The security office room was at the top of the stairs. A uniformed security man was posted at the door and we all had to show our IDs, which he examined carefully. He was young, twentyish, with a shaved head, swelling biceps, and a “don’t mess with me” air that was impressive. He’d calm rowdies in minutes in my opinion even if it meant cracking heads, which I guessed he’d do with impunity.
“Thank you, sir, thank you, ma’am.”
He gave some kind of secret knock on the door, which was opened immediately, and another shaven-headed security guard stood on the threshold.
“They’re clear. They’re here to see Mr. Torvill.”
He was being super polite, as was the other-side-of-the-door guy, but I could tell how it irked Ed. As far as he was concerned he had authority over the entire place, including security, but they were acting like a city state. Another man, much slighter of build, middle-aged, appeared at the door. He had a neatly trimmed moustache, a neat grey business suit, and a look of anxiety that seemed perpetual. He made me think of the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.
Ed introduced himself and us and Torvill stepped back so we could enter the room. It was large and I don’t think I have ever seen so many monitors in my life. Think of one of those television stores that have the TV sets along the wall, all playing at the same time. Multiply by one hundred. A dozen people on roller chairs were seated at various places in front of the different banks. They were reminiscent of air traffic controllers. Nobody was talking, all focused on their screens. At the far end of the room, two uniformed security men, knees locked, stood watching us incuriously.
A tall, tan-skinned Native man with a phone device in his ear was walking up and down behind the scanners.
“That’s our floor manager, Ben Snake,” said Torvill. “He’s got a good memory for faces. I’ve asked him to meet with us.”
He beckoned and the man headed toward us. Suddenly his eyes caught something on one of the monitors and he swivelled around, leaning forward to study it more closely.
“Zoom in,” he said, and the controller enlarged the image with a tap on the keyboard. An older Asian man sitting at one of the slot machines came into view.
“He’s not supposed to be here. He’s a self-excluder,” said Snake. He tapped out a code on the receiver pack at his waist. “Jerry! Aisle 3, slot 45. Male Asian, baseball cap. His name’s Lee. Remove him. This is the second time this week. Talk to him.”
“It happens all the time,” said Torvill softly, with an apologetic shrug. “People get addicted, lose their shirts, and voluntarily sign a request to the casino to bar them from playing. We do it, but in spite of that, there’s always somebody who tries to sneak in.”
Even as we watched the monitor, two large security men were at Mr. Lee’s elbows. He shrugged, put down his cards, and accompanied them out. No fight.
Snake handed his earpiece and receiver to one of the men on the roller seats, who got to his feet. Vigilance couldn’t take a break.
Ed checked his watch. “Sorry, Leo, I’m going to have to go. You’ve got my cell number. Either you or Christine can call me as soon as you have anything.”
He left and the guard at the door let him out promptly. Muscles and bald head aside, he was still a glorified concierge.
“Let’s go into my office,” said Torvill, shepherding us like a little flock. The three of us followed him through a side door, padded to keep out the din of the casino, into a small room that was disappointingly plain for the head office at a multi-million-dollar-earning casino. No thick burgundy carpet, no mahogany desk or leather chairs here. The furniture, what there was of it, was bland and dull. It reminded me of an airport waiting area but maybe I was still influenced by the control tower feeling of the other room. Torvill performed the introductions and Ben looked for what seemed an unusually long time into my face, I presumed committing my features to memory. I didn’t notice him doing that with Leo but maybe I was staring back at him. I’m a sucker for ponytails on men and he was sporting a long one, pulled tightly back from his face. He was probably in his mid to late forties, strikingly handsome with chocolate brown eyes and jet black hair. His face was lean and there was a gravity to him that I liked.
“First off, Dr. Forgach, let me say how sorry I am about what happened to your daughter.”
“Thank you.” Leo’s response was curt but I knew it was only to cover up the raw place in his psyche.
“Miss Morris, Doctor, please take a seat,” said Torvill. He went over to his desk and picked up a copy of Deidre’s photograph from the pile on his desk.
“Have a look at this, Ben. Do you recognize her?”
The manager briefly studied the photograph then nodded. “Absolutely. She’s a regular. Tuesday nights, always plays blackjack, usually table six.”
“I told you he has quite the memory,” said Torvill. Like a lot of men with facial hair he had a nervous mannerism of twiddling with it. He did it now, plucking at his moustache for a few moments.
Snake addressed us. “Gamblers are a superstitious lot. Most of our regulars return to the same table unless they’ve lost money there. They remember a win but don’t add up the overall losses. If they make some money, they’ll usually try to get the same seat, same dealer.”
“Did you see her yesterday?” Leo asked.
“I’m afraid not. I had the night off, so no, I didn’t.”
“What I suggest is that we go straight to the tapes that were focused on that particular table then,” said Torvill. “If Ben is right, and I’ve no doubt he is, it could save us a lot of time. I’ll cue the tapes for you.”
There were two of the ubiquitous monitors on a shelf and he inserted one of the tapes into the receiver from the reels he had in a box.
Ben was still holding the photograph. “She was a very pretty girl. I hope you catch the bastard who killed her.”
“We will,” said Leo.
“We’re ready to roll,” called out Torvill. “Miss Morris, let me show you how it works. We have two cameras on each table viewing from different angles. Monitor A, on your right, will show one perspective, monitor B the other. You can slow each frame by pressing ‘hold’ if you need to study something more closely. If you get something, you can print it out. Press ‘print.’ It’s quite simple.”
Just like the white rabbit himself he took a large gold watch out of his vest pocket. “I’d better get back to the floor — the customers do like to see me.” He touched his right ear. “Tell Ben if you need me and he’ll call me.”
I hadn’t even noticed his earpiece, which was nicely covered by his hair. Whew, the communication system in this place would put CTU to shame. I only hoped Mr. Lee hadn’t been taken off to the interrogation room to meet Jack Bauer.
Leo and I took the two chairs in front of the monitor and he pressed the start button. At the bottom of the screen the time clock began running. 7:56. Snake had stationed himself a couple of feet just behind my shoulder. The monitor I was looking at was trained at the dealer, who was a woman. There were seven players at her table and we could see clearly the faces of five of them. The other two had their backs to the camera. The second camera was focused from behind the dealer, and on that monitor, I could see all the faces.
Ben indicated monitor A. “We always keep a camera on the dealers. Believe it or not, it’s them we worry about. They’re all carefully vetted before we hire them but you’d be surprised how many of them become adept at sleight of hand and try cheating. We catch them eventually, but we’ve lost a lot of money that way. This woman is one of our stalwarts by the name of Betty Yu. She’s Chinese but she’s not allowed to speak Chinese to any of the customers. It’s all got to be in English. She’d be fired instantly if she even spoke to her own mother.” He chuckled. “Especially her mother.”
The dealer appeared to have a head cold, and while the players were studying their cards, she seized the chance to wipe her nose. As she was returning the tissue to her sleeve, it dropped to the ground. She stared straight into the camera and raised her hands. Then she bent down to retrieve the tissue, showed her empty hands again and returned to dealing.
“Good girl,” said Ben. “The dealer’s hands must be visible at all times. All money has to be put on the table, not into any palm which may be greased.”
I wished he’d been a bit more ironic about it but he wasn’t.
“There’s Deidre,” Leo called out and he immediately froze the frame. I might not have caught her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she had long bangs. She was standing just behind one of the players, her gaze intent on the play of cards. I made a note of the time — 7:57.
“Is there anybody else at the table you recognize?” I asked him.
“No, what about you, Ben?”
Snake pointed at a woman who was seated on the dealer’s right. “She’s here every single night. She’ll be at this table until about nine then she will leave and have a go on the slots. I’m keeping an eye on her. She bets a lot and loses a lot.”
The woman was a skinny, bleached blonde with a fifties beehive hairdo. Somebody’s grandmother.
“Did Deidre win or lose?”
“She’s a good blackjack player and I’d say most times she will be a winner. She’s sensible though and she doesn’t bet heavily even if she’s ahead.”
He spoke admiringly. He saw addiction all the time. Ruinous addiction.
“Any other regulars?” Leo asked him.
“That balding guy and the one next to him in the striped T-shirt. They move around all the tables though.”
“I’m going to print this off,” said Leo.
Ben pressed the button for him and the printer spat out the copy. Leo picked it up and looked at Deidre for a few moments.
“She’s got a purse with her. It is navy blue leather. It was a birthday gift.”
“Do you want me to backtrack her movements? I can go as far back as the entrance.”
“Yes, please.”
Ben began to reverse the tape, frame by frame, and we saw that Deidre had gone into the rotunda.
“What’s she doing?” Leo asked. “Is she meeting somebody?”
There were cameras in there too and we waited for what felt like an interminable length of time, watching Deidre sitting on one of the benches. Some people came and went but nobody spoke to her. She had her head slightly bent, hands clasped in her lap.
“What’s she doing?” Leo repeated.
“We run a very good sound and light show in the rotunda,” answered Ben. “It depicts Native heritage.”
“Speed it up a bit, will you?” Leo said, full of impatience.
Ben did as he asked and we got as far back as the entrance to the casino. There was a good shot of Deidre coming in. She looked excited and animated. Once again, she made no contact with anybody. I wrote down the time. 7:45 p.m.
“Go back to the blackjack table,” said Leo.
Ben did a fast-forward to the blackjack table. The blonde woman threw in her cards, obviously upset, and left the table. Deidre slipped into her place. She put her chips down in front of her and indicated she was in the game. I could see why it was easy for her to play. You didn’t need to speak or hear, you watched and signalled when you wanted another card, or you dumped your cards when you quit. The tape moved on for a few more minutes. A round finished and the dealer pushed some chips over to Deidre, who had won the hand. The man on her left tossed in his cards and got out of his chair. He was replaced by another man who had been out of the frame of our camera. In my monitor this man had his back to me, but Leo was watching the B monitor. I heard his sharp intake of breath. He reached forward and stopped the tape.
“Is there any way to enlarge the image?” he asked Ben.
“Who do you want?”
Leo put his finger on the monitor, on the man who was seated next to Deidre, who hadn’t paid him any attention as yet.
“Do you know him?” I asked Leo.
“Damn right I do. It’s my son. It’s Sigmund.”