Sin City

the burly bearing of a cop or, anyway, security man.

Pulling out the badge-in-wallet again, Conroy asked, 'The boss around?'

'We're clean, detective,' the bartender said, reflexively defensive. 'Everything here's aboveboard.'

'That's a good answer-I just don't remember asking a question that goes with it.'

He made a face. 'All right, all right, don't get your panties in a bunch-I'll get him.' The burly, bespectacled bartender moved to a phone on the back counter, punched a button, spoke a few words, listened a second, then hung up. He returned with his expression softened, seeming even a little embarrassed. 'Boss'll be right out…. Look, detective, I didn't mean to give you attitude.'

'I'll live.'

'No, really. It's just that I used to be on the job, myself, and I know these guys run a clean joint. I just don't like to see 'em hassled.'

'No problem. Vegas PD?'

The guy shook his head. 'Little town in Ohio. Moved out here when I retired. Looking to get away from the midwest winters.'

Conroy nodded, smiled. 'Only now, you miss them. How long were you on the job?'

'Twenty-eight years.'

Erin frowned, curiously. 'Why didn't you stay for a full thirty?'

'They put me behind a desk and I couldn't take it…. Now look what I'm behind.'

She chuckled, and a door she hadn't realized was even there, down at the far end of the bar, opened like an oven to blast a wide shaft of light into the darkness of the club, only to be sucked away as the door swung shut. A brown-haired, thirtyish, stocky man in a dark business suit approached her warily. He glanced at the bartender, who nodded her way, then seemed to get very busy farther down the bar.

The new arrival stuck out a hand. 'Rich McGraw,' he said, his voice deep.

She introduced herself, practically shouting to be heard over the blare of music. She showed McGraw her I.D wallet, but the fine print was lost in this pitiful light, though the glint of her badge made its point.

'What can I do for you, Detective Conrad?'

'Conroy,' she said, almost yelling, and explained the situation. A new song came on but the intensity of the volume had lowered just enough to make conversation possible, if not easy. Now and then she had to repeat herself.

'She's not here,' McGraw said.

'I know-I called earlier. I don't think it was you I talked to, Mr. McGraw.'

'Must not've been.'

'I'm hoping to get in touch with her tonight, or tomorrow at the latest. When does she work next?'

'You tried her place? You got that address?'

'Yes, sir.' Then she repeated: 'When does Tera work next?'

But he shook his head. 'She won't be back till day after tomorrow, earliest. Said she wanted a few days off.'

A sinking feeling dropped into the detective's gut. Where the hell was Tera Jameson? And why had she picked now to disappear?'Say where she was going?'

Again, McGraw shook his head.

Erin wondered how he managed that so well without the benefit of a neck. 'And you don't know when she'll be back?'

'Nope. Maybe day after tomorrow.' Shrug. 'She's gonna call in.'

In the mirror, Erin noticed that the two girls dancing to Samantha Fox were not the ones who'd been on when she arrived-a bosomy brunette and a leggy black girl were reigning over their male court.

'You seem to give Tera a lot of leeway, Mr. McGraw.'

'She's popular. Exotic. She was in Penthouse, you know.'

'No, I didn't. Could I see her dressing room?'

'She's okay, no prima donna, like some of them. So I give her leeway, yeah.'

'Her dressing room?'

The oddly handsome features beamed at her. 'You got a warrant?'

Erin shook her head.

He half-smiled, his expression almost regretful. 'I don't mean to be a prick about it, lady, but I do have to protect the privacy of my employees-and we are talkin' about one of my star dancers, here.'

'You know I'll just be back, once I've got a warrant.'

He nodded. 'And at that time I will personally escort you to her dressing room.'

Detective Erin Conroy left the club wondering if the management had just covered for Tera; maybe the dancer was even camped out there, in a back room or dressing area. One thing the detective knew: she needed search warrants for both Jameson's apartment and dressing room and she needed them now.

She would check with Captain Brass for his advice on which judge to wake up.

Catherine Willows was at a table having coffee in the break room, killing a few minutes while Helpingstine- who had arrived after checking out of his hotel to make a presentation of his evidence to them-got his fifty- thousand-dollar toy up and running again.

Sara ambled in, with the latest from Greg Sanders. Getting herself an apple juice from a fridge that thankfully held no Grissom experiments at the moment, Sara said, 'None of the shoes from Ray Lipton's house match the prints from Dream Dolls.'

Catherine couldn't find it in her to be surprised. 'Did our boy Ray ditch them, y'suppose?'

Sara shrugged, sat, sipped. 'Don't know…but what I do know is, the top print is the killer's, and Ray Lipton's shoe size is way bigger than the print. I'm starting to agree with you.'

'About what?'

'That he's innocent.'

'I didn't say he was. We don't have any evidence that proves he didn't do it either.'

'Jeez, Cath-do you want him to be guilty, or innocent?'

'Yes,' she said.

On that note, they finished their drinks and made their way down the hallway until they reached Catherine's office, where the door was open, Dan Helpingstine pushing his glasses up on his nose and waving for them to join him.

The tall, pug-nosed manufacturer's rep had his Tektive video machine all fired up, and he motioned for them to sit on either side of him. Catherine eased down on Helpingstine's left, Sara to his right, while on the monitor screen they could see the security tape from the front door at Dream Dolls.

'I spent a very long day getting to know these tapes,' he said.

'Find anything?' Sara asked.

'I think so-you'll have to be the judge.'

Catherine felt a spark of hope.

'This,' Helpingstine said, 'is your killer coming in.'

They watched as their suspect moved through the door, face turned away from the camera, trying to slide through the frame quickly. The tech did his thing with the keyboard and the picture cleared somewhat. Again he separated their suspect from the surroundings and improved the picture even more.

'Freeze that for a moment,' Catherine said.

Helpingstine obeyed.

'Look at the shoulders,' she said. 'Remember we said they didn't look broad enough to be Lipton's?'

'Yeah,' Sara said slowly.

'Now look at the hips.'

Helpingstine was smiling. 'I was hoping you'd notice that. Men's shoulders are wider than their hips-women are the opposite.'

Catherine and Sara traded significant looks, while Helpingstine unfroze the image and allowed it to move in slow motion, even as he worked on it some more.