Yaritza was in by 5:45. Jules Dalton was at his desk. He was a tall wiry
blond cop who generally stayed in the office and did background checks for
cases. He had once been a street detective until a stray bullet ended his yen
for field work. Esteban had not gotten to know him very well when he was pounding
the pavement, but got to understand his smarts when he confined himself to the
desk. They did not work together all that often, but when they did, Yaritza was
more than impressed. This morning, however, she was not impressed by anything,
just wanted to stay on a high on the Robertson case while it was still fresh.
She sat down next to Jules. “What do you have?”
“Good morning to you, too.”
“It ain’t good. Twenty-four hours ago I was heading out to Tonopah on
this damn investigation.”
Jules shrugged and pulled out a folder. “I got some more in the past few
hours while you were asleep. A man is many things: a burglar, bartender, and
suspected wife-beater. The last was never proven.”
Yaritza grabbed the folder without asking and dug her eyes into it.
“Where was he a bartender?”
“The Belgian. Which bar, I have no idea, there are at least 6 there.”
“I’ll check it today. Burglar?”
“Five years ago he broke into the home of a married couple. Motive
seemed to be that he’d had an affair with the wife, and she broke it off.”
“Funny, that’s what someone did to him: broke it off.”
“Wife-beating?”
“Like I said, suspected. We never made an arrest.”
Yaritza shrugged. “Just looking for motive and a suspect right now. Did
he do much time for the burglary?”
“No, just got probation. The woman must have persuaded the husband to
not press full charges. Pretty much a domestic thing.”
“Yeah, and it was five years ago. I don’t think the husband killed him,
too much time passed.”
“Never can tell, Yaritza, some people let these things fester longer.”
Yaritza checked the sheet some more. “He and his wife had a son, it
says.”
“Yeah, don’t know much yet, except for the criminal record.”
She stood up and put the folder down. “You eat yet?”
“No, why?”
“How about if I buy breakfast at the Belgian? We can check Robertson out
afterwards.”
Jules shook his head. “No thanks. Take a raincheck.”
She smiled gently. “You can’t stay at that desk forever.”
He nodded and stood up. “You’re right. I’m going home to sleep. I only
stayed longer for you.”
“I don’t know if I can stay awake without backup.”
Jules chuckled. “Yaritza, you can do anything without backup, from what
I’ve seen, and I think you like it that way.”
“Maybe.”
“When I was shot, I had no backup, and until then didn’t want any.
You’ve gone longer without it than I did. Maybe your luck can hold out, I hope
it does.”
Yaritza looked directly at him. “Jules, if you want to get back on the
street, I’ll partner with you.”
He shook his head. “I’m training to be the computer specialist here. The
desk job is getting old fast. I want to be mobile, just without the bullet
wound risk. Besides, you would take over that partnership fast.”
She thought about that and nodded. “You’re right. You out of here?”
“Immediately. Have a good one.” With that, Jules left.
Yaritza sat at her desk for a moment. He was right, she thought. She was
a lone wolf, something both despised and admired in the department. She
couldn’t help it, that was the way she was. She had taken on partners before,
but they were all temporary. Luckily, they ended not due to tragedy, but
because she did all the work herself while the partners would just watch and
look Gumplike. That would not likely change with a new partner, either. Yaritza
shrugged it off, and left for The Belgian.
The Belgian was a fairly recent addition to Las Vegas ’s long list of casinos, though it
did not hold the high honor of being on The Strip. It sat about a mile south of
Mandalay Bay and closer to I-15 than Las Vegas Boulevard .
Still, it was becoming popular among the Vegas locals, who knew the places to
go to have a good time and avoid the thousands of tourists, especially those
who didn’t know traffic laws. The inside of the casino was of more of a French
design, and seemed to want to compete with Paris , France ,
which was on The Strip, for being the most French in spirit. The bars all
included a healthy selection of French and Italian wines, far more than any
other casino.
One of the bars, The Rue de Oise, was in close proximity to the
blackjack tables. Yaritza walked up to the bar and sat at a stool. The
bartender, a man of about 50, looking like he had worked a long shift, ambled
over toward her. “Morning. What can I get you?”
Yaritza yawned. “Coffee, please.”
The man nodded without another word and went about pouring her a cup. He
brought it to her. “You playing?”
“No.”
“Play at least $5, and you can have all the coffee you want for free.”
“Not while I’m on duty.”
The bartender’s eyes widened. “You police?”
“Not a taxi driver.”
“Ok.” He wasn’t sure what to say next.
Yaritza took a long sip of her coffee, then grinned at the uneasy man.
“Relax. Just wanted to ask about an employee here.”
“Whew, thought it was about the parking tickets.”
“Don’t confess, then I won’t know.”
“Who you curious about?”
“Mark Robertson.”
The man threw his rag down hard on the bar. “That shit! He never showed
up to relieve me last night!”
“You do a long shift?”
“Ten hours.”
“Then I guess you didn’t kill him.”
“No, I didn’t- kill him? He’s dead?”
“Yeah, makes it a bit hard to punch in on the time clock.”
The bartender sat down. “Damn.”
“Yeah. Mind if I ask a bit about him?”
“Shoot.”
“What was he like?”
“Friendly to the customers, made great tips. He was a bit apart from the
rest of the workers, though.”
“Why was that?”
“He had some personal problems a while back, and a little over a year
ago, he fucked one of the waitresses off-duty. I mean, they were both
off-duty.”
“I think I got that.”
“We have a rumor mill here, and anytime someone even blinks in someone
else’s direction, there’s a scandal.”
Yaritza smiled. “Sounds like the department. Lot
of little old ladies here?”
“Lots of people with no social life.”
“What happened after the affair?”
“Nothing. She left, and he got real quiet. Not like we were enemies or
anything, but he just kept to himself while not on the job.”
“What was her name?”
“Tika Sanchez. Fiery redhead if there ever was one. I don’t think any
guys ever let her walk by without giving her a drink order.”
“That hot? Big tits and all?”
“Nice ass to boot. But she was a bitch on the job. I always figured Mark
was her target, because he didn’t chase all that much.”
Yaritza nodded. “I know a little bit about him already. Seems he had
other woman problems.”
“The break-in? I knew about that. Not really his style.”
“But I see why he’d become a social recluse after all that. So you think
Sanchez seduced him.”
“She was nasty, and he was, well, one of those guys that broads want to
take home. I always pictured their sex as her talkin’ dirty and him just
rolling his eyes while going at it.”
“How did it end?”
“I think she ended it after a week, when the rumors started. She left a
month or so later.”
Yaritza cocked her head. “A month or so?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’m not sure yet. Where could I find Tika Sanchez?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really miss her. I can get my boss for you,
though?”
“Do that. And after you do, I want some more of this coffee, it’s pretty
good.”
The bartender grinned. “Vanilla nut. We ran out of Folger’s.”
An hour later, Yaritza was sitting inside the employment manager’s
office. He was a short, bald man who looked as though he carried the weight of
the world on his shoulders. It had taken quite a bit of fast-talking to even
speak to him, as he was always keeping an eye on as many employees as possible,
and therefore had little time to talk to anyone at length. Using his time
efficiently, he pulled Tika Sanchez’s file, as well as Mark Robertson’s, from
one of the many cabinets he had.
“Despite the computer-driven society we live in, I always keep paper
backups,” the man said proudly.
“Makes sense. Whenever we have a power outage, arrest reports get lost
if they’re not saved. But we’re trying to save trees, so they say.”
“Here? What’s the point?”
Yaritza was getting bored quickly. “So, what can you tell me about Mark
and Tika?”
“Personally, I liked Mark Robertson. He was a great bartender. I know he
wanted to deal blackjack, that was on his application. However, his talents
were in making drinks, not dealing cards. We trained him a bit, but he just
didn’t have the flair for dealing. He was never late, never any complaints from
our clientele.”
“And around here, a clean timely employee is good for business.”
“Exactly. We run a smoothly oiled machine, and when there’s a squeak, it
needs to be oiled right away.”
“Tika Sanchez squeaked, I take it.”
“Screeched on the chalkboard was more like it. I didn’t want to hire
her. But, my boss liked her, and if the boss likes her, then she’s in.”
Yaritza cleared her throat. She needed more coffee. “Probably the usual
‘talent scout’ interview.”
“That’s not my business. Look, is this going to take much longer? The
maids are threatening to strike this week, and I need to be on that.”
“Almost done. What can you tell me about Tika and Mark as an item?”
“That never touched work performance on his part, but Sanchez made noise
about it. And he wasn’t the first co-worker she pursued. Something about Mark
must have just set her off.”
“She quit a month after the affair ended?”
“A little more like six weeks, but yes.”
“Robertson’s murder was pretty gruesome, and I’m just trying to get an
idea about a suspect and motive for that kind of thing.”
The manager stood up to put the files away. “I don’t know how I can
help.”
“Is Tika’s address in there?”
“Yes, but even though you’re police, I’m not sure I should.”
“I’m sure. If she has anything to do with Robertson’s death, then I need
to talk to her.”
The manager shook his head in exasperation as he looked at the file. He
gave her the address. “If you do find her, tell her that the Board has revoked
her license to work in any casino as of three months ago.”
“Why is that?”
“She quit without giving notice, that’s an immediate suspension. Without
documenting why, she never got it lifted.”
“Pretty abrupt, wasn’t she?”
“Miscarriages are abrupt, aren’t they?”
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