Nightwalker

“From what I understand, Green entered the casino, staggered through the crowd and crashed down dead on top of Ms. Sparhawk,” Dillon said. “It’s probable that he was stabbed outside the casino. Even a bunch of hard-core gamblers would probably notice someone going after someone else with a knife that big.”

“So you say. He was a bodyguard for Emil Landon, wasn’t he? Just like you.”

“I’m not a bodyguard. Landon is convinced that someone is trying to kill him. I’m supposed to be finding out who. I just took the case, and I wasn’t pals with Tanner Green. I knew him, yes, but that was it.”

“So where the hell were you, if you weren’t at the table?”

“I’d been playing at the table, but I had just wandered into the high-stakes area over there,” Dillon said, pointing toward the far left.

“Oh?” Cheever said, his eyes narrowing. His tone and his look clearly asked, What were you doing in the high-stakes area?

“I was checking out what players are in Vegas right now,” Dillon said. “Like I said, I just accepted Emil Landon’s offer. This morning, in fact. Plus, I was nowhere near the front door. And he was stabbed outside. I’d bet ten years that the crime-scene team will find specks of blood somewhere along the way.”

Cheever stared at him, knowing he was right.

“The girl obviously didn’t kill him,” Dillon said flatly. “And she takes care of her grandfather. You need to let her get home.”

“Lieutenant?” an officer said, approaching Cheever quickly through the crowd. “The security tapes are ready.”

Cheever started to move.

“Lieutenant?” Dillon said, calling him back.

“All right, take her home. But you—I want you in my office tomorrow morning, eight o’clock sharp.”

“I’ll be there,” Dillon assured him. “Emil Landon will want to know everything possible about this.”

“And he will—when I have something to share.”

“He’ll want me to see those tapes.”

“I don’t like repeating myself, Wolf, so I’ll only say this once. I know you know someone who knows the damn governor, but you’ll still wait until I’ve seen those tapes myself. Tomorrow morning, eight sharp.”

“Right,” Dillon said, turning away. More and more people were being released. Some, Dillon thought, would be heading on to other casinos, irritated that a man’s death had ruined their evening. Others were guests at the Sun, and some of them would be heading up to their rooms, shaken by tonight’s events.

Tanner Green had been no angel. He was known around Vegas. He had a record. And no matter what Cheever did that night, the killer was long gone. Even Cheever himself had to know that. He was just covering his ass, going through the motions.

Cheever suddenly called his name again. “Wolf!”

Dillon paused and waited.

“I mean it. Eight o’clock.”

Dillon tried not to laugh. Cheever always liked having the last word. It gave him a feeling of control.

Dillon turned again and made his way back around the closed-off gaming tables. Dr. Tarleton was still standing by the body with a member of the forensics unit, looking for trace evidence. Dillon paused for a moment, waiting. Watching.

Feeling the room.

But nothing came to him. He paused for a moment longer, then proceeded to the area where Jessy Sparhawk was waiting. He pulled out his investigator’s license again, in case the officers on crowd control didn’t know him. “Ms. Sparhawk has been cleared,” he said quietly to the one standing with his arms crossed over his chest, blocking the exit.

The man nodded, recognizing Dillon and barely glancing at his ID.

Dillon took Jessy’s arm and led her out the door. She didn’t protest; she readily hurried along at his side.

Once out the door—where police cars were as thick now as ants on a hill at the grand entryway—she let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks. Thanks so much. A P.I., huh? Well, I’m glad you’re friends with that lieutenant.”

“Not exactly friends,” Dillon murmured.

They kept walking until they reached Las Vegas Boulevard, where another crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, everyone staring at the action and speculating.

When his cell phone started to ring, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he was surprised it hadn’t done so earlier.

“Excuse me,” he said to Jessy, then answered the phone. “Wolf.”

Emil Landon’s voice came through clearly, and hard with agitation. “I’ve just heard Tanner Green is dead. Dead. Murdered. Knifed in the back.”

“Yes, I was in the casino when it happened.”

“Did you see—”

“No. I didn’t even know he’d come in.”

“You should have known, damn you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I need to see you. Now.”

“As soon as possible.”

“He was a bodyguard on my payroll. And he’s dead. I want to see you now.”

“As soon as possible,” Dillon repeated steadily.

“I can fire you, Wolf.”

“Feel free.”

Immediately Landon backed down. “Just get here as soon as you can. I told you I was in danger.”

Dillon closed his phone. Jessy was looking away, courteously pretending she hadn’t been privy to his conversation. “I’m sorry. You must be busy, and I have to get home.”

“Where’s your car, then? I’ll walk you to it.”

“I didn’t drive tonight,” she said. She flushed. “I had a business appointment, and I thought I might be stopping somewhere on the way home, so I decided not to drive. I, uh, I don’t drink and drive.”

“I didn’t see you drinking.”