Boni was dressed all in black. He wore a turtleneck, a tailored ebony blazer, and creased black dress pants. His shoes were patent leather, shined to a mirror finish. He still looked very much like he did in the photos from decades ago, when he already had a balding crown of black hair. The hair was gray now, and his forehead was mottled with liver spots. He had sunken crescent moons under his eyes and a five o’clock shadow that a razor couldn’t scrape away. Despite his age, he was fit and strong, and his eyes were piercing and alert. He still had movie-star teeth.
Assuming the movie was Jaws, Stride thought.
“Mr. Fisso-” Serena began.
“Oh, please. It’s Boni, Boni. Don’t make me feel so goddamn old.”
Stride saw that Serena was uncomfortable being on a first-name basis with the man, but she struggled to spit out the name. “Boni, then. My name is-”
Boni interrupted her again. “No need, no need. Serena Dial. You’re from Las Vegas by way of Phoenix, if my sources are correct.” His tone was light, but Stride had the feeling that Boni could have rattled off every detail of Serena’s past, maybe more than he could have done himself. “And you’re the new kid on the block,” he continued, turning to Stride. “From Minnesota? Lots of lakes there. I’d ask what the hell you’re doing in the desert, but that’s pretty obvious.”
He winked at him and glanced at Serena, and it was clear that he knew all about their relationship. Stride wondered if it came from Sawhill.
“I have to thank you,” Boni told Serena. “I haven’t talked to my daughter in years. It was good to hear her voice. Once upon a time, I thought she’d be living here, running my empire right beside me. Girl had a business sense like no one I’ve ever met. Hell, she must get it from her old man, right? I mean, Eva, her mother, she could cut you a new one, but her gift was spending money, not making it. No, my baby Claire, she’s the talented one in the family, I can’t hold a candle to her.”
“Why are you estranged?” Serena asked.
Boni’s face hardened like concrete. “A police detective concerned about my family values. That’s very nice. You didn’t really come here to help me patch things up with Claire, did you?”
“No, it’s just that-”
“Look, Claire and I didn’t see eye to eye about my business ventures. So she went off to sing her sad songs, just to spite me. And to live in that little apartment, when I know perfectly well she’s made millions in the market.” Boni watched Serena, who couldn’t keep the shock off her face. “She probably told you it’s because she likes to sleep with girls. That’s not the Catholic way. Well, I’d have been happier if she married some strapping fellow like Detective Stride here. I made her go on a few dates with some good-looking guys. Any sin in that? But no, I have to deal with Claire in confession every Sunday, God help me. Father D’Antoni always asks about her, to see if she’s come back to God’s way. I think he just likes hearing the details, if you ask me.”
“Have you heard her sing?” Serena asked.
“I have. She’s primo. That girl would run Nashville if she moved out there. It’ll never happen, though. She’s all Vegas at heart.” Boni settled back in his chair and took a sip of champagne. “But we have other things to talk about, don’t we? Claire says you two wanted to have an off-the-record conversation with me, no goddamn lawyers around. I have to respect that. I’m a lawyer myself, and I have to tell you that most of them might as well stick a talking parrot on their desk that says, ‘No, no, no.’ And they’d bill the parrot out at a thousand dollars an hour. So there’s no lawyers here, Detectives. Just the three of us. This conversation never happened. Got it?”
They both nodded.
“The reason we’re here-” Stride began.
“The reason you’re here is you’re trying to catch a killer. And you want my help.”
Stride nodded. “That’s right.”
“I saw the sketch in the paper. I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”
“He worked for your company,” Serena retorted. “David Kamen hired him at Premium Security. I’m sure you know that, because I’m sure Kamen called you.”
“Yes, he did,” Boni said. “But that doesn’t change a thing. I never met this Blake Wilde, and I don’t know how you can find him. I wish I could help.”
“You realize Claire could be his next target,” Serena said.
“I’m not a fool, Detective,” Boni said sharply. He fixed Serena with his blue eyes and added, “I always have people watching Claire. Even when she doesn’t know it, I’m always protecting her.”
Serena fired back, “Was Blake one of the people you had protecting her?”
Boni didn’t reply, and Stride thought she had hit a nerve.
“Mr. Fisso, may I speak candidly?” Stride asked.
“By all means, Detective.”
“It hasn’t been in the papers, but you probably knew even before we did that these murders have one thing in common. The Sheherezade. Or more specifically, Amira Luz. Blake Wilde, whoever he is, seems to be bent on avenging Amira’s death, because he thinks it didn’t go down the way the papers and the police said it did. He may very well be right about that. But we’re not here to reopen the investigation into the murder of Amira Luz. That case is closed.”
“Really? I understand you’ve been making a lot of inquiries about it, Detective. I hear you even paid a visit to my old friend, Walker Lane.”
“You know he’s in a wheelchair,” Stride said. “He has been since that night.”
“Terrible thing. A car accident, wasn’t it? A good lesson about not driving while intoxicated.”
“That’s not what Walker says.”
“Oh?”
“He says you had him beaten. Crippled. As payback for trying to take away your mistress.”
“I suppose he also accused me of killing Amira,” Boni replied placidly.
“Yes, he did.”
“Naturally. I liked Walker very much, Detective, but his behavior was reckless. When you make mistakes that have awful consequences, you often try to blame someone else.”
“So you didn’t have Amira killed,” Stride said.
“Of course not.”
“No? Wasn’t she your property? Didn’t you own her?”
Boni tut-tutted him like a child. “No one owned Amira. No one. Least of all Walker. I believe that frustrated him enormously.”
“So you’re saying Walker killed Amira?” Stride asked.
“As far as I know, a deranged fan killed her. Walker wasn’t here when Amira was killed. He had already left to drive back to Los Angeles. Coincidentally, I believe that’s when he had his accident.”
“And I’m sure we’ll find a police report about the accident if we go back far enough,” Stride said.
“I’m sure you would. Then again, in forty years, things get lost.”
“What about employment records from the Sheherezade back then? Did they get lost, too?”
“Why?” Boni asked. “Who are you looking for?”
“A kid who worked at the hotel during the summer as a lifeguard. His name was Mickey.”
Boni cocked an eyebrow at Stride. “Why would you care about someone like that?”
“He called your casino boss, Leo Rucci, the night of Amira’s death about a fight outside. I want to know more about it.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Detective. I’m sure the old employment records are in a warehouse somewhere in the city, half-eaten by cockroaches, but when we had college kids working here over the summer, I usually had Leo pay them in cash. It was more hassle than it was worth to worry about the paperwork and taxes.”
Stride felt as if he were battling an old elk with a massive set of horns and the willingness to bang heads all day.
“If there was nothing unusual about Amira’s death, why is Blake Wilde so intent on avenging her?” Serena asked. She looked like she was tired of watching the boys play a game of which one’s bigger.