I didn’t want to just leave. I walked slowly down up and down the building, trying to figure things out.
Finally, I called Ian.
“Hi.” His voice was quiet, somehow more serious-sounding than I’d ever heard.
“What’s up?” I said. “Wanna help me out with something?”
“I can’t.” He sounded regretful, in a kind of understated way. “I’m having dinner.”
“Can you cut it short?”
“No. And I have to go now.”
We hung up, and I stared at the Veer Towers entrance again. If Alexia was in there, she’d have to come out at some point. Maybe I could spend all night sitting on the edge of the water fountain, watching the doors. But that wouldn’t work – I’d be allowed to loiter there maybe an hour or two at best.
So I called Nanna instead.
“Where are you?” I asked when she picked up.
“We’ve just arrived at The Bellagio,” she said. “I’m feeling lucky, tonight.”
“Great. Listen, do you know anyone who lives in Veer Towers?”
“I’m not sure, why?”
“I need a way in.”
“I’ll ask around.”
We hung up, and she called back after ten minutes.
“My friend Gilmore’s nephew,” she said. “He’s working on some city center project, so Gilmore’s living there. He’ll get you in. Gilmore Wyndham.”
“Thanks,” I said, my breath whooshing out in relief.
I hung up, and walked half-way towards the Veer Towers entrance, when I stopped. So far, the plan was to get in, and then head over to Alexia’s apartment. Except I didn’t know which one of the 500-odd apartments was hers.
I called Nanna again. “Is Nathan with you?”
She handed the phone over, and I told him my plan. As I’d hoped, he agreed to go through with it. I hung up, wondering if I had been judging him too harshly.
Nathan turned up within half an hour, supplies in hand. Alexia hadn’t left the building in the meantime, so I grabbed the empty, gift-wrapped shoe box from Nathan and went to wait for him inside Crystals, the fancy shopping center next door, where I was thoroughly ignored for fifteen minutes by all the snobby saleswomen.
Fifteen minutes later, I got tired of waiting and walked back toward the fountain. I met Nathan mid-way. He wasn’t carrying the massive bouquet of flowers he’d turned up with, and I grinned.
“It worked?”
Nathan nodded enthusiastically. “It wasn’t easy at first. The concierge guy wanted me to leave the bouquet with him and said he’d take it up, but I kept insisting. Said the sender wanted me to confirm that I’d handed it over.”
“Great!” I beamed. “At least you got in. You did get in, right?”
“Of course. It’s on the eleventh floor, apartment 1117. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
I frowned, hoping I wouldn’t need it, and watched Nathan disappear along the Strip.
Joey, the concierge, sighed when he saw me again. “Do you want me to tell her you brought a gift?”
“No,” I said, smiling smugly. “I’m here to see Gilmore Wyndham. He’s expecting me.”
Joey looked at me suspiciously, but punched the buttons in his intercom anyway. He turned back after a few seconds.
“Go on up, fourteenth floor.”
I nodded and headed over to the elevators, where I pressed “11” instead of “14.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Alexia opened the door after just a few knocks. She was wearing pink and blue teddy bear pajamas, and she peered out at me with red, watery eyes. Her dark brown hair hung limply around her splotchy red face, and she clasped a box of tissues with one hand.
“Yes?”
She glanced at the gift-wrapped box in my hands, and I smiled happily.
“This is for you.”
I handed it over to her, and stepped inside before she could close the door.
She sniffed and took a step back, immediately sensing that I wasn’t here for the gift.
I raised my hands up and quickly said, “I just want to talk to you.”
“You’re Tiffany Black.”
I was a bit surprised by how quick she was, and I glanced at the box of tissues she was clutching. “I just have a few questions. I’d really appreciate it if–”
“Are you working for Rob?”
“Huh?” I blinked at her, and took a few seconds to realize she was talking about her ex-husband, Robert Fallon. “No.” I shook my head emphatically. “Absolutely not. I’m investigating Adam Bitzer’s death.”
“Why?”
I could go the route of implying that I was an LVMPD detective, but she seemed too smart to buy that, so I said, “My nanna’s been accused of killing him.”
There was a beat as she regarded me warily, still not closing her apartment door. I glanced around surreptitiously while she watched me; the place was obviously a furnished rental, with a dark, fabric-covered sofa, a large flat-screen TV, and a corridor that probably led off into the bedroom. There was a tiny stove in one corner of the room, a fridge, and a small dining table.
“It sounds pretty ridiculous,” Alexia said finally. “Can you prove you’re not working for Rob?”
“No,” I said. “Of course I can’t prove that. I never even met the man.”
“Then how’m I meant to trust you?”
I pursed my lips and tried to think fast. “Maybe I could prove that my nanna’s really accused of killing Adam? I could call her, and, and… maybe I could call the detective who’s investigating this case?” I wasn’t sure Elwood would help, but it was worth a shot.
Alexia blew her nose loudly and said, “Ok. I believe you. But I really don’t want to talk about Adam. Could you leave, please?”
“Why not?” I said, clutching at straws. “Why were you paying him money? What’s going on?” She continued to look at me stoically, and I said, “Why are you protecting him?”
“I’m not protecting him, I just don’t want to talk about him.”
“I think you’re protecting him.” I crossed my arms, but she just shook her head and began to walk over to the intercom hanging on the wall.
“Wait!” I said, and she paused. “You have to help me, please. My nanna’s in trouble and you seem to be the only one who knows what’s going on.”
She regarded me silently and sniffed. I tried again. “I know you’re getting divorced. Maybe I can help out somehow, maybe I can… I don’t know, I’m a private investigator. I’ll owe you one if you help me now.”
She smiled thinly. “I don’t think I’ll need that favor, ever. But I suppose I could let you ask me a few questions. The damage’s already been done.”
“What damage?”
She rolled her eyes and finally closed the apartment door. I waited for her to say something more, but she didn’t; she just put down the empty, gift-wrapped shoebox, and headed into the kitchenette, where she switched on a kettle.
“What damage?” I repeated.
“Adam’s why I got divorced, stupid s–” She took a few minutes to let out a string of expletives, and I waited patiently till she was done.
The kettle boiled, and she found a mug and put a teabag in it.
“What did Adam do?” I asked once again. “What damage?”
“He got me divorced,” Alexia said, pouring the water into the mug. She put the kettle back, and then regarded me sullenly. “That guy – it’s all…”
“How? Were you seeing him?”
Alexia laughed bitterly, and then started to cough. When her cough attack was over, she said, “No, of course not. Who’d date that loser? He was blackmailing me.”
Blackmail. I helped myself to a seat on the sofa, and stared into space. The world made sense now – the regular payments, the women’s unwillingness to talk.
“I was paying him, like he’d asked,” Alexia was saying, “But then Rob found out and asked me what the money was for. So I gave him that story about char
ity for Rwandan kids, and he made me stop.”
“And you told Adam about his?”
Alexia dipped the teabag a few times, pulled it out, and threw it into the trash. “Sure. Except he didn’t care. Kept telling me to pay up and, when I didn’t, he actually emailed Rob the pictures. Urgh!” She groaned and rubbed her forehead with one hand. “One stupid crush, one stupid fling, and I lost it all.” Alexia stared at me, her eyes a wild mixture of anger and regret, and said, “Can you believe it? I had it all. And now I’ve just…”
She looked around herself, and I followed her glance. It didn’t seem too bad to me – apartments on the Strip rent out for more than a three-bedroom condo in the ’burbs, and the place seemed clean and nicely, if generically, furnished. But who knows? It was probably a dump compared to how she used to live.
“How did you meet Adam?” I asked.
She frowned, remembering, and sniffed. “It was at some party. He came up to me, introduced himself, seemed charming enough. I can’t believe I thought he was nice!” She blew her nose and went on. “Anyway, he’s asking all these questions, real polite. How long had I been married, was I a Vegas local, that kind of stuff. He must’ve looked into me, cause the next thing I know, he’s calling me, asking to have drinks. I say no, but he’s really insistent, saying it’ll be five minutes and he’s got something I should see.”
She put down the box of tissues and grabbed the mug of hot tea instead. “Of course, what I should see were those photos he took of me – stupid photos of me and Joshua together. Urgh.”
She took a sip of her tea and I watched her. “Are you still in touch with Joshua?”
“No, that was over as soon as I saw those photos. I mean, the damage was done, but still, I was gonna be careful.”
“And then what?”
She sighed, and took another sip of the tea. “Adam said I needed to pay him. Every month, $3,000. I bargained it down to $2,200, and he said if my husband asked, I was going to tell him that it was for a Rwandan charity thing.”
“And your husband did find out.”
“Sure thing. He asked me where the money was going, and didn’t buy for a second that it was a charity. Thought I might’ve had some kind of fling with Adam, so of course I have to stop paying him.”
“And then Adam hassled you for a bit, and then he sent the photos to Robert?”
“That’s right. The entitled sonofabitch.”
She seemed resigned now, rather than angry, and I wondered if I felt sorry for her. Although, truth be told, I was more surprised to learn about Adam’s hobby than anything else. I should’ve seen this coming – monthly payments from three rich women? I shook my head. No wonder none of them were willing to talk about him.
After another couple of sips of her tea, Alexia said, “And now I’m divorced. All because of that freak.”
I nodded, wondering what to do next. “Where were you,” I asked finally, “last Friday night?”
She laughed, a bitter, unhappy sound. “At work. The Spearmint Rhino.”
I nodded. That made sense – what else would an attractive, intelligent woman work after she got divorced? Strippers made a lot of money, much more than doctors in many states, and as long as she maintained her youthful good looks and gorgeous figure, Alexia would be able to afford a nice lifestyle.
“Thanks for your help,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”
She sighed. “As long as you don’t tell Robert we had this talk.”
I nodded and stood up. “Good luck with the settlement. I’m sure something will turn up for you.”
I headed down to the lobby, where Joey seemed to have forgotten who I was, and wandered thoughtfully back to where I’d parked my car. I figured it was time to pay Adam’s girlfriend, Cynthia Pruttley, another visit.
Chapter Forty-Six
I pulled up beside Cynthia’s Summerville house just as the garage door was sliding shut, and I parked in a rush, hoping she didn’t have company.
Cynthia answered the door within minutes of my knock, and she seemed surprised to see me.
“Hey,” she said, taking off her dangling earrings. “What’re you doing here?”
She was wearing a stunning turquoise dress and a gold choker; the gold earrings she’d been wearing a moment ago were now in her hand.
I stepped inside, and closed the door behind myself. “I just had a thought.” I looked around – the foyer and sitting area were empty, and the place seemed pretty quiet. “You don’t have, er, a guest, do you?”
She shook her head, no. “How come you’re alone? Where’s that cute partner of yours?”
I made a face. Nobody ever referred to Ian as “cute,” other than my mom and Nanna. “He’s busy, having dinner with his parents or something.”
“That’s too bad,” she said. “I was looking forward to seeing him again.”
I’m sure she was. But I kept my thoughts to myself and said, “What about you? You look all dressed up.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I just got back from dinner with this, uh, friend. Anyway, what’s this about?”
“Adam liked photography, right?” I peered at her carefully, and she nodded. “Where’s the camera? Did the cops take it?”
“No, it’s still upstairs, come on.” I followed her up, and we walked into a small bedroom, furnished with a big desk, two bookshelves holding financial accounting tomes, a steel filing cabinet.
There were a bunch of keyrings on a plate on Adam’s desk, and I had a few moments of panic as Cynthia tried one key after the other in an attempt to unlock the filing cabinet. Finally, one key turned around, and we both exhaled in relief.
“Do you think something’s on it?” Cynthia asked, opening a drawer and extracting the camera. It was a Nikon DSLR, and I saw various fancy lenses lying about inside the drawer. One of them was particularly long, and I guessed that was the telephoto lens.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “How do you switch this thing on?”
“Just press this button.” Nothing happened, and she pressed it again. Still nothing.
“Maybe it needs batteries,” I suggested, and Cynthia flipped open the battery compartment. It was empty.
She opened the drawer with all the lenses again, and we found a box full of batteries, and finally managed to turn the camera on.
It took a moment to power up, and Cynthia showed me how to get into the photo gallery, and scroll through the photos. I went through each and every one of the photos in that gallery, but it was all harmless stuff – pictures of Cynthia posing, pictures of parties, pictures of food and random casino shots.
“There’s nothing here,” I said, frustrated. I glanced inside the camera drawer again, and that’s when I saw it. A second SSD card, sitting in its plastic container. “How do you switch memory cards?”
Cynthia did the honors, switching off the camera and then switching it on again. I waited for the screen to load up, and when I saw the first image, my heart sunk. It was a shot of a Downtown casino.
But then I scrolled through the rest of the photos, and smiled, pleased. It was all shots of the four women – Rachel Nge, Michelle Ackermann, Nicole Weiss and Alexia Boyle – along with four good-looking men I’d never seen before.
The photos had been taken over a number of days, and there was nothing particularly compromising about them. Nobody was frolicking naked or eating whipped cream off each other’s bodies, but what they showed was damaging enough: gifts being given, hands being held, and the occasional romantic kiss.
Cynthia stood beside me, peering over my shoulder, and I glanced at her. Her eyes were blank, her expression unreadable, and I said, “He wasn’t cheating on you. He was just blackmailing these women.”
She nodded, not saying a word until we got to the end of the photos.
“So that’s it?” she said. “That’s all there is?”
“Seems like that.” I glanced at Adam’s desk, but it was neat and empty of suspicious-looking papers. “Did you know anything about
this?” Cynthia shook her head and I said, “Did anyone ever threaten Adam? Do you know these women?”
“I’ve seen them at parties and such,” she said. “But I had no idea…”
Her voice trailed off, and I handed the camera back. “Thanks. I’ll get in touch if I need anything again.”
She nodded, and I let myself out, wondering what this meant. Maybe it was time to look into all those alibis; it seemed to me that all four of the women Adam had blackmailed had a good reason to want him out of the way.
Chapter Forty-Seven
It was almost one o’clock by the time I got home, and I stopped by Ian’s condo first.
“How was dinner?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Not great. The usual.”
“Why were your parents in Vegas?”
“They came to see me. And nag me.”
“About what?”
“Get a job, do something with your life, you know.”
I smiled sympathetically, feeling a little worried. This was the first time I’d ever seen Ian be anything but exuberantly enthusiastic.
“Well, I have some good news!” I said, beaming happily. He looked at me curiously, and I went on. “Adam Bitzer was blackmailing those women!”
Ian’s eyes widened. “Get out! No way?”
“Yup.” I crossed my arms triumphantly. “I’m pretty sure one of them must’ve killed him.”
“Tell me everything.”
“Let’s go to my place.”
Nanna and Nathan were still out, so I made two cups of decaf and told Ian all about my night, leaving out the part about Cynthia calling him cute.
“I wish I’d gone with you,” he said regretfully. “I could’ve done with some fun. And I’d have done a much better job than Nathan with those flowers.”
A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 03 - Red Roses in Las Vegas Page 17