Authors: Teri Riggs
“He said Campenelli takes pictures of hookers and keeps them tacked up on a bulletin board at his campaign headquarters.”
“Shit.”
She grinned. Wilder’s comment was short and to the point. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“His own form of a murder board?”
“Who knows? I’m heading over there to visit with him now. I want to see these photos for myself. Should I swing by and pick you up or do you want to meet me?”
“Sorry, Kenny, I’m out of the loop today. Remember? I’ve got a court date to testify against that punk who offed the sweet little nun over at
St.
Mary’s a few years back. Sister Margaret Mary. It’s just now coming to trial. I should be tied up all day. The DA says to plan on it dragging on well into next week.”
“I forgot about the trial. That murder happened before I moved to Homicide. Bad scene wasn’t it?”
“As bad as it gets. I’m glad you missed out on that one. I know you hate when I say shit like that, but it’s true.”
Kennedy hissed at him.
“So? Shoot me. I worry sometimes.”
“No, I won’t shoot you. I’ll just make your life miserable for a day or two.” Kennedy gave him another hiss. “I’ll keep you updated till you get back in the groove.”
“I’d appreciate it. As much as I hate the court stuff, it’ll sure be nice to finally see this killer put away.”
She pulled out of her apartment complex. “I don’t envy you waiting around all day just to get to your fifteen minutes of testimony. If you get too damn crabby, have Sally come over and stay at my place.”
“I do have a slight tendency to get a bit testy d
uring these trial things, don’t
I?”
“Ha! A bit testy? What an understatement. You’re like a bear. I’d kick your ass six ways from Sunday if I was your wife.”
“I’m not real shot in the ass with the whole deal either. I’d much rather be out chasing the bad guys with you than sitting in a courtroom in my monkey suit rehashing all the details about the Sister’s murder. Makes me want to puke, or choke the evil bastard that killed her.”
“I hear you on that one.”
“By the way, the Lieutenant wants a word with you this morning.” “Thanks for leaving me to handle him alone.”
“Can’t help it. Duty calls.”
“Right. Talk to you later, Wilder.”
“Sure thing. You be careful out there.” “I always am.”
Kennedy reached into the glove box of the Mustang and pulled out a bag of grape taffy. The high temperatures had turned the taffy into soft blobs. It was gooey and a challenge to unwrap, but worth the wait. She popped a piece in her mouth as she pulled into the Grab and Go. She worked the taffy over in her mouth.
“Mmmm, excellent.”
Kennedy
picked up her cell phone and put in a call to her lieutenant. She sucked grape taffy while she waited on hold.
“O’Brien, where the hell are you? I expected you and your partner to have your asses in my office an hour ago.”
“Yes, sir, I realize that. Detective James has a court date he couldn’t get out of and won’t be able to make it.”
“Where the hell are you, O’Brien? What’s your excuse?”
“I’ve got three interviews to handle this morning. Thought maybe I could see you after that.”
“You don’t need to come in. I can handle this on the phone.” He paused, covered the phone and she listened to his muffled voice talk to someone else. He got back to her. “I have one simple question, O’Brien.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Where the fuck is my prostitute killer?” Kennedy winced as his voice rose with each word. “Three murders in three days, and so far as I can tell you haven’t got one solid lead. The media is making a laughing stock out of my division and Sheriff Taylor is holding my ass hostage.”
“We’re making some headway. We’re waiting on a few warrants that LVTVS is blocking and I’m hoping this morning’s interviews pan out. Wilder and I—”
“Cut the crap, Detective. I’ve read through the case murder book. This is a tough one, but you gotta bring me something soon. I want Taylor and the media off my six.”
“I understand.”
“Good, now get your ass moving and I expect an update soon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And O’Brien, one more thing. Watch the fucking overtime. Accounting has issued another warning. Stingy bastards.”
Kennedy flinched as he slammed down the phone. Well, that went well.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NICOLAS CAMPENELLI’S CAMPAIGN HEADQUARTERS WERE LOCATED ACROSS THE STREET AND CATER-CORNER TO HIS CORPORATE OFFICES.
Kennedy stood outside the building observing the early morning bustle all around her. The Vegas Strip was already jam-packed with people, mostly happy tourists oblivious to the heat, and she wondered what in the hell drove them to walk around calling it fun. Don’t they realize there’s a heat-wave going on? Well, she was heading indoors where hopefully she’d be hit with a strong blast of ice cold air-conditioning.
Kennedy walked through the front doors and felt the anticipated cool draft from the building’s air-conditioner. Striding in with the cold air, she was buoyed up by the fresh scent of printer’s ink. The smell reminded her of new text books received at the beginning of every school year.
The headquarters’ main room was bright and cheery, the bold colors painted on the walls inviting. Large, undressed windows let the bright Vegas sun gleam in. Stacks of organized clutter covered the desks, including a large bowl filled with campaign buttons.
Enlarged, framed political cartoons lined the walls. Kennedy couldn’t help but smile at several, making it hard to maintain her tough cop image. She fought the urge to cut loose with a deep belly laugh when she found an amazing caricature featuring Nicolas Campenelli with a caption poking fun at him.
Any man who didn’t mind letting a cartoon like that hang on the wall for the entire campaign staff to see had to have a great sense of humor. What Kennedy didn’t see were the usual, self-serving, oversized, head shots of a smiling Campenelli; the campaign posters that screamed, “I’m a remarkable guy and I’ve got great teeth. Vote for me.”
The low hum of voices filled the room as volunteers spoke on the many phone lines. “Drumming up votes, no doubt,” she whispered to herself. Several people were bustling about. A short redheaded woman with a big pasted on political smile approached her, instantly reciting a well-practiced speech.
“I’m Lucy. I volunteer here at Mr. Campenelli’s headquarters. He’s a good man, you know, and I’d like to do whatever I can to help get him elected. We’d love to have your support as well.”
End of speech—thank God. Kennedy’s ears were buzzing. Maybe talking to herself wasn’t such a bad thing after all. It sure as hell had to beat listening to this woman.
“May I help you, Miss?” Another political smile.
“I’m sure he is. I’m sure you do. I’m sure you won’t. And I’m sure you can help me.” I’m sure I’m quite a smart ass today. “Actually, I’m looking for Mr. Campenelli.” Kennedy pulled back her jacket so Lucy could see the badge clipped onto her belt. “Is he around?”
“Officer...?”
Detective O’Brien.”
“Sorry, Detective O’Brien, Mr. Campenelli isn’t here right now. He usually stops by around lunchtime to check in with us. But, if it’s urgent, you could reach him at his corporate offices. They’re located right across the street.” Lucy continued to smile.
“He’s a very busy man and you may have trouble getting in without making an appointment
fir
st
.
Would you like for me to call Mr. Campenelli’s assistant and set one up?”
Kennedy shook her head. “That’s very nice of you, but my badge makes my appointments. Best damn assistant I’ve ever had. Never tries to second guess me. Works cheap too.”
Lucy looked at Kennedy like she’d just grown a second head. “Lucy,” Kennedy changed the subject, “this place is busy.”
“Yes it is. We’re doing campaign phone calls today and printing a fresh batch of fliers in the back room.”
“I’d love to look around. I’ve never been in a campaign headquarters of any kind. It must be so inspirational to work here. Exciting, I bet.” Kennedy figured that should just about do it in the suck-up department.
“You’re right. It is exciting. Gets my political juices flowing. Let me give you the quick, fifty-cent tour.”
The woman turned to show Kennedy around and Kennedy followed.
Political juices? The woman must lead a very boring life.
Fifteen minutes later, when Kennedy was about to decide Hershey was lying through his ass about the pictures, Lucy took her into the staff break room. Tacked up on a bulletin board, next to all the daily notices and reminders, were pictures of prostitutes. Some were smiling, some were not.
“What are these for?” Kennedy asked Lucy, just as she spotted a photo of Liz Clayton. She hadn’t spotted the other two murder victims in the collection... yet.
“Mr. Campenelli wants us to always remember that these women are our citizens as much as anyone else is. He says we’re never to speak badly of them like the workers over at Mr.
St. Louis
’ headquarters do. They call sex workers all kinds of hateful names. I think it’s wonderful Mr. Campenelli feels so strongly about this.”
“
Yeah right, really great.” This woman believes all that cheesy crap? Kennedy
continued to scan the collage.
Kennedy turned to leave, and then hesitated. “Lucy, how does Mr. Campenelli get along with the people around here? Does everyone seem to like him?”
“Well of course we all like him. Why else would we volunteer to campaign for him? It can be quite time consuming.”
“I see your point.” She gave herself a mental head slap. “What about the women who volunteer here? Does he seem flirty or make inappropriate comments or gestures towards them?”
“Oh, no. Not ever. Mr. Campenelli is wonderful. He’s a complete gentleman at all times. He could have almost any woman here at the drop of a hat, but he never makes a move. I’ve seen women practically throw themselves at him and he always manages to let them down gently. He’s truly a wonderful guy. And those dimples of his. I just melt whenever he smiles.”
“Truly wonderful, huh? Gag.
“Does he ever complain about the city’s
problems or prostitutes; have you ever heard him make any kind of threat?”
“No. Never.” Lucy moved to the coffee pot and poured a cup. “He says Vegas has a lot of issues to deal with, including the high crime rate around the Hooker Haven area, but he never goes off on some high and mighty tantrum like one of his other opponents is known to do. Mr. Campenelli would never say anything bad about Las Vegas. He loves this city.”
Kennedy rolled her eyes. Oh Mr. Wonderful loves this city. I may actually puke!
Lucy held out the cup to Kennedy. “The same goes for the prostitutes that live and work on the Nye County side. They’re citizens who pay taxes, just like the rest of us. He thinks if Clark County would make prostitution legal, it would get a bigger share of those taxes. After all, prostitution is already legal in ten out of seventeen counties in Nevada. What difference would it make to have Clark County legal too?”
Kennedy accepted the offered cup and took a sip. “I’ve heard this sales pitch already.” She couldn’t keep the snippy tone out of her voice.
“I know I’m not supposed to point fingers, but I can’t help it sometimes. Mr.
St. Louis
is ruthless when he speaks about the women who sell their bodies—and he’s entitled to his opinion—but, while it’s true, some of the women work in the prostitution field because they want to, or because it’s the career they’ve chosen, there are some who do it because it’s a last resort for survival.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, took a long drink.
“It’s a proven fact that eight out of ten working prostitutes would rather be in another line of work. Prostitution is rarely a woman’s first choice of an occupation. That’s why we need Mr. Campenelli to win this election. He will help make their lives easier and safer.”
Kennedy egged her on. “I see you’re passionate about your politics.” She emptied her drink and set her cup on the counter
“Yes, I am.” Lucy babbled on as she put her cup down next to Kennedy’s. “Mr. Campenelli also wants to clean up the streets and get rid of the drug dealers. He’s a good man, just like I said before.”
“Does Mr. Wonderful ever talk about or socialize with Mr.
St. Louis
?”
“Mr. Campenelli,” Lucy pronounced each syllable, letting Kennedy know she hadn’t appreciated the sarcasm, “and Mr.
St. Louis
are old friends who, outside of the political arena, haven’t spoken in years. Mr. Campenelli may not agree with the man on many issues, but he’s always respectful of him. Some people are blessed with good manners. Some are not.” Lucy tipped her chin and raised an eyebrow at Kennedy.