didn’t sound like a lie; her expression remained bored and disinterested.
There wasn’t much point in staying here any longer. Bobby J. had to be curious who he was, why he’d come to the Rest-a-While using Court Spicer’s name, but evidently not curious enough to initiate contact. Either that, or the decision to play a waiting game had been Spicer’s. As far as one or both knew, Fallon didn’t have any idea who Bobby J. was or how to find out. The beating and rape hadn’t been reported; they were in the clear as long as they did nothing to call attention to themselves.
He wheeled the Jeep over to the freeway, took Interstate 15 south to Mc-Carran International. There were a lot of motels in the vicinity; he picked a Best Western with a VACANCY sign on Tropicana Avenue, checked himself in under his own name. As before, he brought his pack into the room, left everything else locked in the Jeep.
Late morning by then. He used his cell phone to call Vernon Young’s home number in San Diego. This time he got a person, a woman, instead of the answering machine. He asked for Vernon Young and she went and got him.
“You don’t know me,” he said when Young came on the line, “and my name isn’t important. I’m a friend of Casey Dunbar.”
Longish silence. Then, “How is she? Is she all right?”
“Yes.”
“Is she with you? Let me talk to her.”
“She’s not here right now.”
“Where’s ‘here’? Where are you calling from?”
“Las Vegas.”
“Did she ask you to get in touch with me?”
“No, it was my idea. About the money she owes you.”
“What money?”
“The two thousand dollars she borrowed.”
“… She told you about that? What else did she tell you?”
“Enough about what happened to her son to put me on her side.”
“The boy? Spicer? Did she-?”
“No, not yet.”
“… You’re helping her?”
“Yes.”
“Another detective?” Young sounded flustered.
“Not exactly.”
“Then just who are you?”
“I told you, a friend.”
“Is there some reason you won’t give me your name?”
There wasn’t. “It’s Fallon.”
“She never mentioned anyone named Fallon. How long have you known her?”
The intense, proddy type, Vernon Young. But then, under the circumstances he had a right to demand answers. “It’s a long story, Mr. Young. She can tell you how we met if she wants to. About the money-”
“I’m not concerned about the money, I’m concerned about Casey.”
“She’d be grateful if you’d give her time to pay you back.”
“Yes, yes, as much time as she needs. I should have given her the money in the first place.”
“Maybe let her keep her job, too?”
“Yes, of course,” Young said. Then, “Spicer and the boy… are they why you’re in Las Vegas?”
“It’s possible they’re here. We just don’t know yet.”
Pause. “No offense, Mr. Fallon, but you’re just a voice on the phone. I’ll feel better about all this if I can talk to Casey. You understand?”
“I understand.”
“I would appreciate it if you’d ask her to call me as soon as possible. Will you do that?”
Fallon said he would.
Casey answered her cell so fast, she must have been sitting with it in her hand. “I thought you’d never call,” she said. Spirit, eagerness in her voice today.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Have you found out anything yet?”
“A few things. Nothing definite. How’re you feeling?”
“I’m all right. But if I have to stay in this cabin much longer, I’ll start climbing the walls.”
“Your car fixed?”
“Yes. And yes, I’m up to the drive down there. Where are you?”
Fallon told her the name and location of the Best Western. “I’ll make a reservation for you when we hang up,” he said. “If I’m not in my room when you get here, wait in yours until I get back.”
“Where will you be?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“For God’s sake, don’t be evasive.”
“I’m not. I
“… All right.”
“One piece of news: I just spoke to Vernon Young.”
“What? You called him? For God’s sake, why?”
“To get the money situation straightened out. It’s okay, he’s on your side. You can take as much time as you need to pay back the two thousand. And you can keep your job.”
“He… said that?”
“Yes. He sounded pretty worried about you.”
“You didn’t tell him what I tried to do to myself?”
“No.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’m a friend helping you try to get your son back. Not much else. He wants you to call him to confirm it and that you’re okay. I think it’s a good idea. He seems to care about you.”
She didn’t say anything. Faint muffled sounds came over the line. Crying a little? If so, she didn’t want him to know it. He made it easier for her by saying he’d see her soon and then breaking the connection.
Different from any woman he’d ever known, Casey Dunbar. A bundle of conflicted, deep-seated emotions. He had a feeling that her depression and her self-destructive impulses were caused by more than the situation with Spicer and her missing son. Self-doubts, more than a little self-hatred. Other things, too, that he couldn’t fathom- like trying to see through dark, turbulent water.
Better not try too hard to understand her and her private demons. He had enough of his own to deal with.
SIX
HENDERSON WAS A DESERT community seven miles southeast of Vegas, off the highway that led to Boulder Dam. The fastest-growing city in Nevada, according to advertising billboards, as if that was an attraction to be recommended. Gateway to the Lake Mead National Recreation Area.
Fallon took the downtown exit and passed several big chemical plants, following signs that said HISTORIC WATER STREET DISTRICT. Once he got there, the whole character of the town changed. Luxury resorts and the usual casinos, art galleries, boutiques-much of the architecture art deco-themed. Henderson was no longer just an industrial center, where half of the state’s nontourist industry output was produced. It had changed its image, gone upscale. Home base now for the wealthy and the upwardly mobile who liked their surroundings and their recreations less gaudy than those in Vegas proper.
