance camera, “do you want to sit in Jayne’s office? That way, if there are any walk-ins, you can help them. I’d knock on your door and ask you in person, but…”

Her cell phone emitted a soft ping, notifying her she’d just received a text message. She picked it up and read his single-word response.

Fine.

Looking at the camera, she smiled. “Got your text. Thanks.”

This didn’t just feel weird, it felt out of balance. He got to be the great and all-powerful Oz behind the curtain, or in this case the cam, and she was Dorothy trying to chat him up.

She stood, picked up her purse. “Heading out now to get my car.”

Walking to the door, she waited until out of camera range and gave her eyes a big ol’ roll. Maybe she’d move that camera so it pointed somewhere else—like the fish tank.

Gripping the doorknob, she paused.
Wait a minute.

Just as she finally figured out the other night that she had been the one standing in the way of her happiness, she was also the only one who had the authority to take away her power. Unless she broke the law and got caught, of course, but she’d promised Jayne and Drake she’d not do that again.

Strolling back to her desk, she perched herself on the edge of it, facing the camera, although she acted as if it wasn’t there. Taking her lipstick out of her purse—the kickass red color called Devil—she took off the top and twisted the base. She’d put on lipstick almost every day of her life since turning fifteen, so she could do this flying solo, no mirror.

Looking directly at the camera, she applied it…slowly, methodically, not missing a single sweet spot on her lips. Then smoothed it on a second time, emitting a few breathy noises. The kind that went with a lipstick named Devil.

With a smile, she tossed the lipstick back into her purse, slid off the desk and strolled to the door.

Take that, Oz.

* * *

O
N
THE
DRIVE
back to Diamond Investigations in her newly repaired Toyota, Val’s phone started playing “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

Keeping the phone on her thigh, she pressed the answer button. “Hello?”

“It’s Drake.”

She smiled to herself. Had she encouraged him to come out from behind the curtain?

“Hi, Drake,” she said sweetly.

“Burner phone’s out of power,” he said, going straight to the point. “No more tracking. But the good news is, did another call to the jewelry store this morning and learned Marta picked up the ring. The employee isn’t real happy with her. Seems she argued with him over a gold bracelet she wanted to buy, caused a scene in the store. I’m beginning to think she’s Yuri’s girlfriend. He likes those in-your-face types.” He paused. “Gotta find him before he fences that ring. Or before he and Marta have a blowup and she returns to Russia wearing it. Wish I could figure out where he hangs.”

“Maybe visit Topaz again and ask around?”

“Not a good idea. The arson investigator has made his presence known to them.”

“What about revisiting some of those addresses Marta stopped at?”

“Exactly. Called to let you know I’ll be doing that this afternoon. Just dropped Hearsay off with Li’l Bit, who’ll take care of him tonight. You and I can catch up at the Riviera. Weather report says possible storms later today, so be careful.”

In the distance, she saw a billowing cloud, but otherwise the skies were blue, the sun bright.

“Besides my smartphone,” she said, “I’m bringing notepads, pens, and I read that ghosts can drain equipment energy, so it’s a good idea to also bring candles and matches.”

“Val.”

“Not saying I believe in ghosts,” she added quickly, “but I do think we should bring items that ghost hunters would bring. Call it catering to our client’s belief system.” When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “Do you have a compass? They’re supposed to be good for picking up electromagnetic forces out of the ordinary.”

“Yes,” he said grudgingly, “I have had a compass since I was a Boy Scout.”

Drake, a former Boy Scout? Made total sense. They were big on honor and duty, which struck at the core of Drake’s character.

“What time do I show?” she asked.

“Six. All expenses are paid, so we can order room service.”

“Since you’re going to be gone this afternoon, I’ll go back to the office. Jayne wouldn’t want the office closed during the weekdays.”

“No. Go home, rest. Even she would tell you to do that.”

The thought of her boss brought an ache to her chest.

“Let’s compromise,” she said quietly. “I’ll leave early.”

“I understand. One more thing. I, uh…found out some information about your mother.”

She’d been having a nice day up until now. “And?”

“It appears she lived in New Orleans until 1999.”

Val felt a wave of disgust. “Which means she and I were in the same town the first ten years of my life, and she never visited me
once.
”

“I’m sorry.”

She drove in silence for a moment, her insides writhing.

“Val,” Drake said gently, “maybe there are reasons why she didn’t want you seeing
her.
Have you ever thought about that? She might have been sick…or had other issues…”

If she wasn’t driving this car, she would yell and scream her frustration to the heavens about this stupid, meaningless task. Nanny must have been wrought with guilt that her own daughter had abandoned her child, Val, to run away with some man or whatever, so she’d asked Val to find her. This was really about giving her grandmother, bless her soul, peace of mind.

If she could bring Nanny back for even a minute, she’d move heaven and earth to do so. She loved her so much, she’d keep her promise. But the truth was, Val LeRoy didn’t give a damn about the answer.

“For dinner,” she said, “let’s order us some big ol’ fancy steaks tonight and fat baked potatoes loaded with sour cream and butter—”

“Val…”

“Let’s get something straight,” she said tightly. “Just because a woman gave birth to me doesn’t mean she’s my mother. See you at six.”

* * *

T
WO
HOURS
LATER
, Val sat at her desk, finishing a list of items to bring for the ghost hunting. When the office phone jangled, she jumped a little. Checking the caller ID, she recognized Marta’s cell phone number.

“Diamond Investigations,” she answered, steeling herself.

“Val, it’s Marta. Being twelve-thirty, afraid you might be out to lunch. My fiance, he be seen at strip club.”

“Topaz?” She frowned. Drake had made a point of saying he wasn’t going back there.

“No. Different club. Body Double. On Western Avenue.”

She’d driven past that place numerous times. Outside was a big sign advertising “neon-illuminated strippers,” which had always sounded more frightening than alluring.

“Who saw him there?”

“Friend.”

Yuri, she guessed. Had he seen Drake snooping around that address? If so, why have Marta call Val?

“Since you know where he is,” Val said, “go and talk to him. You don’t need my services anymore.”

“He see me, he get mad.”

“Then have your friend talk to him.”

“Val, please, you know how bad this is for me. You go watch. Call me like before, tell me what he do.”

It crossed Val’s mind that maybe this was a real request. Yuri had gotten word Drake was at a certain location, and he wanted him watched. Maybe he didn’t ask one of his thug buddies to do it because he was afraid Drake might recognize him. Of course, Drake would recognize her, too, but she’d give him a heads-up in a text message.