Nightwalker. Part 2

Cheever's officers were good, and the floor had quietly filled with them.

Dillon knew there were men already stationed at the doors, and he knew that the others would soon begin questioning the hundreds of people who had been in the casino. Crime-scene tape was already being stretched around the table.

Cheever suddenly stared at Jessy Sparhawk again. "The surveillance cameras will have picked up everything, you know."

"I told you exactly exactly what happened," she said, adding, "And I had nothing to do with it." what happened," she said, adding, "And I had nothing to do with it."

"Lieutenant Cheever," Dillon said, taking a step forward, "Miss Sparhawk is a victim here, and undoubtedly pretty d.a.m.n uncomfortable right now."

"That man is uncomfortable," Cheever said irritably, pointing to Tanner Green.

"No," Dr. Tarleton said. "That man isn't feeling a thing. He's dead. Knife wound to the back, short-hilted, long-bladed weapon, which is why no one noticed it-that, and the fact that they were all staring at the tables."

"You're sure on the weapon?" Cheever asked.

Tarleton cleared his throat and looked daggers at the detective. He wasn't fond of Cheever. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure. It's still sticking out of his back."

"Shouldn't there be a blood trail to show where he was stabbed?" Cheever asked, frowning.

"There might be a few specks somewhere. The knife acted like a cork," Doug explained patiently. "When Tanner fell, the knife was knocked aside and the blood began to gush. That's why Miss Sparhawk is covered in it."

"Bring in the crime unit-I want fingerprints ASAP," Cheever said huffily. He was embarra.s.sed, Dillon knew, that he hadn't figured out that the knife would have kept the blood from flowing. "All right, get everyone cleared out of here, and let the crime unit have the area from the door to the table." He glared at Dillon suspiciously. "You, too, Wolf. Let the crime-scene team get in here, and let Tarleton do his job."

Dillon stuck like glue to Jessy Sparhawk, who didn't protest when he led her away. He gave his own name, credentials and address to one of the officers, and watched as Jessy did the same. He noted that her address was in Henderson, a suburb just outside the city, and her occupation was entertainer. She was working at the newly opened Big Easy-casino. When a uniformed officer came over to interrogate her, she answered his questions calmly, even though she was still trembling.

No wonder. She was still bathed in the dead man's blood.

"Hey! How long are we going to be kept here?" a florid man in a plaid jacket shouted angrily.

"Until the lieutenant says you can go," one of the officers said.

Jessy Sparhawk looked at her watch and bit her lower lip.

"Are you late for work?" Wolf asked her.

She shook her head. "No, it's Timothy.... I didn't expect to be away from him this long," she murmured.

"Your...son?" he asked. She couldn't possibly have a kid over ten, and she didn't look like the kind who would leave a child at home alone while she went out and gambled.

She shook her head. "Timothy's my grandfather."

"I see. Give me a minute."

He strode across the room, to where Lieutenant Cheever was bullying a couple of the players who had been by the door when Green had entered. "Excuse me, Lieutenant," he said politely.

Cheever stared at him and controlled his hostility. "What?"

"The woman who was caught under the corpse, Jessy Sparhawk. She's miserable. Why not have a heart?" Dillon asked, as if there had never been the least animosity between them. "Let her go home and get cleaned up."

Cheever frowned and pointed at Dillon. "I need to talk to you."

"At your convenience. But let her go home. I can see that you've started releasing people once you've questioned them."

For a moment Cheever appeared to be almost human. He shook his head in frustration. "I'm trying to prevent an all-out riot here and not let a murderer slip through my fingers," he said.

"From what I understand, Green entered the casino, staggered through the crowd and crashed down dead on top of Ms. Sparhawk," Dillon said. "It's probable that he was stabbed outside the casino. Even a bunch of hard-core gamblers would probably notice someone going after someone else with a knife that big."

"So you say. He was a bodyguard for Emil Landon, wasn't he? Just like you."

"I'm not a bodyguard. Landon is convinced that someone is trying to kill him. I'm supposed to be finding out who. I just took the case, and I wasn't pals with Tanner Green. I knew him, yes, but that was it."

"So where the h.e.l.l were you, if you weren't at the table?"

"I'd been playing at the table, but I had just wandered into the high-stakes area over there," Dillon said, pointing toward the far left.

"Oh?" Cheever said, his eyes narrowing. His tone and his look clearly asked, What were What were you you doing in the high-stakes area? doing in the high-stakes area?

"I was checking out what players are in Vegas right now," Dillon said. "Like I said, I just accepted Emil Landon's offer. This morning, in fact. Plus, I was nowhere near the front door. And he was stabbed outside. I'd bet ten years that the crime-scene team will find specks of blood somewhere along the way."

Cheever stared at him, knowing he was right.

"The girl obviously didn't kill him," Dillon said flatly. "And she takes care of her grandfather. You need to let her get home."

"Lieutenant?" an officer said, approaching Cheever quickly through the crowd. "The security tapes are ready."

Cheever started to move.

"Lieutenant?" Dillon said, calling him back.

"All right, take her home. But you-I want you in my office tomorrow morning, eight o'clock sharp."

"I'll be there," Dillon a.s.sured him. "Emil Landon will want to know everything possible about this."

"And he will-when I have something to share." I have something to share."

"He'll want me to see those tapes."

"I don't like repeating myself, Wolf, so I'll only say this once. I know you know someone who knows the d.a.m.n governor, but you'll still wait until I've seen those tapes myself. Tomorrow morning, eight sharp."

"Right," Dillon said, turning away. More and more people were being released. Some, Dillon thought, would be heading on to other casinos, irritated that a man's death had ruined their evening. Others were guests at the Sun, and some of them would be heading up to their rooms, shaken by tonight's events.

Tanner Green had been no angel. He was known around Vegas. He had a record. And no matter what Cheever did that night, the killer was long gone. Even Cheever himself had to know that. He was just covering his a.s.s, going through the motions.

Cheever suddenly called his name again. "Wolf!"

Dillon paused and waited.

"I mean it. Eight o'clock."

Dillon tried not to laugh. Cheever always liked having the last word. It gave him a feeling of control.

Dillon turned again and made his way back around the closed-off gaming tables. Dr. Tarleton was still standing by the body with a member of the forensics unit, looking for trace evidence. Dillon paused for a moment, waiting. Watching.

Feeling the room. the room.

But nothing came to him. He paused for a moment longer, then proceeded to the area where Jessy Sparhawk was waiting. He pulled out his investigator's license again, in case the officers on crowd control didn't know him. "Ms. Sparhawk has been cleared," he said quietly to the one standing with his arms crossed over his chest, blocking the exit.

The man nodded, recognizing Dillon and barely glancing at his ID.

Dillon took Jessy's arm and led her out the door. She didn't protest; she readily hurried along at his side.

Once out the door-where police cars were as thick now as ants on a hill at the grand entryway-she let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks. Thanks so much. A P.I., huh? Well, I'm glad you're friends with that lieutenant."

"Not exactly friends," Dillon murmured.

They kept walking until they reached Las Vegas Boulevard, where another crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, everyone staring at the action and speculating.

When his cell phone started to ring, he wasn't surprised. In fact, he was surprised it hadn't done so earlier.

"Excuse me," he said to Jessy, then answered the phone. "Wolf."

Emil Landon's voice came through clearly, and hard with agitation. "I've just heard Tanner Green is dead. Dead. Dead. Murdered. Knifed in the back." Murdered. Knifed in the back."

"Yes, I was in the casino when it happened."

"Did you see-"

"No. I didn't even know he'd come in."

"You should have known, d.a.m.n you."

"Excuse me?"

"I need to see you. Now."

"As soon as possible."

"He was a bodyguard on my payroll. And he's dead. I want to see you now now."

"As soon as possible," Dillon repeated steadily.

"I can fire you, Wolf."

"Feel free."

Immediately Landon backed down. "Just get here as soon as you can. I told you I was in danger."

Dillon closed his phone. Jessy was looking away, courteously pretending she hadn't been privy to his conversation. "I'm sorry. You must be busy, and I have to get home."

"Where's your car, then? I'll walk you to it."

"I didn't drive tonight," she said. She flushed. "I had a business appointment, and I thought I might be stopping somewhere on the way home, so I decided not to drive. I, uh, I don't drink and drive."

"I didn't see you drinking."

"I wasn't, but I might have been. Long story. Anyway, I'm sorry, but I really do have to get home now."

"I'll take you. My car is just down the Strip."

"No, no, really. I'm in a hurry, and it's easier just to hail a cab. But thank you. Thank you so much."

What the h.e.l.l could he do? Insist? He didn't have the right.

"You could be in danger," he said. What a crock.

She smiled, knowing it was a line.

"Thanks. I'll be okay."

He kept his gaze locked on the crystalline blue of her eyes as he reached into his pocket for his card. "Please, call me if you need anything."

She smiled without glancing at it. "Wolf. Ute?" she asked. "Local tribe? Distant tribe? h.e.l.l, Erie? Cherokee? Apache?"

He grinned. "Paiute," he informed her, then offered her an awkward grin. "All right, so...Sparhawk? Ute, Apache, Nez Perce-stage name?"

"Lakota Sioux, my great-great-grandfather. I'm a real all-American mix," she replied, sounding amused. They stared at each other for another moment. Then she awkwardly took a step away. "I really have to go. Thank you again." She hesitated. "You knew him?"

He nodded.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm always sorry if a man is dead. But he wasn't a close friend."

"Oh."

He frowned. "You didn't cash in your chips, did you? No time, I guess. I forgot about them in the ma.s.s confusion."

She shook her head. "So did I. I have them, though. I can cash them tomorrow."

"Those chips represent a lot of money. You could be mugged," he told her.

She laughed. "A cabdriver isn't going to know about my chips," she a.s.sured him. "I'm okay, honestly. I'm a big girl. I grew up out here. I carry pepper spray. I'll be all right. I promise."

He saw a taxi. He wondered about the grandfather she had mentioned. Was he ill and waiting for her?

Dillon stepped out to the curb and whistled, flagging down the approaching cab. He saw her into it and waved goodbye. There was nothing else to do.

He frowned, watching the cab as it pulled away. There was a strange shadow next to her, almost as if there was a second person in the seat beside her.