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With more than an hour to kill, Alec returned to the casino. He wandered around listening to chatter about the arrest. It took some subtlety to overhear the employees’ discussions because they clammed up when they noticed him, but it seemed Annaliese didn’t have many friends. Not that he was surprised. People tended to be unforgiving when someone habitually colored outside the lines.
He followed an Elvis clone—the older, fat version—toward the gaming floor. Cleo’s high school classmate Robbie Jorgenson was setting up his blackjack table. Another guy, brown hair and eyes, not too tall but on the stocky side, sat on one of the stools, a stack of chips in front of him, chatting with Robbie as he worked.
Alec wandered over and sat down. “Remember me?”
Robbie stopped long enough to shake his hand. “You’re Cleo’s friend. Alec, is it?”
“Yup.”
“This is Dave Marsh.” Robbie nodded toward the other man.
Alec shook Dave’s hand. “You work here, too?”
“Security,” he said.
El mundo es un pañuelo, his mother often said; the world is a handkerchief. And Las Vegas appeared to be a very small, very generous handkerchief because Dave Marsh was exactly the source Alec had been hoping for. “I guess I’d better not count cards while you’re around then.”
Dave gave him a tired smile as though he’d heard that joke a hundred times before. Then he turned to face Robbie, giving Alec his profile. Robbie picked up one of the four decks of cards on the table and broke the seal.
“I’m guessing security’s in the hot seat at the moment,” Alec said.
“Yeah. We’re reevaluating some of our protocols,” Dave said without looking at him.
Alec tried another approach. “I work with Cleo Morgan. Do you know her?”
“Oh. Cleo.” Dave nodded as if he’d suddenly put the piece of a puzzle together. He kept his body facing forward, but turned his head toward Alec. “So you’re a reporter.”
It wasn’t quite an insult, but it was close. “Yeah. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“I’m not authorized to talk to the press.”
“I’m not looking for a statement. I just want to get a feel for how the system works.” He waved a hand toward the camera mounted high on the wall behind Robbie. “Like how someone could have gotten into Koblect’s suite without showing up on security’s footage.”
“Dave’s your man then,” Robbie said as he ran the cards through the shuffler. “He’s the camera guy. Programs the monitoring stuff.”
“Perfect,” Alec said.
Dave shot a scowl Robbie’s way. “Look, I’m a lowly technician, really just an IT guy attached to security.”
“You still know more than I do. I mean, I can hardly believe there aren’t cameras pointed at a private elevator that goes to the penthouse. If I were in charge of security in a place like this, there’d be one on every floor. Probably one inside the elevator as well. Hell, I’d probably monitor the elevator shaft.”
“That elevator only stops on certain floors, and there are cameras on each of those floors. We have all the coverage anyone would need.”
If they had all those cameras, they should have another suspect besides Annaliese, but if no one else had gone up to Koblect’s suite that night . . . He hated to think she might be guilty. He liked the woman, and he suspected it would devastate Cleo, so he prodded again. “Is there any way someone could have gotten to the penthouse without getting caught on camera?”
Dave tapped a rapid staccato against the felt tabletop with the edge of a chip. His right leg bounced, keeping time.
Alec knew a cop who’d told him how constantly amazed he was by what people would volunteer if given the chance. They wanted to talk, the cop professed, even when what they said would damn them. Alec’s gut said Dave was dying to spill something, so he waited, hoping Dave would fill the void.
“There’s an override switch in the penthouse,” Dave said, just before Alec gave up.
The dam had broken. He’d answer whatever questions Alec had. And maybe, if his cop friend was right, a few Alec wasn’t smart enough to ask.
Which would be a lucky break since Alec’s knowledge of high-end security systems was sketchy at best. Were override switches common? It seemed like a hole in the system to him. Then again, the boss made the rules. And if he chose to, he broke them as well. Who was going to tell him he couldn’t? “You’re saying Koblect had the ability to kill the cameras? All of them?”
Dave nodded jerkily as if he didn’t want to confirm his statement but couldn’t help himself. “All of the ones for his suite and the private elevator.”
“Did he turn the cameras off Sunday night?” Alec asked.
“How should I know? The cops took all that stuff.”
Which meant that either there was no one else on the video going up to the suite or there was no video after Annaliese went up. “Was Koblect in the habit of turning off the cameras?”
Dave huffed and turned toward Alec. “Look, he did it sometimes. And before you ask, I have no idea why. It’s not like he shared his reasons with us. Maybe he had meetings he wanted off the record.” His mouth tightened. “Or maybe he had assignations he didn’t want his wife to find out about. I don’t know. I’m just a peon.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to push,” Alec said, lying like a cheap rug.
Robbie loaded the shoe. “Time to play. Pony up, guys.”
Alec put a couple chips on the table. By the third hand, other players were sitting down, killing any chance to get more information. It was time to check in with the home office anyway. He picked up his chips and found his way into one of the casino bars where he ordered a Cuba Libre—the drink his father called The Liar.
He took his drink, chose a table with no one in eavesdropping distance, and hit the speed dial. Linnie, the editor-in-chief’s personal assistant, answered on the second ring.
“Hey, chica. ¿Que pasa?”
“Alec! Are you calling to say you’ve hit the big jackpot and aren’t coming back?”
“Sadly, no. How’s tricks?”
“Tricks are for kids, but this place has been a barrel of laughs. Probably because of all the monkeys who work here. Your friend Jackson is up for Monkey of the Week, by the way.”
Some things never changed. “What’d he do now?”
“Apparently, he’s been dipping his wick with someone’s girlfriend. Not that that’s any big surprise, but Jax really should check out the boyfriend first and make sure he’s not a pro-wrestler.”
“Oh no.” Alec’s smile stretched into a grin.
“Oh yes. Said wrestler showed up yesterday, bellowing like a bull moose in rutting season and wanting to lock horns with poor old Jackson.”
Alec laughed. “Where did he hide?”
Linnie chuckled and he knew it was going to be good.
“In the ladies loo.”
His laugh turned into a guffaw.
“Nigel’s been trying to reach you,” she said.
Not surprising. Alec had turned off his phone for the press conference and hadn’t turned it back on. “I guess you’d better put me through then.”
When his boss got on, they talked about the press conference for a minute before Nigel asked, “How are our girl’s contacts there?”
“You’re going to love this. We’re staying at Annaliese Carson’s condo.”
Silence followed his announcement. Then, “Did I hear you correctly? You’ve been staying with the woman they arrested?”
“Yup.”
Nigel’s laugh sounded wickedly delighted. “Cleo’s connection?”
“Yeah, they’re remotely related. But not everyone knows that, so we have an edge if we keep it quiet.”
“Well, isn’t this our lucky day?” Another laugh. “The Sun really cocked up, letting our new wunderkind get away.”
“Yup.” Alec gave Nigel a couple of seconds to bask in the anticipated glory of scooping The Sun and every other mainstream news outlet. “Annaliese is going to need money for her defense and probably for bail, too.”
“If she’ll agree to an exclusive, I’ll send a lawyer down there with a contract and a big, fat check.”
There were rules against criminals profiting from their crimes, but they didn’t apply until if and when Annaliese was convicted.
Innocent until proven guilty was a wonderful thing.
“I may have another scoop for you,” Nigel said. “The widow is looking to sell her story.”
So that’s what “considering her options” meant. Alec didn’t know why he was surprised. It didn’t matter how much money some people had. They were mercenary to the core. Then again, Liz might not be the primary heir to Sebastian’s estate, so maybe she was doing the smart thing. “How much is she asking?”
“She wants a million, but I think we can get it for less, barring a bidding war.”
“I want that interview,” Alec said, letting his tone convey how badly. Madre de Dios, he was glad he worked for a paper with deep pockets.
“I never thought otherwise. I’ll let you know when we have it nailed down.”
As Alec hung up, the bartender approached to set a second drink in front of him.
He cocked an eyebrow.
“Got yourself an admirer,” the bartender said with a wry smile.
He swiveled, looking in the direction the bartender had tipped his head.
There was Martin Howard Prescott the third leaning against the bar. He lifted his glass, acknowledging Alec, then strolled over. “How’s the story coming along—Alex, is it?” Martin sat down without waiting for an invitation.
“It’s Alec actually.” Did Martin really think getting his name wrong was going to bother him? Like he cared what egghead the third thought of him. Of course, Martin didn’t know Alec worked for a tabloid, so how was he to know Alec had learned to let insults roll off his back a long time ago. Insults far worse than meaningless digs about his name. Then again, old number three didn’t even have a name that was exclusively his, so maybe such things meant more to him. “The story’s coming along great, Marty.”
Martin didn’t wince at the nickname. If it weren’t for that slight tightening around his left eye, no one would ever suspect it got to him. Score one for team Alec.
“Are you meeting Cleo here?” Martin asked.
Marty was a direct kind of guy, was he? No beating around the bush, no banal misdirection about the murder, just a straight cut-to-the-chase. “Nope, she’s off following up on a lead.”
“Yeah, she always was driven. Not much of a team player, but sharp as they come. She’s got a real instinct for the job.”
“Yup. That’s our Cleo. A real go-getter. The Sun really screwed up letting her get away.”
A split-second twitch of the lips from Martin. Another hit. Alec-2, Martin-0.
“Tell me, who profited from our loss?” Martin asked.
Alec picked up his drink and swirled it, so the ice clinked against the glass, before taking a healthy swig. Cleo would hate for Martin to know she’d taken a job at a tabloid. Besides, Marty was supposed to be some hotshot reporter. Maybe it was time he did his own investigating instead of asking for a handout. “I hang my hat at The Post.” Let’s see how long it takes him to figure out that’s a lie.
Marty’s eyebrows twitched. “I didn’t know Cleo’d cast an eye their way.”
“Really? Huh. Here I thought you were close friends. But then maybe some information is classified for really close friends.”
Ah, there it was. Both eyes narrowing. At least the guy recognized he was being slammed. It was much more amusing when Alec wasn’t the only one who knew.
His phone played the opening notes to “Hot Child in the City.” Alec answered. “Hey, chica.”
“Where are you?” Cleo asked.
“I’m at the casino.”
“Meet me out front in five?”
“Works for me.” He disconnected and shoved the phone in his pocket. “Gotta go.” He took the last swallow of his drink and he stood.
“Tell Cleo I said hi,” Marty called as Alec walked away.
“I’ll do that,” Alec said. The next time they held the Winter Olympics in hell.