The first thing he found was a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. He flattened it out and read it: it was a single photocopied sheet informing the residents of 4359 Carleton that due to the parking lot being resurfaced, they would have to find alternate arrangements for the next forty-eight hours. A hand-drawn map suggested spots along the same block the car had been found in.
“I didn’t notice any roadwork equipment when we drove past Fairwick’s apartment building, did you?” asked Nick.
“No-but I did notice a security camera over the front door. Could be the killer was redirecting his target to a more suitable stalking ground, one where he wouldn’t be observed.”
“Like the spot where he was attacked. That suggests he was actually lying in wait.”
“There were no obvious hiding places on that block, which confirms he was in a vehicle,” said Riley. “So far, that’s about all we’ve got.”
The tiny white dog cradled in Jill Leilani’s arms stared at Catherine with wide brown eyes. It seemed perfectly happy to stay where it was, though the same couldn’t be said about its owner. Leilani shifted in her seat uncomfortably, glancing around the interview room as if she might bolt at any moment. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair a wild, scraggly mess. She was dressed in club clothes: a short skirt, tiny top, and high-heeled shoes.
“So, Jill,” said Catherine, “how’s that plan to kick meth going?”
“Yeah, okay, maybe not so good,” she mumbled. “But that’s my problem, right? I mean, I don’t have any or anything.”
“Not now. But you’ve got a nice deal lined up for a steady supply, right? Straight from the source.”
Her hands stroked the dog compulsively. “No. No, that’s not true.”
“Sure it is. Hanging around with Hal Kanamu got you a heavy habit, but then you and Hal had a falling out. You needed a new supplier, and you found it in Aaron Tyford and Diego Molinez. Didn’t you?”
“No, no, no. I score on the street, same as anyone else, it’s not hard to find, so much stuff moves through Vegas it’s a hub it all comes up the interstate from Mexico and-”
Catherine cut her off. “No, Jill. The economy’s bad, and you only work part-time at the Shore-mont. Not enough to pay for what you need. So you decided to do a little moonlighting, right? Even a meth cook can use a maid.”
“I-I don’t-”
“It was the little folds you put in the end of the toilet paper that tipped me off. Habit, right? And probably more than a touch of meth-induced obsessive-compulsive behavior. We found towels from the Shoremont in the trash, too.”
“That-that doesn’t prove anything, so what, so what-”
“Maybe not. But we found traces of sexual fluid from three different people on a mattress at the meth lab-DNA from two males and a woman. Aaron Tyford and Diego Molinez are already in jail.” She paused. “As for the female DNA-I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a match to yours. Isn’t it?”
Her bravado broke. Tears began to spill silently down her face. “Yeah. Not enough they made me clean up their damn lab. They wanted other things, too.”
“And how did Hal feel about all this?”
“He didn’t know. I was ashamed to tell him, so I kept it a secret. That’s the real reason we stopped hanging around together-I mean, at first it was because I was trying to get clean, and then it was because I didn’t want him to know what I was doing. Lester knew, but I made him promise not to tell.”
Catherine nodded. Jill had pointed her at Lester Akiliano but hadn’t counted on Catherine finding out about Boz, Molinez, and Tyford. “So what happened, Jill? Did Hal find out? Did Lester tell him? Did Hal confront Molinez and Tyford about what they were doing to his old friend?”
“I don’t know what happened, I swear to God,” she sobbed. “Di ego wanted me to convince Hal to go into business with them. Lester couldn’t change his mind, but Diego thought I could. He was wrong, though-Hal was tweaking big-time on this art project he was into, didn’t want to talk about anything else.”
“I’ll bet Diego didn’t take that well.”
“He was starting to get impatient. I told him I’d keep trying. But then-then Hal turned up dead.”
“You think Diego was responsible?”
“I don’t know.” She stopped, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thing is, Diego didn’t know where to find Hal. He’d been to his place, but Hal was spending most of his time at this warehouse, where him and this artist were working together. I knew where it was, but I never told Diego.”
Catherine thought back to what she’d learned about Hawaiian women who used to dress up as Pele and extort favors from superstitious villagers. “Did you do that to keep him safe?” she asked. “Or because it gave you a bargaining chip with your dealer?”
Jill Leilani looked down and stroked her dog, who looked back with trusting eyes. She didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
Nick and Riley were supposed to interview Athena Jordanson-but the diva declined an invitation to come down to the police station, and so they went to talk to her at her hotel.
“Can you believe this?” Riley said a s they walked through the lobby. “I don’t care how many gold records she has, she isn’t above the law.”
Nick grinned. “This is Vegas, not Saint Louis. Town’s kind of like an archeological dig: lots of different layers. You’ve got old Vegas, built by mobsters; high-roller Vegas, where the rich and famous come to throw away money and get quickie weddings; family Vegas, with kid-friendly hotels and roller coasters; and post-crash Vegas, where everyone’s scrambling to make a buck and real estate values are dropping into the basement.”
“Guess it’s obvious which one Jordanson is.”
Nick nodded at the security guards-he played golf with one of them now and then-and they punched in the code for Jordanson’s private elevator. “Yeah, she’s Vegas royalty. That doesn’t mean she’s above the law, but it does mean she gets a certain level of respect. The mob may have built this town, but it was people like her who filled it. These days, anyone who can put butts in seats has clout, and in Vegas that doesn’t just trickle down-it gushes.”
The doors opened and they got in. “So she gets special treatment?”
“Hey, would you rather talk to her in a luxury apartment or a windowless interview room? I’ll bet her place smells better.”
Riley smiled. “ Okay, you got me there.”
When the doors opened, Riley took two steps, stopped, and blinked. “This isn’t an apartment,” she said. “It’s a theme park.”
Nick chuckled. “Come on, Alice. Time to step through the looking glass.”
He led the way down the path, calling out, “Hello? Las Vegas Crime Lab.”
“Over here,” called a voice.
Athena Jordanson was in a sunken hot tub, the edges lined with foam rubber that had been molded to resemble rocks. A steaming waterfall at one end of the irregular pool provided a steady trickle of white noise and hot water.
Jordanson herself was at the other end, her hair tied back with a length of scarlet cloth. There was an empty wine bottle at the edge of the tub, and she had a half-full one clutched in one hand.
“Ms. Jordanson,” said Nick, “we were hoping we could talk to you about Paul Fairwick.”
“All right,” she said. She sniffed back tears and gestured with the bottle. “Please, have a seat.”
Nick grabbed a wicker chair, while Riley stayed on her feet. “Can you tell us if anything strange happened involving Paul in the last few weeks?” asked Nick.
“All kinds of things. Paul was my man Friday; he handled all the strange little details of my life. I used to say his job description was ‘weirdness wrangler.’” She smi led, a full-on face-stretching beam that only emphasized the pain in her eyes. “People don’t understand what it’s like, living my kind of life. They think, Oh, she’s rich and famous-what does she have to complain about? But like a wise man once said, there’s trouble at every level of life.”