Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 143, No. 1. Whole No. 868, January 2014

Some Flames Never Die by Percy Spurlark Parker

Percy Spurlark Parker appeared in EQMM’s Department of First Stories forty-one years ago with “Block Party.” He’s gone on to write many more stories for anthologies and magazines, including our sister publication, AHMM, and he’s the author of two published novels. He’s one of the original members of the Private Eye Writers of America and a former president of Mystery Writers of Americas Midwest Chapter. He returns to EQMM this month with an entry in his Trevor Oaks P.I. series.

After I got over the initial shock of her walking into the Game Room, I could just about break it down to the number of years and months since I’d last seen her. Given a minute or two and I could probably have come up with the exact number of days. It wasn’t that I was a lovesick sap or anything. Sure, I’d thought about her over the years, what could’ve been, maybe even what should’ve been, but her not being around hadn’t made a monk out of me by any means.

It’s just that when you’re laid up in the hospital after you’ve injured your knee at football practice and the doctors tell you they can fix it so you can walk, but forget about any plans for a pro football career, and you tell your girlfriend expecting some words of solace or encouragement, but instead she blows you a kiss and says adios... Well, you just tend to remember things like that.

Back then. I’d been a second-string offensive end for UNLV. I had my girl, and another two years of college ball to make the pros take notice. I was six foot four and a solid two-fifty; she was five-nine without heels. We were a power couple on campus. I used to like the way people looked at us. Life was good, full of promise. But then came that day at practice when I was making a cut and my cleats got jammed into the turf and I got hit at the same time. I can still hear the pop my knee made.

In retrospect, maybe it was a good thing she left me. At the time, I wasn’t a nice guy to be around. I probably would’ve done or said something to force her to leave anyway. Anger and self-pity don’t make a great combination.

She’d taken a few steps into the Game Room and stopped, almost posing, getting the attention of everybody in the joint. There was actually a moment when the booms and bangs of the arcade games were silent as the players gawked.

She’d always had a great figure, tall and statuesque, a graceful stride to her walk, just the right amount of hip action. She’d put on a little weight since our college days, but it had all gone to the right places. She was wearing knee-high, spike-heeled boots, a tan skirt, and a tan fur-trimmed leather jacket with a fur cap cocked to one side of her head. It was a fitting outfit for Vegas’s changeable November weather.

From where I stood, which was behind the counter on her right, the mink cap and trimmings looked genuine. It meant one of two things: Either she had enough money to buy some real fine fake fur, or she had enough money to buy the real McCoy and to tell PETA to go to hell. The key here being she had enough money for either. She’d evidently hit the mother lode since the last time I’d seen her, the rock on her left hand being further proof of my assessment.

Her dark brown hair was thick and luxurious, its ends mingled with her mink collar. Her complexion was just a little darker than the tan of her jacket. She’d had a nose job — it wasn’t quite as wide as I remembered — but her lips were still full, inviting, if I let my mind wander in that direction.

Her lips smiled, and her big brown eyes widened somewhat as she came over to me. “Hello, Tree.”

Tree was the tag I’d been handed back in high school, and it had followed me into college ball. Trevor “Oak Tree” Oaks. There were only a very few who still used the name today.

“Hello, Val,” I said, my throat suddenly going dry.

“Bet you didn’t expect to see me again.”

I swallowed, got my composure. “Truthfully, I used to dream about one day passing you on the street and you’d be selling pencils or asking for a handout, and I’d stop, smile, and just keep going.”

She shrugged. “I guess I deserve that. But surely you’ve gotten over it. You couldn’t still feel that way after all this time.”

“No, I’ve learned to accept life’s little twists and turns.”

“Good. I would hate to think you’re holding a grudge.”

Actually, I’d gone from the pencil thing to an earthquake swallowing her up, to a bunch of fire ants slowly doing a number on her. As I said, back then I wasn’t a very nice guy to be around.

“I suppose it’s only polite for me to ask how your knee is doing?”

“It’s kept me off the football field, and I can generally tell when it’s going to rain, but otherwise it’s okay.”

“That’s good to hear... about you managing all right, I mean.”

“Thanks for the concern,” I said. “So, now that the amenities are out of the way, what can I chalk this visit up to? You surely can’t be here to get back together. You seem to be doing all right as things are.”

Her smile perked a little. “Yes, I’m doing very well these days.” Then she sobered, looked around the place. Some of the gamers still hadn’t returned to their play. “Is there someplace private where we can talk?”

“My office,” I said, coming from behind the counter.

She followed me to the back end of the arcade where the closed office door confronted us. I knocked, not waiting for a reply before opening the door.

Holly Warrington, the only full-timer I employ at the Game Room, looked up from my desk and the stacks of invoices she’d been working on.

“I’m going to need the office.”

“Sure,” she said, standing and stacking the papers to one side. She was a few years older than myself, dark complexion, with high cheekbones, her hair in long tiny braided dreads, and a body that most showgirls strive for.

She came from behind the desk and slid past us as she exited the office. It might have been my imagination, but along with the polite smile she and Val exchanged I thought they also shared an icy stare.

I closed the door as Val sat in one of the two chairs in front of my desk, and I went around and sat myself. “Now, what’s this all about.”

“I need a private detective.”

“I didn’t know you were aware I have a license.”

“Not that I’ve been keeping tabs on you, but I still have ties here in Vegas. I’ll admit the arcade threw me for a moment.”

It says Miller’s Game Room out front, no mention of my name or the P.I. side of the business. Gus Miller had been a good friend. He left the Game Room to me in his will. I’d never put any thought into changing the name of the place, or making any reference to my being a private investigator. My action, or rather inaction, hadn’t seemed to put a dent in either one of the businesses.

“The Game Room was left to me by a former client,” I explained. “Didn’t think it made sense to keep another office when this one was here.”

“Sounds practical. I don’t believe that was one of your traits when we were going together. You wanted the fanciest car and the biggest house, as I recall.”

“Yeah, well. What can I say. I grew up.”

“I think we both have,” she said with a nod.

“So, what do you need a private detective for?”

“My niece, or rather my husband’s niece. She’s going on trial in two weeks for murdering her boyfriend. And from all indications, she’s going to be convicted.”

“Did she do it?”

“She says she didn’t.”

“That alone isn’t much of a defense.”

“That’s what her lawyers are saying.”

“Who’s the accused?”

“Bethany Andenbeck. Do you know the name?”

A slight chuckle involuntarily slipped from my mouth. “Yes, I do.”

If you lived in Vegas, you knew the name. The Andenbecks owned a piece of at least a fifth of the casinos in the state, one or two properties in Atlantic City, and some European investments also. I remembered reading about the murder when it occurred about eight, nine months earlier. Neighbors reported hearing gunfire and seeing Bethany run out of her boyfriend’s apartment with a gun in her hand. I remember at the time thinking, Andenbeck or not, she didn’t have a chance in hell of getting away with it.

“So, you’re part of the Andenbeck clan now?”

“Stephen and I are coming up on our fifth anniversary. He’s Allen Andenbeck’s youngest son. We met at a Lakers’ game. Found out we both had roots here in Vegas and, well...”

“I see,” I said, knowing damn well that once she latched onto him, poor Stephen hadn’t had a chance. “Look, with all the Andenbeck money behind your niece I’m sure this case has been checked out six different ways from Sunday. I don’t know what you expect me to be able to do at this late date.”

“We were hoping you could prove her innocent.”

“This is Vegas, Val, but I’m not a magician.”

“That’s the type of attitude that’s her biggest problem, Tree. Everyone from the police on down believes she’s guilty. No one has really been on her side. Even her lawyers are advising her to take a plea bargain.”

“That may be her best option.”

“We need someone to take her side in this. Someone who can really make a difference.”

“And that’s supposed to be me?”

“You’re our last chance. If you can’t come up with something that convinces everyone she’s innocent, she’s going to be found guilty for sure. You’ll be paid handsomely, of course.”

“Listen, Val. Being able to write my own paycheck is pretty tempting. But being in this business you develop some scruples. You have to. It’s like a defense mechanism. At least I have, sometimes to my own detriment, I’ll admit. But I don’t take money under false pretenses. I honestly can’t see where I’d be of any help.”

She clinched her lips. Sighed. “How about this, don’t make your mind up right now. Talk to her first. Hear her side of things. Will you at least do that?”

“I think it’ll be a waste of all of our time, but okay. How soon can I see her?”

“Right now if you’d like. She’s outside in my car.”

Bethany hadn’t been alone; Stephen Andenbeck was also waiting in the car with her. The three of them filled my little office, the two ladies sitting while Stephen stood behind them. He wore a thick wool turtleneck sweater, blue in color, and a pair of designer jeans. His sandy blond hair flowed in a rambling pattern, sweeping over the tops of his ears. By contrast, his niece’s blond locks were chopped short, somewhat haphazard and yet fashionable.

“Thanks for agreeing to see us, Mr. Oaks,” Stephen said. His voice was a rich measured baritone, which somewhat surprised me coming from his slender frame. “I was hesitant when Mrs. Navilone suggested you, but then Val seems to have faith in you also.”

“Belle brought me to your attention?”

“Yes. She said if anyone could help, it would be you.”

Belle Navilone was from old-school Vegas, a widow of one of Vegas’s crime bosses. I’d worked a number of jobs for her and she’d been pleased with the outcome. She’d wanted to put me on her payroll, or at least a standing retainer. I liked a little more freedom than either of those arrangements would allow. We settled for her calling when she needed me. And as an addendum she directed a lot of business my way.

I leaned back in my chair looking directly across to Bethany. She was slender-framed also, but in a good way. She wasn’t a world-class beauty but she was close. She had large deep blue eyes, a pert little upturned nose, and a faint splash of red covered her lips, which seemed to have a permanent pucker.

“Before I commit myself, I think it’s best if I hear your side of the story, Ms. Andenbeck.”

She cleared her throat, sat up a little straighten “I don’t believe I shot Ricky.”

“You don’t believe?”

“I can’t remember what happened exactly, but I just know I wouldn’t have shot him. I couldn’t have, I loved him.”

“There’s something missing here,” I said. “From what I understand, there were witnesses who heard gunshots and saw you running from your boyfriend’s apartment carrying a gun.”

“Yes, I guess that’s true. But you see, I’d been drinking pretty heavy that evening. I don’t even remember Ricky bringing me to his apartment.”

“What do you remember?”

“Hearing some noise that woke me up.” She shrugged. “I had the gun in my hand and Ricky was lying on the bedroom floor. I don’t know. I guess I panicked and ran.”

“What did you do with the gun?”

“I must have dropped it outside of Ricky’s apartment building. The police say they recovered it in the bushes by the entrance.”

“Your gun?”

She shook her head. “One of Ricky’s. He was a nut about them. He always had several guns in his apartment. At least one in every room.”

“Just lying around?”

“Sometimes. You’d move a newspaper, or a sofa cushion, or a pillow and one would be lying there.”

“Seems rather careless to me.”

“What can I say, that was Ricky.”

“Where did you do all this drinking?”

“Little place on Fort Apache, The Frosty Mug. Ricky and I used to hang out there a lot. It was kind of our spot.”

“So, you got a snootful and you don’t remember the boyfriend escorting you out of the joint. Do you always drink that much, Ms. Andenbeck?”

“No, it wasn’t the norm, but you see, we’d had an argument and broken up two weeks earlier. We’d just gotten back together and, well, I guess I overdid it.”

“Did you and Ricky go to The Frosty Mug together, or did you meet up there?”

“We met there.”

“And when you said he brought you to his apartment, I presume he used his car, which left your car in the club’s parking lot.”

“I suppose so. I had to send someone back to get my car. Is that of any importance?”

“Just filling in the gaps.” I took a moment, running it over to myself to see if there was anything I’d missed. “You said you two had argued. What was that all about?”

“Ricky had an eye for the ladies. I thought when we started going together I’d cured him of the habit. But a friend of mine said she’d seen him out with someone else. He said she was mistaken. I didn’t believe him. But he kept calling me, swearing he hadn’t done anything wrong and wanting to get back together. I couldn’t say no to him.”

“Maybe you should’ve,” I said. “Jealousy has always been a prime reason for murder. I’m sure the D.A. is going to point that out to the jury. You were just getting back together, something happened to awaken your suspicions again, you were inebriated, guns were easily accessible, and your boyfriend winds up dead.”

“I can see how it looks that way...”

“And everyone else will too,” I cut in. “Look, I understand your lawyers are suggesting you seek a plea bargain.”

“Yes, they are, but how can I? Deep down I know I didn’t kill Ricky, regardless of how drunk I was.”

“It’s probably your best bet. A plea bargain might get the charge reduced to involuntary manslaughter. You might be looking at two, three years tops.”

“I didn’t do it. I just know I didn’t,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

Stephen put his hands on her shoulders, awkwardly trying to comfort her. “Please, Mr. Oaks, won’t you help us?”

“Yes. Tree,” Val said, leaning forward. “We need you.”

“Quite a party,” Holly said, as the trio exited the Game Room. “New clients?”

“Yeah, for all the good I’m going to do them.”

She was behind the counter by the register, a half-full cup of vending-machine coffee in front of her. She waved off my offer to get her another as I dropped some coins into the machine for myself. We used to keep a pot going behind the counter. The vending machine has proven to be more convenient but a lot less tasteful.

I explained to her who the trio were and what they were asking me to do.

She pushed her lips out slightly. Her lipstick was dark brown, almost matching her smooth complexion. “So, that was the ol’ girlfriend, huh?”

“Yep, that was her.”

“I can see why you never spoke highly of her.”

“What d’you mean?”

“As good as she looks, her leaving you high and dry must’ve cut pretty deep.”

“I got over it.”

“Sure you did.”

“I said, I did.”

“Uh-huh.”

I tried to sound firm, but I wasn’t sure if I was doing it for Holly’s benefit or my own. “That’s neither here nor there. For the moment, Bethany Andenbeck is my new client, and I haven’t the slightest idea how I’m going to help her out of the mess she’s in.”

“Do you believe she’s innocent?”

“I’m not sure about that either.”

“You can’t go at it half-assed, Trevor. You’ve got to throw yourself behind her all the way, or you might just as well escort her to jail right now.”

She was right, of course, just as she is on a number of cases we’ve hashed over. I couldn’t have anyone better as a sounding board. Over the years Holly and her husband Josh have become close friends. He’s a strength trainer at UNLV. Whenever I need an extra set of muscles for some bodyguard work, he’s the first person I call.

“You said Belle dropped this in your lap?”

“Yeah, and she really didn’t do me any favors this time around.”

She shrugged. “You’re getting paid, aren’t you?”

I took the check Stephen Andenbeck had given me out of my shirt pocket and showed it to her.

Her eyes got a bit wider. “Damn, this is favor enough if you ask me.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.” I finished my coffee, tossed the cup in the wastebasket behind the counter, stuck the check back in my pocket, and headed back to my office. Since I’d taken it, I guessed I should try to earn part of it anyway.

Sergeant Joe Glover of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police answered his cell phone on the second ring. “I knew the day was going along too quietly; what’s up, Tree?”

Joe and I warmed a lot of benches back in our UNLV days. He was a running back, but where I wanted to turn pro, Joe’s goal had always been to join the police department. We were pretty tight even back then, and he was just about the only person who put up with my bullshit attitude when I screwed up my knee. I list him as one of my closest friends on or off the force. However, when it comes to any case I’m working on, he’s always been a cop first.

“I just got hired by Stephen Andenbeck to get his niece out of the mess she’s in.”

“As long as he doesn’t ask for a refund, sounds like easy money to me. You might as well kick back and relax. There’s nothing you can do, Tree. We’ve got a slam dunk on this one.”

“Did you work the case?”

“Yeah, it was one of mine.”

“You look at anyone else for it?”

“No need. The neighbors heard shots and saw her run out of the apartment with the gun in her hand. Tossed it in the bushes when she left the building. Her prints were the only ones recovered from the weapon. Comes up with some flimsy excuse that she doesn’t remember. You tell me why I should look any further.”

I couldn’t. There was no logical reason why he should’ve. “Well, I just wanted to let you know I’ll be nosing into the case.”

“This is one time I don’t mind. Tree. Do all the nosing you want. You can’t change the facts. She’s guilty.”

Joe’s words stayed with me as I drove out to the Valley Rose Apartments. It was where Bethany’s boyfriend had lived. Before she’d left my office I’d also gotten the names of her lawyers, the friend who’d said she had seen Banks with another woman, and the address of The Frosty Mug. Places to go and people to talk to, the heart of any investigation. Yet I had very little hope that any of this would be of any help.

Valley Rose Apartments was an eight-story pink building just inside Summerlin, arguably Clark County’s richest community. From the third floor up, balconies were attached to the building on both its north and south sides. Residents used the private parking garage inside the building, peons like myself had to grab one of the slots in the parking lot.

There was a security guard in the building’s lobby, sitting at a desk with six security monitors incorporated in its framework. He was a big white guy, young, more fat than muscle but still big. He looked up at me as I approached, his dark eyebrows lowering over his eyes. If the pose was supposed to be intimidating it really didn’t work. I’ve added ten pounds since my UNLV days, and admittedly I’ve never had the chiseled features of an Adonis, so I know about intimidating poses. It’s a big part of my P.I. persona. But I also know when to use it and when not to.

I tried a smile. “Good afternoon, I’m Trevor Oaks.” I handed him one of my business cards. “The Andenbeck family hired me to look into the homicide you had here a few months back. Wonder if you can help me. One investigator to another?”

His eyebrows rose as his smile grew. He seemed to like me elevating him to an investigator. He nodded, looking at my card. “How can I help you, Mr. Oaks?”

“Trevor, please...” I let it dangle, looking at the nameplate on the shirt-pocket flap of his blue-grey uniform.

“Fellows, Mark Fellows.”

We shook hands.

“You must be talking about Mr. Banks?” Fellows said.

“Yeah, that’s the one. You wouldn’t happen to’ve been working that night?”

“It was my late shift. His girlfriend ran right by me with the gun in her hand. I saw her drop it into the bushes. Pointed it out to Metro when they got here. I would’ve stopped her but at the time I didn’t know she’d shot anyone.”

“Of course,” I said, thinking that, seeing her with a gun, he hadn’t been too anxious about stepping in front of her. But I didn’t go there. Instead I said. “Bet it’s not the craziest thing you’ve seen on the job.”

“I’ll say. I can tell you some wild stuff that’s gone on in this place.”

“We’ve got to get together and swap war stories sometime,” I said. “Tell me, though, how did she get into the building?”

“She came in with Mr. Banks through the garage entrance.”

“I suppose you saw them on the monitor?”

“Sure did.” He nodded.

“How does that work exactly?”

“Pretty simple, really. Every time someone enters the garage this one switches on,” he said, pointing to the monitor on his far left. “I can follow them manually from there with the toggle switch if I want.”

“And did you?”

He offered up a slight grin. “Yeah. She was out of it. Mr. Banks practically carried her to the elevator.”

“There’re cameras in the elevators?”

Another grin. “She was clinging to him pretty good. He felt her up a bit. She didn’t seem to mind. And before you ask, I switched the monitor to his floor. Followed them to his apartment door.”

“How much later was it that she ran out with the gun in her hand?”

“Thirty, forty minutes.”

“Did you see her run out of the apartment?”

“No, but I switched the monitor back to Mr. Banks’s floor when she left the building. Mrs. Sarason and Mr. Lewis were standing in the hall, and then my phone rang. It was Mr. Lewis on his cell telling me to stop the woman coming down in the elevator, that she’d just killed Mr. Banks. I ran out after her, but she was gone.”

That was another point where I was sure the prosecution was going to attack the defense. If Bethany was supposed to’ve been so intoxicated that she didn’t remember how she got to Banks’s apartment, how had she made such an effective escape?

Both Mrs. Sarason and Mr. Lewis were currently at home. I asked him to call and see if they would agree to speak to me. He tried Lewis first and got a quick okay.

Timothy Lewis was almost as tall as I am, wide shouldered, with a slight paunch. He had a good head of brown hair fading to gray, and a square face with a Jay Leno chin. He invited me in, looking at the business card I’d given him. “Mr. Oaks? Mark said you were working for the Andenbeck family?”

“Yes, I’ve been retained by them to see if I can generate any new information that may help Ms. Andenbeck in her defense.”

He nodded. “You do realize the D.A. is calling me up as a state’s witness?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“I’m really not sure if I should even be talking to you.”

“All I need is a few minutes of your time, just a question or two answered. I’m kind of playing catch-up.”

He bit his lip, looked at my card, back to me. “Aw, what the hell. Come on, have a seat. Can I get you a drink, coffee, soda?”

“No, I’m fine.”

A pair of extra-wide French doors were embedded in the wall across from the apartment’s entrance, giving access to the balcony. The wall to the right housed a door I guessed led to the bedroom. From what I recalled, the outside of the building looked like, the bedroom had another set of French doors with balcony access.

It was a spacious room with a dining area behind and to the right a trio of overstuffed furniture. The dining table was large enough to offer plenty of elbow room for the six chairs encompassing it. The kitchen nook allowed a glimpse of stainless-steel appliances, and the short hall running alongside probably led to a second bedroom and the guest washroom.

I sank into the overstuffed sofa that was planted across from the flat-panel TV hanging on the wall.

Lewis walked over to a portable bar resting in the corner to the left of the French doors. “Sure you won’t have one? I find a gin and tonic rather relaxing in the afternoon.”

Another no from me and he continued to build his drink.

There was a Western on the flat-screen, the good guys shooting it out with the bad guys or vice-versa, I couldn’t tell which, they were all wearing black hats.

“Exactly what did you want to know, Mr. Oaks?” he asked, approaching the sofa with a large old-fashioned glass in his hand.

“Basically just to go over what you saw.”

He sat in a chair that was a cousin to the sofa, took a swallow of his drink, shrugged. “It’s really pretty straightforward. I’m in electronic sales, and I travel a lot. I’d just gotten home. Had a good run and flew in a day early. Just sat my bags down when I heard the gunshots. I was in the army, so I know what gunshots sound like. I went out into the hallway and knocked on Mrs. Sarason’s door—”

“You thought the gunshots came from her apartment?”

“Well, no,” he said, taking another swallow of his drink. “You see, the walls aren’t the thickest in this place; I thought they came from next door in Rick’s apartment. But sometimes sounds can play tricks on you. I went across to Mrs. Sarason’s just to see if she heard anything. Anyway, by the time she came to the door and I explained myself, the Andenbeck girl ran out of Rick’s place with a gun.”

“Did you try to stop her?”

He grinned. “I said she had a gun. I waited until she got into the elevator and I called down to the security station.”

“Did you know Banks well?”

He nodded. “Sure, Rick was a likable guy. We shared a common balcony. We used to talk a lot. Real man’s man. Had an eye for the ladies. Some of the stories he told were really prizewinners.”

“You two ever go trolling together?”

“Who, me? Naw. Strictly vicarious on my part. I mean, when I was younger I had my share, but not anymore.” He pointed to the gold band on his finger. “Happily married. Been eight years now.”

One of the French doors opened and a willowy brunette stepped in from the balcony wearing a long-sleeved, open-collar blouse and a floor-length skirt. She was carrying a tall Tom Collins glass, empty except for a couple of ice cubes.

“Excuse me. I didn’t know we had company.” Her voice was thin and halting, a mild slur to her speech as she sat her glass on the bar.

“He’s a detective doing some follow-up investigation on Rick’s murder,” Lewis said to her over his shoulder, not bothering to get up. “Mr. Oaks, my wife, Sharon.”

We both nodded.

“Follow-up investigation?” she questioned, frowning ever so slightly. “I thought everything was settled, just waiting for the trial to start.”

“Mr. Oaks is working for the Andenbeck family, dear.”

“Oh,” she said, gathering the collar of her blouse together. “Surely you can’t be trying to get her off?” she said, sitting on the arm of her husband’s chair.

When I said she was willowy I wasn’t calling her skinny by any means. There was more than just a couple of bumps under her blouse, and her skirt had a split that opened when she sat, displaying her entwined legs and shapely calves. She was much younger than her husband, I’d say ten, maybe fifteen years, her hair more straight than curly. She had a rather long face and she probably wouldn’t win any beauty contest, but she was cute enough that you wouldn’t have to make up a bunch of stories about why you were with her.

“I’m just rehashing a few things,” I said.

She shook her head, her long auburn locks pretty much staying in place. “I can’t see how this is going to help her.” She reached for her husband’s drink, took a swallow, emitted a silent belch. “She did kill him. How can there be any doubt?”

“Were you here when it happened, Mrs. Lewis?”

“She was in the bedroom, asleep,” her husband answered.

“So, the gunshots didn’t wake you?”

“I woke her and told her what happened.”

“Were you acquainted with Mr. Banks?”

“I knew him, of course,” she said, managing to answer this one herself, although she spoke hesitantly, as if she expected her husband to take over the conversation at any moment. “Ricky was more my husband’s friend than mine.”

“Had either of you seen Ms. Andenbeck here before?”

They both shook their heads.

“We might’ve seen her,” Lewis admitted. “But who could tell with the parade of women he had running through his place.”

I was at an impasse. I hadn’t expected to learn anything and so far I hadn’t. I could nitpick but I couldn’t see where that would get me.

I stood. “I guess that’s about it for you folks. I was wondering, though, if you could introduce me to Mrs. Sarason?”

“Sure,” Lewis agreed, and we left his wife at the bar making herself another drink as we went across the hall to Mrs. Sarason’s apartment.

“This is Mr. Oaks. He’s a private detective working for the Andenbeck family,” Lewis said when she opened the door.

“Are the Andenbecks trying to get me not to testify?” Mrs. Sarason asked, her aged face adding more wrinkles as she frowned.

“No, nothing like that,” I assured her. “Just gathering what information I can.”

She didn’t invite me in, but stood with her door opened only enough to expose half of her, half of a flower-print dress, as though she were a photo and somebody had done a bad cropping job.

“I’ve already told the police everything I know.”

“I understand that, Mrs. Sarason, but if you could just go over it with me, please.”

She pinched her lips together, making her small mouth appear even smaller. Then she looked up at me, over to Lewis, back to me, and sighed. “All right, Mr. Oaks, is it? What did you want to know?”

“Just what you saw, that’s all.”

“It wasn’t much. Mr. Lewis knocked on my door and asked me if I’d heard any gunshots. I told him no, and just about then the Andenbeck girl runs out of Mr. Banks’s apartment. She got into the elevator and Mr. Lewis called downstairs for the security guard to stop her.”

“When she came out of the apartment did she point the gun at you?”

“No. She had it in her hand, but she didn’t point it at us. She just looked in our direction for a moment then ran to the elevator.”

“When she ran to the elevator, was she stumbling, or did she look unsteady?”

“Not that I noticed. She just ran to the elevator and it opened right away for once, and she was gone.”

I thanked the security guard on my way out, telling him I’d keep in touch, which wasn’t altogether a lie. I occasionally call in extra help for bodyguard work. I might have a need for him someday.

About the only thing I’d learned was that Mr. and Mrs. Lewis both liked their late-afternoon cocktails. Nothing jumped out at me that would throw a wrench into the prosecution’s case. I could check in with the Andenbeck lawyers, or try to catch up with the woman who’d seen Banks stepping out on Bethany. I could even drop in on Belle Navilone and ask her why the hell she had thrown my hat into the ring, but I couldn’t see where either would do me any good. That left only one other place for me to try.

The Frosty Mug was on Fort Apache just off of Tropicana. It was a medium-sized joint, more rustic than upscale, the usual tables, booths, dance floor, but they did have backs for their barstools. The place was about a third full, which I’d guess was pretty good for this time of day in the middle of the week. Some light rock was being piped through the wall speakers. I grabbed a stool at the end of the counter and waited for the bartender to come my way.

“Yes, sir, what can I do for you today?”

“Beer. Whatever you got on tap will do.”

He got a mug, filled it until it had about a half-inch head, and sat it in front of me.

“That’s three-fifty unless you want to start a tab.”

“Naw, this’ll do,” I said, and I gave him a twenty. When he brought my change back he sat it on the counter. I placed my business card on top. “Hear this used to be Rick Banks’s hangout.”

The bartender had a quick smile that popped a dimple in his right cheek. “Ricky? Yeah. Did you know him? Hell of a guy. We all miss him around here.”

“You wouldn’t happen to’ve been working that last night he was in here?”

“Me? Naw, that was Stan. But he told me what happened. Really nothing out of the usual, except he was back with the Andenbeck doll.”

“That was unusual?”

“For Rick? Yeah, pretty much. I mean, he had his repeaters. But if he was in here regularly, you know, three or four times with the same piece to where you could figure they were maybe going together, once they split it was over.”

“So, Rick brought other women here?”

“Yeah, he had somebody else in here a couple of times that I know of after he broke up with the Andenbeck babe.”

“Remember what she looked like?”

He shrugged. “Nothing special, dark-haired. That was the thing about Rick, he really didn’t care what they looked like. I mean, I never seen him with any dogs, but other than that he wasn’t too choosy. Man had a lot of notches on his gun, so to speak, he got into half the thongs in this joint, and that’s a conservative count.”

“Any jealousy flare-ups?”

He shook his head. “Not with the regulars. This joint’s a meat market, there’s no pretense in here. The women like it just as much as the men, and they let you know it.”

“Sounds like my type of place.”

“Buy me a drink and I may let you take me home.”

She was a redhead with dark green eyes and a wide, pink-lipped smile. She had been sitting at the bar when I first came in, and had managed to occupy the stool next to me without me noticing.

“The drink’s no problem,” I said. “But I’ll have to take a rain check for anything else. I’m working.”

She gave me a slow once-over, her green eyes locking onto mine. “You a cop?” “Private.”

“Private, huh?” She was wearing a lightweight jacket, unfastened. Her bra, which was easily visible through the thin fabric of her blouse, was obviously a size too small. “You carry a gun?”

“It’s in the safe in my office,” I said, which it was. I rarely carried it unless the job really called for it. I’d rather rely on my size and my fists.

Her short red hair bobbed slightly as she nodded. “Interesting.”

The bartender brought her a three-olive martini, taking the rest of my change off the counter, and got busy at the other end of the counter.

“Interesting good, or interesting bad?” I asked.

She reached over and felt my bicep through my jacket, her perfectly shaped eyebrows raising a mite. “I’d say, good. I’m Lilly.”

“Trevor.”

“Nice to meet you, Trevor.” She put the three toothpick-skewed olives in her mouth, slowly sliding them back out through her lips leaving two olives impaled. “Are you sure you can’t take some time off? Don’t you get like a lunch break or something?”

“I couldn’t trust myself to just confine it to a lunch break.”

She smiled. “That’ll be all right with me.”

“I’m sure it would. But maybe you can help me get through my work a little faster. Did you know Rick Banks?”

“Hell, who in this joint didn’t?”

“I take that as a yes?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. Me and Ricky were close friends.”

“How close?”

She winked this time. “As close as you can get under the sheets.”

“I see. So, you and he were a couple?”

“Naw, nothing like that.” She tasted her martini. “We just did the mattress mambo every now and then. When we weren’t otherwise occupied. No strings, just fun. Ricky knew how to please a lady.”

“Was it the same setup with the Andenbeck woman?”

“You mean the bitch that killed him? Naw, she had a real jones for him. I think Ricky had a little bit of it too, or he was thinking about all the money her family had. When they split, he kept trying to get back together with her, even though he brought another woman in here like the split didn’t mean anything to him.”

“I guess a player always has to keep up appearances.”

“Yeah, maybe. But he didn’t have to hook up with anything new. There was plenty female butts in this place he could’ve tapped. And she was married to boot.”

“You sure?”

“I checked her out. Wanted to know where I dropped the ball. I saw the rock on her finger. She was all hugged up with Ricky but she really didn’t look too comfortable, like she wasn’t used to being in public without her hubby at her side.”

I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer, “This woman, on the thin side, dark hair, longish face?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

I’d gotten into this case thinking there wasn’t a damn thing I could do that would make a bit of difference. Bethany Andenbeck was guilty as hell and that was that. The police thought she was guilty. Her lawyers thought she was guilty. Anyone looking at the evidence would think she was guilty. Bethany herself wasn’t a hundred percent sure of her innocence.

But you never can tell what just a little digging will turn up. I couldn’t fault Joe and the rest of the folks at Metro. They had an easy one handed to them, their time would be better spent investigating other cases instead of one that was so open and shut.

Mark was still on duty when I returned to the Valley Rose Apartments. I had him phone upstairs and Timothy Lewis agreed to see me again.

He was standing in his doorway when I got off the elevator.

“Forget something?”

“In a way.”

He stepped back as I entered, dosing the door behind me. His wife wasn’t in sight, but one of the French doors to the balcony was open. A slight breeze filtered in.

“What is it this time, Oaks?” His words came out harsh and there was a red tinge to his eyes, the effects of at least a couple more late-afternoon cocktails.

“I thought I’d give you the chance to turn yourself in before I go to the police with what I’ve learned.”

“What the hell you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your wife being home alone when you’re out of town. I’m talking about Banks not letting an opportunity get by him.”

“You’re way off base here, Oaks.”

“Am I? I’ve found people who saw Banks and your wife all hugged up together. When did you find out about them?”

“I think it was a mistake letting you back up here. You better go.”

“The truth is going to come out. You’ve told too many lies to keep it hidden.”

I’d begun piecing it together on my way back. What had seemed like inconsequential blips in our earlier conversation now loomed as major inconsistencies. Why had he gone across the hall to Mrs. Sarason’s to see if she’d heard any gunshots, when the likeliest first person he should’ve turned to was his wife? And what about him referring to Banks as Rick and his wife using the more familiar Ricky? There were things that had been there for me to see, but I was too convinced Bethany was guilty to pay any attention to them. “When you called down to the security station you told Mark that Banks had been shot. Yet Mrs. Sarason never said you went into Banks’s apartment. How did you know?”

“Get out.” He was breathing heavily, his nostrils heaving with every breath, his bloodshot eyes getting wider. “I said get out.”

“Ever see those shows where the defense lawyer gets the state’s witness on the stand and cuts them to shreds, has them admitting they’re the guilty party? That stuff does happen, you know. What do you think the Andenbeck’s high-priced lawyers are going to do to you?”

He pushed me, one big paw to my chest. I gave him that, I was being abrasive. But when I didn’t budge he swung, and that was a different matter altogether.

I leaned back, twisting my body, and the punch just grazed my right shoulder. I responded with an overhand left that clipped his chin. He staggered back. I bored in with a right to his stomach, another left. He fell back onto the dining table, knocking over the flower centerpiece, then came up swinging again.

I caught most of it on my left arm, was about to deliver another right of my own, when his wife screamed.

She’d been out on the balcony again and she stood just within the apartment by the French doors. Her tall glass crashed to the floor as she grabbed both sides of her head. “Stop it, stop it. I can’t take it anymore. I told you someone would find out.”

Lewis pulled away from me. “Be quiet, Sharon.”

“No, I can’t let this go on. I just can’t...” She turned and ran onto the balcony. She was over the railing before either of us could get to her.

I’d been on the right track, but I’d hooked up to the wrong caboose. Lewis hadn’t suspected anything about his wife and Banks. As far as he’d known. Banks was a fun guy and his wife was as devoted as they come. It wasn’t until he’d come home early that day. The French doors were open and he’d heard the gunshots. He’d gone out onto the balcony and next door to Banks’s bedroom, where he’d found his wife holding a gun, Banks dead on the floor, and Bethany in a drunken stupor across the bed. He’d acted fast, wiping the gun clean and putting it in Bethany’s hand. Then he’d gotten his wife out of Banks’s apartment and back into their own, closing both sets of French doors.

The rest was pretty much what had been the official story, getting Mrs. Sarason involved, calling down to the security station. He hadn’t expected Bethany to awaken and run out carrying the gun, but it helped the story he’d fashioned.

I went down to headquarters and gave Joe my deposition as Lewis was being arraigned for accessory to murder, then I made my way over to the Andenbeck estate. The D.A.’s office had already contacted the Andenbeck’s lawyers, and in turn the lawyers had contacted the family. I got a warm reception when I arrived, an offer of a bonus which I initially turned down but allowed to be forced on me.

Leaving, I’d just made it to my car when Val called to me.

The night had turned a little cool, but she looked warm and cozy in a cream-colored long-sleeved blouse and a pair of dark green slacks, her neck adorned with a string of oversized pearls. Maybe the warm and cozy part was just the way I felt looking at her.

“I wanted to thank you again,” she said. She was close enough that a light breeze caused the scent of her perfume to swirl around me.

“I got lucky.”

“Maybe there was some of that, but you didn’t have to take the case. If it had been anyone else, I’m not sure we would’ve gotten the same results.” She paused, lightly bit her lower lip. “And there’s something else that’s long overdue. I owe you an apology, Tree, for the way I acted when you got hurt. I was young, and thinking only of myself. I should’ve stayed by your side.”

I looked over her shoulder at the three-story mansion that was just a small portion of the Andenbeck empire. “Forget it,” I said. “Besides, you would’ve missed all this.”

She smiled. “There is that. I’ve been fortunate. Stephen loves me very much. If he just thinks there’s something I want, he gets it for me. We have a wonderful marriage. I just wanted you to know it’s been good seeing you again, and... With all I’ve got, I know I’ve still missed something by not being with you.”

She reached up, kissed me quickly, and then she was gone, no lingering looks, no sighs, just the full lip-to-lip embrace and then she rushed back indoors.

As I drove away I knew if she’d asked me to forget the past and go off with her I wouldn’t have hesitated. There was still something there. I guess some flames never die. But I also knew the thought of us getting back together wasn’t realistic. She was where she wanted to be. Stephen Andenbeck was her personal treasure chest, and she loved all the things he showered upon her, even though she hadn’t said she loved him.

She really hadn’t changed at all.