The
The pavilion was a combination theater, office, and restaurant complex, containing everything to make the boat into a casino, as opposed to a simple floating slot machine. Iowa law forbade gambling on the land, so the boat was more or less a dedicated gambling platform. The pavilion provided the rest of a mini-Las Vegas aspect to the operation. Nice, in a way. Families could use the pavilion facilities without being near gaming, which some seemed to prefer.
Iowa also required that the Division of Criminal Investigation maintain a presence at each and every casino. The legislature neglected to provide any additional agents for that purpose, so General Crim. had to spread itself even thinner than usual to accommodate the mandate. They accomplished that by three-month assigned tours. No exceptions. This was Hester's turn in an eighteen-month rotation.
I hadn't seen her for several months, and hadn't actually worked a case with her for over a year. She was one of the best agents I'd ever worked with, and totally reliable. And very, very smart.
She was also a few years younger, and very fit. Something I tried never to bring into a conversation, and something she brought up every chance she got. She was waiting near the buffet entrance.
'Hi.' She grinned broadly. 'Looks like life agrees with you.'
'Everything but work,' I said. 'It's a tough one this time. Great case, though. Fascinating.'
We spent about half an hour in her office, and I ran through the basic details of the double murder. She was into it instantly.
'I don't think it was Fred, either,' she said, 'based on what you've given me. Does Art think it was him?'
'Yeah.'
'You've got to understand, he thinks he's under pressure to produce a conclusion.' She held up her hand, forestalling my protest. 'I know, but it's true. You know him as well as anybody does. He's always wanted to be the best, and in his mind, the best is also the fastest to get the bad guy.'
I finished up by telling her about everybody assuming that it was a pair of cops who'd been killed.
'That's what we call a clue, Houseman,' she said, seriously.
We found a table in the main dining room, off in a corner. A couple of people spoke to me as we walked through the place, and a couple more eyed me closely. People I knew. I was with an attractive woman, not my wife. They were checking Hester out, and could be relied upon to keep an eye on us throughout lunch. I loved it.
I was in a fine mood. Hester noticed. 'The case really tripped your trigger, didn't it?'
'Oh, yeah.' I smiled. It really was good to see her. 'I'll buy.'
'Wow, Houseman. This must be the case dreams are made of. It's affected your mind.'
We put our coats on the chair backs, and hit the buffet line.
I gave in to my conscience, and had the grilled chicken plate, with whipped potatoes, peas, carrots, and a roll. $4.50. Hester just picked up a taco salad. $2.98. Less than $10.00. I was encouraged. Easily affordable. Not that I'm cheap…
Just as the food arrived, so did our favorite reporter, Nancy Mitchell. She'd been through a particular kind of hell on our last murder case. She'd not only witnessed a murder, she'd also been threatened and generally put through the wringer. Helping us out, at out request. We owed Nancy, and we owed her big-time.
'How're my favorite cops?'
'Have a seat,' I said. 'What the hell are you doing here?'
'Well, since you can't provide any information, it was time to work on a feature article about the boat. And have a great lunch, at the same time.' She pulled out her chair.
'Lunch is on Carl,' said Hester. 'Great to see you again.'
'I'd like you to meet Shamrock,' said Nancy. 'She's my photographer this week.'
'She's welcome to join us, too,' said Hester, standing and reaching out her hand to the pretty blonde with the cameras. 'I'm Hester Gorse, DCI, and this is Carl Houseman, Nation County. He's buying lunch today.'
I stood, as well, and shook Shamrock's hand. She was about twenty-two or -three, small, slight, and about as pretty a young woman as had graced Nation County in years. Really small, I noticed as I stood. More than a foot shorter than I was. Not more than ninety pounds, I'd guess. With camera. She looked like she was in junior high. Well, from my perspective, at any rate.
'Shamrock really your name?' Cops. We say things like that.
'Yours really Carl?' Big grin.
I was beginning to feel hemmed in. 'I'm buying, cut me some slack.' I grinned, and sat back down.
She laughed. I sure hoped that she didn't go the way of Nancy 's last photographer. Shamrock could grow on you.
'So, Nancy,' I said, 'what brings you here?'
Nancy looked at Shamrock. 'He just sounds that dumb. He's really not.'
'You gotta take that on trust,' said Hester.
'Should I leave?' I asked.
'Not till the bill comes,' said Hester.
'The murders brought me to Maitland,' said Nancy.
'I hope you packed,' I said. 'You're gonna be here a while.'
Nancy glanced around. 'Lamar going to join you?'
'No,' I said.
'Then I'll stay,' she said, barely able to keep a straight face. 'Wouldn't want to make him mad… We'll hit the line,' she said, 'and be back in a second.'
Nancy came back with a taco salad. Shamrock appeared with a cheeseburger, cheese balls, and chocolate milk. Youth. Hers came to $4.50. Not too bad.
'So,' said Nancy. 'How you two comin' on this one?'
'Grinding it out,' I said. Instantly on guard. Nancy was, after all, the press. 'And it's not us two, either. Hester's just having lunch with me… Really,' I said. 'She's on boat rotation.'
'Oh, sure,' said Nancy. 'Then you haven't told her of any of your great leaps of intuition this time?'
Hester laughed. 'Now that you mention it…'
Thankfully, that got us off on what I would term 'Houseman's intuition,' intuition in general, and ended up with women's natural intellectual superiority over men. It also got us to the end of the meal. Hester and I were engineering a graceful escape, when Nancy scored.
'So, before you two go running off, how come we were hearing that it was two cops that were killed in there?' She knew she had us. I could tell, because she was still seated as we were standing. She knew we weren't going anywhere. The carrot had been dangled.
We sat back down. 'Where did you hear that?' I must have looked interested or something. A crack in the poker face.
'Well, first from a neighbor down the road. Then from an older man at the Borglan place.'
Unfortunately, we all now ordered dessert. Another $9.00 plus tax. Pie all around.
'We heard some of that, too,' said Hester, pressing her fork through a slice of lemon meringue. 'Do you know who these men were?'
'I think one was a Grossman… hired man or something,' said Nancy. 'I'd have to look around for the second one's name…' She carefully balanced large red cherries on the end of her fork, with fragments of a beautifully crumbly sugared crust clinging to the thick syrup.
'We don't know where that came from,' I said, which was pretty much true. Just who might have started it when they were interrupted in a burglary. But they hadn't told anybody, that was for sure. So I wasn't really lying.
'They were sure convinced,' said Shamrock. She took a bite of French Silk, topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings.
'Well, there weren't cops killed. So I don't know how that got going,' I said, again. I fiddled with my pumpkin pie, sans whipped cream. My diet program.
'Maybe somebody thought they were cops?' asked Nancy. 'Good lead story, any way you cut it.'
