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“So let’s get this guy, okay?” She felt her jaw harden and pulled herself upright, away from his embrace.
“That’s the plan.”
“Good.” She took a swallow of her coffee just as his laptop gave off a soft ding, and he glanced at the screen.
“Bingo,” he said, his gaze touching hers. “We’re in.”
She leaned in to view the interior of Aunt Vera’s small living room. “Now what?” she whispered.
His eyes narrowed on the screen. “Now, we wait.”
* * *
Just outside of Las Vegas, Settler viewed the construction site, where the huge car was being winched out of a pit. Sand and dirt and litter fell away as it slowly rose from the earth.
To cut down on red tape and delays, Settler had called a friend with a private plane and a pilot’s license. Always interested in being a part of an investigation, Stinson had flown both her and Martinez to Las Vegas and had agreed to fly them back, all for the price of fuel and dinner.
The only hiccup had been the interview with Jennifer Reliant, which had been pushed back until tomorrow after Settler found out about the extract
ion of what was believed to be Didi Storm’s Cadillac.
She and Martinez had arrived mid-afternoon, rented a car, and met Detective Davis at the construction site as the big Caddy was being hauled onto a tow truck that would take it to the garage, where crime-scene techs would go over every inch of it and take it apart.
“It’s Didi Storm’s, for sure,” Davis said, “Not only licensed and titled to her, but also the cargo space that the daughter described? Yep. It’s there.”
“Body’s already been taken to the morgue?”
“Yeah. It was in the clothes the daughter described in the missing person report, the last thing she’d seen her mother wearing, a black, low-cut dress that had seen better days, matching gloves, and a Marilyn Monroe-type wig. Platinum blond, or it had been. Didi’s name scrawled across the inside. We’re checking dental records, for official ID, but it’s a done deal, I’m thinking. And the cause of death is pretty evident, what with the big hole in her skull.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Her purse and ID, cosmetics from that era, and a small gun. Looks like she came prepared, but it didn’t help.”
“No other body?”
“None. And no baby, either. There was an empty infant car seat, but no baby.”
Settler felt a little bit of relief at that.
Davis assured her, “The lab is all over this, checking for fingerprints and DNA, if there’s any to collect. Time will tell.”
“I want to see the body. Didi.”
A dark eyebrow lifted over the edge of Davis’s mirrored glasses. “Not much to see, but okay. You got it.” She hitched her chin in the direction of Settler’s rented Toyota. “Got a GPS in that thing?”
“No,” Martinez said, “but I’ll use my phone.”
“Okay. If I lose you, the phone’s directions should get you there.” Davis rattled off the address of the morgue and told them to follow her, which they did, though Davis turned out to have more of a lead foot than Settler, and Martinez held onto the safety bar for dear life.
“Sin City,” he said, eyeing the flashing lights of the casinos and the throngs of people on the street, with an envious eye. He rolled down the window and took a big lungful of air. “Ahh. The smell of money. You know, I could retire here, get myself a sweet penthouse on the Strip, play poker for walking-around money.”
“What happened to the condo in Cabo?”
“Oh, that’s in the budget, too.” He stroked his goatee as they drove away from the Strip, with its mega-storied hotels and casinos, and onto streets flanked by low-lying buildings. “Margaritas in Cabo and straight shots here, in Vegas.”
“Your wife and kids, they’re into this?”
“Oh, yeaaaah.”
