“Who?”
“The cops.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would they come after you?” I tightened my grip around my glass.
He shifted a little on his stool. “Lucci and I didn’t get along.”
“Didn’t sound like he got along with anyone,” I said. “Why do you think the cops would focus on you?”
“Rosalie,” he said softly.
“Did you have a relationship with Rosalie?” I asked softly.
His eyes widened, getting that deer-in-headlights look. “No, no, not that way. She’s a beautiful woman, but she’s married. I respected that.”
And I believed him. His reaction seemed sincere, and because of that I also knew he loved her. Was in love with her and had been for a long time.
“How does Lucci figure in all this?” I asked, taking another sip of my drink.
Dan Franklin fidgeted a little more, his foot tapping the rung on the barstool, his fingers drumming his knee. Little beads of sweat started to form on his forehead, and he swallowed hard.
“He found out how I felt about Rosalie. He threatened to tell her husband. And then he killed Snowball.”
“Snowball?”
“She was my pet rat. She was so innocent.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, his eyes cast down as he got caught up in the memory.
“Why did he kill her?” I nudged.
“He said she had no business at the chapel. I’d wanted to keep her there for one shift. She wasn’t feeling good. I told him that, and then when I came back from my serenade, she was dead in her cage.”
“Are you sure he killed her?”
Dan Franklin gave a little high-pitched sob. “Of course he said he had nothing to do with it. But her neck was broken.”
Much like Dan Franklin’s heart, it seemed. But none of this really explained why he’d gone missing. So he had a dead rat, and he suspected the murder victim to be the killer.
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but he was shrugging out of his jacket. It fell against the stool back, and as he reached over to pick up his glass, I saw it.
The tattoo.
It said “That’s Amore” on his arm.
Chapter 45
He caught me staring.
“It’s not what you think,” he said, a little panicky.
What? That he really was the guy who came to The Painted Lady after all, and not Ray Lucci? Because that was exactly what I was thinking right that second.
Every muscle in my body was taut. I was ready to run. But I did want some answers, especially now. His gaze had wandered over to the entrance to the bar. I could see him figuring how long it would take him to get over there.
I clamped my hand down on his knee.
“So you’ve never been in a tattoo shop before, Dan?” I asked, my voice low and possibly a bit threatening.
He started shaking his head so fast I thought it would spin right off his neck.
“No, no, no, I’d never been in your shop before,” he insisted, moving his leg to try to release my grip, but my hand was holding on pretty tight.
“I don’t think I believe you,” I said. “This is exactly what my tattooist tattooed on you. Isn’t it?”
“It wasn’t me.”
“What else are you lying about? Is that why you’ve been hiding? Because you’re guilty?”
“I didn’t kill him,” he hissed.
I took a shot in the dark. “So why did you give him ten thousand dollars?”
“I don’t need to answer any of your questions.” Dan Franklin pushed himself off the barstool. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor from his pocket as he ran toward the entrance. I started after him, but the bartender stood in my way.
“That’s twenty bucks for the drinks,” he said, then pointed to the ground. “And can you pick up your garbage?”
I totally did not have time for this right then. I tried to keep an eye on Franklin as I reached in my bag for my wallet, pulled out a twenty, and threw it on the bar before stooping down and picking up the hard piece of paper, which didn’t belong to me, thank you very much. The bartender obviously wanted a tip, but I didn’t have time. I almost slapped the paper in his hand but instead shoved it in my pocket as I sidled around him, stumbling out of the bar. I couldn’t see Franklin any longer. There were three walkways he could’ve gone down, and I skipped from one to the other, but I didn’t spot him.
“What are you doing, Brett? You were supposed to come right back to the shop.”
I whirled around to see Tim walking toward me. I said the only thing I knew he’d respond to. “I ran into Dan Franklin. He’s got a ‘That’s Amore’ tattoo, like Ray Lucci, and he said Ray Lucci killed his rat, Snowball, and he withdrew ten thousand dollars from his bank account, and I think that’s where Lucci got his money. And now he’s getting away.”
I could see the little wheels of Tim’s brain working, and he was coming to the same conclusions I did.
After a couple seconds that felt like hours, Tim pointed down one walkway. “You go down there, and I’ll go down this one. They do meet up eventually, right?”
They do, but this place was a maze of walkways and stairs and escalators and elevators. Dan Franklin could be across the street at the Mirage by now.
I jogged along my route and ended up at an ornate railing. As I was looking down at the rather spectacular crystal sculpture in the Palazzo hotel lobby, I saw Dan Franklin power walking past.
“Hey!” I shouted.
He glanced up and gave me a little finger waggle.
“How do we get down there?” Tim had come up next to me.
We had to go back to the escalators by the waterfall and then down to the first floor.
Dan Franklin disappeared.
Tim tugged my arm and said, “Come on.” We made our way back around the maze of shops until we got to the escalators. We took the escalator two stairs at a time-at one point I thought I’d somersault forward all the way down-and landed at the bottom with a thud, running straight ahead, through the Palazzo casino and then coming to the statue. We rounded it to the front entrance.
We pushed our way through heavy doors and stood outside, breathing heavily from our workout. Remarkably, I saw Dan Franklin in the distance, on the sidewalk, heading south. But I was tired. I leaned over, my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath, and the little piece of paper that bartender made me pick up fell out of my pocket and onto the ground.
Something about it caught my eye. I reached down, picked it up, and uncrumpled it.
It was a Las Vegas Monorail ticket.
I shoved it at Tim. “This fell out of Franklin’s pocket. He might be going there,” I said.
Tim nodded as he studied it.
“Where on earth do we find this Monorail?” I asked. “I know it exists. I see it every now and then, but I’ve never actually been on it.”
“You and most of the city,” Tim said. “I think we can get to it at Harrah’s.”
“You think? You don’t know? You’re one of Las Vegas’ finest. You’re supposed to know where everything is.”
Las Vegas’ finest had started toward the Strip. Harrah’s was a little ways down from here. In the direction Dan Franklin had been headed. Sounded like a plan.
“So tell me about this ten grand,” Tim said.
Uh-oh. I knew that was coming, but I hadn’t quite figured out yet how to skip around it. It did, however, get Tim to help me chase Dan Franklin, so I had to think fast.
“Jeff found out about it.” That wasn’t a lie. Exactly.
“Coleman?”
I nodded.
“How did he find out?”
“How does Jeff find out about anything?” I asked.
Tim mulled that a second, then asked, “So Jeff found out Dan Franklin withdrew ten grand from his bank account?”