“Those buffets are for suckers,” Roberts says.

“What do they charge, twenty-five bucks? Most people don’t eat ten dollars’ worth. They give you these small plates, and then you have to reach under the glass to get the food. People don’t want to deal with it. So they overpay and then tell everyone at home how great the buffets are.”

Roberts and I are having breakfast in a coffee shop about ten blocks from the Strip. It’s decent food, although eggs are eggs. I have to admit that I wish we were getting ripped off at one of the buffets, especially since it’s on the department’s tab, but I don’t mention it.

Instead I tell him about the case, starting with Rita Carlisle and working my way up to now.

“So you think it’s about drugs?” he asks.

“Don’t see any other possibilities.”

“I don’t get the Tartaro–Silva connection,” he says. “Why would they need each other? A Vegas–New Jersey underground drug railroad? If either of them needed to hook up with other organizations, they both could have found business partners a lot closer.”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure they have a damn good reason. Because they’re definitely doing some business together, Shawn’s presence proves it.”

“That’s for sure. Take a look at this.”

He hands me a sheet of paper, which looks like a long list of phone numbers. “What is it?”

“Shawn’s cell phone records. He got three calls from a phone registered to Joey Silva in the two weeks before he died.”

“You subpoenaed this?” I ask.

“You think we’ve just been sitting on our ass? Shawn was a citizen of the great and peaceful state of Nevada, but he made the fatal mistake of traveling to the violent hellhole that is New Jersey. We’re trying to find out what happened to the poor man.”

“I would have thought Silva would be more careful. He knows phone records can be checked.”

“Maybe he didn’t care who knew about it,” Roberts says. “But we don’t have a transcript of the calls. Silva called on a cold phone, and we weren’t covering Shawn’s phone.”

“So you’ve been sitting on your ass.”

He nods. “Guilty as charged. You want to talk to Tartaro this morning? I combed my hair and everything.”

“Why are you so anxious?” I ask.

“Any day I can hassle him is a good day.”

“Well, your hair looks great, but I want to track down Janine Seraphin first. You have any luck with that?”

“I would have to say that the answer to that is yes and no.”

“Start with the yes.”

“The yes is that we know where she is. The no is because she’s in a cemetery. She died in a car crash.”

“Let me guess. Just under three years ago.”

“You New Jersey cops are really smart. It was investigated at the time and ruled an accident.”

“Maybe a reinvestigation is in order. What about the mother?”

“We found her; the woman’s name is Denise Keller.”

“So Seraphin was Janine’s married name?”

Roberts shrugged. “That’s one of the mysteries that the mother can help us with. I spoke to her; she’s waiting for us.”

We drive out to Denise Keller’s house, passing along much of the Strip on the way. The hotels are amazing; they’re like cities. I briefly think that maybe I should bring Jessie out here, and then reject the thought seconds later. Jessie’s idea of a great vacation is an outdoor camping and hiking trip. I don’t think a hike from Caesars Palace to the Venetian would do the trick.

Denise Keller lives in a rather depressed area of Vegas; not a slum but another world from the neon glamour of the Strip. I imagine it’s where the casinos draw their thousands of cocktail waitresses, dealers, and housekeeping crew members from.

She comes out onto the porch in front of her home when we pull up. She looks anxious about our arrival, as if she thinks we might be bringing her bad news. Unfortunately for Denise, the bad news that a parent never wants to hear came three years ago. Nothing anyone will ever say to her again could match that.

As we enter the house, I whisper to Roberts, “You take this one.”

Denise offers us coffee and these small cookies that she’s baked, and we take some. I’m still hungry, which I’m sure I wouldn’t be if Roberts hadn’t talked me into missing the buffet.

“This is about Janine, isn’t it?” she asks. It’s a slightly strange question for her to ask, since there was never a police involvement in the death. The crash was ruled an accident.

“In a roundabout way,” Roberts says. “It’s more about a situation at the hospital, where she worked. We’re talking to many people that worked there during those years.”

“What kind of situation?”

“I’m afraid we can’t say at this point, in case it doesn’t come to anything. We don’t want to hurt the hospital’s reputation.”

“I understand, but I don’t know how much I can help. You know that Janine has passed away, don’t you?” Denise says.

Roberts and I both nod sympathetically, and he says, “Yes, I’m very sorry. It was a car accident?”

“Yes. She hit a tree; it broke her neck.” I can see the words catching in her throat as she says it; it is something a parent should never have to say.

“Was Janine having any trouble at work? Did she mention that there was anything unusual going on?”

“Well, obviously.”

I’m about to jump in with the question, but Roberts beats me to it. “Why do you say obviously?”

“Because Janine quit her job. About three weeks before she died.”

“Why did she quit?”

“She didn’t tell me, but I think she was having trouble with some of her coworkers. It upset her a great deal. She went away for a while to a cabin she had, and when she came back, she had the accident. So we never really got to sit down and talk about it, or anything else.”

“Where was this cabin?”

“Up north, near Carson City. It was her husband’s, and she got it in the divorce.”

“When did they get divorced?” Roberts asks.

“Oh, at least seven years ago. Walter, that was her husband, went back east to live, where he’s from. Somewhere in New England.”

“Were you surprised when she left her job?”

“Very. She always talked about how much she liked it there. But she was one of only a few women in that department; who knows … maybe some men made some advances on her. You know how that is these days.”

“Yes.”

I finally ask one question. “Did Janine ever mention someone named Rita Carlisle?”

She thinks for a while. “Not that I remember.”

Denise has nothing more to tell us, so we leave.

Once we’re in the car, I say, “So Rita Carlisle goes missing and Janine Seraphin dies, a short time after they attend the same convention. Small world.”

“Yeah, real small. We see Tartaro tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure we have much to accomplish by that,” I say.

He smiles. “That’s okay. It will be nice to catch up.”