The Gold Dragon Caper: A Damien Dickens Mystery (Damien Dickens Mysteries Book 4)

by Phyllis Entis

  Millie wandered over to a blackjack table in her own carefully scripted random pattern, and chose an empty seat at one end of the table. She reached into her handbag for her wallet, took out a twenty-dollar bill, and handed it to the dealer. “Change twenty,” he called out, displaying the banknote to the security camera before stuffing the bill into a slot located directly above the cash box. With a smile, he slid two five-dollar chips and ten one-dollar chips across the table to her. “Minimum bet at this table is $2.00,” he told her. “Good luck.”

  Thanking him, she placed two $1.00 chips into the betting circle, and received two cards. Her heart was beating faster than usual, a pleasant rush of excitement coursing through her veins. She loved the challenge of outguessing the odds in blackjack. She had good card sense and an aptitude for numbers, and usually came out ahead. This time, the cards were against her. She lost the first four hands before snagging an Ace-King combination. A blackjack. Encouraged, she pressed ahead, winning the next two hands. Falling in with what appeared to be the customary mode of tipping the dealer, she placed an extra one-dollar chip near her betting circle. “Take a chance on me, Rob?” she asked the dealer, as she flashed him a brilliant smile.

  “Thanks, Miss.” He returned her smile, launching into his standard patter. “Been in town long? I can see you know your way around a blackjack table.”

  This was the opening she was hoping for. “My name is Millie, and I just flew in last night. I was attending a conference in LA, and decided to stop off in Vegas on my way back east. I thought I’d surprise my brother, but the joke was on me.” She sighed as she shook her head. “He seems to have moved, and I don’t know where he lives now.”

  Rob didn’t miss a beat, continuing to deal cards and take bets as they talked. “That’s too bad. Do you know where he works?”

  “Actually, I think he works in this casino.” Millie looked at a pair of eights staring up at her from the table. “Split these?” she asked. At Rob’s nod, she placed another two dollar bet on the table for herself, and another one-dollar bet for the dealer.

  “What’s your brother’s name? Is he a dealer?”

  Millie shook her head. “I think he works in the security department, but I’m not sure which shift.” She watched Rob as he dealt additional cards on each of her eights. “His name is Colin Hewitt. Do you know him?”

  The dealer shook his head as he continued to deal cards to the other players, then turned over his own cards. A king and an ace. “Nuh-uh. Sorry, but the name isn’t ringing any bells for me.” He scooped all of the bets and cards from the table. “Too bad, folks. Thanks for the bet, Millie. Good luck, everyone. It’s time for my break, but Clarissa will take good care of you.” He stepped away with a smile, and was replaced by a slender, bleached-blonde woman with long, fake nails, fake eyelashes, and a fake smile.

  Millie picked up her depleted stack of chips and left the table. She had spotted Rob’s momentary hesitation and the perspiration that appeared on his brow when she mentioned Colin’s name. The dealer knew something. She would return to the casino later and try to corner him. For now, it was time to head for police headquarters and pry some answers out of Lt. Davila.

  She followed the signs pointing the way to the Cashier wickets, tucked into a far corner of the casino. As she threaded her way between the ranks of slot machines, she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Please don’t turn around,” a voice whispered. “I heard you asking about Colin. My shift ends at 9:00pm. Meet me in the bar at the Four Kings across the street.”

  “How will I find you?” Millie asked.

  “I’ll find you.”

  Both the Downtown detachment and the administrative offices of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department were housed in the City Hall complex. The entrance to the police department was through a doorway on the west side of the main lobby. Millie followed the signs leading to the Information kiosk, the tap-tap of her heels echoing in the spartan, tile-lined, ground-floor lobby. “I want to see Detective Lieutenant Davila. I believe he is in charge of the Gold Dragon theft investigation,” she told the duty constable who was manning the booth.

  “And who might you be?”

  Millie took her wallet from her handbag and held it open for the constable to examine through the thick slab of bullet-proof glass. “My name is Millie Dickens. I’m a Private Investigator from New Jersey. These are my credentials.”

  The young constable grunted an acknowledgment. Reaching for the telephone, he punched in a four-digit number and spoke into the receiver. “Someone here who wants to see Lt. Davila about the pilfered nugget. Claims to be a PI. A dame named Dickens. Uh-huh. Yes, sir. No, not too bad looking. Uh-huh. I’ll tell her.” Replacing the receiver, he looked up at Millie. “Lt. Davila will be down as soon as he is free. Take a seat over there by the wall.”

  The minutes dragged, and then dragged some more. Fifteen minutes, thirty minutes. One hour. Millie’s frustration grew as she watched other people enter the lobby, bypass the Information desk, and proceed to the bank of elevators to be whisked upstairs to their appointed destinations. She stood and returned to the Information desk. “How much longer?” she asked.

  The constable shrugged. “Just a few more minutes. Please take a seat.”

  She turned on her heel and stalked back toward her seat. If only she knew where Davila’s office was located, she could go directly upstairs and confront the detective. The worst he could do was throw her out. It was time to change tactics. She looked around the lobby, and spotted a pay telephone across the room. As she started toward it, a familiar voice called out from behind her, “Millie! Millie Dickens.”

  She spun around just as the former head of Homicide from the Atlantic City Police Department caught up with her. “Jim Holmes! I never expected to see you here.” Millie smiled with delight as she offered her hand in greeting. “California must agree with you. You’ve put on a few pounds, and shed that string-bean look. You’re looking good.”

  “I feel good.” He smiled, releasing her hand with a squeeze. “I’m in town for a board meeting of the Southwest Association of Chiefs of Police. Las Vegas will be hosting the Annual Meeting for the national association next year, and I’m on the planning committee. But what are you doing in Vegas? Don’t tell me you and Dick finally decided to take my advice and leave Atlantic City.” He took a step back, surveying her. “You’re looking a little careworn, if you don’t mind my saying so. What’s wrong?”

  Millie shook her head, swallowing hard. “It’s been rough, Jim. My brother,“ her voice trailed off as she fought down the lump in her throat.

  “You look like you could use someone to talk to,” Holmes said. “Let me take you to lunch, and you can tell me what’s been going on. I have a couple of hours before my meeting, and I’m told the food is pretty decent down the street at the Lady Luck.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The restaurant in the back corner of the Lady Luck Casino turned out to be a coffee shop. Holmes and Millie chose a booth at the far end of the room, and were approached immediately by a well-worn woman clad in a green uniform overlaid with a white apron. She carried a carafe in one hand, a pair of coffee mugs in the other, and two menus tucked under one arm. After placing the mugs on the table and handing each of them a menu, she poured coffee for them both, and set the carafe on the table. “My name is Hilda,” she said. “Take your order?”

  Millie looked up at her with a polite smile. “What do you suggest?”

  “I’d stick with the sandwiches. The turkey club and the BLT are safe bets.”

  “The turkey club, please.” Millie handed her menu to Hilda.

  “BLT for me,” Holmes said.

  Hilda nodded her approval. “Coming right up.”

  Millie looked down at her mug as she stirred cream and sugar into the steaming, black coffee, her motions slow and deliberate. Feeling Holmes’s scrutiny, she looked up and met his eyes. Forcing her mouth into a smile, she asked, “How has your family adapted to lif
e on the West Coast?”

  Holmes realized she was steering the conversation away from herself. For the moment, he went along with her. “Helen loves it,” he replied. “She works part time in the library at Carmel High, which is the school Gloria and Paul attend. The kids think it’s great, too. Paul has taken to surfing as though he was born on a long board. He’s in the water every chance he gets. Helen and Gloria have learned to ride. There’s a stable about a mile from where we live in Carmel Valley, and they’re out on horseback every weekend during the school year, and two or three times a week when school is out.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I’ve become a decent carpenter in my spare time. It started with small repair jobs around the house. One thing led to another, and it turned into a hobby. I’ve gradually pulled together a complete carpentry shop. I’ve built some bookcases for my home office, and a coffee table for the family room. I find working in the shop relaxes me.”

  “And the police work?”

  He chuckled. “For the most part, it involves keeping the tourists in line. Carmel-by-the-Sea is a small town with a population of 4,000 or so. There’s the occasional break-in or domestic dispute, but very little real crime.”

  Hilda was approaching the table with their food. Holmes leaned back in his seat, searching Millie’s face as the waitress delivered their sandwich plates and refilled the coffee mugs. Once she was out of earshot, he said, “Enough about me. What about you and Dick?”

  “What about Dick and me?” Millie’s voice was low and strained.

  He reached across the table and touched her hand. “You’re troubled about something, and you’re in town on your own. It doesn’t take an ace detective to figure out there’s a problem. If you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

  Swallowing hard to control her emotions, Millie dipped her head. She fumbled in her pocket for a tissue, daubed a stray tear that threatened to betray her attempt at self-control, and wiped her nose. “Yes, there’s a problem.” She heaved a sigh that was almost a sob. “It’s my brother.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  “He moved away from Atlantic City as soon as he was old enough to leave home, and has been living in Las Vegas. Colin has always had a propensity for getting himself into trouble. But, this time, he’s outdone himself.”

  “What has he done?”

  “He’s disappeared. The Las Vegas police seem to think he knows something about a missing gold nugget. The one stolen from the casino.”

  “The Gold Dragon?” Holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It’s rumored to be worth half a million dollars in gold value alone. Probably several times that amount as a trademark for the casino chain.”

  “That’s the one,” Millie said.

  “Do you think your brother was involved in the theft?”

  She shook her head, sighing. “I honestly can’t say, Jim. I thought I knew Colin, but now I’m not so sure. He has a wife and child about whom I knew nothing until she called me, frantic over his disappearance. That’s when I decided to fly out here.”

  “What does Dick think about all this? Where is he, by the way? I’m surprised he isn’t here with you.”

  “Dick is investigating a probable kidnapping. Susan Sutherland’s nephew, Artie. I was supposed to be helping, but…”

  “But you felt you had to come out here instead.” Holmes studied her face, trying to look into her eyes, but Millie avoided his gaze. “I’m guessing Dick is upset with you.”

  “He’s furious, especially as I left without consulting him first.” Millie’s voice was choked with emotion, and Holmes had to strain to hear her words. “And I don’t blame him. I would have been equally upset if the situation were reversed. What’s worse, I don’t seem to be doing any good. I tried to meet with the detective in charge of the investigation today, but all I got was a run-around. I was left cooling my heels for more than an hour in the lobby of police headquarters.” She shook her head. “I should have stayed where I belonged, and helped with the search for Artie. My place is back east. Not here.”

  “That may be, but you’re here now. Might as well make the best of it.” He hesitated, gauging her resolve as he considered what he was about to suggest. “You know, I could put in a word for you. Chief Dietrich owes me a favor or two.”

  “Would you? Could you?” Millie’s eyes lit up. “I’d be so grateful.”

  Holmes held up his hand. “No promises. But I’ll do what I can.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I have a meeting with Dietrich in 20 minutes. Walk back with me, and I’ll make the introductions. After that, you’re on your own.”

  Holmes, his hand under Millie’s elbow, led the way across the lobby of police headquarters and over to the bank of elevators without even a glance at the Information kiosk. Once inside the elevator car, he punched the button for the 4th floor. The door slid shut with a quiet hiss, and the car rose swiftly, stopping with a gentle vibration at their floor. Again, Holmes placed his hand under Millie’s elbow, his light touch comforting, as they walked down a spartan corridor lined on both sides with unmarked doors. Their destination was at the end of the hall, a mahogany-stained door bearing a plaque, which read, ’Office of the Sheriff, Clark County.’

  “The Las Vegas Police Department and other municipal departments in the surrounding area merged with the County Sheriff’s office ten years ago, forming the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department,” Holmes explained. “Vince Dietrich, the County Sheriff, also serves as the Chief of Police.”

  He held the door open for her to precede him into an outer office that doubled as a waiting room. A pair of wood-frame armchairs stood perpendicular to each other in one corner, their thin seat cushions upholstered in a geometric gold and burnt orange fabric. A low table occupied the corner between the chairs, a stack of magazines spread in a fan-shaped pattern on its surface. The pale, cream-colored walls were hung with landscapes of the Grand Canyon, and portraits of cowboys.

  The receptionist looked up from her desk with a smile. “The boss is expecting you, Chief Holmes. Please go right in.”

  Holmes turned to Millie and gestured to the armchairs. “Wait here while I speak with the Sheriff,” he suggested. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Lowering herself into one of the chairs, Millie’s attention was caught by a copy of Time Magazine dated January 3, 1983. Gracing the cover was a sculpture of a man sitting at a table, facing a desktop computer. The headline read, “Machine of the Year. The Computer Moves In.” She turned to the cover story and read the article with interest, her mind spinning as she considered how a personal computer could benefit the running of a small office. With a sigh, she replaced the magazine on the stack and closed her eyes. She and Dick no longer had an office, she reminded herself. The Dickens Detective Agency had burnt down, the victim of an arsonist.

  “Mrs. Dickens? Sheriff Dietrich will see you now. Please come with me.” The receptionist rose from her desk and walked over to an unmarked door. She tapped once, lightly, then opened the door and gestured Millie inside.

  Both men stood when she entered the room. Sheriff Vince Dietrich was short, at least an inch shorter than her own 5’6”, Millie noted with surprise. His beige-colored uniform shirt was open at the collar, revealing the neckline of a white, crew-neck undershirt. A Sheriff Department patch adorned one shirt sleeve, a LVMPD patch the other. His trousers were dark brown, with a wide, beige stripe down the outside of each leg. A uniform cap and a gun belt hung from a coatrack in the corner behind his desk. Holmes performed the introductions, and Dietrich reached across his desk to shake Millie’s hand before waving her into a chair. After offering coffee, which she declined with a murmur of thanks and a shake of her head, he leaned forward in his seat, his clasped hands resting on the desk blotter.

  “Chief Holmes tells me you’re a private investigator, Mrs. Dickens.” He let his eyes wander from her face to her chest and back again, clearing his throat. “I must say, ma’am, you don’t loo
k the part.”

  “Don’t let appearances fool you, Vince,” Holmes interjected with a mild reproof. “Mrs. Dickens is as shrewd and savvy a PI as I’ve encountered. She and her husband make a formidable team.”

  “I dare say,” Dietrich nodded, “I dare say. Well, what can I do for you, ma’am?”

  Millie leaned forward. “I’m seeking information on the investigation of the Gold Dragon theft. Specifically, your department’s interest in Colin Hewitt.”

  “Then you’ll need to speak with Detective Lieutenant Davila. He’s in charge of the investigation.”

  “I have already tried to see the lieutenant. He kept me cooling my heels in the lobby of this building for more than an hour this afternoon.”

  “What is your interest in the suspect, Mrs. Dickens?”

  “He’s my brother.”

  “I see.” Dietrich reached for his phone, and punched a 4-digit number into the keypad. “Is Davila there?” There was a pause as the person at the other end of the line checked on the lieutenant’s whereabouts. “Good,” Dietrich said. “Have him meet me in Conference Room 3. Tell him to bring the Gold Dragon file.” Dietrich replaced the receiver, stood with a grunt and turned to Holmes. “You’re welcome to join us, Jim.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  They rode the elevator to the fifth floor in silence, Millie standing between and slightly in front of the two men. Davila already had claimed the head of the rectangular table by the time they reached the appointed conference room, a thick accordion file folder in front of him. He stood when they walked in, acknowledging Dietrich’s introduction of Holmes and Millie with a curt nod. Millie nodded in response, taking in his swarthy complexion, Pancho Villa mustache, and sackcloth jacket with top-stitched seams.