Donn Cortez - The Killing Jar

Frankie’s eyes were already flicking back to the monitors. Catherine moved between them and him. “Where can I find this Hardesty?”

“He’s in the book-HardLook Investigations.”

“One more thing, Frankie, and then I’ll let you get back to work. How did Kanamu justify making the bet in the first place?”

He snorted. “Said he had a dream. Kendall Marigold being thrown into a volcano, then getting spat back out because she wasn’t ‘pure.’ And that the whole thing was part of an episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter , which I guess is a show Kanamu watches a lot.”

“Watched. He’s dead.”

Frankie’s eyebrows went up. “Hey, you don’t think I had something to do with it, do you? I may hate losing, but whacking the winners is bad for business.”

She shook her head. “Relax. I checked with casino security before I came here-you were right here all night long.”

“Yeah, office hours are a pain.” He chuckled. “But hey, it’s what I do, right? Couldn’t quit if I tried…”

After she’d said good-bye and walked away, Catherine paused again at the threshold and looked back. Warrick Brown had loved to gamble, loved it a little too much. But there was one time-years ago, before it became obvious he had a problem-that she’d met Warrick for a drink at a sportsbook. He’d put so me money on a football game, and she’d watched the last quarter with him. What she’d seen then wasn’t the desperation or fervor of an addict, but the engagement of someone enjoying himself. Laughing, joking, watching every play intently while still talking to her, explaining why he thought a particular play had been chosen over another. He’d been animated, lively, just a little more pumped up than Warrick’s usual laid-back manner. She’d found it incredibly appealing, an intriguing counterpoint to a man she already considered attractive.

Even when he lost, Warrick hadn’t seemed to mind; he’d just laughed and said there was always tomorrow.

She’d thought about initiating something that night. Thought about it carefully, weighing the pros and cons, and eventually decided against it. She wasn’t willing to take the gamble.

Thinking back on it, she was pretty sure that Warrick would have.

But she’d never know. Warrick’s tomorrows had run out.

HardLook Investigations was located above a pawnshop. Despite that, it didn’t have the rundown, film noir look of a hard-boiled detective’s office-in fact, it was bright and sunny, with several ferns in the reception area, a skylight, and posters of McGruff the Crime Dog on the walls. The receptionist was a friendly, chubby black woman with tinted glasses who told Catherine to take a seat-Mr. Hardes ty was with a client but should be done shortly.

Catherine could almost have imagined she was at the dentist’s if it weren’t for the magazines in the waiting area- PI Chronicle, Detective Magazine, a newsletter from the International Bodyguard Alliance. She was halfway through an article on body armor when the door into the other office opened and a woman clutching a manila envelope in one hand and a handkerchief in the other walked out. She strode right past, her face angry and her eyes blinking back tears, and slammed the door behind her.

“You can go in now,” said the receptionist, who didn’t seem surprised at all.

The man sitting behind the desk in the next room was not what Catherine had envisioned. He was young, clean-cut, wore glasses with stylish, stainless steel frames and a short-sleeved white shirt with a blue tie. He was so nondescript her eyes practically slid off him-which, she had to admit, was probably the point.

“Hi,” she said. “Catherine Willows, CSI.” She showed him her badge, which he examined a little more thoroughly than she was used to while shaking her hand.

“Darwin Hardesty,” he said. “Have a seat. What’s this about?”

“Hal Kanamu. He just turned up dead.”

Hardesty frowned. “Overdose?”

“Surprisingl y, no.”

“Robbery?”

“Doesn’t seem to be. You investigated him, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You know about the bet? Well, I was sure he must have had some sort of inside information. Couldn’t prove it, though.”

“Any leads?”

“I think the closest thing to a link I dug up was a second cousin he hadn’t seen in ten years who once worked at a resort Kendall Marigold’s dentist stayed at. When she was six.”

“What’s your gut say?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. It was such an out-of-left-field, weird prediction… but not only did I not find any proof, Kanamu himself came across as on the level. A slightly off-the-wall, drug-using kind of level, but essentially honest. He really believed the information came to him in a dream-I had experts interview him. He even passed a polygraph.”

“How did Frankie Thermopolis take the news?”

Hardesty smiled with a mouth full of even white teeth. “Not too well. But he’s a professional gambler and knows there’s no such beast as the sure thing. He may not like it, but he takes the bitter with the sweet. I think he’d recouped his losses within a couple of weeks, anyway.”

Catherine nodded. “You turn up anyone else who migh t have wanted him dead?”

“Not around here, but he hadn’t been in Vegas that long.”

“How about in Hawaii?”

“Some small-time drug stuff. I guess one of his former buddies might have gotten wind of his win and shown up demanding his share, but Kanamu didn’t seem to hang with a dangerous crowd. He was even trying to clean up-before his big score.”

“Yeah, that much money could push anyone off the wagon.” Catherine got to her feet. “Thanks for your time. Think I could take a look at your files?”

“Sure. I’ll have Cindy fax them over to your office. Willows, right?”

“You got it.”

Catherine had to admit that Darwin Hardesty seemed to know his stuff; the file he sent over on his investigation into Hal Kanamu was thorough and professional. It also seemed to confirm exactly what he’d told her-if Hal Kanamu had inside information on the status of Kendall Marigold’s virginity, he hadn’t been able to uncover it. Catherine sighed, put down the file, and went in search of other information.

She found Hodges hunched over a table in his lab; he seemed to be sketching something. “Taking up cartooning, Hodges?”

Hodges looked up, startled. “What? No, I was just brainstorming a few ideas for-never mind.”

Catherine glanced at the pad Hodges was dood ling on. “Is that a microscope with legs?”

Hodges flipped the pad over. “What can I do for you, CSI Willows?”

“I was wondering if you had anything new for me on that shard of volcanic rock.”

“Ah. You mean you need information on a mineral sample?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Then I can’t help you.” Catherine had seen that smirk too many times to think he was finished. “However, if you would like my findings on a mineraloid sample, I have some news for you.”

“The rock… isn’t a rock?”

“Not exactly. It’s obsidian, a very interesting substance. As a glass, its structure isn’t crystalline. It’s highly felsic, but with too many elements to be considered a single mineral. It’s mostly silicon dioxide, though.”

“Okay, so it’s volcanic glass. Where did it come from?”

“That’s the interesting thing. I checked a geologic database and got a match. It’s not from Nevada at all-it’s from Hawaii . Not only that, but-despite the fact that the Hawaiian Islands are basically all volcanic-there’s only one site on any of them that produces obsidian: Puu Waawaa.”

“Excuse me?”