Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man [calibre]

Prettyman came over to them and they all shook hands. Prettyman said, “That’s a mixed compliment on any day. What are you doing here?”

“We were talking to this poor woman yesterday in connection with a case.”

“Who’s the client?”

“Someone prominent and with some problems.”

“No more than that you can tell me?”

“I could, and then I’d lose my ticket, and what would be the point of that?”

“Still,” said Prettyman. “Whatever you can dish out.”

“It was a confidential client matter,” said Dash, “that we’re following up. But if we find something that will help lead to her killer, I’ll make the call to you.”

“I guess that’s the best I can do, then.”

“Of course, Pickett would just send in Big Steve and club it out of me.”

Prettyman frowned. “We don’t do that anymore, Willie. At least on my watch.”

“You’re not always on watch, Ern. But to answer your question, Pickett told me to come up here and look around.”

“Must be growing soft in his old age.”

Dash said, “I knew just how to ask. What can you tell us?”

“As you can see, somebody nearly cut her head off. No blood here. She was killed somewhere else. How the hell she got in here, who knows?”

Dash looked skeptical. “Nobody saw anything? Place is pretty big, with lots of people coming and going.” He glanced at the window. “And I doubt someone carried her in through the window over their shoulder.”

“Right, but there’s this. She was last seen around eight having dinner. Body was discovered after midnight. But whoever called it in did so at about nine or ten minutes before twelve. So the window is narrowed. Only at that time of night all the girls are out of their rooms and doing their things downstairs. And this is the top floor and Mabel Dawson told me there are only six gals up here, and those gals were all working last night from six o’clock on. They hand out the smokes and the whiskey and help run the card club and let the guys grab their asses as they go by for tips later. Fraser was the only song-and-dance performer up here. So her being alone on this floor before her act started wasn’t unusual.”

“I understand they have ‘friends’ visiting the gals here in the afternoon,” said Dash. “When we came by yesterday the parking lot had quite a few cars. Even saw some prowlers in the mix.” He gave Prettyman a look.

The man eyed him in understanding. “Que será, será.”

“Murder weapon?”

“No. But whatever was used was as sharp as my wife’s insults.”

“How long did Mortimer think she’d been dead when he examined her?”

“He thinks she was killed between ten and midnight.”

“Understand he didn’t get here until this afternoon, though.”

“That’s right. He was out of town, and we don’t like to move the body until he makes the call. But he was pretty sure of the timing based on the body’s condition. And he did a pretty thorough exam.”

“Not a job for the squeamish,” noted Archer.

Prettyman nodded and said, “When’d you start working with Willie?”

“Yesterday.”

“Nothing like hitting the ground running.”

“Witnesses?” asked Dash.

“I’ve spoken to nearly all the staff. No one saw a body being moved into this room, I can tell you that. And I can’t find anyone who saw Fraser after she left dinner. She could have come back up here or gone out. But if she went out, you’d think one of the valet boys would have seen her, and none did. And she didn’t have a car, so somebody would have had to pick her up.”

“How about out the back?” said Archer.

“That’s certainly possible,” conceded Prettyman. “But why go out the back?”

“If she was meeting someone she didn’t want anyone to know about?” said Dash. “And just so you know, Sawyer Armstrong was here last night. With two of his ‘associates.’”

“They weren’t here when the first cops showed up, at least no one reported that they were.”

“Funny thing about reports,” said Dash. “They sometimes leave out more than they put in. Anything strike you looking around?”

“Yeah, she was a slob. And the fridge was empty. And the cooktop doesn’t look like it’s ever been used.”

“Mind if we look around?”

“Go ahead, Willie. I need to go check in with Pickett.”

“And why is he here when you’re here?”

“Ask him, only I advise you don’t.”

“Advice I’ll take.”

After Prettyman left, Dash pushed his hat back and squatted down in front of Fraser. “She’s in rigor mortis now,” he said as he tried to bend one of her arms. “That dovetails with Mortimer’s calculation.” He gazed more closely at the wound. “Damn, that is a helluva way to kill someone. One stab to the heart would have done it. Why do it like that?”

“And how do you cut someone’s throat like that and no one hears her scream?”

“Take a look at her right arm, Archer. In the crook of the elbow.”

Archer drew closer and saw the small bump of red with a pinprick in the middle. “Someone shot her up with something to knock her out.” He glanced sharply at Dash. “But you said she was a drug user. She could have done that herself.”

Dash shook his head. “I see her as a pill popper. Needle folks have tracks long as my arm. That’s the only one on her. Somebody else did it. Depending on what it was, Mortimer may find it when he checks her stomach.”

“You think Prettyman saw the red bump?”

“I would be surprised if he didn’t, considering I trained him.”

Archer’s jaw eased down in surprise. “He was a shamus before a cop?”

“Three years. I brought him on a couple years after I got here. He left and joined the police force when I had to take a leave of absence. That’s why he’s so nice to me.”

“Why did you take a leave of absence?”

“None of your business.” Dash walked around the space, taking in both small and large details.

“Got a question,” said Archer.

“Shoot.”

“How come I don’t see any fingerprint powder anywhere?”

“That’s right, you mentioned Irving Shaw told you about fingerprints.”

“There’s none on the doorknobs coming in or out. None in here, even though you’d think the killer might have touched the table, the chair, or something else. Prettyman seemed like a stickler for procedure but he didn’t mention it.”

“Ern’s a good man who wants to keep his job.”

“Is that supposed to be an answer?”

“I’ll leave it up to you to muddle. Anything else you need to tell me?”

“Yeah, last night Dawson told me that Ruby liked men. Rich men. She thought she might have gone off with one of them.”

“Well, why don’t we go ask her about it?”

Chapter 43

DAWSON WAS NOT IN THE FRONT ROOM when they walked back in there. They headed down the stairs. Fortunately, Pickett was no longer in the reception area as they made their way to Dawson’s office. She was seated at her desk, a bottle of gin sitting in front of her. She was staring at it like it was the second coming of Jesus. She looked up when they appeared.

“Dammit, can’t you leave me in peace?” she moaned.

Dash sat in the chair across from her. “So Ruby liked rich men, huh?”

Dawson poured out three fingers of the gin and slowly spun the cap back while glaring at Archer. She poured in a smidgen of tonic, drank down a finger, tongued her lips, and said, “What young woman doesn’t?”

“Don’t play that game with me, Mabel. I’m trying to find a killer.”

“What do I know about anything?”

“I think a lot more than you let on.”

She let out a sigh so long it seemed to Archer like her dying breath. She lit up a Camel and blew smoke all over Dash, who just sat there and absorbed it, like a sponge.