That was the truth.
But Stotter had given him an explicit order to return.
Graham checked e-mails. The autopsy on Tarver was still pending. Arnie Danton, the blood expert, had also sent an update.
Dan, given this case is supposed to be done with, I’m having a hard time getting a green light from my boss, but I’m working on it. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day.
Graham shut things down, closed his laptop, set his alarm to allow for enough time in the morning to drop off the rental and make their flights. He fell asleep as CNN featured an expert discussion on papal security against terrorist threats.
“You know, Brent, there was that chilling plot against John Paul II in Manila that narrowly…”
A few doors down, Maggie stepped into a hot bubble bath, stared at her cell phone on the tub’s lip and wept.
She was so tired, her muscles tremored in the water.
This must be what hell was like. She must have died and been damned to eternal torment by getting so close to Logan, Jake and the truth, only to find it was a lie.
All a lie.
She would never see them again.
She closed her eyes and for a moment she was with Logan and Jake on a warm beach until the cold bathwater woke her.
Maggie didn’t know how long she’d slept.
Later, her body heavy, as she got ready for bed, she decided to update her file. She’d put it in the nightstand to the right of the bed, under the Gideon’s Bible, before they went to Desert Truck Land.
But when she opened the drawer, the file wasn’t there.
Odd. She specifically remembered placing it under the Bible when she’d checked in earlier.
Maggie looked in the nightstand to the left of the bed.
Her file was there.
Strange. How did it get moved? This was not where she’d left it. Maybe housekeeping came in. Maggie picked up the phone and called down to the desk.
“No, ma’am. No one was in your room today. They’re not scheduled to clean until you check out.”
Maggie was puzzled. Weird. Maybe she’d moved it herself and didn’t remember.
She checked her door, the lock, the dead bolt, the bar and the chain, then got into bed.
As she fell asleep she tried to resurrect her beach dream.
A block away, an Impala with darkened windows was invisible among the hundreds of cars in a public lot that offered a clear line of sight on the motel through high-powered military binoculars. While one man snored in the back, the second was alert, watching the doors to Maggie’s and Graham’s rooms.
Every hour he would type an updated report on his laptop and e-mail it to his uncle in Addis Ababa.
58
Las Vegas, Nevada
Most Las Vegas dreams started, or ended, at McCarran International Airport.
The transit point for winners and losers.
Here, the consequences of first and last gambles played out with the perpetual chime and clack of slot action. After returning the rental car, Graham and Maggie found a soft-lit lounge where they waited under a cloud of defeat to check in for their flights. Maggie had tea and glumly poked at the bag while it steeped. Graham had orange juice and a muffin.
News clips of the pope greeting ecstatic Americans jammed into a stadium flashed on the TV monitors sus pended over the bar as Graham took a call on his phone from Casta, who had follow-up questions on Dixon. To take her mind off things, Maggie changed a dollar into four quarters and went to the slot machine in the corner. Lemons, oranges, bells and bars clattered from left to right, with the first coin she played. No win. It was the same for the second.
And the same for the third quarter.
Typical.
She played her last one and the first reel left a cherry at the payline; so did the second, and the third. Then the fourth. Lights flashed, pongs sounded during the rollup as the machine tallied Maggie’s win, releasing a torrent of coins into the tray.
At that moment Maggie’s cell phone rang. As she answered, she hurried outside the lounge to get away from the noise.
“Maggie Conlin?” the female caller said. “Yes.”
“This is Wanda.”
A tense moment passed between the two women. “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday at the office.”
“Will you help me?”
Seconds passed with Maggie pressing her phone to her ear. She looked at the happy families, the excited couples, the tour groups with snippets of German,
French and Japanese conversations, all streaming by in rivers of smiles.
She squeezed her phone hard.
“Wanda? You didn’t call just to apologize. Will you help me?”
“Karl is who he is. He cuts corners and is afraid you were cops and-”
“I don’t give a damn about him, I need to find my son. Please.”
“I’ll help you.”
Maggie waved frantically at Graham until he saw her. Then to Wanda she said, “We’re on our way to your office now! Soon as we get a taxi.”
“No! Don’t come. That’s a bad idea. I’ll tell you over the phone.”
“Okay, give me a second.” Graham joined Maggie. She pointed to a table, pulled out a notebook and scrawled, WANDA. WILL HELP. He gestured to his ear. “Okay, Wanda, it’s noisy here, I have to turn up the sound. Speak up, speak clearly, please!”
Maggie adjusted the sound to its maximum level then turned it so Graham could hear. Their heads touched as they listened.
Graham pulled out his notebook.
“Your husband, Jake, traded his rig with us. He looked familiar in the pictures and I checked our other files. Karl keeps a second set of books.”
“What did Jake trade for? Where did he go?”
“It was an International, but the records were changed. You won’t find it. It’s what Karl does to make money under the table. He alters serial numbers and vehicle identification numbers, then he pays guys to help him authenticate records. I’m telling you because I’m leaving him because he- I think you know what men like Karl do to women.” Wanda made a swallow ing sound like she was drinking. “And you seemed so nice.”
“Life can be hard, Wanda, I know. Is that all you can tell me about Jake?” Maggie’s voice broke. “Can’t you tell me anything else? Please.”
“Jake and Karl talked in Karl’s office for a long time. Karl made me bring them coffee. They were loud. I heard Jake say that he had a line on work and some property in Montana. That he was going to start new there, put the past and his ex behind him.”
“Ex? I’m not his ex. That’s not- Wanda, where in Montana?” Maggie made notes.
“I don’t know.”
“Nothing?”
“A couple weeks after the deal, Karl had me send Jake some paperwork he needed to make the truck ‘legal,’ so I have an address that might help you.”
