12. Final Justice

by Fern Michaels

  "Marble Rose had a series of nannies from birth. She attended an exclusive preschool, followed by a boarding school, then on to Harvard, where she won a Rhodes Scholarship. Brilliant young woman. My investigation has not turned up anything positive in the way of a mother-daughter relationship between the two of them. Marble Rose visited during holidays for a day here and there, but summers she was sent to a special camp for gifted children. By the age of fifteen the young lady stopped visiting her mother altogether. One can only speculate as to the reason. It might be because every other year or so there was another new husband, or perhaps the young lady had a very busy life.

  "Her father left her a robust trust fund, so money was never an issue in her life. The trust fund is substantial enough that she never has to work a day for the rest of her life. However, she does work. She teaches sixth-graders in a public school, and she's finishing her dissertation on the gambling industry—at which point she'll be known as Dr. Barnes."

  "She sounds like a fine young woman. What's the problem? Is the mother or the daughter the prospective client?" Alexis asked.

  "The way I see it, the mother is asking for help for her daughter. The daughter at the moment is languishing in a Nevada jail. That's why I sent Lizzie to Vegas."

  Chairs moved, deep breaths were taken, eyebrows raised. The interest level heightened with a chorus of whys.

  "I can only tell you what I know, which is not all that much. My research is ongoing. Because mother and daughter are not close, Miz Preston's information is sketchy at best, so it's up to Lizzie and me to make sense out of it. She probably left out more than she told me or will tell Lizzie. Clients do that for some reason, and the lawyer gets blindsided. This is what I know so far. Sixteen months ago, Marble Rose was mugged when she left a local gym around nine thirty at night. She was robbed and severely beaten and was in intensive care for five days before her mother even heard about it. By the way, I forgot to tell you the mother lives in California but is currently in Las Vegas.

  "Marble Rose had a severe head trauma. Her recovery was long and, no, mother and daughter did not bond during her rehabilitation. The mother was sent packing with a lot of bitter recriminations. Miz Preston returned to California and only returned to Las Vegas last month when Marble Rose was arrested for the fourth time. This time she refused to leave, but Marble Rose will not allow Miz Preston to visit her in jail."

  "Why? What did she do?" Jack asked.

  Charles cleared his throat. "I don't know how to answer that. In a way she did nothing, and in a way she turned Las Vegas on its ear. It would appear, and I stress the word appear, that Marble Rose's head trauma left her with. . .an extraordinary sense of some kind. At least that's what the mother thinks."

  Isabelle leaned forward. "Are you talking about something like what happened to me when I had my car accident? When I could, at times, see things? I was tested, retested, then tested again, like a guinea pig. The only thing the doctors could ever come up with was my sixth sense had something to do with my head injury. They wrote me up in some medical journals. We could go back and check that out. The worst part was that the things I saw came true. But I saw them after the fact. That awful sense, or whatever you want to call it, stayed with me for two years. And then it just faded away. It's a good thing, too, or I would have lost my mind. Is it possible the same kind of thing happened to Marble Rose?"

  "It might be something like that, Isabelle. I just don't know. It's hard for me to believe the mother knows any of this, considering the relationship she has with her daughter. I assume she's speculating. The alternative is that she's trying to arouse our curiosity for reasons we have yet to discover."

  "What's Marble Rose charged with?" Jack asked.

  "She isn't charged with anything. The police are saying she isn't even in their jail or the system. The mother insists that she was carted off to jail and booked, according to the private detectives on her payroll. I couldn't find a record of any arrest. Lizzie is looking into it and will be meeting with the mother shortly.

  "So, ladies, are you interested in this case? If you are, you'll be taking on some of the smartest individuals in the security business and some of the smartest lawyers Nevada has to offer. Because, believe it or not, this has something to do with Marble Rose's gambling and winning big. I can almost guarantee it, and while Miz Preston didn't say so, I think she believes it, too. She also said it's not wise to make an enemy of the people who conduct security for the casinos."

  "Are they any match for Lizzie Fox?" Annie asked.

  "I can't answer that, Annie, because at the moment I simply don't know. I'm just telling you what you're going up against. Like I said, are you interested?"

  As one, the women gave off a resounding yes.

  "Where does that leave Harry and me? Are we to stay behind?" Jack asked.

  Charles frowned. "If you were to go, you would have no authority of any kind in Las Vegas. Now, if you can secure a week or so of vacation time, I see no reason why you can't make a trip to Nevada. I think, though, Jack, you should remain behind this time around unless I can come up with a foolproof reason for you to be taking a vacation at this particular time."

  Jack grinned. "I might not have any legal authority, but I should receive some courtesy acknowledgment. Harry, now, he has authority just by being who he is, no matter where he goes. And those in the know will remember him because he won the martial-arts competition three years in a row, and all three of those competitions were held in Vegas at, where was it, Harry?"

  "The MGM Grand," Harry said. "Sellout crowds all three times."

  "I rest my case," Jack said. To Charles he said, "Work it out, Charles, I want to go. I can't be of any use here."

  Kathryn squirmed in her chair. "What about Bert?"

  Charles looked at Kathryn and chose his words carefully. "Bert will be apprised of what's going on. Right now we have to let matters where he's concerned go through the proper channels. We need to see him confirmed, and we're still not sure if that will happen. In other words, it will be Bert's decision on what and how to proceed. It's the best information I can give you at the moment, Kathryn."

  Kathryn nodded as she kneaded her hands, which were folded in her lap. Murphy, her huge German shepherd, sensing her unease, nosed her leg for attention. Kathryn unlocked her hands and reached over to stroke the dog's great head.

  Maggie pushed back her chair. "Is there anything else you want me to do? If not, I have to be up at four, so I think I'll say good night now."

  "Just saturate the front page with whatever you can make work for all of us," Charles said. He looked at the monster clock on the wall and smiled. "I think the Post is now online. Shall we all view it in living color?"

  Suddenly the room was a beehive of activity. Everyone was talking at once as Charles used a pointer to jab at the different pictures and articles on the front page. The girls rushed to Maggie and swooped her up as they congratulated her on a job well done. She glowed with pride.

  Jack clapped Harry on the back as Charles used his pointer to pinpoint a small mound of what looked like ashes. "Where'd you say you got those ashes?"

  "One of my guy's long-dead ancestors. He didn't have a bit of trouble giving them up because he's going to reclaim them and put them back in their little nest as soon as the lab confirms the ashes are human. Labs take very good care of stuff like that," Harry said with a straight face.

  "Just like that, he's going to go to the FBI's forensic lab and take back his ancestor's ashes?" Jack asked, disbelief ringing in his voice.

  "Well, yeah, Jack," Harry drawled. "He's a ninja. If he can disintegrate into thin air, I think he can pull it off. You want to make a little wager?"

  "Hell, no. I was just asking, Harry. I'm sorry I brought it up. No, I'm not. Just hold on here a minute. When those eagle-eyed forensic people test those ashes, aren't they going to be able to tell how old they are?"

  "Well, yeah, Jack," Harry drawled a second time. "It will just perpetuate the
ninja myth that they come back to life, then return to their. . .uh, other form."

  The others listened to Harry's explanation with wide eyes and dropped jaws. None of them were going to touch that explanation with a mile-long pole. Jack shrugged as he stared at the picture still on the screen. He just knew the son of a bitch was going to pull it off. He should have known better than to even think about questioning Harry.

  Maggie's cell phone took that particular moment to ring. She looked down at the caller ID and mouthed the words "Joe Espinosa." "Yeah, Joe, what's up?" She listened a moment, and with her index finger indicated that Charles should turn to the Fox News Channel. "What do you mean, where am I? First of all, it's none of your business where I am. I ask the questions, remember? Everything's ready to go. I'll be in by nine. I'm sleeping late because I'm treating myself to a job well done by you. Stay on it, Joe. I know what time it is. You have the rest of your life to sleep. Screw this up, and you won't like what I do."

  She powered down and then made the decision to leave immediately instead of in the early hours of the morning, regardless of what she'd just told Joe. Nellie elected to go with her.

  Harry poked Jack on the arm. "See, they're all chasing their tails. Now they don't know what to do since the ashes were human remains. Not to worry. By morning those ashes will be nothing but a memory." He cackled gleefully as he walked out of the room with his arm around Yoko's shoulders.

  Jack doubled over laughing as he gasped to Maggie, "Make sure Espinosa is on top of this and the paper runs with the theft. Play it up, Maggie, the ninjas came back for their. . .whatever term ninjas use for their remains."

  Maggie offered up an airy salute. At the door, she turned around and asked Charles if she was going to Vegas.

  "I'm not sure, Maggie. You might do us more good here. I'll let you know by noon tomorrow."

  "Okay, works for me. You ready, Judge?"

  "I'm ready, dear."

  Maggie ran over to Annie and whispered in her ear. Annie hugged her and, like every other mother in the world, said, "Drive carefully, dear. Call us when you get home safe and sound."

  "Will do, Mom."

  Chapter 7

  Lizzie Fox sauntered into the Babylon casino, Ted Robinson at her side. In appearance, they looked like all the other couples who were milling about or gambling. And just like any other visitors to Las Vegas, they were awed at the flashing lights, the bells, the whistles, the scantily clad waitresses just waiting to serve their free drinks.

  Lizzie decided they were dressed appropriately, nothing to distinguish them from the other guests. She was wearing dark slacks, a yellow sweater, and loafers. She carried a matching gold suede jacket on one arm, a large Chanel carry bag on her shoulder. Ted wore pressed khakis, a white button-down shirt, and a tweed jacket. His pack was nestled securely on his back.

  "Let's walk around. I want to get a feel for this place. We have forty minutes till we meet Ms. Preston. Remember, Ted, you're my assistant. That means you keep quiet, you listen, and you make sure your tape recorder is on. I hope you put fresh batteries in it." No need to tell the reporter her own recorder would be on inside the pocket of her slacks. Lizzie was big on doubles of everything. And she fervently believed in the old adage of Murphy's Law, that what can go wrong, will go wrong. Each tape would record for a full sixty minutes. If the interview went past the hour mark, she'd have to excuse herself and head outside to flip the tape. She really needed to get a digital recorder.

  Lizzie chatted amiably with Ted as they strolled along like neither had a care in the world. "Do you know if they have monitors in these places that pick up sound?"

  Ted grinned as he watched a white-haired grandmother feed twenty-dollar bills into a slot machine at the speed of light. She looked grim, like she was going to kick out at the machine or explode with frustration. "Not for a fact. This particular casino has over two thousand security cameras. I don't think I'm comfortable talking about this right now. Later, when we leave here, we can take a stroll, and I'll tell you what I've managed to come up with. Maggie has been text messaging me all day, so I have to combine all that she's told me with what I already have. It's awesome, Lizzie. All this crap they have here—Homeland Security wishes they had it themselves." He stopped, fished around in his pocket for a dollar bill, and slid it into one of the slot machines. "This is just a guess on my part, but I think you have met your match here, Miz Fox."

  "You think?" Lizzie watched the wheel spin and laughed out loud when Ted won five dollars. "Take your four-dollar profit and move along."

  Ted cashed out his winnings, and mumbled, "Yeah, I do think that. You're good, and I give you that, but these guys are better. No offense."

  Lizzie laughed again. "And none taken." She winked at him, and Ted almost wet his pants. "See that machine over there? The jackpot is $187,444. Imagine that." Five minutes later, when she turned around, the numbers read $187,993. "I hope some construction worker from New Jersey and his wife win it."

  "Just out of curiosity, can you practice law here, Lizzie?"

  "Yep, I can practice law in every state except South Dakota. Don't even ask why I don't want to practice law in South Dakota. I thought you knew I'm billed as the female Clarence Darrow and a legal whiz who has no equal. You need to get with it, Teddie," Lizzie said airily, as her gaze raked the rows and rows of slot machines. Since Marble Rose wasn't into blackjack or roulette, Lizzie gave the tables barely a glance.

  Ted frowned as he tugged at one of his ear-lobes. "All of that aside, there's a first time to fumble. Happens to the best of us." He hated it, absolutely hated it when Lizzie one-upped him.

  "I'm not you, Teddie, and it isn't going to happen. I have secrets that have secrets. I know people who know other people. A long time ago I decided I didn't need just a plan but a master plan, so I formulated one. It's all up here," Lizzie said, tapping her head. "You look. . .scared, Ted. Why is that?"

  "Because you scare the shit out of me, that's why. Listen, I forgot to mention I'm going to amble over to wherever the Review-Journal is and talk to a few of the local reporters. I want to get the real skinny on this place. I might hit up the Sun and the Northern View, too. The single guys are the ones I want to talk to. But that's for later, after our walk outside and after your meeting with Ms. Preston."

  "That sounds like a plan. I think we should head back to that cocktail lounge and order a drink. I've seen enough. I cannot imagine working a full eight-to twelve-hour shift in a place like this. A person's nerves must be twanging all over the place when they leave at the end of the day."

  "This ain't nothin'. You should see these casinos come eleven o'clock at night. That's when everything goes through the roof, and the high rollers come out to play." At Lizzie's quizzical look, he said, "I read a lot and go to the movies even more. Vegas is a gold mine in the entertainment business. People can't get enough of it."

  Lizzie's gaze swept the rows of slot machines until she found the one that had read $187,993 at last look. It now read $188,311. Absolutely amazing. She made a mental note to check the machine one last time before calling it a night. She might even do what Ted did, put a dollar in to see what kind of return she'd get for her investment.

  In what looked like a tiki bar, Lizzie settled herself in a comfortable rattan chair. Battery-operated candles sat in the middle of all the tables. Tiki torches with the same kind of battery lights were placed strategically around the huge bar area. Dried palm fronds and other assorted dried foliage were everywhere. Lizzie decided she would rather sit in a well-lit chrome-and-glass bar where she could really see what was going on.

  "I assume we're being watched here, too, right?"

  "You assume right. Bartenders are known for giving friends free drinks, adding an extra jigger to the glass. Everything here is suspect. This is just a guess on my part, but I'd wager there are at least two cameras in here, probably glued to all that fake palm crap. It's hard to be honest in a place like this. It's called temptation."

&nb
sp; A waitress who was pretty and shapely enough to be a Hollywood starlet bounced over to their table to take their order. She smiled, and the room lit up. "What can I get for you wonderful people? Welcome to Las Vegas."

  Lizzie smiled in return. "Scotch on the rocks," she said. Ted ordered a Corona.

  "Bet you can't guess how much these girls make in a night," Ted said.

  "Probably a couple of hundred if they smile at the guests. Waitressing is hard work, you're on your feet for your entire shift, and those girls wear high heels, so no matter what they make in tips, they earn it. Okay, how much?"

  "Eight, nine hundred a night. Most are girls working their way through college. Like I said, I read a lot. So, is she late, or are we early?"

  "We're five minutes early. You look nervous, Ted. Relax."

  Their drinks arrived, and the waitress made a production out of setting up the napkins and the small bowl of trail mix, then offering to pour Ted's beer. He declined the offer and immediately took a swig out of the bottle. Lizzie dug around in her purse and pulled out her American Express Black Card and handed it over. Ted noticed.

  "The Centurion Card, eh? Guess they do pay you the big bucks. I heard that card is titanium and makes a different sound when you drop it on the table."

  "True," Lizzie said as she watched for someone who might be looking around for her. Just as the waitress returned her credit card, she saw a dowager type walk up the two steps into the tiki bar and look around. Lizzie left a 30 percent tip, then scrawled her name across the bottom of the charge slip. She jammed the receipt and card back into her bag as she stood up and walked over to the dowager, who was still looking around.

  "Ms. Preston?"