Innocent in Las Vegas (4 page)

He answered after two rings. “Neil Durant.”

“Hi, Neil. This is Tiffany Black, I’m a reporter for the Nevada Times and I was wondering if I– ”

“You’ll have to speak to my PR officer, she deals with press.”

“Natasha Williams? Yes, I’ve already spoken with her. She said it’s best, in this case, if I speak with you directly; she gave me your private cell phone number.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Neil must’ve decided my story added up, because his next words were, “What’s this about?”

“Mainly some questions about Riverbelle’s future direction. I’d like to speak to you in person about the specifics. Are you free anytime today?”

I held my breath, hoping Neil would say yes.

After a brief pause he said, “I’ve got ten minutes at 3 pm.”

Before I could thank him, he hung up. I smiled to myself, relieved that my plan had worked, and rehearsed what I’d say in my head.

I drove to the Riverbelle with a few minutes to spare. I wore a black pant-suit, my most expensive Manolo Blahnik stilettos, and a chunky cocktail ring on my right hand. I hoped my outfit somehow screamed ‘reporter’ and that Neil would agree to tell me something interesting.

The Riverbelle Casino was toward the northern end of the strip, and though the exterior wasn’t as flashy as the Bellagio or Caesar’s Palace, it had a clean, modern look. Parking was a breeze and I walked over to the lobby. The large gaming pit was visible from where I stood and had a modestly busy look – if I had to guess, I’d say that the Riverbelle was doing decent business. Not great, but not too bad either for these crazy economic times.

“Hi,” I said to the serious-looking man in Reception. “I’m here for an appointment with Neil Durant. Tiffany Black.”

He glanced at me, checked something on his computer, and then handed me a blank plastic keycard. “Go left and take the elevator,” he said, sounding bored. “Swipe the keycard and press 37.”

I thanked him and headed off, noting the security cameras everywhere. There were cameras along the lobby, cameras in the hallways and cameras in the elevator.

I got off on what was obviously a corporate floor, accessible only by those with the right keycards. There was a small reception counter, beyond which I could see an open-plan working area with executives typing away at computers. There were large rooms beyond the open-plan area, walled off by translucent frosted glass. I guessed that the largest room was the security team’s workspace and the medium-sized rooms were conference areas and executive offices.

I walked up to the cute blonde working at reception and said, “I’m here to see Neil Durant.”

She smiled and nodded. “He’ll just be a minute.”

I waited on the couch nearby and the receptionist was right – a stunningly good-looking man appeared within a few minutes. We introduced ourselves and I followed him back to his office. I was impressed that he hadn’t kept me waiting long, and hopeful about the interview.

Neil looked like he was in his late twenties, but I guessed he was actually in his late thirties or early forties and spent a lot of effort maintaining his ex-model good looks. He was tall, muscular and tanned, with a Botox-smoothed forehead. His hair was dark and slightly long. I promised myself I’d do some more research when I got home and look up photos of Neil modeling underwear.

As I settled into the chair opposite his desk, I noticed he was observing me with an intensity that would have seemed creepy in a less good-looking man. I smiled and said, “Why don’t we get started with the interview?”

“Of course. What would you like to ask?”

I pulled out an MP3 voice recorder and placed it on the table between us. Immediately, Neil shook his head. “No recordings.”

Damn.
I put the recorder back in my purse, but left it playing. Without the interviewee’s consent, a recording wouldn’t be admissible evidence in a court, but it might help me later when I was putting together my notes.

“The first thing I want to ask,” I said, “Is what your future plans are for the Riverbelle Casino.”

Neil leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes. He crossed his hands behind his head in a gesture of mock relaxation, but I could tell that he was still watching me suspiciously, as though I might suddenly do something crazy like pull a gun on him or jump onto his desk and start dancing topless.

“I have big plans,” he said, “But they’re private. What’s the next question?”

“Uh.” I stared at him in confusion for a split second. That first question had been a ruse, intended to get him to lower his guard and start spouting corporate bullshit about how wonderful the casino was and how they would be even more profitable soon. His hostile answer threw me off a bit, and was at odds with how eager he seemed to be to do the interview. I decided to push ahead regardless. “How has Ethan Becker’s death affected the Riverbelle?”

His eyes brightened and he leaned forward. “It’s business as usual. I was the CEO when he was around, and I made most of the decisions. That hasn’t changed.”

“And how has Mr. Becker’s death affected you personally?”

“I miss him, of course. But that hasn’t affected my work or the profitability and future growth trends of the Riverbelle.”

“I believe you and Mr. Becker had some disagreements when he was alive?”

“Yes, I didn’t always agree with his ideas for the Riverbelle.”

“And did you have any disagreements on personal issues?”

Neil shook his head. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Well – I
am
writing an article about the Riverbelle’s past and future, so I’d like to g– ”

“Really? Because I talked to Natasha, and she said you never talked to her. And then I called the Nevada Times, and they said nobody named Tiffany Black works for them.”

My eyes widened and I could feel the blood draining from my face. I was surprised Neil had even talked to me for so long.

He smiled. “Why don’t we get this cleared up? Who are you really working for?”

I kept staring at him in shock. My mind had gone blank and I tried desperately to switch it back on. Why hadn’t I planned a back-up identity?

“Alpha Investments? The Warkowski brothers?” Neil mistook my shock for stubbornness and said, “I’ve had a few proposals already, and you won’t get any information unless you let me know who the buyer is.”

“Buyer?”

“For the Riverbelle.”

Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that? That would have been a great cover. I was about to launch into a story about how I worked for a private buyer, but then I stopped. That wouldn’t help me at all – Neil would just talk about financials, and how great he was at his job.

“I’m a private investigator,” I admitted. “I’m not working for any investors, I’m just looking into Ethan Becker’s death.”

It was Neil’s turn to look at me in shock, and for one split second I was pleased by his reaction. And then I realized he would clam up, so I quickly said, “This isn’t about you. I just have a few quick questions about Mr. and Mrs. Becker.”

Neil crossed his arms. “Who hired you?”

“Sophia Becker.”

He broke out into a short laugh and said, “That woman thinks hiring you will help her? No way. I can’t stand that… witch.”

“Uh… I just w– ”

“Nope. Not answering any questions.”

He pushed his chair back and stood up, indicating that our time was over. Regretfully, I stood up too.

“I won’t ask about you,” I said. “Please, just give me five minutes?”

Neil rolled his eyes and looked at his watch. “You’ve got sixty seconds.”

It was better than nothing, and before he could change his mind I said, “Can you tell me about Steven Macarthur?”

“Ethan adored him.”

“How long has he worked here?”

“Forever. Ambitious guy, rose up through the ranks.”

“What about Max – the manager before him?”

Neil frowned. “Max Desilva. Yeah, he was here a long time too, but he left – not on the best of terms with Ethan.”

“Do you know why?”

He shrugged. “The usual. Thought he had been wrongfully fired, knew he wouldn’t get a job anywhere else. Caused a fuss a few times, but we haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“Right. What do you know about Mr. and Mrs. Becker’s marriage?”

Neil looked away and his gaze grew shifty.

“I know he was always unfaithful,” I said. “Was he having an affair with Audrey Waldgraf?”

Neil shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Why w–”

He cut me off brusquely. “That’s enough. We’re done here.”

I extended my hand and he grasped it and held on for a second. “I do miss Ethan,” he said. “He was a good man and I’d like to help bring his killer to justice. But you’re wasting your time working for Sophia. Everyone knows she’s a gold-digging stripper. It’s quite likely for someone to snap after being miserable for too long, just as it’s likely for someone to take the winding way home after he’s had a few too many drinks at a party.”

He looked and sounded sincere and he let go of my hand, nodding towards the door.

“Good luck,” he said and I let myself out.

I handed the keycard back to the disinterested man at reception and felt a pang of hunger. It must’ve been hours since I had that Danish and coffee at Sophia’s house.

“Where’s a good place to eat?” I asked the man.

He glanced at his watch. “Now? I’d say the Café de la Rue would be a good bet, if you’re looking for somewhere quiet.” He pointed down the hall. “That way, first right, can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” I said, and headed off in search of… maybe some afternoon pancakes, I decided, or a nice chocolate muffin, or maybe a slice of tiramisu, or maybe even –

I was so intent on drooling over imaginary food that I bumped straight into someone.

“Whoops!” I said, “Sorry.” And then when I noticed who it was, I smiled. “Leo! What’re
you
doing here?”

Leo smiled back. “Just visiting the place with my aunt.”

That’s when I noticed the woman standing beside him. She was a slender, beautiful brunette wearing a leopard-print Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and red stilettos.

“Oh, hi,” I said, extending my hand, “I’m Tiffany Black.”

“Thelma Durant. Are you a friend of Leo’s?”

“Kinda.” I glanced at Leo. “What’re you two up to?”

“I’m showing him around the place,” Thelma said with a sad smile. “I thought he should know more about it, since he owns half the place now.”

I wanted to correct her, that he owned one-third of the place, and Sophia owned the other third. But my recent chat with Neil had made me realize how painfully unpopular Sophia was with her in-laws, so instead, I said, “I was so sorry to hear about your brother. I hope you’re doing ok?”

“Yes. We’re ok.”

“You were home when it happened, right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s so sad.” I was finding it hard to ask her anything else about the murder and still act normal, and I couldn’t even think of what to ask her. I glanced at Leo, but his face was blank.

“I guess I should let you two get back to the tour,” I said, “It was nice meeting you, Thelma. And good to see you again, Leo.” I dropped him a wink, and hoped he understood not to tell Thelma who I was.

I watched the two of them walk away, and moved slowly in the other direction. I passed the Café de la Rue, but didn’t go in. I kept walking, thinking about Thelma, wondering why the cops hadn’t bothered to investigate her. She had no alibi; but then again, she had no real motive, either.

Maybe Sophia was right – once the cops found the gun, they were afflicted with tunnel vision and couldn’t see that someone else might have been involved. Or maybe they
had
investigated Thelma and hadn’t found anything.

I got to the end of the hallway: there were frosted sliding glass doors, and a sign above that said
Riverbelle Spa
. I retraced my steps, and found myself at Reception again. There was no sign of Thelma and Leo.

“You again,” the man at Reception said, mock-sighing. “Can’t get rid of you, can I?”

I laughed in what I hoped was a flirtatious manner and tried to bat my eyelashes. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d be able to get hold of Steven Macarthur? The manager?”

The receptionist looked wary. “I know who he is.”

“Tell him it’s Tiffany from Alpha Investments. I wonder if he could spare a moment? I can wait.”

He looked at me suspiciously, then went over to a phone in the corner. I couldn’t hear what he said, but I saw him glance back at me occasionally. His entire conversation must’ve taken five minutes, but to me, it felt like hours and hours. The seconds ticked away slowly and I felt like I’d just made a fool of myself. Finally, when my legs were starting to develop pins and needles, the receptionist hung up and came back to me.

“He’s busy,” he said.

I wasn’t surprised, but I was still a bit disappointed. So far today had been going well – Sophia had talked to me about Ethan’s ‘lifestyle,’ Neil had talked to me despite what Sophia had said about him, and I’d run into Thelma… I’d been hoping my luck would continue, but apparently not.