Chance

CHAPTER 29

The phone rang in my hotel room at 7:35. I was lying in bed awake, when it rang, planning out a full day of volcano watching.

"She never showed," Chollo said without preamble.

"I waited three flights. With my sign. I don't know what she looks like.

Nobody came up and spoke to me. So I went home, figured it was another gringo trick."

"Perfect," I said.

"Anytime you want me go stand around LAX again with a silly fucking sign, be sure and let me know," Chollo said.

"I'm not happy either," I said and hung up.

I got out of bed and stood at the window and looked out. Be hours before the volcano erupted. I called Susan but her machine was on which meant she was already downstairs in her office. I called Julius's room, but he'd checked out. I looked at the business card the little guy in the Panama hat had given me. It said Bernard J. Fortunate Investigator, Professional and Discreet.

There was a phone number with a Vegas area code. I called it. No answer. So I called the cops. They're always there. I asked for Homicide, got Romero, and told him what I knew.

"Back in Boston," Romero said, when I was through, "when you were on the cops, did you keep losing your gun?"

"I've had better weeks," I said.

"I hope so," Romero said.

After I hung up I showered and shaved in the empty large hotel suite, making as big a deal out of it as I could. I called Hawk to see if he wanted breakfast. He did. I dressed carefully, and went down. Bob brought us coffee.

"Hey, Boston," he said.

"You got yourself some kind of shiner."

"Any kind will do," I said.

Hawk drank some orange juice. I had decaf and a couple of bagels. Hawk had scrambled eggs with chives, coffee, and sourdough toast.

"What we going to do now?" Hawk said.

"You may as well go home."

He nodded.

"You staying around?"

"Another day or so maybe, just make sure I haven't missed anything."

"Missed anything," Hawk said.

"We missed every fucking thing there was to miss out here. We lost Anthony, we lost Bibi. Shirley got killed. Julius fired us, and Marty Anaheim whacked you on the bazoo. Probably would have whacked me on the bazoo too, if I was there."

I drank some decaf.

"You know who I miss," I said.

"I miss Pearl the Wonder Dog.

She'd act like I was terrific if she were here. She'd think I was the balls."

"Sure," Hawk said, "me too."

After breakfast I said goodbye to Hawk and went to talk with my new friends in Vegas Homicide.

Romero was drinking coffee in his cubicle in the Homicide squad room.

"After you called us," he said, "Cooper went over to the Grand. Talked with Mickey Holmes, the security guy over there. Used to work here. Bernard J. Fortunate checked out last night. There was no Martin Anaheim registered. Mickey says guy answering his description was with Bernard J. Fortunate yesterday when he checked out and no one's seen him since. Julius Ventura and party flew out on Delta at eight-fifteen this morning. To Boston, via DFW. So far we got no flight record on Anthony Meeker.

We're still checking. He coulda paid cash, used another name.

We're checking cash ticket purchases. Car rentals too."

"Would have had to use a card for a car."

"So I've heard," Romero said.

"You got anything new on Shirley Ventura?"

"Nothing that matters. Still raped and strangled. M.E. says she was slapped around some before she was killed."

"Any of her belongings show up?"

"No."

"You release the body?"

"Yep. Local funeral parlor is shipping it to Boston for them."

"What do you know about Bernard J. Fortunate?" I said.

"Never heard of him," Romero said.

"He's in the phone book, no address. We'll get one from the phone company and check him out."

"He had a gun."

"I'll check him from that end too," Romero said.

"You want to call me in a couple days, I'll let you know what I know."

"I'll probably go to Boston tomorrow," I said.

"Any problem?"

"No. I can find you if I need you."

"You talk to LAPD about Bibi Anaheim?"

"Yeah. They never heard of her," Romero said.

"Neither has anybody in Oregon. They do they'll let us know. You know anything about her? Maiden name? Where she grew up?"

I remembered the wry reference to marrying Marty after high school. Fairhaven High, 1977.

"No," I said and wasn't even sure exactly why I lied.

"Grand, just like everything else in the fucking case nowhere to look and nothing to do."

Romero got up and got some more coffee from the coffeemaker in the squad room. He looked at me. I shook my head. He came back in with the coffee and sat back down at his desk and put one foot up on his open bottom drawer and tilted his chair back a little.

"Talked to a homicide guy in L.A. named Samuelson." He blew on the black surface of the coffee for a moment and then took a sip.

"Says he knows you. Says hello."

"I screwed up a case with him once too," I said.

Romero shrugged and grinned at me.

"Shit happens," he said.

"Yeah," I said.

"Quite often."