Donn Cortez - The Killing Jar

Interesting angle with the little dog, though, she thought. Wonder what his name is-Lava? Rocky? Volcanine?

She powered down her computer, then went out to find Jill Leilani.

RILEY EYED PROFESSOR VANDERHOFF, sitting on the other side of the interview table. “Professor Vanderhoff, can you tell me where you were on the day Keenan Harribold was killed?”

Vanderhoff studied her for a moment before answering. “I spent most of it at the conference, though I took a nap in the evening.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. Jet lag.”

“Not a very ex citing way to spend time in Vegas.”

Vanderhoff smiled. “I’m not really a very exciting person. But I did meet with Jake Soames and your boss later for drinks.”

“Did you know Keenan Harribold?”

“No. Unless he posted anonymously on one of the entomology boards I frequent-which I doubt-I’d never heard of h im until he was killed.”

“Have you ever heard of anyone else being killed in this manner?”

“Never. I’m not a criminologist, but I have to admit it’s a fascinating case.”

“So you’ve never consulted on a criminal case before?”

“No. I’m afraid my exposure to this world has been strictly through film and novels. I will say I’m something of a mystery buff, though.”

“Then you probably know why I’m asking you these questions.”

“Of course. Someone with my expertise would naturally be considered a suspect.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong. Unless someone’s trying to frame me, I don’t think I’m in any trouble-and so far, the only inconvenience has been being forced to sit and talk to an attractive woman.”

Riley didn’t sm ile. “I don’t think Keenan Harribold would agree.”

“I’m sorry. Have I offended you? I may be an academic, but I grew up in the slums of Johannesburg; my childhood took place under apartheid. I have seen much brutality in my life, and sometimes I feel somewhat desensitized. But a young man’s death is still a tragedy.”

Riley glanced down at her notes. “No, it’s fine. You didn’t know him, after all…”

In Interview Room Two, Roberto Quadros was on his feet and pointing an accusing finger at Nick Stokes. “This is an outrage!” Quadros exclaimed. “I am a respected researcher! Dr. Grissom will have your job when I tell him about this!”

Nick put his hands up in a slow-down-and-let’s-talk-about-this gesture. “Dr. Quadros, I’m sorry if you feel singled out. But we’re not targeting you; we’re talking to everyone and gathering data. You’re a man of science; you understand the principle of exclusion-this isn’t an accusation. It’s part of the process to eliminate you as a suspect.”

Quadros simmered for a moment, then took a deep breath and retook his seat. “Very well. But at the very least Dr. Grissom could have talked to me himself .”

I’m beginning to understand why he didn’t, Nick thought. “Grissom’s busy at the moment. Now, Dr. Quadros-you’re not staying at the same hotel the others are, correct?”

“No. They charge absurd rates. I found a much more reasonable establishment a few blocks away.”

You mean a run-down dump with no security cameras. “Right. And you were there all evening.”

“Yes. There were some fascinating presentations at the conference the next day, and I wanted to be fresh.”

“You know, some visitors to Vegas would take the opportunity to enjoy themselves. Go see the sights, take in a show-”

“I didn’t come here for the hedonism, Mr. Stokes. There’s plenty of that in Brazil, believe me. I came for the intellectual stimulation provided by an exchange of ideas between men and women like myself. The last thing I wanted was to be drawn into some sort of sordid affair involving dead bodies in seedy motel rooms!”

Funny. You seemed a lot more eager when you thought you were going to help break a big case. “I understand that. So nobody saw you during the evening-the desk clerk, maybe?”

“No. I had dinner early and retired early. Would you like to know what I had for supper, as well?”

“No, that won’t be necessary-”

“Perhaps you’d like a detailed itinerary of my trips to the bathroom? Or a list of the television channels I watched before turning in? I know-a record of my dreams! Perhaps I can persuade a talking dog or flying pig to provide me with an alibi!”

Nick sighed.

Jill Leilani worked at the Shoremont Hotel as a maid. Her supervisor pointed Catherine at floors nineteen through twenty-two; she found Leilani in the hall on the twentieth, trundling a cart loaded with laundry and cleaning supplies between rooms.

Leilani was a thin, sallow-faced woman with nervous eyes. She wasn’t happy to see Catherine but didn’t seem surprised, either.

“Jill Leilani? I’m Catherine Willows with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. When was the last time you talked to Hal Kanamu?”

Leilani’s eyes roamed everywhere but Catherine’s line of sight. “I don’t know. Couple weeks ago, maybe longer. I don’t remember.”

“You two have a falling out or something?”

“No, I-I just don’t hang with him, is all. He don’t have time for his old friends ever since he hit it rich.”

“You’ve known him a long time, though, right? Back on the Big Island?”

“Yeah, I guess. We used to be tight.” Even when she talked, she barely opened her mouth.

“And high, too. Drug buddies, right? You even got busted together.”

“That was a long time ago. I’m clean.”

“No, you’re not. Your teeth are ro tting out of your head, your skin’s bad, and you’ve got the shakes. Know what I think happened? I think that when your pal Hal got his lucky break he threw one hell of a party, and you were one of the first people he invited. All the ice you could smoke, right? For a while, anyway. And by the time he decided the party was over and maybe he had better things to do than support his friends’ habits, the monkey on your back had turned into a three-hundred-pound gorilla.”

Leilani didn’t even try to deny it; the bitterness in her voice told Catherine she’d been carrying her anger around for a long time: “He didn’t even see what he was doing to me. He came here to get clean, you know? Get away from all his druggy friends in Honolulu. I thought, If he can do it, so can I. But when he got all that money… money’s the worst thing, you know? Should be a law, you can’t buy a lottery ticket if you’re using.”

“But he didn’t win the lottery.”

“Didn’t he? Winning that crazy-ass bet… Everybody thought he must have cheated somehow, but he swore up and down he didn’t. Said he had this dream, told him what to bet on. Even found a casino to take it-they weren’t too happy when he won.”

“And that’s when the party started.”

“Yeah. It was great, at first. Didn’t have to worry abo ut tomorrow, so we could party every day. And how much I was using, it kind of just crept up on me.”

Catherine nodded. She’d seen case studies on drug use that showed that same pattern-that even with addictive drugs like heroin or cocaine, users didn’t generally get into trouble until they had access to a large amount of the drug all at once, either from dealing or a sudden windfall of cash. Their drug intake climbed along with their tolerance, until the money was gone and they abruptly became aware of just how heavy-and expensive-their habit had become.

“So what happened?” asked Catherine. “Did he run out of cash?”

“No. I saw what was happening, knew it was gonna kill both of us sooner or later. Tried to talk him into quitting, but he didn’t want to hear it. He thought-” She stopped, shook her head. “He was getting kind of crazy. Thought that winning the bet was some kind of sign, that he was supposed to do something special with the money.”