There were smudges on the main story, big black remnants of Harv’s Frankensteinian thumbs. He hated that. He didn’t want to read a paper that had been pawed over by illiterates. And this one was important; he needed this story for his History. He would have to pick up another copy on his drive home.
His eyes returned to the main story under the banner headline:
MURDER VICTIM “BURIED”
IN CASINO GRAVEYARD
BY JONATHAN WOOLEY
An unidentified nude female corpse completely shaved of body hair was discovered early Tuesday morning in a mock graveyard located at the multimillion-dollar Transylvania resort hotel, authorities revealed yesterday afternoon. The body was placed in a wooden coffin and buried under a thin layer of dirt. The graveyard is part of the hotel’s Edgar Allan Poe gallery, one of several horror-themed tableaus on the ballroom floor.
“We’re just glad the body was discovered before the doors were opened,” said Transylvania owner Katherine Wentworth. “We wouldn’t want any of our guests to be disturbed.”
Police officials remained tight-lipped about the investigation, but LVPD Chief of Police Robert O’Bannon indicated that they were pursuing several leads.
“Obviously, the irony of depositing a body in a fake graveyard was more than someone could resist. We’ve taken evidence, which should allow us to identify the victim in time. The large number of tourists coming in and out of Vegas makes a quick ID difficult. Nonetheless, we have all our top officers working on it and have every reason to believe we will identify the victim-and her assailant-in short order.”
At a press conference later in the day, a representative of the LVPD Homicide Department, Lieutenant Barry Granger, stated that preliminary tests indicated that the victim had died of suffocation. Several unanswered questions still remained about…
In other words, they knew nothing. He allowed himself a tiny smile. They didn’t know who Helen was, they didn’t know who he was, and they had no glimmer of the magnitude of what they had stumbled across. At least not most of them…
His eyes scanned the page and then the continuation on page three, searching for the information he wanted. Yes, yes, he knew O’Bannon, that blowhard was on television all the time. There were repeated references to Lieutenant Granger, who during his initial crime scene appearance seemed almost deliberately slow-witted. But what of the raven-haired beauty? Who was she? What was she doing there? Given the way she was treated by most of the other police officers, it was tempting to conclude that she was an unauthorized visitor, that she had no connection to them. But he knew that was wrong. He had seen the way she moved, the way she carried herself. She was on familiar ground. She had done this before. Had she been brought in from another jurisdiction? He had to find out.
“So I’m thinking maybe I’ll just march right up and introduce myself to ’em. What’d’ya think about that?”
“What?” He looked up. Had Harv been babbling the entire time he was reading? “Who?”
“The cops, Ernie. I’m thinking maybe I’ll tell them I’m available. Who knows? They might like the chance to work with someone who knows the lay of the land.”
“They won’t give you the time of day,” he replied. “If you had something to tell them, then maybe-”
He stopped short. That was it. If he had something to tell, something they really wanted, he could command anyone’s attention. Even hers.
“I’ll be out this afternoon,” he said, tossing down the paper. “Cover for me in the casino.”
“Sure, but-”
“Keep your eyes open and your lips sealed,” he added as he slid into his coat. “And most importantly, Harv-don’t hassle the police and don’t go near the Poe room. You never know what might happen there.”
7
The phone must’ve rung twenty times before it finally registered in my brain. Exerting all my available strength, I managed to pull my head out from under the pillow. It throbbed. More than throbbed-it felt as if someone were running an electric mixer inside my cranial case, scrambling my brains.
I grabbed the receiver, knocking over the end table in the process. The bottle fell to the floor with a bang but thank God didn’t quite break.
“ ’Lo,” I managed. My tongue felt like Velcro.
“Pulaski? Is that you?”
I stiffened. It was Chief O’Bannon. “Yes, sir.”
“Are you all right?”
“ ’M fine.”
“Took you forever to answer the phone.”
“Sorry. I was in the shower.”
He was silent for a moment. “Are you able to come out to a crime scene? As soon as possible.”
Truth was, I felt like shit. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. “You want me at a crime scene? After last night-”
“I’ve changed my mind. Decided to give you a second chance.”
“Out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Out of respect for your father. And David.”
“Bullshit.” I shifted the phone from one ear to the other and pushed my aching self up to a sitting position. “There’s been another murder, hasn’t there?”
“Yes, but-”
“Buried alive?”
Again the silence. “No. This one’s worse.”
“You’ve got a psycho on your hands.”
“Looks that way.”
“And that’s the real reason for this call. Not any charity toward me. You need my expertise.”
“Look, I don’t have time for this. Are you coming or not?”
Get a grip, I told myself. Take the job before he changes his mind. “All right, I’m in. I’ll stop by headquarters and get my badge and-”
“No badge. No gun.”
“But you said-”
“I’m willing to hire you on a part-time consulting basis with respect to this one case. That’s it.”
“No way.”
“Those are my terms. Take it or leave it.”
“You-” I pounded my fist into the pillow, biting back what I really wanted to say. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“You’re not ready to be reinstated.”
“How the hell would you-”
“You have a problem, Susan. A major problem. And until you’ve overcome it, you’re not going to play on my team. But I still need a behaviorist, at least until the Feds move in.”
“Feds?” I whistled.
“So I’m asking one last time. Will you take the consulting position or not?”
“I’ll take it.” Even though I found the whole situation offensive, I needed work if I wanted to get Rachel back.
He told me where to meet him. “I’ll be there in about an hour.”
“Twenty minutes,” he answered. “Or you’re off the case.”
“But I just got up-”
“I thought you just got out of the shower.”
I pressed my hand against my forehead. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
“See you in twenty.” He made a grunting noise, then disconnected.
My entire body ached. The head was the worst, but it was just part of the overall miserable package. I felt broken, shattered, both in body and in spirit. I looked down at the bottle rolling around on the floor-empty-and it made me sick in so many ways I couldn’t count them all.
My first night alone since the big breakdown, and I’d found a hell of a way to celebrate. I couldn’t be trusted for one night. I’d done exactly what everyone said I would do, and I was lying about it afterward, just as everyone knew I would.
Hell. I had work to do. That would be my cure-bury myself in a case. Get too busy to indulge in bad habits. I’d made one mistake, but I was determined not to let it happen again.
The hollow anxious aching in my chest reasserted itself. My wrist tingled.
I found the crime scene on the back forty of McCarran International. Out here in the desert, you could barely tell you were anywhere near a major city. The airport terminal was to the north; other than that, it was big-sky country. Hard to imagine what could’ve inspired those Mormons to settle down here all those years ago. John Fremont, now mostly remembered for the tourist trap street that bears his name, first wrote about the area he discovered in 1844 while he was out harassing Indians. But Mormon cattle ranchers set up the first settlement in these fertile plains, around 1855. By 1905, we had a train station-and casinos-and they held the first Las Vegas land auction, the event that put this city on the map.