The Eyes Die Last (21 page)

Kennedy dipped her chin and arched a brow, returning the gesture.  “Thank you for your help.  I’ll head over to Mr.  Campenelli’s office and have a chat with him.” 

Kennedy left Lucy standing in the middle of Campenelli’s campaign headquarters with a blank look on her face. 

What the hell is it about this man that makes me behave like a juvenile? 

Kennedy
walked the short distance to the impressive Campenelli Corporate Plaza.  The lobby of the building was as classy as the man’s home.  The sharp interior exuded power and strength.  Very similar to the way she’d describe the man who owned it.  It was every bit as alluring as the surrounding casinos of Vegas, but without all the glitter and flash. 

The man sure loved his artwork, she noted.  The collection here was as extensive as the one at his penthouse.  Several life-size, bronze sculptures were scattered around.  The foyer was filled with thriving plants of all sorts and a large fountain was located to the left of the entrance doors.  It’s softly running water sounded like a small stream trickling through rocks.  It was meant to be calming and it was. 

The only other sound was the echo of her dull boot heels click-clacking across the marble floors to the reception desk.  It was a damn good thing she didn’t want the element of surprise. 

The elevator, located directly across from the reception desk, boasted large brass doors polished to a twinkle.  A perky, blonde-haired, impeccably dressed woman with a warm smile welcomed Kennedy when she reached the reception desk. 

“May I help you?”  Blondie asked, looking Kennedy over with big blue eyes. 

It seems everyone wanted to help today. 

“Yes, I’d like to see Nicolas Campenelli.” 

“Do you have an appointment with Mr.  Campenelli?” 

“I’m afraid not.  But, he’ll want to see me, I’m sure.”  Leaning over the desk she whispered, “You see,” Kennedy pointed to her trusty badge, “I’m a cop and I need to speak with him.” 

As soon as she leaned over the desk, two large men dressed in black suits came slipping out from the woodwork toward her. 

“Call off the security bozos before someone gets hurt.” 

Kennedy never let her eyes drift from the other woman’s.  The receptionist hesitated for a moment, and then raised her hand in a little wave and the men retreated. 

“Much better, Miss...”Kennedy checked out the woman’s nametag planted front and center on her
chest
.
“Ms.  McLouder.  Now, on which floor will I find Mr.  Campenelli’s office?” 

“The top of course.  The fifty-fifth floor.” 

“Well, naturally it would be the top floor.  What was I thinking?”  She rubbed her forehead with her thumb and forefinger.  “What office number please?” 

“The whole floor is his office.  Are you okay, Detective?” 

“I’m fine.” 

Blondie smiled and gave Kennedy a visitor pass to clip on her jacket as she gestured to security.  I’ll call and let Mr.  Campenelli know you’re on your way up.” 

“I’d prefer to surprise him.”  She gave Blondie a pointed look as one of the security goons stepped ahead of her and keyed the elevator to the 55th floor.

Kennedy got in.  “Fifty-fifth floor.  It figures.”  She took a deep breath as the doors closed.  “Here we go.” 

Most of Kennedy’s body went up, but it seemed her stomach chose to stay down on the lower floors somewhere.  When the elevator reached its destination, she all but ran out of the tiny box that seemed to grow smaller as it passed each floor.  Once she was standing on solid flooring again, she let out the deep breath she’d been holding during the trip up.  She reached out a hand, touched a wall, and steadied herself. 

Kennedy took in her surroundings, wondering why on earth anyone needed an office this damn big.  It was huge.  It was spectacular and, she had to admit, the view was totally awesome.  She moved over to the window and stared out at the city, the desert, and then beyond to the mountains. 

Nick
, leaning against a marble pillar with his arms crossed, observed the detective as she took in the view and tried to figure out what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. 

She was stunning.  Her hair, a rich sable color, fell just below her shoulders.  Long, dark lashes surrounded rare blue-violet eyes.  Her lips were full and softly sculpted.  She was tall and lithe, and when she moved, he got a glimpse of the soft, womanly curves hidden beneath her jacket.  He watched as she wrapped her arms around her
waist
.

Was that a little shiver? 

She tilted her head back and took a deep breath, and then let it out with a long sigh. 

“Are you chilled, Detective?  I can get you a wrap.” 

She turned and snarled.  “I just lost my balance for a second.  And you shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that.  You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.” 

She didn’t give him a chance to respond. 

“Why in the hell would anyone want an office way up here anyway?” 

He found the slight Irish cadence that had slipped into her voice, very, very sexy.  “For the view of course.  I’m afraid I’ve caught you admiring it.  Or was that sigh for me?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Slick.  Not that it’s any of your business, but that was an attempt to keep my morning coffee down.  The ride up could make a bird nauseous.” 

“Not fond of heights, I take it.  Too bad.  Being at the top gives a person a much clearer picture of everything.”  He stepped forward and stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder with her, enjoying the view himself.  “Can you honestly deny how great the view is from here?” 

“Being this high up makes my heart pound and knees weak.  I feel so woozy I could hurl, but strangely enough, I can’t help but look.”  Her voice softened.  “It’s a really spectacular view.” 

Nick could tell the minute Kennedy realized what she’d said.  She turned to face him, looking totally mortified.  Her eyes narrowed and her body stiffened. 

“I’m glad you enjoy it, Detective.  Give yourself a few minutes and the weak knees and the urge to hurl, as you so delicately put it, will go away.  Then you can relax and enjoy the panorama.” 

Her voice had regained its hard edge.  “Sorry, I don’t have the time to stand around getting off on scenery.  And I sure as hell don’t have the time to worry about whether or not I speak delicately.  I have a few more questions I need you to answer.” 

“No problem, Detective.  Let’s move over to my desk, or the couch.  Whichever you’d feel more comfortable at.” 

“Your desk will be fine.  This shouldn’t take long, Mr.  Campenelli.” 

“Please, call me Nick.”  He led her over to his desk and offered her a chair across from his own. 

“Mr.  Campenelli—”

“Nick, please,” he interrupted. 

“I’m not here to make nice, Mr.  Campenelli.  I’d like for you to tell me about the photos of prostitutes you have plastered on the break room wall at your campaign headquarters.  Can you explain what that’s all about?” 

He felt the beginnings of anger snake up his spine, then take root at the base of his skull.  “I see you’ve been talking to Ed Hershey.  He asked me the same question and I told him to go to hell as it was none of his business.  I assume since you’re wearing that nice shiny badge, I wouldn’t get away with giving you the same explanation.” 

“You assume right.” 

“I keep the pictures around to remind my staff to treat all Las Vegas residents with respect.  It seems to work.  It’s hard to badmouth a woman when you see her several times a day in pictures doing everyday activities like the rest of us.” 

“Have you always had the photos?” 

“Since the day my headquarters opened.  Legalizing prostitution in Clark County has always been an issue I’ve felt strongly about.” 

He gave her time to digest his answer, then asked, “May I offer you a drink?  I have bottled water, iced tea, soft drinks, and coffee, or something stronger if you’re so inclined.” 

“Like I said, Campenelli, I’m not here to socialize.  I only want answers from you, like where were you Sunday night and Monday night?” 

“The night the first two women were murdered?”  He gave her a puzzled look.  “Oh, I see.  Am I to presume I’m now a suspect in those two murders?” 

K
ennedy
suddenly found herself wishing the security tapes or Jeeves the Scarecrow could have backed up Nick’s alibi on the night Phoebe Mixer was murdered. 

“Just answer the question please.  Remember, your butler couldn’t verify your whereabouts the night of the third murder.  We still haven’t located your night doorman and your building’s security tapes were worthless.  I need to know if you have an alibi for the nights the other two women were murdered.” 

“Excuse me.  I’m afraid I need a moment to recall what I was doing those nights.” 

“No problem.” 

He sat down at his desk and consulted his calendar, flipping through the pages swiftly.  A moment later he let out a sigh.  “The night the second woman was killed I was at home in my study working on my speech for the League of Women Voters.  Sunday night I was tired from a hectic travel schedule I’d had that week.  I stayed in and watched a movie...  alone.  I’m not sure Burton can verify my whereabouts on those nights either.  Unless I’m entertaining, I usually dismiss him after dinner.  I guess you’ll have to speak to him directly.” 

“I’ll do that.” 

“Do you always have such a one-track mind, Detective?  All business, no play?”

“Would you be interested in providing a DNA sample to clear your name?” 

He leaned back in the chair, his eyes wide.  “I can’t imagine that will be necessary.” 

She stood up and walked to the door.  “Thank you for your time.” 

“You’re welcome.  Will you be okay riding down the elevator?  I can escort you if you’d like.” 

“No, I wouldn’t like.  I’ll be fine.  Coming up is the hard part.  Going down is a breeze.”  Yeah, right. 

She felt the warm touch of his hand as he took her elbow and escorted her to the elevator.  The large mirrored doors opened, she stepped in with her security goon and watched Nicolas Campenelli as the doors closed. 

Kennedy held her breath again while she sped toward earth at death defying speeds.  After a relatively safe landing—no bones were broken—Kennedy exited the elevator, hauled ass through the building’s front doors, ducked into the side alley and threw up.

How classy could one woman be? 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SHORTLY AFTER DUMPING THE CONTENTS OF HER STOMACH, KENNEDY CLIMBED INTO HER CAR AND EMPTIED HER PURSE ONTO THE PASSENGER SEAT.

“No mints.  Not even a recycled piece of chewing gum in a wadded up piece of foil.”  Why is it a person never seems to have a breath mint or piece of gum handy after crossing the finish line of a hurling marathon?  She rummaged through the glove box and center console.  “No grape taffy either.”

Never one to give in to minor setbacks, Kennedy made a fast stop at the nearest burger joint and rinsed her mouth out in the bathroom’s sink.  As long as she was there, she ordered a quarter-pound hamburger with fries and a chocolate shake.  Kennedy drove, windows down, top up, toward the seediest part of town, searching for Phoebe Mixer’s apartment.  She’d arranged to interview Phoebe’s friend.

Kennedy watched the area around her morph from the glamour and glitz of the Vegas Strip into a completely different world.  This was the side of the city the tourists never saw.  Hell, most Vegas residents never stepped foot here and she couldn’t begin to imagine trying to raise kids in this part of the city.

Prostitution, drug dealing, and God only knows what else took place on these streets.  The crime rate in the twenty block area known as Hooker Haven was at an all time high.  In the last four months, seventeen murders had occurred in the vicinity.  The recent prostitute murders pushed the total to twenty, a new record for any part of Vegas.

The buildings became more and more dilapidated as Kennedy drove deeper into the area.  Most of the run down apartments and businesses were in need of new paint and window repairs.  Trash littered the sidewalks and graffiti covered many of the building’s walls.  Her nose twitched.  The area even had its own putrid smell, a unique kind of skunk meets urine combination, and the extreme heat was doing its best to exaggerate it.

She leaned over and gave a twist to the on/off button of the Mustang’s air-conditioner.  Damn.  Still dead as a lump of coal, but hey, it never hurt to try, did it?  She wiped at a trickle of sweat oozing down her neck and gazed from side to side out her windows.  In spite of the heat, not to mention the smell, people were congregating everywhere, three here, four there, hookers and drug dealers, and pimps.  Drunks lounged in the areas shaded by buildings, hugging tightly to their paper bag-wrapped bottles as if they were lifelines.  For many, she mused, they were. 

Kennedy watched a homeless woman digging through the trash, a treasure trove painstakingly piled in the small shopping cart parked next to her.  A tall pole was centered in her rusted cart and had a drooping, bright orange flag attached to it.  Several stuffed animals hung from the sides of her cart.