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Glancing to her right while exiting the personnel office, Dela caught sight of the maintenance sign. “We need to check on Van Branson ’s plugged toilet last night since the person in the room said he didn’t call maintenance.”
“Let’s go.” Quinn led the way to the door of the maintenance department.
Albert, the head of maintenance, wasn’t on duty. At night only four people were available to take care of problems that arose. One was Clarence White who had helped them put sensors on the doors when they were catching a human trafficker.
“Dela, surprised to see you here. Have you had any sleep since becoming head of security?” Clarence asked.
Dela smiled at the man. He was the uncle to her best friend in high school. A young Umatilla woman who had been a victim of rape and murder. A crime that Dela beat herself up every day believing she could have prevented.
“Not much since Tristan Pomroy was shoved in the laundry chute last night.” She studied the two men behind Clarence. Both watched with interest. Neither were the man they wanted to speak with. “Is Van Branson here tonight?”
Clarence nodded. “Just got a call about one of the doors at the cinema plex sticking. He went to have a look at it.”
She walked out of earshot of the other two, motioning Clarence to follow her. When he did and leaned close, she asked, “What can you tell me about Van?”
The man’s eyes widened. “You think he killed Tristan?”
“We’re ruling him out. The occupant of the room he was supposedly called to said they didn’t have a plugged toilet last night.”
Clarence narrowed his eyes. “I took that call myself. They said, this is room eight-thirty-four. The toilet is plugged.”
Dela glanced at Quinn. She would believe Clarence if he said he saw the Queen of England walking down the street.
“Thank you. That means the person in the room is lying. Why?” Dela pulled out her phone and dialed Kenny.
“Hey, what’s up,” he answered.
“Can you remember exactly what the man in room eight-thirty-four said when you asked him about the maintenance man coming to his room?”
“He said he didn’t call about a plugged toilet.”
“Did you get his name?” Dela wanted to have Quinn do a check on the occupant.
“Just a minute.”
She heard paper flipping.
“Ronald Edmond. A salesman from Portland.”
“Thank you. Get some sleep. I’ll need you fresh in the morning.”
“Same for you, boss.”
She ended the call and faced Quinn. “Can you run a check on Ronald Edmond, a salesman from Portland?”
Quinn stared at her. “That name sounds familiar.”
“Then check it out. I’m going to see what Van has to say about last night.” She headed toward the door.
“You’re not going alone.” Quinn was on her heels.
“He’s not going to do anything. The area where he’s working has several cameras.”
“There were cameras on the tenth floor last night, too.” Quinn responded as they stepped out of the offices and into the lobby area.
That was true. However, if Van had been the one to kill Tristan, he had thought ahead and found a way to turn the cameras off. This would be an unexpected encounter with her right now.
A tall, wide shouldered man with a full beard and shaggy dark hair to the collar of his casino shirt, carried a tool box as he walked toward them.
“Van Branson ?” Dela asked.
“Yeah? Why?”
“I’m Dela Alvaro, head of security, and this is FBI Special Agent Quinn Peirce. We’re checking on everyone who was moving about last night during the time frame of the murder on the tenth floor.”
The man had looked worried when they first approached him. Now he stood slack hipped and smiled. “I heard about that when I came on shift. When did it happen?”
“About the same time you went up to the eighth floor for a plugged toilet,” Quinn said.
Van glowered. “Yeah, that bogus call. I knocked on the door and some woman said she didn’t know what I was talking about. The toilet wasn’t plugged.”
“Then what did you do?” Dela asked.
His eyes widened and what she could see of his face grew red. “I figured the guys in the maintenance room thought I was unclogging a pipe, so I went to the stairs and had a smoke.”
Dela knew more than Van who used the stairwell for smoking even though it was against policy.
“Did you see or hear anyone on the stairs while you were smoking?” Quinn asked.
“I thought I heard a door above me open and close. I didn’t hear any footsteps though.”
“Were you still on the eighth floor?” Dela asked.
“No, I’d walked down a couple floors. When I finished smoking, I walked the rest of the way down to the first floor.”
“You didn’t hear anything other than the one door opening and closing above you?” Dela didn’t understand why he would only hear one door. That meant someone had been on the stairs when Van came out to the stairs and went in or came out and didn’t use the stairs, just hid. Neither one made sense.
“That was it,” Van said.
“What were you working on down here?” Quinn asked.
Van waved his hand toward the cinema plex. “The second door going into theater two was sticking. I sprayed it with some lubricant and swung it back and forth a few times. It was definitely sticking in the hinges.”
Dela studied the man. So far, he’d appeared unfazed by their questions and seemed truthful in his answers. “Where did you live before moving here?”
His head whipped around and he stared at her. “I’ve lived in Oregon my whole life.”
“Then why isn’t there a record of you before three years ago?” Dela studied him, watching for tics to show he was lying.
“I was born at The Big Muddy Ranch in Antelope. I didn’t get a social security number or legal driver’s license until three years ago.”
“How could you go without a social security card or license that long?” Quinn asked.
Dela nodded her head. “It does seem like you would have encountered a time before now that you needed one. I believe it was one of the things the Rajneeshees wanted—more voters and would have made sure you were a citizen.”
He shook his head. “I was only a child when I lived at Big Muddy. I had no reason to be legal to vote. Then they dispersed and my mother moved to a commune. I had odd jobs that paid cash, mostly, and never had a need for a social security number until I decided to find full time work.” He shrugged. “As for a driver’s license, I’m an adult and as long as you don’t break the rules you don’t get pulled over.”
“But you need a license to register your vehicle,” Quinn said.
The man’s face reddened. “Not if you pay cash and there is already a license on the vehicle.”
Dela studied him. He’d learned all the ways to get around being counted by the government. She wondered if these were things taught at the Rajneesh compound. Stepping aside, she said, “Come tell me if you think of anything that might help us.”
“I will.” Van walked around her headed to the casino floor.
“He knows all the ways to get around the government.” Quinn stared at the man. “You didn’t ask him if he knew the victim.”
“His name wasn’t on the list or his initials in the ledger. But I wonder why someone asked for a maintenance man and then said there was nothing wrong. That feels more out of place than him having a smoke in the stairwell.” She pivoted and her fake foot stuck. She swayed, falling against Quinn.
He grabbed her. “Let’s call it a night. You go to that room you’re staying in, and I’ll go make some inquiries.”
She shoved against him, righting herself. “I’m not tired. My stupid—” She stopped. When she realized she’d be considered handicapped the rest of her life, she’d promised herself she would never use having one leg as an excuse for anything. “I need to talk to Verna. Then I can call it a night.”
“Call Marty and have him send her out to the Deli. You wanted to talk to Rosie anyway.”
She liked the idea of giving her aching stub a rest and talking to Rosie while they waited for Verna.
At the deli, Rosie greeted them both. “Dela, you keep showing up with handsome men and I may have to start arm wrestling you for them.” The woman was as wide as she was tall and her jolly personality was as warming as the sun.
Dela shot a glance at Quinn. She wished she hadn’t told him about Rosie ahead of time.
“Pleased to meet you, Rosie. Dela was telling me what a great judge of character you are.” Quinn smiled and his one dimple deepened.
“Oh, I like this one Dela, don’t let him get away.” Rosie patted her hand. “Coffee?”
“Actually, if you have a few minutes Special Agent Pierce and I would like to ask you some questions.”
Rosie leaned over the counter and asked quietly, “Is this about Tristan?”
“Yes.”
“Harvey, I’m taking a break,” Rosie called into the small kitchen behind the counter. She filled a drink cup and led them to a table in the back of the seating area. She settled onto a chair and waited for them to sit.
“What can you tell us about Tristan?” Dela started.
“He liked true crime. Every time he’d come in here for lunch, he’d tell me about some show he’d been watching.”
“Did he ever have lunch with anyone?” she asked.
“Once in a while Luis would join him, but not very often. Most of the time Tristan would sit back here in this area either looking at his phone or a little book.” Rosie slurped her soda.
“Did anyone stop by and talk to him when he sat here?” Quinn asked.
Rosie shook her head, then stopped. “Yeah, last week. A guy kind of dressed like you.” She nodded at Quinn. “They were deep in conversation, then Tristan shook his head, and the man said, ‘We’ll see about that,’ and left.”
Dela shot a glance at Quinn. He didn’t look like the woman had divulged anything interesting. “Can you remember the day? Or as close as you can?”
“I believe it was Thursday. Tristan had the soup. We always have split pea on Thursdays and it’s his favorite.” Rosie smiled. “Does any of this help?”
“Yes, Rosie. You are the reason I love my job.” Dela meant it. Loyal employees made her job so much easier.
“And you are why we all love our jobs. I hope that board is smart enough to make you head of security.” Rosie patted her arm.
“Thank you. It means a lot to hear that.” Dela pulled out her phone and texted Marty.
Send Verna to the deli, please. And pull up video in the deli for last Thursday from 11 am to 2 pm.
K.
“I’ll get us coffee while we wait,” Quinn said, standing and following Rosie back to the counter.
Dela nodded. Her mind was working through what they knew. She wondered who the man was in the suit.
Quinn returned with the coffee, placing one in front of her. “I like Rosie.”
She smiled. “Me too. She always brightens my mood and while you can learn a lot from her, she would never tell anyone but me what she sees and hears here.”
“I am also impressed with how loyal everyone at this casino is to you. Makes me think you aren’t that hardnosed, tight-assed M.P. sergeant I met in Iraq.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I believe in justice for everyone, but especially women who have been wronged. My prisoner deserved to be prosecuted for what he did to Amaris. Her family wouldn’t take her back and I couldn’t get her a visa to the U.S. Last I heard she was begging on the streets and most likely was assaulted again or killed. No one deserves to be treated that way.” The plight of the Iraqi women burned in her soul as much as the plight of the American Indigenous people.
“How many times do I have to apologize for doing my job? Zaid had information that saved a whole platoon. I had to put that over the woman getting justice.” He stared into her eyes. “Even if the case had gone to court, do you think she would have been treated any differently?”
Dela shifted her gaze to the table. She knew deep down, saving her own country’s people was what she had signed on for when she joined the army. But Amaris had needed someone to champion her.
Verna arrived. Her hands were clenched in front of her and her gaze darted back and forth from Dela to Quinn and back to Dela.
“Have a seat, Verna,” Dela said, motioning to the seat between she and Quinn.