The Eyes Die Last (18 page)

“Yes we did.  I’m sure you saw our disagreement on the news last night.” 

“As a matter of fact, Detective O’Brien and I both did.  Looked like Ms.  Mixer was all over you and in your face.  Must have pissed you off some.” 

“I was damned pissed off.  Getting slapped unexpectedly does that to a person.  As it turns out, it was all a misunderstanding and I got over it quickly.”  He pointed a hand in the direction of the sofa. 

Wilder shook his head at the offer of a seat.  “A misunderstanding?  How so?”  “Ms.  Mixer thought that I disagreed with her politics.” 

Wilder jotted down a few notes.  “Must have been pretty embarrassing for you to have your fight broadcast on the news.” 

Campenelli shrugged, but didn’t say anything. 

Wilder looked at Kennedy.  Though she seemed to be following the conversation, she still wasn’t saying a word.  Truly a day of surprises. 

Campenelli resumed, “Once I convinced her she had the wrong man, she was a sweetheart.  She was mortified at her
outbur
st
.
Ms.  Mixer ended up shaking my hand before she left.” 

Wilder tilted his head to the side.  “I don’t recall seeing that on the tube.” 

“Of course you didn’t.  Ed Hershey’s breaking news would have been boring and useless if he’d aired the truth.” 

“You’re saying Mr.  Hershey deliberately failed to report the story in its entirety?” 

“I’m saying if Ed Hershey had shown what really happened the viewers would have seen Ms.  Mixer shaking my hand.  She was a nice lady who worked hard to support her two small children.  What a waste her death is.” 

Wilder thought he heard a touch of sadness in the other man’s voice.  “Can you tell us where you were last night after the dinner until about three AM this morning?” 

“I left the hotel after the dinner and came straight home, arriving shortly past ten.  I stayed in the rest of the night and caught the eleven o’clock news.  I was offended at the blatant false reporting and needed to unload.  I tried to work off some of my anger in my home gym.  After that I made a couple of phone calls before going to bed around one-thirty or two.” 

Wilder scribbled away in his notebook.  “Is there anyone who can verify that?”

“My press secretary and the limo driver can verify my trip home, and my press secretary was one of the people I called.” 

“We’ll need names and phone numbers.”  Nick nodded in reply. 

Wilder flipped a page.  “What about after you arrived home?” 

“Burton, I believe your partner referred to him as Jeeves the Scarecrow, was off last night.”  Nick’s eyes sparkled with humor. 

“I’m not sure what time Burton arrived home or if he knows what time I came in.  You’ll have to ask him.  Other than that, I’ve no one to vouch for me. 

“The other phone call I made was to my lawyer, and both were from my cell phone.  They can tell you the times I called, and of course you can get a warrant for my cell phone records, they should be able to verify the tower location the calls were made from.” 

Campenelli turned to Kennedy.  “May I offer either of you a cup of coffee?” 

“No, thank you.”  Kennedy had apparently found her voice.  “Did you know Ms.  Mixer before last night’s confrontation?” 

“I’d never laid eyes on her before she exploded through the doors of the banquet room.  If Ms.  Mixer had known me, the whole incident would never have taken place.  She was hell bent on setting me straight.  And I can tell you she had one mean open-handed slap.”  Nick rubbed his cheek where Phoebe had landed her blow the night before. 

“You’ve never purchased Ms.  Mixer’s services?” 

“I don’t need to pay for sex, Detective O’Brien.” 

Kennedy
studied Campenelli.  Yeah, he wouldn’t have to pay for sex.  The man was a babe magnet.  The type of man women regularly threw themselves at. 

She took over the lead from Wilder.  “So, if what you say is true about last night’s confrontation with Ms.  Mixer, Ed’s news story was an obvious attempt to show you in a negative way.  A piece bordering on good old-fashioned lies.” 

Nick sneered.  “Reporting that would make the National Enquirer jealous.” 

“Never let the truth get in the way of a good story?” 

“Exactly.  That’s Ed’s motto.” 

Kennedy nodded. 

Wilder said, “I’d like to confirm your alibi with Mr.  Burton, if you could point me in the right direction.” 

Nick pointed to a hallway on the left.  “He’s in the kitchen.  His name is just Burton.  No first name.  No last name.  No Mr.” 

“Thanks.  I’ll see what Burton has to say.  Excuse me.” 

Kennedy
felt a moment of awkwardness standing alone, face-to-face with Nicolas Campenelli.  Her mind threatened to blank out again.  When her brain cells fired, she gave herself a mental high five that her voice didn’t squeak or stutter when she talked. 

“Mr.  Campenelli, if prostitution becomes legal in Clark County, do you have any plans to profit from it?” 

“Not personally, but the county stands to make good money if it happens.  And right now, Vegas needs the added tax income.” 

“Do the deaths of the prostitutes benefit you in any way?” 

His nostrils flared.  “That’s a ridiculous question, one I won’t dignify with an answer.” 

“And how long have you known Ms.  Mixer?” 

“I said I’d never met her before last night.” 

“Mr.  Campenelli, do you have any idea why Ed Hershey went out of his way to make you look bad last night?  I got the impression he enjoyed giving you a good trashing.” 

“Is that a touch of Irish I hear in your voice, Detective?” 

“What?”  How did the man manage to turn off the anger so quickly?  “I hear a trace of Irish in your voice.” 

“That’s none of your business.”  She refused to let him muddy her interview.  “Just answer my question, please.” 

“Trashing me is one of Hersh’s favorite pastimes.  It made him angry when I refused to do a special one-on-one interview with him.  He’s used to getting his own way.” 

“That’s a poor reason to make you look bad.” 

“Well, he may also hold a little grudge because I had dinner a couple of times with his ex-wife after they’d separated.” 

That reason made a hell of a lot more sense to her.  “How long did you date the ex-wife?” 

“No more than two or three times.  But it wasn’t exactly what I would call dating.”  Nick raised one eyebrow, stared at her.  “Is that question relevant to your investigation, Detective?  Or is it of a personal nature?”  His dimpled smile was sly. 

Damn, he was easy on the eyes.  “It’s necessary for the investigation.  We need to gather all the information we can.” 

Before she could say anything else dim-witted, Wilder returned from the kitchen and rescued her.  She gave silent thanks to the save-me-from-myself-Gods.  She stepped aside and let her partner stand between her and the man who made it hard for her to keep her focus. 

“Mr.  Campenelli, Burton was not able to confirm your alibi.  Are you sure there’s no one else who might be able to?” 

“Maybe Stephen, the night doorman.  You can check with him when he returns from his vacation.  He left for Mexico after his last shift.  I think he’ll be back in two weeks.” 

Kennedy was tempted to say, “No alibi?  Sucks to be you, Campenelli.”  Instead she settled for, “We’ll try to contact him in Mexico.  Thanks for talking with us.”

Wilder passed Nick one of his cards and one of Kennedy’s.  “If you think of anything else, no matter what, about last night’s events, please give us a call.” 

“I’ll be sure to do that.”  Nick took both of the cards and his dark eyes locked with Kennedy’s.  His stare sent shivers racing straight down to her toes and she swore she felt her scalp tingling.  Jeez, what’s this about? 

After they left the penthouse, Wilder clucked his tongue.  “You can pick up your tongue now and put it back in your mouth.  And breathe.  After three minutes, brain cells begin to die.” 

Kennedy ignored him.  Nick was the kind of man a woman could fantasize about for hours on end.  Even a woman like Kennedy, who could care less about finding a Mr.  Right, might take a second look. 

Wilder laughed.  “I bet if Nicolas Campenelli had asked you out to dinner to discuss the case you wouldn’t have turned him down like you did Ed Hershey and Frank Curtis over at the ‘Pick Up Palace’.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Like I said before, you’re a real funny guy.”  She punched the elevator’s down button. 

“You get anything else out of him while I was with Jeeves?”  “Nothing.  I couldn’t rattle him at all.” 

“He’s a cool one for sure.” 

“Let’s check with the doorman on our way out and see if he’s got any idea how we can get in touch with the vacationing Stephen.  We also need to get a look at the security tapes from last night.  Hopefully, management will hand them over without a court order.” 

“It’s worth a shot.”  The elevator’s doors bounced open.  “Ready for another quick ride in the elevator?” 

Quick was an understatement.  Fortunately, Kennedy managed to keep herself together on the ride down. 

They crossed the marble entrance quickly, and Kennedy stopped to speak with the doorman on their way out.  “We need to get in touch with Stephen, the night doorman.  Do you know how we can do that?” 

“I can give you the number for the manager of the building.  He might be able to help you.  I do know Stephen is in Mexico, but I’m not sure exactly where.” 

“Thanks, we’ll take that number.”  She nodded to Wilder and he took out his notebook.  “We’d also like a look at the security tapes from last night.  We can get a court order, but it’d save time if you’d let us view them now.” 

“You’ll need that court order or permission from management to remove the tapes from the premises, but you’re welcome to look at them here in the office.  We have security cameras at all eight doors that have access to the outside.  Unfortunately the camera covering the front door isn’t working.  We have a work order in and we’re waiting on a part.” 

Kennedy didn’t bother to hide her frustration.  “How long has the camera been down?” 

The man put a finger on his chin, looked upwards and waited a few beats.  “I’d say almost a week.  We’re hoping to have the camera up and running in a day or two.  In the meantime, we just try to minimize our time away from the front desk.  It’s been a challenge.  Doormen have other duties besides manning the door.” 

“Do the residents know the front door camera is
n’t working?”  Kennedy asked. 
“I can’t imagine why they would.  It’s not exactly something we’d advertise.” 

Wilder’s mouth creased into a grimace.  “We’ll look at what you’ve got.  Maybe we’ll see something on one of them.” 

Using the fast forward feature, Kennedy and Wilder viewed the security tapes for over an hour.  There were no shots of Nick entering or leaving the building.  They thanked the doorman and left. 

Wilder rubbed his eyes and sighed.  “That was a major waste of time.  We still don’t have a clue whether or not Campenelli left the building last night.  All we know is he didn’t leave through seven of the eight exits.” 

Kennedy breathed in a blast of the hot Vegas air, felt it burn all the way down her throat and into her lungs.  She let it out.  “It was worth a try.  Let’s call Grandpa and see if he has anything new.” 

Wilder rubbed the back of his neck.  “Three murders and we still don’t know for sure who we’re after.” 

Kennedy removed her jacket, swung it over her shoulder.  “You’re wrong.  We know we’re looking for a psycho.” 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

BY THE TIME WILDER AND KENNEDY PULLED INTO METRO’S PARKING LOT, THE CROWN VIC HAD COOLED DOWN NICELY.
  Kennedy snapped her cell phone shut as Wilder backed into his reserved parking spot and shifted into park.

Kennedy put her phone in her pocket.  “The warrant for last night’s news film is tied up in bullshit and red tape, thanks to LVTVS’s legal department.  They either have one hell of a legal staff on board or someone has a connection with the Judge.  And, the DA says we don’t have enough evidence to get a court order for DNA on anyone.”

Wilder slapped a hand on his steering wheel.  “Isn’t it about time we caught a break in this case?”

“You’d think so.”  She felt a wave of exhaustion, or maybe it was frustration, wash over her.  She studied her partner, decided he looked as beat as she felt.  “It’s been a long day.  Wouldn’t it be nice if we could take a b
reak and start fresh tomorrow?”

“Whoa, I need this in writing.  Detective Kennedy O’Brien wants a little down time.  And holy shit, she’s in the middle of a case.  This is like a historic event.”

She slapped at his arm.  “Hey, I’m only thinking of you.  An old man like you can’t be expected to keep up 24/7.”

“This old man could run circles around you.”

And he probably could.  “In your dreams, Wild Thing.”  She climbed out of his car and slammed the door shut.

They headed inside in companionable silence, and separated at their desks to, once again, go over what they had.