investigation.”
I ignored the last part of what he’d said. “Great! When can I come by to talk to you?”
There was a pause, and then he said, “If you’ve got to come along, I guess you might as well come today. Might as well get it over with.” He made it sound like a tooth extraction. “I’ve got a bit of free time before lunch.”
I glanced at the clock. It was only eleven. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
“Fine.”
My next call was to Johann Tapley, who picked up after a few rings and told me that he was bored stiff in Montreal, and hadn’t been back to Vegas since he’d left.
“It’s an eight month contract with the company here,” he told me regretfully. “I couldn’t even get time off to go to Adam’s funeral.”
I murmured my condolences for having to work for such a strict company, grabbed the company’s name (Invicta Oil and Holdings), hung up, and Googled their contact details. I made a quick phone call to the company’s “employment enquiries” number, and got routed through to an HR lady who informed that Johann had, indeed, gone to work every single day for the last six months.
My final call was to Barry Wardle, whose voicemail informed me that he wasn’t in his office at the moment, but if I’d like to leave my name and number, he’d call me straight back. So I did just that, fixed my makeup, grabbed my large black tote, and went over to Ian’s condo.
“We’re going to speak with Adam’s friend Charlie,” I told him, and let him trail after me happily.
Detective Charlie Stiggins met us in one of the tiny LVMPD conference rooms, usually reserved for suspects and witnesses giving statements. It was white, with little bits of color, but the complete opposite of Claire’s warm white sitting room. This room was about half, or maybe a third, the size of Claire’s room, and it was as sterile as any space could be. The walls were shiny, the lights bright, and the chairs hard.
“We go way back,” Charlie told us. “Adam and I went to high school together. Can’t believe someone shot him.”
We asked him all the questions we asked everyone else, but once again, we got the same answers. Adam had no enemies, hadn’t acted any differently before he’d been killed, and Charlie had no idea what “red roses” could’ve meant to Adam.
“I’m sorry it’s your nanna who’s accused,” he told me, not sounding very sorry. “But all the evidence points to her, right now.”
“It’s not her,” I told him. “I know her better than anyone else here, and I know she’s nuts, but she’d never kill anyone. I don’t think she’s even owned a gun, or shot one, ever.”
Charlie shook his head slightly. “Whoever it is, we’ll get justice soon. We don’t need an inexperienced PI messing round with stuff.”
He looked at me, his face a polite blank, and I tried not to blow up in anger.
We left, feeling worse for having talked to him, and ran into Elwood just before exiting the building.
“Your nanna’s not mad at me, is she?” he asked, and I scowled.
“She should be. You should be ashamed of yourself, arresting an innocent woman like that.”
He shrunk back, knowing better than to defend himself, and said, “Well, if there’s something else going on, I’m sure you’ll uncover it. Even though you never found out who stole that Van Gogh, did you?”
I narrowed my eyes. I had, actually, found out all I wanted to know about that theft, but I was sworn to secrecy, so I held my tongue.
“How’s your wife?” I asked, instead, and Elwood stared at the ground.
“I don’t know. Counseling’s not going so well. She doesn’t seem to want to get back together.”
My anger disappeared. “I’m sorry. Maybe you could try sending her flowers? Does she like roses?”
“I don’t know,” Elwood said, looking from me to Ian. “Do you think she’ll like roses?”
I shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Try sending her a big bouquet – maybe some
I ignored the last part of what he’d said. “Great! When can I come by to talk to you?”
There was a pause, and then he said, “If you’ve got to come along, I guess you might as well come today. Might as well get it over with.” He made it sound like a tooth extraction. “I’ve got a bit of free time before lunch.”
I glanced at the clock. It was only eleven. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
“Fine.”
My next call was to Johann Tapley, who picked up after a few rings and told me that he was bored stiff in Montreal, and hadn’t been back to Vegas since he’d left.
“It’s an eight month contract with the company here,” he told me regretfully. “I couldn’t even get time off to go to Adam’s funeral.”
I murmured my condolences for having to work for such a strict company, grabbed the company’s name (Invicta Oil and Holdings), hung up, and Googled their contact details. I made a quick phone call to the company’s “employment enquiries” number, and got routed through to an HR lady who informed that Johann had, indeed, gone to work every single day for the last six months.
My final call was to Barry Wardle, whose voicemail informed me that he wasn’t in his office at the moment, but if I’d like to leave my name and number, he’d call me straight back. So I did just that, fixed my makeup, grabbed my large black tote, and went over to Ian’s condo.
“We’re going to speak with Adam’s friend Charlie,” I told him, and let him trail after me happily.
Detective Charlie Stiggins met us in one of the tiny LVMPD conference rooms, usually reserved for suspects and witnesses giving statements. It was white, with little bits of color, but the complete opposite of Claire’s warm white sitting room. This room was about half, or maybe a third, the size of Claire’s room, and it was as sterile as any space could be. The walls were shiny, the lights bright, and the chairs hard.
“We go way back,” Charlie told us. “Adam and I went to high school together. Can’t believe someone shot him.”
We asked him all the questions we asked everyone else, but once again, we got the same answers. Adam had no enemies, hadn’t acted any differently before he’d been killed, and Charlie had no idea what “red roses” could’ve meant to Adam.
“I’m sorry it’s your nanna who’s accused,” he told me, not sounding very sorry. “But all the evidence points to her, right now.”
“It’s not her,” I told him. “I know her better than anyone else here, and I know she’s nuts, but she’d never kill anyone. I don’t think she’s even owned a gun, or shot one, ever.”
Charlie shook his head slightly. “Whoever it is, we’ll get justice soon. We don’t need an inexperienced PI messing round with stuff.”
He looked at me, his face a polite blank, and I tried not to blow up in anger.
We left, feeling worse for having talked to him, and ran into Elwood just before exiting the building.
“Your nanna’s not mad at me, is she?” he asked, and I scowled.
“She should be. You should be ashamed of yourself, arresting an innocent woman like that.”
He shrunk back, knowing better than to defend himself, and said, “Well, if there’s something else going on, I’m sure you’ll uncover it. Even though you never found out who stole that Van Gogh, did you?”
I narrowed my eyes. I had, actually, found out all I wanted to know about that theft, but I was sworn to secrecy, so I held my tongue.
“How’s your wife?” I asked, instead, and Elwood stared at the ground.
“I don’t know. Counseling’s not going so well. She doesn’t seem to want to get back together.”
My anger disappeared. “I’m sorry. Maybe you could try sending her flowers? Does she like roses?”
“I don’t know,” Elwood said, looking from me to Ian. “Do you think she’ll like roses?”
I shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Try sending her a big bouquet – maybe some
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