"And I care because?"
"I'd like to follow them," she said.
"Come again?"
"Yates is up to something."
She told Steinberg what she knew. She could almost see him frowning.
"So let me get this straight," her boss said. "You think that Yates is somehow involved in all this? Adam Yates, a decorated FBI agent. Wait, no, scratch that: a dedicated Special Agent in Charge, the top fed in Nevada. You base this on- A- his mood. B, that a big person might have been seen somewhere near but not even at a murder scene in Irvington. And C, that he's flying back to his home state. That about cover it?"
"You should have heard him playing good cop-bad cop, boss."
"Uh huh."
"He wanted me off the case and away from Olivia Hunter. I'm telling you: Yates is bad, boss. I know it."
"And you know what I'm going to say, right?"
Loren did. "Gather evidence."
"You got it."
"Do me one favor, boss."
"What?"
"Check on Yates's story about Rangor and Lemay turning state's witness."
"What about it?"
"See if it's true."
"What, you think he made that up?"
"Just check it."
He hesitated. "I doubt it'll do any good. I'm a county guy. That's RICO. They don't like to talk."
"Ask Joan Thurston then."
"She'll think I'm nuts."
"Doesn't she already?"
"Yeah, well, that's a point," he said. He cleared his throat. "One more thing."
"Yes, boss."
"You thinking of doing something stupid?"
"Who, me?"
"As your boss, you know I won't authorize anything. But if you're off the clock and I'm none the wiser…"
"Say no more."
She hung up. Loren knew that the answers were in Reno. Charles Talley worked at the Eager Beaver in Reno. Kimmy Dale did too. Now Yates and Dollinger were on their way there. So Loren made sure that she was off the clock. Then she booked a flight and rushed to the airport. Before she boarded, she made one more phone call. Len Friedman was still in his basement office.
"Hey," Friedman said. "Is this about getting me Candi Cane's autopsy?"
"It's yours, if you answer a few more questions. You said something about 'what goes on in Vegas stays in Vegas.' "
"Yes."
"When I asked if you meant that Clyde Rangor and Emma Lemay were telling on patrons, you said, 'Worse.' "
There was silence.
"What did you mean, Mr. Friedman?"
"It's just something I heard," he said.
"What?"
"That Rangor had a scheme going."
"You mean like a blackmail scheme?"
"Yeah, something like that."
He went quiet.
"How like that?" she asked.
"He made tapes."
"Of?"
"Of what you think."
"His clients having sex with women?"
Again there was a brief silence.
"Mr. Friedman?"
"Yes," he said. "But…"
"But what?"
"But"- his voice grew soft-"I'm not sure you'd call them women."
She frowned. "They were men?"
"No, not like that," Friedman said. "Look, I don't even know if it's true. People make stuff up all the time."
"And you think that's the case here?"
"I don't know, that's all I'm saying."
"But you heard rumors?"
"Yes."
"So what are these rumors?" Loren asked. "What did Rangor have on those tapes?"
Chapter 53
MATT GOT OFF the plane and hurried out of the airport. Nobody stopped him. He felt a rush. He'd done it. He'd made it to Reno with hours to spare.
He grabbed a taxi. "488 Center Lane Drive."
They drove in silence. When they pulled up to the address, Matt stared out the window at the Eager Beaver. He paid the driver, got out, and headed inside.
Fitting, he thought to himself.
While he had not expected 488 Center Lane Drive to be a strip joint, he was not all that surprised either. Olivia was missing something in all of this. He understood that. He even understood why. She wanted to find her child. It had blinded her a bit. She couldn't see what was so obvious to him: This was about more than an adoption or even a scam to extort money.
It all came back to the pictures on his camera phone.
If you're the family with a sick daughter, you are not interested in making a husband jealous. If you're a lowlife crook after a big payday, you don't care about breaking up a marriage.
But this had to be about more than that. Matt wasn't sure what exactly, but he knew that it was something bad- something that made whoever was behind this want to drag them back to a place like this.
He headed inside and found a table in the corner. He looked around, hoping to see Olivia. He didn't. Three girls slowly undulated onstage. He tried to imagine his beautiful wife, the one who made everyone lucky enough to encounter her feel somehow blessed, up there like that. Oddly enough it wasn't that hard to picture. Rather than confusing him, something about Olivia's shocking confessions made it all click. It was why she had such a zest for things most found too ordinary, why she so badly wanted a family, a home, the life in the suburbs. She yearned for what we consider both our normalcy and our dream. He understood that better now. It made more sense to him.
That life. The life they were trying to make together. She was right: It was worth fighting for.
A waitress came by and Matt asked for coffee. He needed the caffeine fix. She brought it over. It was surprisingly good. He sipped it and watched the girls and tried to put some of the facts together. Nothing was really coming to him.
He stood and asked if there was a pay phone. The bouncer, a fat man with a pockmarked face, pointed with his thumb. Matt had a prepaid phone card. He always carried it- another holdover from what he'd learned in the pen, he guessed. The truth was, you could trace a phone card. You could find out where it came from and even who bought it. Eventually. Best example was when prosecutors traced a call made with a phone card in the Oklahoma bombing case. But it took time. It could be used to prosecute, but Matt wasn't worried about that anymore.
His cell phone was off. If you keep it on, there are ways to figure out where you are. Cell-phone tracking, even without making a call, is a reality. He pressed in the digits for the 800 number, then his code, then Midlife's private line at the office.
"Ike Kier."
"It's me."
"Don't say anything you don't want someone else to hear."
"Then you do the talking, Ike."
"Olivia is okay."
"Did they hold her?"
"No. She's, uh, gone."
That was good to hear. "And?"
"Hold on." He passed the phone.
"Hey, Matt."
It was Cingle.
"I talked to that investigator friend of yours. I hope you don't mind, but they had my ass over a barrel."
"That's okay."
"Nothing I said will hurt you anyway."
"Don't worry about it," he said.
Matt was looking off in the direction of the club's entrance. Cingle was telling him something else, something about Darrow and Talley, but there was a sudden rush in his ears.
Matt almost dropped the phone when he saw who'd just walked into the Eager Beaver.
It was Loren Muse.
Loren Muse flashed her badge at the fat guy at the door.
"I'm looking for one of your dancers. Her name is Kimmy Dale."
The fat man just stared at her.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yeah."
"So?"
"So your ID says New Jersey."
"I'm still a law enforcement officer."