Las Vegas Girl: A Gripping Suspenseful Crime Novel Read online

  Las Vegas Girl

  A Novel

  Leslie Wolfe

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Elevator Ride

  Partners

  Introductions

  Crime Scene

  Vantage Point

  Grunt Work

  Direct Orders

  Secrets

  Findings

  The Apartment

  The Boyfriend

  The Mother

  Altitude

  Text Messages

  Monday Blues

  Credit Card

  Leverage

  Dancing Dozen

  Trisha

  The Dancers

  Plans

  Night Prowler

  Slice of Ice

  Evidence Locker

  The Father

  Assignment

  House Call

  Violets Are Blue

  Aftermath

  Clichés

  Coroner’s Report

  Trouble

  Conspiracy

  Hired Help

  Legacy

  Testimony

  After-Dinner Plans

  Incursion

  Harassment

  Consequences

  Orders

  Test

  Photo

  Talking Trash

  In the Fishbowl

  Hooky

  Disguise

  Stakeout

  Suspicion

  Party

  Las Vegas Girl

  Thank You!

  Connect with Me!

  Books by Leslie Wolfe

  Preview: Dawn Girl

  Acknowledgments

  A special thank you to my New York legal eagle and friend, Mark Freyberg, who expertly guided this author through the intricacies of the judicial system.

  A warm thank you to Jessica Berc, who brings color, style, and glamour to my characters with her unparalleled sense of fashion. None other can play dress-up with fictional characters like she does.

  Elevator Ride

  Her smile waned when the elevator doors slid open and her gaze met the scrutiny of the stranger. She hesitated before stepping in, looked left and right uneasily, hoping there’d be other hotel guests to ride in the elevator, so she wouldn’t have to share it alone with that man. No one came.

  Her step faltered, and her hand grabbed the doorframe, afraid to let go, still unsure of what to do. The hotel lobby sizzled with life and excitement and sparkled in a million colors, as can only be seen in Vegas. Nearby, clusters of gaming tables and slot machines were surrounded by tourists, and cheers erupted every now and then, almost covering the ringing of bells and the digital sound of tokens overflowing in silver trays, while the actual winnings printed silently on thermal paper in coupons redeemable at the cashier’s desk. That was Las Vegas: alive, filled with adrenaline, forever young at heart. Her town.

  The elevator had a glass wall, overlooking the sumptuous lobby. As the cage climbed higher and higher, riders could feel the whole world at their feet. She was at home here, amid scores of rowdy tourists and intoxicated hollers, among beautiful young women dressed provocatively, even if only for a weekend.

  She loved riding in those elevators. Nothing bad was going to happen, not with so many people watching.

  She forced some air into her lungs and stepped in, still hesitant. The doors whooshed to a close, and the elevator set in motion. She willed herself to look through the glass at the effervescent lobby, as the ruckus grew more distant with each floor. She didn’t want to look at the man, but she felt his gaze burn into her flesh. She shot a brief glance in his direction, as she casually let her eyes wander toward the elevator’s floor display.

  The man was tall and well-built, strong, even if a bit hunchbacked. He wore a dark gray hoodie, all zipped up, and faded jeans. He’d pulled his hood up on top of a baseball cap bearing the colors of the New York Mets. A pair of reflective sunglasses completed his attire, and, despite the dim lights in the elevator cabin, he didn’t remove them. The rest of his face was covered by the raised collar of his hoodie, leaving just an inch of his face visible, not more.

  She registered all the details, and as she did, she desperately tried to ignore the alarm bells going off in her mind. Who was this man, and why was he staring at her? He was as anonymous as someone could be, and even if she’d studied him for a full minute instead of just shooting him a passing glance, she wouldn’t be able to describe him to anyone. Just a ghost in a hoodie and a baseball cap.

  Then she noticed the command panel near the doors. Only her floor number was lit, eighteen. She remembered pressing the button herself, as soon as she’d climbed inside the cabin. Where was he going? Maybe she should get off that elevator already. Maybe she should’ve listened to her gut and waited for the next ride up.

  A familiar chime, and the elevator stopped on the fifth floor, and a young couple entered the cabin giggling and holding hands, oblivious to anyone else but each other. She breathed and noticed the stranger withdrew a little more toward the side wall. The young girl pressed the number eleven, and the elevator slowly set in motion.

  That was fate giving her another chance, she thought, as she decided to get off the elevator with those two, on the eleventh floor. Then she’d go back downstairs, wait for the stranger to get lost somewhere, and not go back upstairs until she found Dan. She’d call him to apologize, invent something that would explain why she’d stood him up. Anything, only not to go back to her room alone, when the creepy stranger knew what floor she was on.

  A chime and the elevator came to a gentle stop on the eleventh floor. The young couple, entangled in a breathless kiss, almost missed it but eventually proceeded out of the cabin, and she took one step toward the door.

  “This isn’t your stop, Miss,” the stranger said, and the sound of his voice sent shivers down her spine.

  Instead of bursting through that door, she froze in place, petrified as if she’d seen a snake, and then turned to look at him. “Do I know you?”

  The stranger shook his head and pointed toward the command panel that showed the number eighteen lit up. Just then, before she could will herself to make it through those doors, they closed, and the cabin started climbing again.

  Her breath caught, and she withdrew toward the side wall, putting as much distance between herself and the stranger as she possibly could. She risked throwing the man another glance and thought she saw a hint of a grin, a flicker of tension tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  With an abrupt move, she reached out and pressed the lobby button, then resumed leaning against the wall, staring at the floor display.

  “I forgot something,” she said, trying to sound as casual as possible, “I need to go back down.”

  On the eighteenth floor, the doors opened with the same light chime and quiet whoosh. The stranger walked past her, then stopped in the doorway and checked the hallway with quick glances.

  She was just about to breathe with ease when he turned around and grabbed her arm with a steeled grip, yanking her out of the cabin.

  “No, you don’t,” he mumbled, “you’re not going anywhere.”

  She screamed, a split second of a blood-curdling shrill that echoed in the vast open-ceiling lobby that extended all the way to the top floor. No one paid attention; lost in the general noise coming from downstairs, her scream didn’t draw any concern. It didn’t last long either. As soon as the man pulled her out of the elevator, he covered her mouth with his other hand, and her cry for help died, stifled.

  He shoved her forcefully against the wall next to the elevator call buttons and let g
o of her arm, pinning her in place under the weight of his body. Then his hands found her throat and started squeezing. She stared at him with wide-open eyes, trying to see anything beyond the reflective lenses of his sunglasses, while her lungs screamed for another gasp of air. She kicked and writhed, desperately clawing at his hands to free herself from his deathly grip.

  With each passing second, her strength faded, and her world turned darker, unable to move, to fight anymore. The man finally let go. Her lifeless body fell into a heap at his feet, and he stood there for a brief moment, panting, not taking his eyes off her.

  Then he picked her up with ease and carried her to the edge of the corridor that opened to an eighteen-floor drop, all the way to the crowded lobby below. Effortlessly, he threw her body over the rail and watched it fall without a sound.

  The noises downstairs continued unabated for a few seconds more, then they stopped for a split moment, when her lifeless body crashed against the luxurious, pearl marble floor. Then the crowd parted, forming a circle around her body, while screams erupted everywhere, filling the vast lobby with waves of horror.

  His cue to disappear.

  Partners

  No wonder I felt like I didn’t belong.

  It wasn’t that I’d just transferred from Henderson West, after serving a thirty-day suspension, and had no idea what to expect. It wasn’t that I recognized only a few faces there, at Las Vegas Metro Police Department, because Henderson wasn’t technically a part of LVMPD; most of them were still complete strangers to me. It wasn’t the fact that the coffee was terrible, or that I was about to meet my new boss, and starting on the wrong foot no less, because all police chiefs are just itching to get some other precinct’s disciplinary transferees, just to make things interesting in their lives.

  No… it was the bloody weather.

  It was cold. A bitter wind, biting to the bone, and a fine drizzle to make things worse, even slippery at times, since the temperature stubbornly hovered just a tad above freezing. It was awful for Las Vegas, and even more awful for me, because it reminded me of home.

  London.

  But London was ages ago, when I was a young police inspector in Sutton, barely starting to make a name for myself, only miles away from the borough I grew up in, a place called Kingston in southwest London. Yeah, ages ago. How I got from there to Las Vegas? Long story… maybe some other time.

  For now, let’s just say I was still amazed at myself, at how the tiniest drop of rain, rarely seen in the Nevada desert, or the short-lived winter cold could bring back memories so quickly. It wasn’t something I welcomed, not really. Because if I thought of London, I thought of Andrew, and that was still unbearable.

  I heard commotion near the entrance and sprung to my feet, curious and grateful to have some distraction while I waited for Deputy Chief Mark Wallace to roll in and decide my fate. Detective Jack Holt was hauling someone in, a vocal and unruly young thug, adorned in enough jewelry to start his own pawn shop.

  Holt dragged him to booking, and I followed at a distance, listening in, amazed at the total lack of imagination Americans have when it comes to swearing. One word is all they know; one word is all they use. Okay, maybe two or three, but that’s it.

  The man kicked and struggled to free himself, but Holt handled him firmly, not impressed with his verbal and physical attack. Then he handed him over to two uniformed officers.

  “This stinker’s TwoCent; book him,” he said, then pulled a handgun sealed in an evidence bag out of his coat pocket. “Have this tested for ballistics in the Park case.”

  “Cop killer, huh?” the officer growled in the thug’s face. “Nice going, Detective.”

  “Thanks,” Holt replied. “Schmuck was asleep in his car, top down, gun on the passenger seat, right there in plain view.”

  “You got lucky?” the other officer asked with a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Yeah, you might say that,” Holt replied, adjusting his tie. “Is the DC in yet?”

  “Not yet, but he called in for you and Baxter.”

  “Who?”

  I took a few steps forward and extended my hand, pasting a smile on my lips.

  “Detective Laura Baxter, in from Henderson.”

  He checked me out, head to toe, letting his eyes linger over certain areas of my body. That happens a lot, and I never flinch, nor do I lower my eyes or feel embarrassed. If anything, it entertains me.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he shook my hand firmly.

  “Welcome to Metro, Baxter. Know what this is about?”

  “No idea,” I replied, then turned and followed him to the two chairs in front of DC Wallace’s office.

  We were about to take our seats when DC Wallace stormed in, nodding quickly in response to everyone’s greetings.

  “You two, in my office,” Wallace beckoned, then walked right in.

  I’d seen him before on occasions, giving speeches at Metro PD events. A tough cop, not much older than me, with a tight-lipped grimace that never really went away and piercing eyes that read right through you. The dangerous kind, the kind most likely to catch you in a lie. The wrong kind of boss for me.

  We waited for him to take his seat, but he remained standing.

  “You two, I see you already met. Good.”

  I nodded, and so did Holt.

  “I’m partnering you up for a new case, the Aquamarine murder.”

  I remained silent, hoping my ignorance would go unnoticed. Thankfully, Holt didn’t.

  “What Aquamarine murder? Is this new?”

  “Yeah. Nieblas and Crocker are already on-site, but I’m pulling them out and sending you two in.”

  How interesting. I wondered why he was doing that, but before I could formulate a polite way to ask, Wallace clarified.

  “Both of you are high up on my shit list, and this is a case where I want my detectives to impress me, to walk on eggshells, and play it by the book, as if their jobs depended on it. Because they do.” He cleared his throat, then continued. “The thought that both of you are one mistake from being out gives me reassurance. You’ll try harder.”

  He looked at me intently, and I held his gaze, even though it took some effort. By all appearances, Wallace was a much bigger arse than I remembered.

  “Holt, Detective Baxter here is the last partner you’re ever going to get. Make it work, or make for the door. And Baxter, you know what you’ve done. This is your Hail Mary pass, and you know it. One false step, one tiny blunder, and you’re out. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, and heard Holt saying the same words.

  “Nieblas and Croker are still wrapping up the Park murder, and—”

  “I collared the perp today, sir,” Holt said, letting a little pride show on his face in the form of a crooked grin.

  Wallace froze and turned an icy glare toward Holt.

  Holt’s smile vanished. “Sorry for interrupting you, Deputy Chief.”

  Wallace pressed his thin lips together, probably in an effort to maintain his calm. After staring Holt down for a while, he checked his notes briefly, then spoke in a normal voice.

  “Madeline Munroe, twenty-eight, took a fall from the eighteenth floor of the Aquamarine, in plain sight of hundreds of tourists, a little over an hour ago. No one saw anything. ME just texted me that it’s a homicide.”

  “Munroe, how is this name familiar?” Holt interrupted again.

  “That’s the key point of this case. The vic’s sister, Caroline, has recently announced her engagement to the governor. They’re getting married at the end of the month, here in Vegas. The mayor is hosting the ceremony at the MGM. Need I say more?”

  I refrained from groaning and just fidgeted a little in my seat. These days, whenever I feel like punching a hole in a wall, I do my Kegels. I can actually clench a muscle as hard as I want, and no one can tell.

  What could a cop like me do for a living, other than being a cop? I might need to solve that mystery fairly soon, because
I’m definitely not catching a break when it comes to my job. After a month’s suspension, I’m nearly broke, and there’s no way in hell I won’t screw it up somehow on this case, no way. One look at Holt, and I can tell he must be doing Kegels too. Yet he managed to restrain himself and didn’t say a word; he just allowed a few of lines to appear at the root of his nose.

  “You’re not to approach the victim’s family or the governor,” Wallace stated, speaking slowly and in a menacing tone. “You won’t be handling next-of-kin notifications; I will, as soon as we’re done here.”

  Well, that’s better, I thought. Let him walk on the damn eggshells.

  “Play this by the book,” Wallace continued, “as if every move you make is to come under scrutiny, because it will. I’m confident, being how you both need to redeem yourselves, that you will do more than everything in your power to impress me. Am I wrong?”

  Wallace propped his hands on his hips in an unspoken invitation for us to leave the room. I stood, and Holt followed, and I replied with a determined, “No, sir,” managing to instill more confidence in my voice than I was actually feeling.

  “No media, no leaks, no screwups. Dismissed,” Wallace said, then buried himself in a case file.

  I trotted out of there in a hurry to put some distance between me and my new boss. Well, technically Wallace was my new boss’s boss, being that I now reported to the head of Homicide and Sex Crimes Bureau, the fierce Captain Morales, whom I haven’t even met yet. Deputy Chief Wallace was Morales’ boss.

  Yeah, plenty of ways this could go terribly wrong, but I wear big girl pants. I’ll figure it out somehow. I only have to investigate a murder without being able to talk to the victim’s family. Piece of cake. I wonder what other surprises are lined up ahead.

  Oh, bugger.

  Introductions

  The fastest way to the Las Vegas Strip was via Interstate 15, and Holt didn’t think twice. I didn’t even have my car assigned yet, so I rode shotgun in his white, unmarked Ford Explorer and kept quiet, studying him discreetly. Definitely not hard on the eyes. A tall forehead under dark, almost black hair, with virtually no gray. I squinted, trying to figure out if he dyed his hair, but no, no hint of that, despite his mid-forties appearance, with tiny laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.