The Dead Don't Speak (9 page)

Simon didn't need to be told more. His foot slammed down on the accelerator and the car leapt forward. Chris's body pressed back into the seat as the vehicle gained speed the way an aircraft does at takeoff.

When they'd covered half the distance, Chris saw Sarah look up. She must have recognized Simon because her mouth fell open.

The Taurus struck Sarah at forty miles an hour. It hit her square and the girl toppled up and over the vehicle. Her phone went flying, exploding upon contact with the parking garage floor.

The Taurus squealed to a stop.

*****

It doesn't hurt, Sarah thought.

She heard a door open, then another. Footsteps came toward her and a male voice said, "Oh man! Look at her legs."

"And people talk shit about Fords," another voice said.

There was a flash of recognition in her mind about the second voice. It was Harry from housekeeping.

Daphne's hands shook as she dialed 911.

The operator answered, "911. What is the nature of your emergency?"  It was a man, his voice, high pitched and nasal.

"I just received a call from my daughter. She was panicked and crying. She said something about someone taking her friend Cassandra, then the line went dead."

"Do you know where she was calling from, ma'am?"

"I don't."

"Can you give me her cell number, please?"

Daphne gave the operator the number.

"I will activate the GPS. Please hold the line, ma'am."

A minute later the operator came back.

"Ma'am, I'm not getting a hit on her phone's GPS. Is there another way to locate her?"

Daphne had had time to think while she'd waited. She said, "Her car has GPS. It's a 2008 Jaguar XJ. Registered to Daphne Carter. I don't know the plate."

"Are you Ms. Carter?" The operator asked.

"I am."

"What are the last four digits of your Social Security Number?"

She gave them.

"Okay, I will check DMV records. One moment."

Daphne heard rapid typing in the background.

"Daphne Ellen Carter?" The operator asked.

"Yes."

"All right, I have the VIN. Another moment here and I will activate the GPS."

More furious keystrokes.

"GPS is activated. I show the car is parked at the Camelot Hotel Parking Garage. I am dispatching LVPD now. Is this a good number to have them contact you at?"

"Yes, it's my office line."

"Very good, ma'am. Would you like me to stay on the phone with you until PD arrives on the scene?"

"That's not necessary. Just please have them call me as soon as they know where she is."

"They will, ma'am. Thank you."

"Thanks," Daphne hung up the phone.

*****

"Now aren't you glad I dragged you to Vegas?" Margaret asked Walter. The two were lying in bed in the RV.

"S'pose so. We're talkin' a lot of money here. Can't believe he stood up and started yelling," Walter said. "Not like him."

"He's got a good head on his shoulders. Boy saw an opportunity and took it."

"Kid's smarter than me."

"Hush with that. You're his daddy. You're in charge."

"Seems to me, you're the one in charge," Walter said with an audible smile.

"I'm the lady of the house. We're always the ones who really run things."

"You want to be?"

"Be what?"

"The lady of the house."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"We're in Vegas. Want'a get married?"

Margaret smiled in the dark. This was moving faster than she'd expected.

"'Bout time you asked."

"How's tomorrow? We'll get a couple hotel rooms at the Versailles place. Bet that Tovak will comp them," Walter said.

"Great idea, hon."

"You think I should let Zach do a show?"

"The boy's got a gift. Shame to keep it all to ourselves."

"It would be," Walter nodded in the dark.

"We'll see what Dylan Tovak has to offer, and then decide," Margaret said.

While that conversation was taking place, Zach and Cayte were having their own conversation while lying on the pullout.

"It was amazing what you did tonight," Cayte said.

"It made me mad that he was lying to everyone."

"You're really something, you know that?"

"I guess." Zach smiled.

"You are!"

"So are you."

"I'm not. All I do is sing."

"And play the guitar," Zach added.

"And that. Lots of people do that. How many people do you know who can hear spirits?"

Zach's smile became a snarl in the dark, "One."

"Exactly."

"I still think you're something," Zach said.

"You're sweet for saying so."

"Do you think I'll have to do my show in Vegas?" Zach asked after a minute or so of silence.

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know. What's seven figures mean?" For all his cunning, Zach Hepson hadn't completely shaken his childhood naiveté.

"It means somewhere between one and nine million dollars."

"I'd be a millionaire?" Zach's voice rose an octave with that question.

"Probably. People will pay a lot to be entertained. And if you can help them at the same time, even better."

"I won't do my show unless you can have one, too," Zach said.

"Don't do that. You're the sweetest kid in the world. You deserve success and a good life."

"Then you have to stay in Vegas, too."

"What do you mean?"

"For me to have a good life, I want you here."

"Don't worry yourself about that. I saw the look in my mom's eyes. She's gonna dig her hooks deep into you."

"Good," Zach said, settling back into the bed.

"You're a strange boy."

"I am?"

"Yes."

Zach was quiet. Perhaps it was too early to reveal to Cayte the depth of his thinking. Maybe it would be best to remain a child in her eyes, for now.

"In a good way," Cayte added.

"Know what?" Zach said.

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad I know you."

"I'm glad I know you, too."

"Know what else?"

"What else?"

"You're the best singer I ever heard."

"Hush," Cayte said with a grin.

"Know what else else?"

"What else else?"

"You looked pretty tonight, but you needed that straw hat."

Their laughter came in fits, the way children’s does when trying to stay quiet.

*****

"Sarah! Sarah, can you hear me?" Jacob Tenney said as the ambulance pulled out of the parking garage at Camelot.

Jacob had seen plenty of hit and runs; they were always a mess. The ambulance flew down West Hacienda Ave toward Spring Valley Hospital. The girl was in bad shape but clinging to life. He made the call to the hospital.

"We are in route with an approximately 18-year-old female found unresponsive in a parking garage. Mechanism of injury would indicate that the patient was struck by a vehicle at a high rate of speed. Patient remains unresponsive with a Glasgow coma scale of 3. Patient’s right pupil is fixed and dilated. She has a large hematoma on the left side of her head. She has abrasions to the back and chest. Abdomen is soft non tender. Pelvis is unstable, she has bilateral femur fractures with a compound fracture of the lower left leg. Patient’s vitals are as follows. Pulse of 135, BP 162/101, Respirations of 6. She is being bagged at 12 breaths per minute. ETA 10 minutes."

They needed to get to SVH twenty minutes ago. The vehicle screeched to a halt. Jacob's partner, Sam, came round the back at a sprint, flung the doors open, and Sarah's gurney was being rushed into the ER.

SVH was prepped and ready for their arrival. The hospital staff took the gurney from the two EMTs and wheeled Sarah Carter away at a good clip.

"Thank you gentlemen. We'll take good care of her," a nurse said as the ER crew disappeared behind large swinging doors. She had to run to catch up.

Jacob watched the doors swish back and forth.

He said to Sam, "Kid looks like a fighter. I give her forty-sixty if she wakes up."

Daphne Carter sat in the waiting room at Spring Valley Hospital with Tim at her side. Forcing her mind to things other than Sarah, it occurred to Daphne that her husband looked like he came from money. He sat with his chin raised, appearance impeccable, and had an air of quiet condescension. But he hadn't come from money. Tim's mother had been a full-time teacher and part-time waitress; his father, a steel worker -- they lived in Carson City. Tim Carter had put himself through Columbia Law with the help of copious student loans and a natural intelligence that dwarfed that of his fellow students. After graduating, with a focus in Forensic Law, he found a job with the Clark County DA using his skills to aid the prosecutors in murder trials. He could have found a better job if he'd stayed on the East Coast. The fact was he missed his parents and wanted to be closer to them. Plus, his uncle had a law practice in Reno that would serve as a good fallback option.

People around the DA's Office noticed Tim's tendency to get into debates with colleagues and win. After much prompting these same colleagues convinced him to become a litigator. He rose quickly through the ranks and built a sparkling reputation with the people who mattered. He had been pondering a run at District Attorney when he met Daphne.

"She'll be okay," Daphne repeated to herself. "She's a tough girl."

Tim put a hand on his wife's back. It was the first time he'd touched her in who knew how long.

"She'll be fine, Daph. Don't worry."

"I know."

Daphne stared at the floor, using it as a crystal ball to see all the possible outcomes for the girl she used to call "Sarah Bear".

"Daphne," Tim said, nudging her.

"What?" She didn't lift her gaze from the tile.

"Daphne," he said again.

Daphne looked up and saw a doctor heading in their direction. Tim sat up straight and Daphne got to her feet.

"Mr. and Mrs. Carter?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Daphne said.

"I am Dr. Winslow. Sarah's vitals are stable but we had to intubate. She is on a respirator and is unconscious. She has severe head trauma and there is a lot of swelling. We'll know more when the swelling goes down. There was extensive damage to her pelvis and legs. She will require surgery but we need to deal with brain first. "

"Can we see her?" Tim asked.

"Of course." Dr. Winslow led them to the ICU.

Standing by the door she warned them, "We had to relieve the pressure on Sarah's brain, so don't be alarmed when you see her. There is a sort of release valve on the crown of her head, connected to a plastic tube. That part is nothing to worry about. You can see her now." She held the door open for the Carters. Dr. Winslow added, "I'll tell the nurses you will be staying all night."

Tim held the door for Daphne, then wheeled in behind her. He wore his prosthetics; he'd been trying to get used to them since their talk at dinner a few days ago. Daphne helped him to his feet. They stood together, looking down at their little girl.

The same girl who used to ask Tim to tie a ribbon in her hair when she'd swing in the back yard. She liked to see it trailing out behind her.

Now Sarah's hair was largely missing, having been shaved upon arrival. Her face and neck were one large glob of purple. Her arms were poked with needles, and also quite bruised. Her eyelids were nearly black. Both legs were in casts and the feet that poked out of them were red and swollen. They couldn't see it beneath her covers but Sarah's pelvis was also in a cast to keep it in place until surgery could be performed.

Tim moved to the end of the bed and eased the blanket over Sarah's feet. The ventilator hissed and hummed, another monitor beeped. Tim gave Daphne a look that said, "Did I just mess something up?" She wasn't paying attention to him. Daphne's eyes were fixed on Sarah and the multitude of wires and tubes running from her body to an array of medical equipment.

Daphne wondered how this could be the same girl who used to beg her for ice cream at the mall. The one who, when they were potty training her, would make her dad give her a piggy-back ride to the bathroom or she'd refuse to go. The girl that couldn't sleep well when sick unless Daphne was in the room with her. And the teenager for whom she had bought a new Jaguar two years ago when she'd turned sixteen. But this was that girl, her Sarah Bear, lying in a hospital bed on the brink of never saying, "Love you, mom" again.

A tear slipped from Daphne Carter's eye, fell from her cheek, glistened a moment in the dim light above the bed, and landed on Sarah's hand. It rolled down her slender fingers.

*****

Detective Leon Pushkin of Las Vegas Metro stood in the parking garage at Camelot. It'd been two hours since the accident and the blood on the concrete was turning brown.

He didn't have a lot to go on: some blood, tire marks that still smelled, and security footage he had yet to see. The nerds had already come, done their job, and scurried back to their labs.

Pushkin went to the front desk. He spoke with a nice looking woman who showed him to the security office. In the office he met Leonard Murdock, head of security. Murdock was in a foul mood because he'd recently discovered there was no footage from the parking garage cameras at the time of the accident. Pushkin ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair and adjusted his tweed coat.

"I don't understand it," Murdock said. "The cameras are working fine... fine... fine... then nothing. How does that happen?" Murdock was a tall, slightly balding, man. He sported a bushy mustache the same grey color as his suit.

"Bad luck," Pushkin said with a shrug.

Two years prior Pushkin had been lead detective on the Fremont Slasher case, a string of murders that occurred not too far north of the Strip. The attention he'd received during that time had never left his head.

"Wonder if the system was reset, since the cameras came back up on their own," Murdock thought aloud.

"Could be," Pushkin said.

"Hang here a minute," Murdock said. He picked up a nearby phone and punched some numbers.

Pushkin only heard Murdock's half of the conversation. "Hello, Dennis, Leonard Murdock here. I'm head of security at Camelot."

Murdock's cheeks took on a ruby hue. He barked, "Yes, I'm sure! What is this?"

"Are you goddamned kidding me?" Murdock was shouting now, "Put me through to your supervisor!"

Murdock waited a couple minutes, his complexion growing a deep crimson.

He finally spoke again, "This is Leonard Murdock, head of security at Camelot Hotel and Casino. I have your man, Dennis, telling me I don't sound like me."

"Of course." Murdock consulted his computer screen and said, "46825," reading the time-sensitive security currently displayed. The code changed every 30 seconds.

Murdock proceeded with a series of rapid-fire questions. "Who the hell has been pretending to be me? Did Dennis have them code in? Do you record your incoming calls?"

"Good, check. In the meantime I'm dealing with a hit and run here and there's no goddam footage from my entire East Bank of cameras. What happened?"

Murdock, his face almost purple and his jaw set, listened intently. Pushkin figured the supervisor was grilling his employee about what had happened earlier that night.

"
WHAT
?" Murdock exploded. "No! I absolutely did not call and ask for a reset.” There was a slight pause. “I'll be waiting," Murdock hung up.

Pushkin's mind was piecing together the story of the missing footage. Someone had called the security company, pretended to be Murdock, and had half the cameras in the hotel reset. During that reset someone was seriously injured, perhaps killed. Pushkin would wait for the hotel security man to find his lost footage or figure out what happened. If the girl died, Pushkin would jump in with both feet. Until then, there were bigger crimes to deal with.

*****

Simon dropped Chris at his condo in Enterprise, near Kettledrum Street. Chris told Simon to drop Cassandra in the middle of the desert and open the bag. Let the desert take what it wanted. Simon thought that sounded fair. She was Mexican and they were desert people. After he dumped the body Simon was to leave Chris's car on the outskirts of the city, preferably in North Vegas.

Simon drove north on Great Basin Highway. It was nearing 2:00AM and the adrenaline was wearing off. He found a service road about sixty-five miles from the city and guided the Taurus along it. The road wrapped behind a couple of small hills; it looked like a good spot to Simon. He pulled the car to the shoulder.

Simon got out of the Taurus and stretched in the early morning air. It was refreshing. He opened the trunk and dragged Cassandra out. It was a clear night, and cool; the stars shone bright in the moonless sky. He dragged her to a cluster of shrubbery and arranged the trash bag in the middle. He tore the bag open on the side facing away from the road.

His task being done, Simon got in the Taurus and found Great Basin Highway right where he'd left it. He drove south toward the glow of Las Vegas. US 93 joined with Interstate 15 and he followed it to Exit 50 that led to North Lamb Boulevard. It was a short jaunt from North Lamb to a series of auto salvage yards. Simon drove past the fences until he saw an open gate. He steered the Taurus through, plunged deep into the middle of the lot, found an open space, and parked the car there.

It was a long walk out of the heart of the salvage yard. The entire time Simon was afraid some accusing voice would shout at him, asking what he was doing out at this time of night. But no one noticed Simon and, for once, he was thankful for the anonymity. He walked a couple of miles down North Lamb to the intersection with East Craig Road.

Simon brought out his cell phone and called Yellow Cab. The ride to Luxor was pricey, and he had to walk a little further along the strip to get to Camelot, but it was worth the money and time.

Once Simon was safely back in his suite, the smell of bleach still thick in the air, the sun was peeking over the horizon. He watched it come up, sober now, feeling completely empty of what makes a person human.