Nightwalker. Part 10

"No, it's okay. I needed to get moving. And I'm happy to help out-if I can."

"You were working, overseeing the croupiers, when Tanner Green died," Dillon said.

"Yeah, I was." Jim shook his head. "I was there, and I didn't see a d.a.m.n thing."

"Nothing at all?"

"I probably should have seen him stumbling through the crowd. It was weird, though. I mean, wouldn't you think he'd have been trying to get help? I don't know why he didn't grab someone outside, or in the crowd. But he made it all the way over to the table. The thing is, I had just come on."

"What?"

"I had just come on duty. Darrell Frye was on before me. He went on break, and I came on just as things were going down, and I didn't notice because I was busy getting a feel for what was going on. There's huge money out there on those tables, you know. And we're responsible for making sure everything runs smoothly."

"Well, thanks for coming to talk to me," Dillon told him a few minutes later, after they'd run through the events of Green's death again, just to be sure they hadn't missed something. "I appreciate it. I'll find Darrell Frye and see if he can remember anything about what happened before you got there."

"Sure. You'd think someone would have noticed something. Green sure took one h.e.l.l of a long walk with a knife in his back. Maybe he was stoned or something and didn't even know he'd been stabbed."

"Maybe he was," Dillon said. Not only would that explain why he had stumbled through the crowd, half-dead, without stopping someone and begging for help, it could explain his confusion and fear as a ghost.

The minute James left, Dillon put in a call to Cheever, cursing the fact that he needed to go through the proper channels if he wanted to remain in the loop.

He was given the runaround for several minutes, but if there was one stereotype he rather liked, it had to do with the belief that men of Indian blood were stoic. Determined. He kept that thought in mind as he waited, and eventually Jerry Cheever came on the line.

"What?" the cop asked, and Dillon wasn't sure if the question held annoyance or curiosity.

"I was anxious to see if the autopsy report was in on Tanner Green."

"Autopsy report? You were there-the man had a knife in his back," Cheever said sarcastically.

"Right," Dillon said with an edge. "And a man with a knife in his back would want it out, I imagine. Wouldn't you think he'd approach the nearest person and ask for help? Unless he was disoriented."

"A knife in his back would make him disoriented-wouldn't you you think?" think?"

"He stumbled like a drunk man. Or someone who had been drugged," Dillon said.

"I'll get back to you. I'm sure the morgue ran a basic tox screen. If not, I'll see that they do," Cheever said.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

Dillon was pretty sure Cheever muttered something as he hung up. Whether he was irritated for not having figured out himself that Green might have been drugged, or if he was just annoyed that his superiors had told him he had to work with a private investigator, Dillon couldn't tell. And he didn't really care, as long as the man followed through.

There had been other witnesses that night, of course, and it would be interesting to find out what they had to say. Especially Darrell Frye, the pit boss who had been in charge, only to disappear just when Tanner Green had stumbled in. Not that there was necessarily anything suspicious about that. People went on break all the time.

But it was possible that the limo had belonged to the Sun, and that might make Frye's whereabouts relevant. He took a stroll over to the casino, and was told that Darrell Frye wasn't working, that in fact he was taking some vacation time.

Back out front, Dillon asked for Rudy Yorba.

He was startled when the woman at valet parking sucked in her breath and stared at him in horror. "I'm so sorry. I guess you haven't heard."

"Heard what?"

"Rudy's dead."

"What?" Dillon said, incredulous.

"He's dead. Hit-and-run last night. It's so terrible! It's been all over the news the last few hours. He was walking along the shoulder of the highway when he was. .h.i.t and thrown down an embankment.... No one even found the body until a few hours ago."

Dillon winced inwardly. He always listened to the news, but he'd woken up so late this morning that he hadn't even turned on the TV. And Cheever might have heard about it, but he wouldn't have thought about saying anything because he wouldn't have seen the connection.

"My G.o.d. No, I'm sorry. I haven't seen the news today."

The woman shook her head sadly. "He was killed not five miles from his home. It's just so sad. They think he was struck on his way home last night. A guy driving out to Lake Mead saw the vultures, so he went to see what they were so interested in, found the body and called the police out. It's just so awful, everything that's going on around here. First that bodyguard, and now Rudy...it's just tragic."

Dillon thanked her and turned away.

It wasn't just tragic. It was criminal.

6.

Backstage, before she even got out of her costume and makeup, Jessy called Sandra and arranged to go to the movies. Anything to take her mind off what was going on. Not only that, she didn't want to drive, because she was afraid of what she would do if she looked out the window and saw Tanner Green. Luckily Sandra had no objection to picking her up, and she sang to herself all the way home, thinking that might keep any ghosts at bay. Whatever the reason, she made it home without incident.

She and Sandra pulled up at almost the same moment.

"You look like h.e.l.l," Sandra told her with the comfortable bluntness that came from years of close friends.h.i.+p.

"I know. I didn't sleep well," Jessy told her.

"Are you frightened?"

"Frightened? Of what?" Jessy asked warily.

"Well, of whoever killed Tanner Green thinking you could recognize him and coming after you, too."

"Of course not," Jessy responded immediately, glad the possibility hadn't occurred to her earlier. "I mean, if I knew anything, I would have told the police, and the person would already have been arrested. Right?"

"Of course. If the police could figure out who he was from your description."

Jessy stared at her. "You know, you're not helping."

"Sorry," Sandra said, then forced a rea.s.suring smile and asked, "Hey, what happened to tall, dark and very handsome?"

"Who?" Jessy asked.

"You know exactly who I mean."

"Oh, Dillon."

"Yes, Mr. Oh-Dillon. What's up? What happened to him?"

"What do you mean, what happened to him? To the best of my knowledge, he's fine."

"You haven't talked to him again?" Sandra sounded dismayed.

"Actually, I have. He took me to dinner last night after the show."

Sandra stared at her in total exasperation. "Honestly, Jessy, if for no reason other than self-preservation, you should be hanging with that hunk of lean, mean security right now."

"Sandra, I am not going to hang with a guy just for protection."

"People have done worse," Sandra said with a shrug. "Wait, I have it."

"Have what?"

"The reason you're steering clear of him. Of all men. Because I know you're attracted to him," Sandra accused. "The thing is, you're chicken, and you have been for as long as I've known you. You're afraid of being hurt, so you push guys away."

"I have responsibilities," Jessy told her.

"Don't make excuses. You have a grandfather who loves you. He suffers from being old, but so do lots of people. The whole human race comes with baggage, Jessy, but if you let yourself be scared of every guy out there because you're defensive about Timothy, you're turning him into a brick around your neck, which he's not-and I know you don't really think he is, either. You're afraid someone else wouldn't love him the way you do, and that's not fair to Mr. Oh-Dillon or anyone else, or to Timothy himself. So start trusting someone, or else you're actually hurting Timothy yourself."

To Sandra's credit, Jessy saw the truth in her friend's words and was appalled at herself. "It's not Timothy. I know he's a gift in my life. And it isn't a lack of trust in humanity, or not only that. It's also a lack of time. Only it isn't any of those things with Dillon Wolf."

"But you do think he's hot," Sandra said, grinning.

"He's an attractive man," Jessy said evasively.

"Yes, so...?"

"All right, honestly? First off, he hasn't asked me on a date. He wants information, that's all. Second, I'm still not sure about his job and who he works for. It seems as if he answers me honestly, that he likes and respects the man he works for, and that everything's on the up-and-up, but...I still don't understand exactly what he does, what he has done, why he's here.... I mean, Dillon claims there's nothing shady about what's going on, but what is Harrison Investigations, exactly? How is that no one seems to know anything about it even though he says it's all out in the open, but somehow he has access to cops who don't really want him b.u.t.ting in? I don't get it. Who are are these people?" these people?"

"You're sounding panicky," Sandra said.

"I'm not panicky, I'm concerned. I just want to know who he really is and understand what's going on. So...what are they? Do you know?"

"Ghost hunters. Real ones," Sandra said soberly.

"What?" Jessy demanded. "Ghost hunters?"

"Okay, that's not what they call themselves. But it's what they do."

"And you know this because...?"

"Because I read," Sandra said.

Jessy frowned. "Hey, I read all the time."

Sandra laughed. "I'm not casting aspersions. I read People People cover to cover, too. But I did some research when the whole Harrison Investigations thing was first mentioned, and what I found was pretty interesting. Adam Harrison declines interviews, and says he and his people are just like any other investigators. But...hang on. I had a feeling you'd be interested, so I brought a few things with me." Sandra reached into her huge tote and pulled out several magazines. "Read these." cover to cover, too. But I did some research when the whole Harrison Investigations thing was first mentioned, and what I found was pretty interesting. Adam Harrison declines interviews, and says he and his people are just like any other investigators. But...hang on. I had a feeling you'd be interested, so I brought a few things with me." Sandra reached into her huge tote and pulled out several magazines. "Read these."

The first magazine was a sensationalist rag. The headline read, Elvis never died. He was just recalled to his s.h.i.+p! Elvis never died. He was just recalled to his s.h.i.+p!

Jessy stared at Sandra, arching a brow.

"Oh, ignore that," Sandra said. "Go to page four."

Jessy flipped through to an article about a ghost in the D.C. house of one of North Dakota's state senators. Harrison Investigations had been called in, only to report that the "eerie noises" and weird happenings in the historic home were being caused by a nest of squirrels-and an unhappy const.i.tuent who had managed to get a job as a housekeeper for the senator. The reporter claimed to know, however, that the house had been haunted by a man shot in a quarrel after the Lincoln a.s.sa.s.sination for insisting that Dr. Samuel Mudd had treated John Wilkes Booth's leg as he would have any patient's, unaware that Booth had just killed the president. The reporter was certain that a member of Harrison Investigations had a.s.sured the ghost that Mudd-and he-had been vindicated, and the ghost had moved on.

Jessy stared at Sandra. "You've got to be kidding."

"Check this one out, then."

She handed Jessy another magazine, a respected news weekly, which carried an article about the same incident and mentioned several others, finis.h.i.+ng by saying, Whatever the problem-wildlife, pranksters or even revenants with a grudge-Harrison Investigations seems capable of solving the problem, quietly and without fanfare. Whatever the problem-wildlife, pranksters or even revenants with a grudge-Harrison Investigations seems capable of solving the problem, quietly and without fanfare.

"So they investigate squirrels," Jessy said irritably.

"They're ghost busters," Sandra said firmly.

"If that's true, it just proves my point exactly. Do I really want to get involved with a whack job who thinks investigating ghosts is the way to solve a crime?"

"You're hopeless," Sandra said. "Don't get involved with him, then. Have s.e.x. Maybe even let him be a friend-with benefits. But stop spending your life in a funk, doing nothing but working, eating a TV dinner, going to bed-"

"I never eat TV dinners," Jessy protested.

Sandra ignored her. "And visiting Timothy. And frankly, hanging out with a nice strong guy would be a pretty good idea, if you ask me, because I think you should should be afraid. That guy didn't die from having too much fun. He was murdered. Knifed in the back. And like it or not, you're connected to his death. The more I think about it, the scarier I think it is." be afraid. That guy didn't die from having too much fun. He was murdered. Knifed in the back. And like it or not, you're connected to his death. The more I think about it, the scarier I think it is."

"What the h.e.l.l is the matter with you, trying to scare me like this?" Jessy demanded.

"I'm looking out for your welfare," Sandra told her.

"By scaring me to death?"

"You're not dead, so apparently my evil plan didn't work. But I still think you're in danger," Sandra said, nodding to show how serious she was.

"So you want me to get...involved with a man who might be crazy," Jessy accused.

"It's what you want, and you know it," Sandra said.

Jessy groaned and changed the subject. "Are we seeing a movie or not?"

"There's a new horror-" Sandra began.

"Very funny," Jessy said.

"Sorry," Sandra teased. "How about that new cops film?"