Mortal Crimes 2

by Various Authors

  *

  The Monk watched the attendants wheel the gurney out to the waiting coroner’s van. Several minutes later, he watched the hotel owner, dressed in a tuxedo, exit the elevator on the casino floor with a blond man in a cheap gray suit.

  Cop. It took one to know one.

  Both men seemed calm, unruffled. They talked like a couple of guys who knew each other, bullshitting, catching up, the cop’s attention divided between Jay King and a cocktail waitress in a skimpy skirt, breasts overflowing a low-cut top, passing with a full tray of drinks.

  Nothing to sweat, the Monk told himself. Not that he really ever let things get to him. What was life if not a constant challenge? A constant conflict? When things calmed down, he’d take a run up to the eighth floor and check it out.

  Chapter Five

  The following morning in her mother’s kitchen, having made the trek across the yard unnoticed by Snickers, Kasey poured coffee and stared at an 8x10 photograph taped to the cabinet in front of her. She turned, leaned against the counter, and scanned the kitchen, her interest piqued. Everywhere she looked she saw black-and-white photographs. Tacked to walls, stuck to the refrigerator and range with magnets, taped to the curtains, spread over the microwave and dryer.

  “What’s this,” she asked her mother, waving a hand.

  “George is finally going to put that picture book together. He wants everyone’s input.”

  George Quackenbush, seventy, and his thirty-year-old grandson, Danny, were lodgers in her mother’s rooming house. George had been a photographer most of his life, shooting the famous, the not-so-famous, the infamous—using as his background the colorful entertainment and political field of The Biggest Little City In The World.

  When George’s wife died six years ago, he turned to the only family he had left, the son of his deceased daughter. The son, born autistic and placed in an institution in his late teens, went meekly with his grandfather to settle in at the Atwood house. Danny had a passion for television and would tune in every waking minute if his grandfather would let him.

  Kasey went around the room, studying each picture carefully. Included in the montage were photos of casinos, before and after new face-lifts and tower expansions, showgirls, politicians—local, national, and global, there were celebrities—from the here-today-gone-tomorrow cabaret personalities to the super megastars and legends such as Sinatra, Garland, Redford, Monroe, and Wayne.

  “Don’t take too long on the ones in here, the whole house is full of them.” Her mother stood at the sink peeling and paring a basket of peaches. “He wants us to flag our favorites with those little tabs over there.”

  Kasey took a green tab and stuck it to a photo of Whoopi Goldberg in a nun habit with the Reno arch as a backdrop.

  “Are you still at the Silverbar?” her mother asked.

  “Nope. Finished there Friday. I’m on my way to King’s Club this morning.”

  “King’s Club? That’s the place where you ran cocktails way back when, isn’t it? You and that pretty little thing, Dianne, the one who married Ralph’s oldest boy. Does he run the place now that Ralph’s gone? What was his name? Ralph’s boy?”

  “Jay. And yes and yes. In fact it was Dianne who called me in on this job.”

  “That girl set her sights high, didn’t she? So how does she like being married to a club owner?”

  Kasey shrugged.

  “She’s unhappy?”

  “Let’s just say she has problems that money can’t solve. Or maybe it’s the money that’s the root of the problem, who’s to say? But Dianne has always been resourceful. She’ll make out okay.”

  “A new job, huh?” Marianne dropped a peach pit in the trash, wiped her hands on the towel, crossed to the table to the morning newspaper. “Shall we find out what the stars have in store for you today?”

  Like I have a choice, Kasey thought, stirring dry creamer into her coffee. Every morning her mother read her horoscope aloud to her. Her mother was the most superstitious person on earth, relying on fate and the stars to guide her. Most days, the predictions for Kasey were way off, like yesterday’s promise of a true love nearby. Some days, however, it was uncannily right on.

  She picked up the pre-folded section and read, “ ‘A new job will require you to work behind the scenes. A loved one who is feeling down will perk up at your unexpected visit.’”

  A loved one who is feeling down. Her father? She felt a pang of guilt. What had it been—two weeks? three?—since she had dropped in on him? Maybe if she had time later in the day.

  “See there,” her mother gloated. “It says you’ll be on a new job and working behind the scenes.”

  “I always work behind the scenes, Ma.”

  “Just my point. How many people do?”

  Kasey had no answer for that. She didn’t even try to make any sense of it. Reminded of her father, she wondered if he were doing okay. It was only the middle of the month. He should be all right for a week or so. It was at the end of the month, just before his social security check came, that things got rough. It couldn’t hurt to pay him a visit. She’d make time. Period.

  “Read mine,” Sherry Kidd said, coming into the kitchen towing Danny by the hand. Sherry was barefooted, wearing knee-high leggings and a cotton shirt with Garfield on the front. She pulled out a chair for the young man and gently pushed him into it. “What’s mine say, Marianne?”

  Sherry was twenty-five, with natural strawberry blonde hair, large amber eyes, and honey-toned skin. With no makeup and certain clothes, like what she had on now, she could pass for a girl of twelve. About to begin her final year as a student at the University of Nevada, majoring in political science, she put herself through school doing something only Kasey knew about—hooking.

  Marianne picked the paper up again. “Gemini, right?”

  Sherry nodded, leaned down to Danny. “Dannyboy, orange or cranberry juice?”

  “No salesman will call,” Danny said to the floor.

  Sherry poured a glass of orange juice and placed it in Danny’s hand, making certain his fingers had a firm hold before she let go.

  “Okay, Sherry, here it is. ‘Your charm has a galvanizing effect on a member of the opposite sex.’”

  “That must be you, Danny.” Sherry tousled his hair. “No one loves me like you do.”

  Danny’s head bobbed. He sipped his juice.

  Kasey took a peach from the bowl on the table, washed it to tame the fuzz, cut it in half, leaned over the sink, and began to eat.

  “That’s all you’re going to have?” her mother said, handing her a napkin.

  “Ummm,” Kasey said, wiping juices off her chin with the back of her hand.

  “No eggs, no oatmeal?”

  Before Kasey could answer, her mother groaned something about another rosebush. She rushed to the door, flung it open, ran down the steps and across the yard, calling “Snickers! Snickers, bad dog. Stop it, y’hear. Bad, bad dog!”

  Grinning, Kasey rinsed her hands, said a hurried goodbye and rushed out, hoping to make a clean getaway while the dog, now muddy from the garden, was intent on wrestling a rosebush to the ground.

  *

  “Jay, Detective Loweman is here to see you,” Gail said over the speaker phone. “He says it concerns Mrs. Steiner.”

  Jay sat at the dark mahogany desk in his third-floor office of the King’s Club. “Mrs. Steiner?”

  “The woman who died in Room 814 over the weekend,” she said quietly.

  His stomach tensed. “Thanks, Gail, send him in.” He worked his necktie back up, stood, walked around the desk. The double doors opened; and Gail Foster, a thin woman in her mid-sixties who had been his father’s secretary when Jay and his brother were mere kids making chains with the paper clips on her desk, stood aside to allow a heavyset, red-haired woman in a pair of lime-green walking shorts and a bright tropical shirt to enter. She was followed by the detective.

  Loweman introduced the woman as Ms. Gordon, Louise Steiner’s daughter. Jay e
xtended his hand, “Ms. Gordon, I’m terribly sorry about your mother’s death.”

  “Not as sorry as I am.”

  He nodded, released her damp hand, and looked to the detective for an explanation.

  “Ms. Gordon has come to claim her mother’s body and to make arrangements to have it sent back to California for burial. But there seems to be a slight problem.”

  “Regarding the body?” Jay asked.

  “No—not yet anyway. According to Ms. Gordon, something of Mrs. Steiner’s seems to be missing. Something of substantial value.”

  Jay invited them to be seated. Ms. Gordon sat in a club chair. The detective chose to stand, taking his familiar stance of a hand in a trouser pocket, coins clinking together. Both declined his offer of coffee. Jay leaned on the edge of the desk and waited.

  “My mother’s ring, a three-carat solitaire. It’s nowhere to be found.”

  “Perhaps she left it at home?”

  “No. My sister is there now, at mother’s house. She’s looked everywhere. Mother always took her valuables with her in a jewelry pouch.” Loweman and Jay exchanged glances. Jay remembered the pouch. The one he, Frank, and the dead woman’s friend, Mrs. Curtis, had gone through. A diamond ring was not among the jewelry.

  ‘It wasn’t on my list, and I don’t remember seeing a ring with a big diamond,” Loweman said.

  Jay pressed a button on the phone and spoke to his secretary. “Gail, check with the main desk, see if anything was put in the vault for Mrs. Steiner, Room 814, please.”

  “Someone stole it,” the woman said. “Someone who had an opportunity to go through her personal things when no one was around. The hotel staff, the cops, the paramedics. It was probably like a circus in that room. I want you to know I hold the hotel personally responsible.”

  “Ms. Gordon, at no time was anyone alone with your mother after she died.” Loweman explained the circumstances leading up to the discovery of the body. “Mrs. Curtis assured me she waited with the hotel manager in the hallway outside the room until the police and paramedics arrived. Mr. King, Mrs. Curtis, and I myself went through her personal belongings, at which time I listed them. A list I showed you at the station. The only ring found was a plain gold wedding band on the left hand of the deceased.”

  “Well, I don’t trust Ruth Curtis either.”

  The secretary’s voice came through the speaker phone. “Sorry, Jay, nothing in the vault for Mrs. Steiner.”

  “I wanna go through her room,” the daughter said brusquely! “Maybe it fell on the floor or something.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Loweman said. “Until we determine the cause of death, no one’s allowed in there.”

  “You said she died of a heart attack.”

  “I said it appears she died of a heart attack. When a death is sudden, unexplained, and unattended by a physician, there’s a certain procedure we gotta follow. Namely, secure the scene, perform an autopsy.”

  “How long’s that going to take? I can’t hang around here forever. I have things to do back home. My sister and her no-good clan are there now and she—” The woman abruptly clamped her mouth shut. She rose, looked from one man to another, her dark eyes hard. “If that ring don’t turn up, you’ll be hearing from me.” She marched out, slammed the heavy door behind her.

  Jay sighed, dropped his head, and shook it slowly back and forth.

  “Wanna know what I think?” Loweman asked, staring after her.

  “What do you think, Frank?”

  “I think the ring was left at home and little sis got her hands on it first. From what Mrs. Curtis told me about them, those two were always squabbling over who was entitled to what. One would cut the other out in a New York minute if there were something of value. I wouldn’t doubt if the sister hasn’t already cleaned out mother’s house lock, stock, and barrel. Damn shame the way people act when a loved one goes. Talk about your vultures, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Jay looked at Loweman, smiled. “So how’s that beautiful wife of yours?”

  “A trooper, as always. She does better in the summer, you know. The dry heat seems to help her arthritis.”

  Frank and Jay went way back. High school buddies, they participated together in basketball, football, and then, later on, the ski team at Mt. Rose. Frank had joined the Marines straight out of school, while Jay had gotten his degree in business before going into the Army. Ten years later, both men married within months of each other. The two friends, hoping to reestablish their earlier relationship, made an attempt to bring the wives together. They had one another over for dinner, backyard barbecues mostly, with the men doing the cooking—Jay on his brick-and-cast-iron rotisserie, and Frank on his Weber. After a couple of dinners, Dianne begged off without any explanation. The two friends settled for an occasional day on the slopes together or a brief lunch.

  “Buy you breakfast?” Jay asked.

  “Can’t. Gotta look in on the medical examiner in a few.”

  “Lunch, then. Bring Marlene along.”

  Loweman glanced at his watch. “Ah hell, sure. Why not? Marlene would like that. She’s always asking about you. I’d be jealous if I didn’t know how crazy she is about me.”

  Jay clapped Loweman on the back. “The way you chase women with your eyes, I’m surprised she doesn’t get jealous.”

  “Aw, she’s cool. There’s no harm in looking. She knows only an idiot would settle for chopped liver when he’s got sirloin at home.”

  As he walked Loweman to the door. Jay said, “You mentioned an autopsy for the Steiner woman. When?”

  “Want your room back, huh? Can’t blame you. Height of the tourist season. Helluva time for a good room to sit empty.”

  “I don’t care about the room; I just want this cleared up and behind me.”

  “The M.E. had it scheduled for this morning; but, well, it got bumped. A couple of sheriff’s deputies found a decomposed body in the hills north of town last night. Skull bashed in. This one’s a homicide for sure. It’ll take precedence.”

  Jay didn’t dwell on the discovery of an unidentified, decomposed body dumped in the hills. Just as long as it wasn’t at his hotel, he thought. There was enough going on right here under his own nose to cause him grave concern.

  Chapter Six

  Jay King descended the wide carpeted stairway from the convention area to the lobby and casino floor. At least twice a day he made rounds of the facilities. As owner of the casino, he liked to make himself visible, to oversee the operation firsthand. The morning rounds he made alone, starting in the basement with the laundry, wardrobe, maintenance, and repair departments, on to the main floor to inspect the behind-the- scene operations of the hotel and casino, then upstairs to the convention center and business offices. He toured the main casino last.

  The casino in the early hours was quiet and subdued. Without the crowds, he could see from one end to the other. It was at this time, as Jay descended the grand staircase, that he took it all in with a sense of great pride. He often liked to make believe he was seeing the interior of the club for the first time, as if through another’s eyes.

  The effect was impressive. Neon glowing in the darkness. Tinted mirrors, primary colors, designs, shapes, sounds, lighting, and temperature appealing—seductive, even—all carefully orchestrated to entice those passing beyond its doors. Drawing them in, ensnaring them for a time.

  Jay was pleased with what he saw. His family had worked long and hard to establish King’s Club, and yet the work was far from done.

  Jay was headed for the keno lounge when Howard Cummings, his head of operations, approached. “Morning, Jay.”

  “Howard. Everything running smoothly?”

  “Could be better. Yanick tells me there’s a purse-snatching ring working the clubs in this area. Could be as many as four of them. These guys sound pretty sharp.”

  “Have LeBarre run a sting. Maybe we can flush them out before they rip off any of our customers.” The purse sting was common in the
industry. Decoy purses were planted throughout the casino and monitored by surveillance cameras. When the purse went out the door, the carrier was then detained and the police notified. Once word got out a sting was in operation, the number of purse thefts markedly declined.

  “Got extra guys on the escalators and elevators and mingling with the conventioneers,” Cummings said. “One of LeBarre’s men busted a pickpocket last night.”

  “Good. An ounce of prevention.” Jay saw Kasey Atwood push through the glass doors at the valet entrance. “We’ll talk later.” He excused himself to meet her.

  Heading toward the elevator, Kasey was halfway there before she noticed him. She was wearing a blue-green straight skirt and matching jacket over a white blouse. The skirt’s hem was several inches above her knees. She had very nice legs, he noticed, and found himself slowing, not wanting to cut short her approach. He might be married, but he wasn’t blind. He could still appreciate the sight of a good-looking woman gliding across a room in heels.

  When they met, she smiled and extended her hand.

  After taking it, Jay looked around guiltily; and with a half-grin, he said, “Uh-oh, I hope I haven’t blown our cover.”

  She laughed softly. “You’ve been reading too many espionage novels. I’m just part of the team now.”

  “Let’s talk in my office.” He directed her to the elevators.

  As they passed a bank of slot machines, Jay stopped, bent, picked up a quarter from the floor, and handed it to a young woman perched on a stool playing the machine. After cautioning her about leaving her purse unattended on the floor, adding that having her purse stolen was not the way the club wanted her separated from her money, he and Kasey continued on.

  They got no more than ten yards when an elderly man in a maroon duster, carrying a broom and dustpan, approached a waste receptacle littered with discarded cocktail glasses. Jay recognized the porter whom everyone called Captain.