Up and down the bar he collected for the next four drinks, let two more slide. Within an hour, he had served freebies to at least five of his buddies. Another unpaid-for round went to the two young women. The tips were generous where the drinks were free.
“He’s pouring heavy. Instead of the regulated four count, which is an ounce, he’s pouring about five, and in several cases, as much as seven,” she said quietly. “He’s also pouring call drinks and premium liquor for well drinks.”
Kasey had seen enough. “C’mon, let’s go.”
“But—” Brad looked toward the barkeep.
“Not now.”
They left the bar.
“Are you going to report him?” Brad asked when they were out of earshot of the bar.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Hey, that’s pretty cold. He seemed like an okay guy. So he gives a few drinks away. The club gives away drinks all the time. Shit, Kasey, he wasn’t skimming the till.”
“No, he wasn’t skimming the till, but he was giving away liquor, which costs the club money.” She had seen it again and again. Diminutive acts of dishonesty, like a live ember in dry grass, tended in a short time to catch hold and quickly spread out of control.
“The guy was breaking his butt in there,” Brad said. “He was friendly, fast, and he sure as hell knew his stuff.”
“He knew his stuff all right. And I guarantee he’s gonna get faster at taking what doesn’t belong to him.” She turned to face Brad. “Look, Brad, I don’t do the firing. I only turn in a report. It’s up to his supervisor to decide if he’s salvageable. A warning may be enough for now. Most of the time that’s all it takes.”
They stood in an area near the stairs and elevator. Brad’s eyes locked onto hers. One corner of his mouth lifted in a tiny grin.
“What?” she said warily.
“Man, I can dig a woman who has the balls to make heads roll. ‘Off with their heads!’ God, that’s cool.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“What now?” he asked.
“I guess that’s it.”
Brad looked disappointed. He brightened, pointed to a waiting elevator. “The garage. I’ll show you where to park your car.”
He steered her inside of one of the two parking garage elevators and pressed a button.
The doors opened on the second floor. They stepped out onto the cool, dim, concrete expanse.
“This floor’s reserved for the brass. The executives park along the west wall,” Brad said, pointing across the garage. “There’s a private entrance into the conference rooms there. Park anywhere that’s not assigned to someone. I’ll get you a sticker for your windshield.”
In the distance, sounds of a scuffle reached them. A woman cried out. Kasey and Brad looked at each other.
“It’s coming from over there, that row of cars under the pipes.” She grabbed at his sleeve, and they began to run in that direction.
From a hundred yards away, Kasey saw a man and woman struggling at the driver’s open door of an old-model white Valiant. The man had a hold of the woman’s upper arms, and she was trying to break free. She kicked at him, made contact. He swore. A purse lay on the ground near the rear tire, its contents scattered about.
“Hey!” Kasey shouted. “Let go of her!”
The man, dressed in a blue security uniform, turned and looked at them. He released the woman, stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. At that moment, the woman took a swing and hit the man on the side of his nose. The impact made a sharp sound.
A look of rage, of chilling malevolence, flashed across the man’s face. He shoved the woman back down in the seat, then covered his nose with his hand. Blood oozed through his fingers. A moment later when he turned back to Kasey, the look was gone; she saw only pain in his eyes.
The woman bent over and vomited between her legs, splashing the black shoes of the guard.
“What’s going on here?” Kasey demanded.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing to that woman?” Brad asked behind her.
The guard backed away, out of range of the splashing vomit. He pulled a white handkerchief from a back pocket and roughly swiped at the blood on his face and hand.
“This is none of your business,” he said. “Both of you, move along.”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to,” Brad questioned. “Do you know who I am?”
Kasey put her hand on his arm, hoping to shut him up.
“I’m Bradley King. My uncle owns this club. He happens to be your boss, mister.”
The guard glared at Brad over the top of the bloodied handkerchief; then, as if by way of dismissing him, he blew his nose.
Kasey knelt down at the woman’s side. She had stopped retching and had her head buried in her arms across her knees.
“What happened?” she asked.
The woman lifted her head; it wobbled. She tried to focus on the tall man in uniform. “He tried to attack me.” Her speech was thick; she reeked of beer and wine.
Kasey looked up at the guard, who still held the handkerchief to his face. She searched for his ID tag, but saw none.
“She’s about as drunk as they come, and I’ve seen plenty of drunks. I saw her get off the elevator, stumbling and staggering. No way could she drive. I was only trying to get her to come back into the casino so I could get her a cab.”
“He’s lyin’.” Her head lolled, her eyes going from Brad to Kasey and finally to the guard. “He was…” the words seemed to die in her mouth.
“Was what? Kasey asked.
The woman quickly looked away. Her hands began to tremble. “Nothin’. I just wanna go home. My car keys, where’re my damn car keys?”
Kasey began to gather the woman’s belongings together and return them to the purse. She found a King Club ID tag. Her name was Paula Volger. She was an employee.
Kasey handed her a crumbled tissue from the purse. “Paula, the officer was only trying to help. He’s right, y’know; you’re in no condition to drive. You’d never make it down this spiral ramp. Let’s go back in and get you a cab.”
Paula wiped her mouth. “I can’t leave my car here.”
Kasey knew it was forbidden for any employee at any time to use the parking garage. “It’ll be okay.”
“I’ll go with you, not him. I ain’t going nowhere with him.”
“That’s fine.” To the guard Kasey said, “I’ll take care of it. As the club’s new host, guess this will be my first official duty. And your name is?”
“I’ll log it and make out a report,” he said, ignoring her question and turning away from them.
As Brad and Kasey helped the woman across the garage to the elevator, Kasey looked back to see the guard locking up Paula Volger’s car.
Chapter Eight
Once back inside the club, Kasey and Brad parted. Kasey took Paula Volger into the nearest ladies’ room and, after helping her clean up, sat her in the lounge area and attempted to make some sense of what had happened in the parking garage. The only thing she learned for sure was the woman worked for the hotel in the housekeeping department. It was her day off and she had come in to cash her paycheck, play a few slots, and have a drink or two, as she did every Monday.
Paula, looking more ill with each passing minute, refused to file a report or even discuss the incident. In the end, there was nothing to do but put her in a cab at the hotel’s main entrance and let it go for the time being.
At 6:30, Kasey stepped off the elevator onto the third floor. The sector housing the executive suites was quiet, without activity. The desk in Jay’s outer office was unmanned, computer and printer under plastic covers.
As she tapped lightly on the closed door of Jay’s office, she glanced at her watch. Jay had probably gone home for the day as well. She wondered if his secretary had remembered to leave the security logs on the desk for her.
Kasey went to the desk. Behind her, she heard the double doors to Jay’s private office
open.
“Kasey?”
She turned. In shirtsleeves, top button and tie loosened. Jay stood with a hand on each door. He smiled when he saw her.
“Oh, good, it’s you. I was about to have you paged.”
“Sorry I’m so late getting back. Brad and I ran into a little trouble in the parking garage.”
Jay ducked back inside and returned with his suit jacket. “Tell me about it on the way. Security’s waiting for us upstairs,” he said, slipping on the jacket. “Oh, and those daily logs you wanted, they’re on my desk. You can pick them up on your way out.”
In the elevator, Kasey told Jay about the two employees in the garage. “Are there surveillance cameras on each floor of the garage?” she asked.
“There aren’t any. Security patrol, that’s about it.”
Parking garages were a hotbed of crime. “How many guards?”
“One per shift. Maybe two on grave if it’s a big weekend.”
“Have you had any complaints about any of your security personnel?” she asked.
“Not that I know of. But then we hired on a dozen or so at the beginning of the season. There are always one or two that don’t fit in. Complaints would go to LeBarre. He’s head of security.”
“How many guards total?”
“Eight to ten per shift with supervisors. Twenty-five, maybe thirty.”
On the eighth floor they walked to the end of the hall and joined a guard, an elderly man with gray hair who had been summoned to unpin Room 814.
They exchanged greetings.
“How’s that daughter of yours doing, Harry?” Jay King said. “Have we lost her to the competition?”
“ ‘Fraid so, Mr. King. Vegas Hilton hired her on last year. She likes the faster pace. Says we’re too folksy here up north. Couple years and she’ll be back. They always come back.”
When the door had been unlocked, Jay said, “I don’t know how long we’ll be, Harry. I’ll call when we’re ready to lock up.”
Kasey pushed the door open to the wall. The room was dark except for a sliver of light coming through a three-inch opening in the blackout drapes.
“Did the investigators dust for prints before you pinned the room?” Kasey asked.
“No.”
“Guess we don’t touch anything, then.” With a ballpoint pen, she pressed the light switch. A lamp in the entry and another in the room proper came on. “Do you remember if this is how the room was when it was pinned? Drapes, personal effects, and so on?”
Jay carefully took in the scene. “Looks the same. Frank took her purse.”
Kasey stepped into the bathroom. The sink, tub, and toilet were spotless. No toiletries lying about. A white Samsonite cosmetic case sat on the counter.
She turned to Jay, who stood in the entry watching her. “Has housekeeping been in since the body was discovered?”
“Couldn’t. The room was pinned immediately.”
She left the bathroom, glanced into the closet where several articles of clothing hung on wooden hangers, and paused. In addition to the hotel hangers, there were two metal hangers. On one hanger, through the thin dry cleaner plastic bag, Kasey saw a beaded blouse. Attached to the neck of the other hanger, which was empty, was a Lina Roble Dry Cleaner receipt that read beaded bls and angor swtr. She scanned the summer cottons and light polyesters for a sweater. No sweater.
“Something?” Jay asked.
“I’m not sure. I’ll come back to it later.” She moved past him to the dresser and, with the pen, pulled open several drawers. Neat stacks of folded clothes, mostly underthings.
She crossed to the unmade bed. On the lower sheet, a yellowish stain was clearly visible—the woman had died in bed, her bladder voiding upon death. Kasey looked around. Except for the hearing aid and eyeglasses on the nightstand, the surfaces of the furniture were bare. No items of clothing draped over chairs or on the floor, no cigarette butts, no tourist pamphlets or coupons, no clutter of any kind. A neatnick, Kasey observed, a place for everything and everything in its place. Probably even rinsed out the sink and tub after she used it, then wiped down the chrome fixtures. Hotel maids, who on a daily basis waded through messes most foul, adored guests like Mrs. Steiner.
Kasey turned slowly in a circle. “The woman was tidy, beyond tidy. Fastidious. Not the type to casually leave a three-carat diamond ring sitting around. She straightened up the room, went to bed, and died before she could call for help. It must have happened very quickly. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”
“But you feel something?”
Yes, she definitely felt something. But it wasn’t just in this room. It encompassed the entire hotel casino. She smiled. “I’ve been known to be wrong.”
“Gut feelings should never be ignored,” Jay said. “I usually go with mine.”
“So do I. But in this case only a trained investigator and a forensic team can do justice to a scene this orderly.”
Jay looked relieved. “Is that it then?”
She took one last look around, nodded, and crossed the room.
Jay used the two-way radio to call the security guard to return to pin the room again. As Jay held the outer door open for Kasey to pass through, she hesitated, then turned back to stare into the area to her left.
“One sec.” She strode to the closet. She reached out for the metal hanger, stopping within inches. Instead she took the pen and maneuvered the hanger from side to side. On the backside of the receipt, stapled to it, was a ragged piece of thin plastic. Dry cleaner plastic. She looked down. Deep in the shadows behind a matching Samsonite suitcase, she saw a trace of pastel. When she reached down to retrieve it, she felt Jay’s fingers close around hers.
She stopped, turned to look into his face.
“Should you touch it?” he asked. “Crime scene contamination and all that?”
“I don’t think we have to worry about fingerprints here, but you’re right, just to be safe . .” She held up the pen. When he released her hand she bent down on one knee, balancing on the balls of her feet, and used the pen to hook a piece of something soft and furry. She lifted a pink Angora sweater a few inches.
“Well, looky here.”
Jay moved in close to see. She could smell his aftershave, feel the stiff but smooth material of his pants along her thigh and knee as he crouched beside her.
“The sweater fell off the hanger. Is that something?”
“It might be. This doesn’t seem consistent with the rest of the room, with the dead woman’s fussy habits. A woman who neatly folds used towels and wipes down water spots on chrome fixtures wouldn’t allow an expensive sweater, just out of the cleaners, to slip off the hanger and lie on the floor. And what’s happened to the cleaner bag? Two separate pieces, two separate bags.”
“She wore the sweater that night?” Jay offered. “Threw away the plastic?”
She shook her head. “I checked the wastebaskets. No plastic.”
“What makes you certain it was in the cleaner bag when she left home?”
“A sweater like this tends to shed. If it were my sweater, I’d keep it covered, and I’m anything but finicky.”
“So what does it mean?” Jay asked, helping her to her feet.
She ran her fingers through her hair, changing the part from left to right. When she looked at Jay, he was staring at her with an expectant expression on his face, as if waiting for her to say something incredibly profound. She suppressed a smile. “Probably nothing.”
They waited in the hall until Harry showed up, then they left.
The elevator stopped on the third floor. Jay reminded her that the security logs she’d asked for were in his office. Moments later, as he ushered her through the double doors of his office suite, she was surprised to find Dianne sitting behind the massive desk. And by the expression on Jay’s face, he hadn’t expected to see her either.
“Kasey, you’re still here,” Dianne said. “I saw Brad downstairs. He said you’d left some time ago.” She ros
e, came around the desk and lightly kissed her husband on the corner of his mouth. “Overtime?” she said to no one in particular.
Kasey waited. Dianne, she remembered, had a sharp mind that tended to jump to conclusions. She had a tongue to match. The best way to handle her was to avoid letting her addle or trap you.
“I asked Kasey to have a look in 814. A relative of the woman who died there claims an expensive ring is missing. She’s suggesting it might have been taken from the room after her mother died.”
“I see.” She looked from Jay to Kasey. “Don’t we have a police force for such things?”
“The police don’t give a damn about my liabilities or the reputation of this hotel, Dianne.”
Kasey said quickly, “Well, I’ll just take those security logs and head out.”
Jay went to his desk, lifted a fat manila envelope, and handed it to Kasey. To his wife he said, “Do we have some sort of function tonight that I’ve forgotten about?”
Dianne took a cigarette from a pack in her purse, started to light it, then thought better of it. She put it back into the pack and snapped her purse shut. “Function? Oh…no, darling, I just thought we could have a nice quiet dinner together.” She turned to Kasey. “This is the only place where I can pin him down. If he’s at home, the phone calls never quit and I know he wishes he were here. At least here he’ll relax long enough to enjoy a decent meal. He has a suite upstairs that gets a pretty good work out. We have a perfectly lovely home that without me and the housekeeper would sit empty a good part of the time. Kasey, if you had a place like ours, would you choose to live in a hotel?”
“I guess it would depend on the circumstances.”
Dianne smiled. “A diplomatic answer.” She joined arms with her husband. “Well, I’m starving. Shall we, darling? Kasey, you’re more than welcome to join us.”
About as welcome as walking pneumonia. “Thanks, Dianne, but I have to be going. I have another job across town.”
“Oh, too bad. Listen, now that we’re in touch again, let’s do lunch soon. We have loads of catching up to do.”
Mortal Crimes 2 Page 102