Amanda pulled into the parking lot of the downtown library and got out of the car, the heat searing her lungs. It was late afternoon, when the October weather in Las Vegas should be perfect, but the sun still felt like an oven cranked to the broiler setting.
She had been stewing about the idea of Stride leaving since he told her. There was no reason to be angry at him, but she was angry anyway. For once, she had a partner she could work with, and suddenly she might lose him. She hated the idea of starting all over again with someone new. Anyone she got would probably be like Cordy, making jokes behind her back, ogling her tits, looking for ways to drive her out. It made her wonder again what she was doing here, and whether she and Bobby would both be better off if she followed Stride’s lead. Get out. Head for San Francisco. Leave the city and all its craziness behind.
She was in no mood for games. Her patience was worn down, like a T-shirt washed so many times you could see through it. When she looked across Las Vegas Boulevard, she saw the car again. A steel gray Lexus SUV. She had seen it twice before that afternoon and had already run the plates. She knew who was driving.
Amanda crossed the street. The car windows were smoked, so she couldn’t see inside. She rapped her knuckles on the driver’s window and waited.
The window rolled down. She felt a blast of cold air.
“Hello, Leo,” she said, trying not to boil over. “You following me?”
Leo Rucci was wearing sunglasses. The red veins in his neck bulged like barbells. “It’s a free country, ain’t it?”
“Sure is. Where any shithole hood like you can become a millionaire. God bless America.”
“Hey—”
“Don’t play games with me, Leo. I’m having a really bad day. Now get out of here, and don’t let me see you behind me again, or I’m going to haul your ass downtown.”
“For what?”
“For obstruction of justice and being really annoying to a police officer.”
“I can help you,” Leo said. “My way’s a lot quicker than some monkey trial. You get a lead on this guy, you call me. I take care of the rest.”
“Go back to the golf course, Leo. Let us worry about Blake.”
Amanda turned on her heel and stalked back across the street to the library. She heard Rucci’s car start up and roar away. Inside, she made her way to the reference desk.
“I’m looking for Monica Ramsey,” she said.
The librarian pointed at a tall woman in her fifties who was refiling microfiche boxes from a cart. Amanda approached her.
“Ms. Ramsey? I’m Amanda Gillen. You left a message on my voice mail?”
Monica had owlish glasses and long black hair tied in a ponytail. She was built like a walking stick and wore flimsy plastic gloves on her hands. “Oh, yes. You’re the detective. You’re looking for that man.”
“That’s right,” Amanda said, feeling a tiny glimmer of hope after hours of frustration. “Have you seen him?”
“Well, I think so, yes, although it was a number of weeks ago. I don’t see what help I can be.”
“You’d be surprised. Please tell me about it.”
“Oh, of course. Let’s sit down.”
They sat at the corner of a long reference table near the bookshelves. Monica peeled off her gloves. “I always wear these, you know, when dealing with fiche. The film is so delicate and so old.” She tapped her finger on the sketch that Amanda placed between them. “This man, he was so rough at handling the fiche. I had to ask him to be careful.”
“You’re sure this is the man?”
“Oh, yes. Those eyes are quite unforgettable.”
“No offense, but can I ask why you didn’t call me earlier?”
“I’m so sorry. We’ve been away. A Caribbean cruise. I just got back to the library today.”
“Tell me what you remember about the man,” Amanda said.
“Well, again, this was quite a while ago. Midsummer, I think. July? Maybe August. He came in on successive days, three or four days in a row, looking up all sorts of material related to Las Vegas in the 1960s. I pulled fiche, magazines, books. He wanted it all.”
“Did he tell you specifically what he was looking for?”
“Well, he had me run a Lexis search on one of the old casinos. The Sheherezade, I think. Yes, that’s right, because he was also reading about Boni Fisso, and as you can imagine, we have quite a lot of material about him.”
“Did he say why he wanted this information?”
“Oh, no. He really didn’t say much at all. Not a very talkative type. We get lots of requests for archival information, so it wasn’t at all unusual.”
“Did he ask you to research any other individuals? People besides Boni Fisso?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Monica, I really need your help here. We need to find this man right away. I’m going to ask you to think back, think real hard, and remember anything distinctive about him. What he wore, what he said, what he carried, what he did. Anything that might give us a clue about who he is and where we can find him.”
Monica sat up very straight in her chair, and her neck looked elongated. The librarian’s tongue slipped out to wet her lips. Amanda was reminded of a giraffe at the zoo, reaching to get a leaf from a distant tree branch.
“He had a blue backpack with him,” she said. “That was where he carried his materials. I really don’t remember how he was dressed. Jeans, maybe? Otherwise, there wasn’t anything special about him. I’m very sorry.”
Amanda was disappointed. “How about a car? Did you see him come or go, or see what direction he might have headed?”
Monica shook her head.
“Have you seen him since then?”
“No, he never came back, not when I was here.”
Amanda stood up. “I appreciate your time, Monica. Thanks very much for calling me. If you remember anything else, please let me know.”
“Of course I will.”
As Amanda turned to leave, she heard Monica giggling. She reversed her course. “What is it?”
Monica blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s very silly. I was just thinking, if you want to catch this man, you should stake out doughnut shops.” She laughed again.
Amanda looked at her, wondering if this was a stupid police joke. “Why?”
“Well, I remember now, the man was obsessed with Krispy Kreme doughnuts. I caught him eating a doughnut at the fiche machine, and I had to tell him that he couldn’t eat in the library. I told him I couldn’t resist those things either, and he said they were addictive.”
Amanda felt her heart race. “Thanks again, Monica.”
Son of a bitch, she thought. Krispy Kreme doughnuts.