Moon Music (47 page)

Patricia winced. "Steve doesn't recall anything about the murder?"

"He says no."

She paused. "Do you think he's holding back?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

"Do you think…" She paused. "Do you think he was involved in the actual murder?"

"He was a heartbeat away from death when we found him. I'm inclined to believe his story and his innocence."

"Does he have any theories as to
why
she did it?"

"Just that she's crazy."

"Not that crazy," Patricia replied. "She purposely picked out Gretchen."

Poe nodded, gazing at the blackened structure. "I caused all this." He took a deep drag on his smoke. "I should have…if people died—"

"No one died," Patricia interrupted him. "Even Honey Kramer's still hanging on."

"You're kidding."

"She's not in good shape, but she's alive." Patricia looked at her feet. "I was surprised. Man, that explosion." She let out a breath. "They say it was lucky that I was watching the place and called it in immediately. Fire chief said a few more minutes and the flames would have reached the central heating system. Then the entire building would have been torched."

"Honey Kramer is actually
alive
?"

"Alive but burned." A pause. "
Badly
burned."

Poe licked his lips. "It's all my fault. I should have handled it better."

Patricia stared at him. "You blew up the building, sir?"

"You know what I mean."

"And here I thought that only women had the capacity for irrational guilt."

"What about the other victims? How bad off are they?"

"I don't know the medical details, Sergeant. But like I said, the fire department was here in a flash."

Poe took a final drag. "I should have figured that she'd run to Lewiston…tell him I strong-armed her. I should have known he'd do something like this." He crushed out his cigarette with too much force. "Too late now."

"Sir, even if you hadn't done anything, Lewiston probably would have gotten rid of Honey as soon as the investigation started gaining force. Look what happened to A. A. Williams. You know someone monkeyed with the van."

True enough. He faced her. "Was Honey conscious when she was brought out?"

"I don't know. They took her to the University Medical Center."

Poe said, "I want a twenty-four-hour guard on her hospital room." Eyes fixed on the action, he saw Weinberg break away from the crowd and head toward them. "Uh-oh!"

Patricia said, "Looks like the lieutenant has something on his mind."

Probably my dismissal
, Poe thought.

Weinberg stomped over to them, attempting to brush wet ashes off his clothing. All he did was streak his pants gray. He spoke in a grave manner. "No deaths yet. Even Honey Kramer is alive."

Poe said, "Patricia told me. What a relie—"

Weinberg interrupted, "Patricia, you stay here and tag along with Arson. See what you can find out from them. I've also ordered a police photographer to come down to take extensive pictures of the damage. You can tag along with her also." He turned to Poe. "They took Honey to the burn unit at the University Medical Center. C'mon."

"Me?" Poe asked.

"Yes, you."

"Sir, you told me to keep away—"

"That was then, this is now." Weinberg coughed. "She kept calling your name out as they loaded her into the ambulance. I don't know if she was asking for you or cursing the day you were born. Let's go find out."

FORTY-FOUR

H
ARD TO
believe that there was a breathing person beneath the shroud of bandages. Honey's arms and chest were completely dressed, her legs probably wrapped as well. Poe couldn't tell, as they were covered by a lightweight sheet. Her head was also swathed in gauze. If she made it, she'd be in for a long and painful haul.

Poe watched over her as she slept fitfully, wondering why it had been cosmically ordained that the summer of his thirty-sixth year should be spent in hospitals. He stared at Honey's swaddled face, her eyes moving underneath bright red eyelids. Her lips were bluish and covered with something sticky. The skin above had been blistered red.

An hour passed before he heard signs of life—a soft, whispery moan. In another context, it could have been interpreted as erotic. Here it suggested agony. Her eyelids fluttered, opened, then closed. Poe was almost hoping she'd fall back asleep. Instead, with effort, the lids reopened, then widened when she saw him. Slowly the eyes moved and took in Weinberg's face. He nodded, glanced at Poe, who turned on the tape recorder strapped across his chest.

Poe spoke softly. "If you want, I'll go away."

Honey whispered a no.

He spoke softly. "Someone said you were asking for me. Blink once if that's a true statement."

"Don't have to blink." She breathed laboriously with each word. "I can…talk."

Her words were muffled, but Poe could make them out. He said, "Do you need more pain medication?"

She nodded. "But it'll…knock me out. So wait until…"

Poe said, "I have a tape recorder running now, Honey. Is that okay?"

"It's…good." A long pause. "I want to confess."

Poe's brain started racing. "About what we talked about?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Poe coughed into his fist. "All right. Mind if some other people hear it? Witnesses? So certain people won't say I'm making this up?"

"I'm tired. Now…or never."

"I need to tell you your rights."

"Quick." There were tears in her eyes. After Poe advised Honey of her rights, she started talking in a raspy hush.

"He did it." A pause. "Parker Lewiston. He killed that girl…with the pink hair…Sarah Yarlborough." Another hesitation. "I saw it…saw him do it."

She took in Poe's expression, her own eyes now dry.

"He was…screwing her, said he was gonna give her…the ultimate high. She thought he meant drugs."

More labored breathing…her voice was as soft as a sable brush.

"As she started to…climax, he…choked her. Don't know if he meant to kill her…but…but the end was the same."

Three deep breaths, a moan of agony.

"When she stopped breathing, he knew. He didn't…give a shit. He reached into his pocket…pulled out a knife…slit her throat. Did it to make it look…look like…"

Her words became unintelligible. Poe said, "He slit her throat to make it look like what, Honey?"

"The other one. The other girl…in the picture you showed me."

"Brittany Newel?"

"Yes." More toiled breathing. "Yes, Brittany Newel."

"Parker Lewiston choked Sarah Yarlborough to death. To masquerade her death, Lewiston slit her throat."

"Yes."

"So the police would think that Sarah Yarlborough and Brittany Newel were murdered by the same person."

With great effort, she told him yes.

Poe said, "Where'd he kill her?"

"In his office…in the Laredo." She looked away. "I'm tired. I want my dope now."

"Right away." Weinberg called the nurse. "You did a great service, Ms. Kramer. You really did."

Honey didn't respond. A doctor came in and monitored her vitals. Within minutes, artificial harmony shot through her veins. She drifted back into a restless unconsciousness. Eyes closed, Honey murmured, "Now…I can finally…sleep."

Weinberg finished off the last bits of his pastrami sandwich, threw the napkin in the backseat of Poe's Honda. "Get your car washed. I'll pay for it."

Poe turned out of the hospital complex's parking lot. "What now?"

"Good question," the lieutenant responded. "What we got was more like a confessionette than a genuine full-scale confession."

Poe said, "She said he did it. She said she
saw
him do it. She said
how
he did it. She said
where
he did it. I've got a witness that'll link Honey and Sarah together the night of the murder. I think we've got a lot."

"It won't stand up before a grand jury."

"Agreed," Poe answered. "But maybe it's enough to convince a judge to issue us a search warrant for Lewiston's office at the Laredo."

"What's in his office? The knife?"

"If we are magically lucky. Actually, what I had in mind was a sample of grass."

"Grass?"

"Lewiston's entire Laredo office is floored with grass for golfing—"

"The sample found under Yarlborough's fingers. The odd-type grass." Weinberg thought a moment. "Okay. We probably have enough to get a warrant."

"It's a start."

Weinberg said, "That confession will be contested in every way, shape, or form. It was done while she was drugged, it was done under duress, it was done without her having legal representation. No way it's going to be meaningful unless she stands by it once she recovers. Especially since she lodged a complaint about you three days ago. His legal eagles are going to accuse you of coercing her, tear into you like—"

"I'll take a polygraph."

"It won't stand up in court."

"So let's get the warrant for his office and maybe if the grass blades match, that'll stand up in court." Poe paused. "We should move on it now, sir. Before Lewiston finds out she's still breathing."

"I'll contact the judge. Where's the tape recording?"

"It's in my knapsack."

Weinberg reached around and lifted Poe's knapsack from the backseat floor. He started rummaging through its contents. "She was hard to understand in person. Tape makes her sound even more muffled."

"You can make out the words if you listen hard enough." Poe thought a moment. "If you want we can take it down and have it enhanced—"

"Better straight off the brisket." Weinberg paused. "A deli term. It means we don't do anything fancy unless we have to."

"I agree."

Weinberg pulled out the tape recorder and slipped it into his briefcase. "You go back to the office and work with

Deluca on the explosion. I'll send in Baylor and Herrod to search Lewiston's office—"

"What?" Poe was appalled. "You can't lock me out now! This is my moment of glory."

"Exactly. I need people who are dispassionate and professional. You're not either when it comes to Lewiston. Baylor and Herrod'll work out fine."

"At least give it to Marine Martin."

"Serious?"

"Yes, go ahead and give it to him." Poe raised his eyebrows. "Talk about dispassionate. Anyway, Marine works well with Herrod."

"All right. Herrod and Marine Martin." Weinberg picked up the cellular. "Drop me off at City Hall. You go back to Homicide Bureau and prep the duo about Lewiston." He started making calls and was immediately put on hold. The lieutenant regarded his sergeant. "Poe."

"What, sir?"

"Lewiston has power. Watch your butt."

With his hair slicked back and garbed in a brown suit, shortsleeved white shirt, and string tie, Marine Martin looked more like a Vegas junket passenger than a cop. But the giveaway to his profession was the eyes, scanning the crowds, noting the doors and exits, observing the motion at the Laredo. With the warrant stowed neatly in his coat pocket, he was ready for action. His partner, Kurt Herrod, had donned a dark blue suit over a wrinkled white shirt. Herrod was around the same height and age as Marine. And like Marine, he had milky blue eyes, as well as a large, bald pate ringed with gray. But Herrod was much stockier. Together, the team resembled a before-and-after weight loss picture.

Herrod's eyes swept across the casino. "You have a name of someone who will take us up to Lewiston's office?"

"Asking for someone would ruin our tactic of surprise," Martin responded in a clipped cadence. "We go into this mission unannounced."

"Martin, it isn't a mission, it's an assignment." Herrod stuck his hands in his pocket. At least Marine didn't call him Grandpa. "It's a job—"

"Mission, assignment, or job, the semantics don't matter. Only results." Marine glanced at his watch, set to display military time. "It is now precisely twenty-one hours—"

"Don't salute."

"Ready when you are."

"Sure, let's do it."

With that Marine marched up to the information desk and butted in to the front of the line. He laid his badge on the desktop in full view of the information lady. She was in her early twenties—a blonde with pale green eyes, two beats away from being pretty. She picked up the badge and studied it as Marine spoke.

"Detectives Martin Donaldson and Kurt Herrod from Las Vegas Metro Police Department. Homicide Bureau. We need to see Mr. Parker Lewiston immediately." He held out his hand. "The badge please?"

The woman handed it back, confused by what was going on. Herrod came to the rescue.

"If you could, ma'am, please call down your floor supervisor." Herrod took Marine out of earshot from the crowd. "Martin, we're gonna have to do this in steps."

"It will ruin the element of surprise—"

"There's a system here. You can't just waltz in and expect the Red Sea to part."

"If the Red Sea doesn't part, then we'll swim across." Marine's eyes narrowed. "She's using the phone."

"That's because I asked her to call her supervisor."

Marine went back to the desk, holding position as sentry until he got some satisfaction. Within moments, the floor boss materialized. He was broad and well-muscled, with a fleshy face. He stuck out his hand, pulling them off to the side—away from the line and from playing customers. He was all business.

"Bobby Guard. What can I do for you, gentlemen?"

Herrod presented his badge. "We're here to see Mr. Lewiston."

Guard's eyes glanced at the gold shield, then he motioned them to follow. He took them through the casino, past the flashing lights and beeps of cacophonous sound, past the soft shuffle of cards and the cheers from a table as the dice came up seven. Into the back of the casino, up to the cashier's desk. Then he stopped at a side door which blended with the wall and was keyed as well as alarmed. Guard disengaged the bells and buzzers. Then he led them through a series of mazes, and into an air-conditioned suite—a hermetic sitting room which held several leather couches and four wingback chairs placed around a poker table. The area also had a bar, a miniature craps table, and a couple of slot machines. Off to the left was an attached office, which held multiple TV monitors scanning the casino floor. Guard tried to settle them into the chairs. Herrod took up residence on the sofa, but Marine elected to stand.