Las Vegas Crime

by Leslie Wolfe

  “We’re on the same team, right?” I asked, a lame opener but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Sure, absolutely,” he said, looking at me with scrutinizing eyes. “Just tell me what you need.”

  “I don’t trust people easily,” I confessed, “but I’ll take a leap of faith here.”

  He nodded, while I searched his face for signs of deception, of a hidden agenda. There were none.

  “We’re close to finding Meredith, but we need something to happen before we can pull that off. I’ll tell you what that is, but if you budge ahead of time, if you do anything other than what we agree here, you’re going to be responsible for that girl’s death, possibly Holt’s too. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes,” he replied, his forehead just a little bit tense. “You have my word, Detective.”

  “I need you to help Holt break a perp out of lockup. You have to make sure this escape happens, but then is contained nicely and the perp doesn’t walk.”

  “So, that’s the ransom for his daughter’s life,” he said plainly.

  “Precisely. This perp knows the location of two hundred kilos of dope, and he will share that information when he’s on a jet taking off to Argentina. We’re securing the jet as we speak, but we need your help in getting all the game pieces together.”

  “My job is to find Meredith,” SA Glover replied. “That’s why—”

  “That’s exactly what you’d be doing, finding Meredith,” I cut him off, afraid he was going to refuse to help me.

  He nodded with a tiny, tight-lipped smile. “I was about to say the same thing. My mandate is to do whatever it takes to find that girl, to bring her home safely. You’ll have my team’s full cooperation.”

  I looked at him, feeling choked with gratitude and a bit embarrassed for assuming he’d brush me off. Maybe later down the road there would be hell to pay, but today I needed all the help I could get.

  “Holt will intercept the convoy and will radio to instruct them to stop and surrender the prisoner because he’s needed for something else. I don’t know what Holt will claim the reason is; we couldn’t speak freely.”

  “Where is Detective Holt?”

  I looked away for a moment, then sighed, a pained breath filled with frustration.

  “He’s traded his life for his daughter’s, but the kidnapper broke the deal and captured Holt too. He’s holding them both hostage now.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “Yes, for Holt, no, for Meredith; not yet. Please, Agent Glover, do not intervene in any way until I give the signal.”

  “Yes, understood. I gave you my word.”

  I felt a bit ashamed of my distrust and my own insecurities, but, under the circumstances, I could never be too sure. I cleared my throat quietly and continued.

  “After Holt takes over the prisoner, Tyson Klug, he’ll transport him to McCarran International, where the jet should be fueled and ready on the tarmac. Do you think you can help me with this? It’s supposed to go down in two hours.”

  “Yes, we can make this happen, Detective. What else?”

  I smiled, a touch of sadness fluttering on my lips. It was time I started making someone pay for my husband’s senseless death, the real villains, not that piece of street scum murderer, Reyes. It was time I took my game to a whole new level. I wasn’t scared; the thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline rush fueled my energy, my courage, and my desire to prevail.

  “Out of the two hundred kilos, I’ll need to hold on to twenty,” I announced, then waited for a reaction, but there was none. Glover was quietly taking notes, not a trace of judgment or surprise on his face. “You can take possession of the rest. Oh, and please pass on a message to IAB Lieutenant Steenstra for me.”

  That sounded weird, in the age of mobile phones, but he didn’t show any concern in his supportive eyes; only surprise. “Go ahead, what should I say?”

  “Please tell her I’m going deep undercover. I have the possibility to infiltrate Snowman’s organization at the top level, and bring it carefully down, without soaking the city streets in blood. I can find and sever the pipelines used by the cartels to bring the product through Mexico straight to the Strip. I can gain intel about the drug lords behind the supply and lure them into our traps. Please let her know she needs to set it up.”

  He looked at me as if I were completely insane. Maybe I was; I sure acted as if I were, but it made so much sense to me. I’d found a new purpose in life, the purpose I’d been searching for while roaming the streets of my city at night, looking for my husband’s killer, driven to bring justice where during the day I couldn’t.

  “Detective, this is an operation that requires months of preparation time,” he reacted.

  “I’m going in now, in less than twenty minutes.”

  “Why ask IAB for that kind of support setting this up? That’s not what IAB normally does.”

  I laughed, a quiet, slightly bitter laugh at my own past, my screwed-up personnel file, at yesterday’s fears for my future and my career, that through some twist of fate had stopped being relevant overnight.

  “That’s because she knows better than anyone else what I can and cannot do.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding twice as if forcing himself to accept the information against his better judgment. “Who will you work with?”

  “Holt, and only Holt. I don’t trust anyone else. Tell Steenstra I’ll be in touch.”

  “Will do,” he replied, giving me a long stare. I didn’t read contempt or ridicule in his eyes; only encouragement and a hint of admiration. “Good luck, Detective.”

  I waved and rushed back to the car, then sped out of there. I had less than twenty minutes left before I had to be back at the plumbing store.

  Behind the white sheers lining the living room window, Lieutenant Steenstra stared at the vacant driveway, slack-jawed, silent, preoccupied.

  39

  Games

  Fifty-three hours missing

  The traffic was lighter on the way back to Henderson, without an apparent reason. Many times, traffic behaved like a swarm of sentient beings; in fact, it was a swarm. Multiple entities coordinated their movements in precise ways to achieve a goal, not unlike bees or sparrows. Sometimes, the swarm moved fluidly, making good use of the speed limit tolerance, other times it just slowed without any reason.

  I was already on I-15 when the phone rang. It was Fletcher.

  “Do I have a private jet yet?” I asked.

  “Unbelievably, yes, but that’s not why I called,” he replied. “Patching through a call from Anne.”

  I waited until I heard her voice. “Anne?”

  “Yes, Anne, who’d kick your ass Marine-style if she could get her hands on you. What the hell are you thinking, Laura? I can’t lose you too.”

  “You won’t lose me, I promise,” I said, knowing I had no basis for that statement, knowing she knew that too.

  “You can’t just show up at a drug boss’s den and… Jeez, woman, you’re crazy.”

  I weighed that statement for a moment. “Yeah, I am, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” I asked, trying to bring a bit of optimism into the conversation.

  “You’re right,” she replied. “No point in trying to talk you out of it, is there?”

  “No,” I said calmly. “Seven more minutes of driving time, and I’m there. Fingers crossed, my dear friend, I’ll need it.”

  “Toes too,” she replied, a hint of sadness in her voice. “But that’s not why I called. I ran the Henderson perp’s DNA against the serial killer’s, and it’s not a match.”

  “Bollocks,” I reacted. I needed a break and wasn’t getting one. “I don’t think any of the guys at the plumbing store will be a match either.”

  “But I found a TV remote control at the scene, as dirty and as gross as only TV remotes can be, chock-full of epithelials, saliva, even semen.”

  “Eww,” I reacted.

  “One of the samples on the remote was a matc
h to the Mojave Desert killer. At some point in recent history, that man was in the Henderson house, watching TV.”

  I took a moment to let that sink in. We were getting close to that sick son of a bitch. What if my gut was off, and one of Snowman’s goons was the killer?

  “That’s good news, Anne. We’ll find the bastard. I’ll get some DNA samples from the plumbing store crew. What did you find at the new scenes in the desert?” I asked, and held my breath, bracing for more horror.

  “The same MO, same signatures. Young girls, violently and repeatedly raped, chemically paralyzed, and left to die a slow death in the desert. The killer showed no concern whatsoever with leaving his DNA all over the victims, which made me think of something.”

  “What?”

  “Mandatory collection of DNA for convicted felons was implemented in 2009. I’m thinking it’s impossible that someone with his behavior doesn’t have a record, but he must’ve done his time before that year, or his DNA would be in the system. We could look at rapists who were convicted and released prior to that date and see if a particularly sick bastard pops up.”

  “What would you be looking for? Other than the obvious, sexual assault of young girls?”

  “I’d look for chemical restraining. One doesn’t start with modified tetrodotoxin; one grows into that, learns, experiments, evolves. He might’ve tried Rohypnol first, maybe other agents. Or he might’ve been busted for necrophilia.”

  “That’s excellent thinking, Anne,” I reacted. “Please ask Fletch to run that search for you, then cross it against Snowman’s known associates. I’m almost at the store; got to go.”

  She wished me good luck again and made me promise I’d be careful. I ended the call, the sound of her voice still reverberating in the silence inside my car as I pulled into a parking spot at the store.

  Snowman’s muscle, Huber, didn’t bother with the pat-down this time; he grunted at me, then opened the door. I walked down the dark hallway quickly, clacking my heels, a way to give Holt the heads-up I was coming.

  I found Snowman shouting at Holt, my partner still tied up to the same chair but showing his usual stamina and contrarian attitude. What was it with men that fueled their urge to defy their captors, the only thing resulting being more beatings, more pain?

  When I approached, Snowman stopped his shouting mid-phrase and turned my way.

  “Well, ain’t that our newest friend, Don’s personal envoy to Sin City,” he reacted, the sarcasm in his voice unmistakable. It made me worry, wondering what could’ve happened to make him change his attitude. It could’ve been the influence of his frustrated lieutenants, who saw a threat in my presence. Or it could’ve been the real Don, calling him for whatever reason. That thought sent chills down my spine.

  As I always do when I’m cornered, I bluffed. “If you figured things out already and no longer need my help, I’ll be on my way,” I said calmly. “Take today to sort through this, and if you’re still alive and out of jail tomorrow, call me to discuss northeast metro.”

  “Why the rush, sweetheart?” he said, grinning widely and giving me a lewd, head-to-toe look.

  I glared at him with a searing expression on my face, then I lowered my voice as I spoke, pacing my words for a more menacing effect. The real Olivia would’ve shot him in the groin; I didn’t have that option, at least not yet, but it wasn’t completely off the table.

  “Be careful, Snowman, this is one of those defining moments in your life. You could be reflecting back on this moment and all the bad decisions you made today, from your deathbed or from jail. I’ll give you that choice.”

  He held my eyes without blinking for a few moments, then looked away. “What did Don say?”

  “He said it’s up to me if I help you or not, but if this happens again, or if you don’t fix the mess you’ve made with the cops, he’ll cut you off and bring on someone new.”

  He turned to me and closed the distance between us in two huge steps. I refrained from reaching for the gun I was carrying in my holster.

  “That simple, huh?” he hissed, so close to my face I could smell his sour breath.

  “That simple, Snowman. It’s your call. Do this right or do this wrong, it’s entirely up to you.”

  He broke eye contact and started pacing the stained cement in front of Holt’s chair, angry and rushed at first, then slower and slower, as the voice of reason sunk in and won the match in his interiorized battles.

  “Will you let me use your jet to get that no-good piece of shit off to Argentina?”

  I looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing my options. “Okay, I will. But you owe me big. Keep that in mind, because I’ll come calling.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it; I ain’t stupid,” he replied, looking at his watch nervously.

  “The hell you ain’t,” I replied coldly. “You’re a bloody tosser, that’s what you are. A wanker and a twat.”

  “What the hell language is that?” he reacted. “Got something to say, say it so I can understand it.”

  I scoffed, but then walked over to Holt. “Look at what you’ve done to this cop’s face. You want him to go out there and make those other cops release your brother in his custody, when he looks like that? Anyone could see he’d been beaten all night. Your macho bullshit jeopardized your own plan. Beat him afterwards if you have to, but right now, let him wash himself, eat something, drink some coffee. Get him some clean clothes.”

  “This ain’t a damn hotel,” he reacted. “Where the hell can I get him clothes and stuff?”

  “Hint, wiseass: you’re in a mall,” I replied. “Send one of your boys shopping.”

  He hesitated, looking at his watch again, then at Holt, then at me. Holt’s clothes were stained with blood and soiled from the times he’d been kicked to the floor. His face was swollen and covered in cuts and bruises.

  “No one’s going to release a prisoner to a cop who looks like this, Snowman. Use whatever brain you have and do this right.”

  I beckoned one of his goons, a man whose name I still didn’t know, and asked for pen and paper.

  “What for?” he asked, and in response, I scowled at him. Olivia would never justify herself.

  He scrambled and returned with half a pencil and a stretch of cash register receipt paper. I scribbled a short shopping list. “You’ll get these items from a cosmetics store.”

  He looked at me, confused. “What’s all this stuff?”

  “Makeup, to cover the cuts and bruises that you knuckleheads thought he’d need to get the job done. Now, move it.”

  He looked at Snowman for approval, and his boss shrugged and made an indifference gesture with his hand, and he left in a hurry.

  We spent the next fifteen minutes in a tense silence mixed with brief dialogue. I kept asking him details about the escape plan, he kept avoiding giving me any straight answers. It was as if he felt something was off, and I kept wondering why. Was I not playing Olivia that well? What if my acting career hadn’t picked up in the London of my youth because I wasn’t that good of an actress to begin with?

  I replayed the earlier scenes in my mind and found no fault in my acting. The only thing I’d let slip was my burning hatred for the man pacing the floor in front of me. He was a sex trafficker of underage girls, a rapist, a torturer, and a drug dealer. He was the scum of the earth, and my gut ached for the release of putting a few holes in his chest. He was a predator.

  Like all predators, he had instinct, and that instinct probably rang all sorts of alarm bells in his head whenever I drew near, sensing my intentions to end his life. I pretended to examine a shelf with pipe fittings and used the time to center myself, to purge all that emotion out of my body. Yes, when the time came, I’d put the bastard down, but until then, no emotions were to cloud my judgment. Olivia would’ve been cold as a snake, a killer and a predator just like him.

  With that commitment made to myself, I walked over to him and touched his elbow. He flinched almost imperceptibly.

  �
�Let’s grab us a coffee and walk through the details one more time,” I said calmly, in a friendly tone.

  He looked at me as if he’d just noticed my hair color had changed, and then snapped his fingers. Within one minute, Huber delivered a cup of coffee for me and a cold beer for him.

  I ignored the layered grime on the cup and sipped a tiny bit. “How much time until you leave?” I asked.

  “Thirty minutes,” he replied, “but I ain’t going nowhere. My man’s taking the cop over to the place where they’re going to grab Tyson. I’ll wait here for the call, then I’ll get my dope back.”

  “Let the cop drive his own car over there, for authenticity,” I suggested, knowing Holt always kept a loaded Glock Velcroed under his seat. “He won’t do anything funny; you’ve still got his kid.”

  Snowman frowned and checked the time again. “Yeah… Then they need to leave in thirty minutes. His car ain’t here.”

  He walked over to Holt and cut his ties. Holt stood and rubbed his wrists to restore the blood flow, then stomped in place; he was probably numb from being tied to a chair for so long.

  When the reluctant shopper returned, he had everything I’d asked for, including a new suit and shirt for Holt. He took my partner in the back restroom and stayed with him until they both came out.

  He looked better, the dried blood now gone from his face and hands, but his face still needed work.

  “That’s an improvement,” I said. “Does anyone here know how to apply makeup?”

  No one said anything; Huber grinned and muttered something I didn’t understand.

  “All right, then, I need light, lots of it, and a mirror.”

  Huber and the other man looked at their boss, who pointed them toward the restroom. “Set up in there but make it quick. You got two minutes.”

  I had Holt sit on the office chair, in front of the mirror, and I started applying concealer, then rubbing it in gently with the tips of my fingers, careful not to cause him any pain. Huber watched me anxiously from the door, and that was going to pose a problem. The entire plan was going to fall apart if I couldn’t be alone with Holt for one brief moment.