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He mumbled something in French under his breath. “That is just wonderful. I knew from the first moment I saw him that Franklin Tate was a no-good piece of junk. He owes us a lot of money, that American slug. I’ll bet he owes every casino up and down the strip.”
“Well, then, we’re on the same side.”
He gave her a curious look.
“What I mean is, I’m sure you want whoever is responsible to be caught, as soon as possible,” she said. “Right? So that’s what I’ve been doing, asking around, trying to put the pieces together and figure out who killed Franklin Tate and swindled you out of a huge amount of money.”
He pressed his lips together for a moment, thinking. “Did anyone out there tell you anything?”
She shook her head. “You have them very well-trained.”
He waved the dig off. “It’s no matter,” he said, walking behind the empty black desk. He pressed a button underneath it, and suddenly, there was a low rumble. Two panels on the top of the black table behind him began to separate, and a high-tech computer screen rose up. “When did you say this was? Three nights ago, yes?”
She nodded.
He spoke a command firmly in French, and a few surveillance videos appeared on the screen. Daisy recognized the casino floor, the lobby, the hallway, and the outside courtyard, from various angles. Sitting on the edge of his desk, he gave another French command, and the video began to fast-forward.
After a moment, he said, “Arrêt! C’est tout.” He pointed to the top of a white head. A man with a belly pooch, but wearing a nice dark jacket and shirt, open past the breastbone, stood at one of the tables, chatting with a blonde who looked like Tina.
“Yes! That’s him!” Daisy said, moving closer. She wound her finger. “Can you make it go?”
He gave the command and the video began to advance rapidly, showing him moving around, laughing with his friends, ordering drinks, chatting up pretty women, and placing bets. He rarely stopped. The man took having fun, seriously.
As he and his group progressed to the lobby, she shouted, “Oh! Stop! I mean,Arrêt!”
The system must’ve either been tuned only to respond to his voice, or else her French was terrible, because it kept going. Arséne, in the midst of lighting another cigarette, said, “Arrêt!”and the picture froze instantly, as the group was standing in the courtyard, after exiting the casino.
She recognized most of the players. There was Franklin Tate, of course. Matteo Frenzi. Dirk Buckner. Tina the casino worker. A couple of other men in suits who she didn’t know. And two other women in short skirts and halter tops—one with white-blonde hair, the other with dark hair.
“Do you know those women?”
He smirked, suggesting his knowledge of them was intimate. “Mademoiselle Fortune, everyone knows those women. They are . . . frequently here.”
She tilted her head. The other people she’d interviewed had said that other people were brought on board during the night. Several hookers, too. Tina had said there were a few there when she left. “You mean they’re prostitutes?”
“They prefer to call themselvesproviders.”
Daisy didn’t care what they were called. They’d been on the plane, that night, past when Tina had left. Excitement spiked in her chest. “Can you give me their names and where to find them?”
He stood up and went closer to the screen. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know who they are.”
“But I thought you said—"
“I only knowwhatthey are. I don’t pay attention, past that. There are dozens of ladies like them in this city, waiting for rich tourists to descend.” He took in the exasperation in her face, then went to a drawer and pulled out a business card. He grabbed a pen from his chest pocket, writing a few words on the back of the card, which he pushed over to her. “This is the name of a night club that runs a high-class agency with the best girls. You might have some luck asking your questions around there.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the card and reading it.Club Rossignol.She turned it over and saw the scrawled words,Je la connais, laissez-la entrer—Arséne Bérenger.“Am I free to go?”
He waved her off. Then sat down in the executive leather chair behind the desk.
She made to leave, but stopped. “If it turns out he was murdered, won’t you want to know if I find out who killed him?”
He laced his fingers in front of him. “Mademoiselle, if you find that out, I won’t need you to report back. I have ears all over this city. I will know almost the moment you do.”
He winked in a way that unsettled her, then pressed the button to lower the screen.
