one who'd showed the badge was leathery and tall and gray haired with a thick gray moustache. His partner was much younger with stylish blond hair, wearing good clothes.
"This is Detective Cooper," the gray-haired one said.
"I'm Detective Sergeant Romero, Las Vegas Police Department."
"You know I'm a famous detective, and you came here looking for crime stopper tips," I said.
"Never heard of you," Romero said, "until we found your card at a crime scene."
"Pays to advertise," I said.
"Oh good," Cooper said, "a funny one."
"Yeah," Romero said.
"Makes it so much nicer when they're funny."
"Just think of me as lighthearted," I said.
"Tell me about the crime."
"Woman's been killed," Romero said.
"Couple Mex cleaning workers found her body in a vacant lot this morning when they got off work."
"You know who she is?" I said.
"No, we thought we'd bring you over, see if you knew."
"Sure," I said, "let's go."
The vacant lot was a half mile down the Strip behind an out-of business restaurant. There were half a dozen cop cars parked there, a fire department rescue truck, a vehicle from the coroner's office, and a couple of civilian vehicles. They took me to the body.
"This is how we found her," Romero said.
She was naked, lying on her back with the desert sun baking down on her. There were a couple of bruises on her face, and one eye had swollen half shut. There was bruising on her throat. And the tip of her tongue protruded slightly between her swollen lips.
But the damage didn't disguise her. It was Shirley Ventura Meeker, her white body dimpled and pudgy in the comfortless sunlight.
"Know her?" Cooper said.
"Name's Shirley Ventura. She's married to a guy named Anthony Meeker. I don't know which name she used."
"Coop," Romero said.
"Start checking the hotels. Try the MGM Grand first."
Cooper had a small notebook.
"Meeker with two e's?" Cooper said.
"Yes."
Cooper scribbled in his notebook for a moment.
"Got a next of kin?" he said.
I told him and he wrote it down and headed for the car.
"How you know her?" Romero said.
"Her father hired me to find her missing husband."
"You find him?"
"Not yet."
"And you think he's out here?"
"Yeah."
"So you came out looking for him."
"Yeah."
"She come out here with you?"
"No."
"So what's she doing here?"
"Maybe she came out to look on her own."
"You know where she was staying?"
"No."
"Think she found her husband and he killed her?"
"I doubt it," I said.
"He doesn't seem like that type, what I hear.
And I'm pretty sure she was too dumb to find him anyway."
"You know, the husband?"
"No."
"Got a picture?"
"Yeah."
"Might want to borrow it."
"Sure."
"Got any thoughts on this?"
I shrugged.
"Maybe if you told me what you know so far."
A police photographer appeared. Romero took my arm and steered me carefully away from the crime scene, so the photographer could take pictures. We leaned against the back wall of the defunct restaurant. It was late morning and the dry heat lay hard and flat over everything.
"Couple Mex night workers, got off work at six this morning, say they were just cutting through the lot on their way home. Except home isn't in that direction. I figure they scooped a six-pack from the hotel kitchen and came out in the lot to drink it."
"Going to notify robbery?"
Romero smiled.
"Probably not," he said.
"Anyway they found her and one of them called us and here we are. You see the way she was when we found her. No clothes. No purse. Mexican could have taken it, but I don't think so. If they had, they wouldn't have called us."
I nodded.
"M.E. will want to look at her more closely but it looks like the cause of death was manual strangulation."
"She been raped?"
"Almost certainly."
"And somebody beat her up."
"Yeah. Happens a lot with rapes."
"I know," I said.
"Where'd you find my card."
"On the ground near the body. I figure it was in her clothes, maybe tucked in her bra or someplace, and it fell out when the guy made her
"This is Detective Cooper," the gray-haired one said.
"I'm Detective Sergeant Romero, Las Vegas Police Department."
"You know I'm a famous detective, and you came here looking for crime stopper tips," I said.
"Never heard of you," Romero said, "until we found your card at a crime scene."
"Pays to advertise," I said.
"Oh good," Cooper said, "a funny one."
"Yeah," Romero said.
"Makes it so much nicer when they're funny."
"Just think of me as lighthearted," I said.
"Tell me about the crime."
"Woman's been killed," Romero said.
"Couple Mex cleaning workers found her body in a vacant lot this morning when they got off work."
"You know who she is?" I said.
"No, we thought we'd bring you over, see if you knew."
"Sure," I said, "let's go."
The vacant lot was a half mile down the Strip behind an out-of business restaurant. There were half a dozen cop cars parked there, a fire department rescue truck, a vehicle from the coroner's office, and a couple of civilian vehicles. They took me to the body.
"This is how we found her," Romero said.
She was naked, lying on her back with the desert sun baking down on her. There were a couple of bruises on her face, and one eye had swollen half shut. There was bruising on her throat. And the tip of her tongue protruded slightly between her swollen lips.
But the damage didn't disguise her. It was Shirley Ventura Meeker, her white body dimpled and pudgy in the comfortless sunlight.
"Know her?" Cooper said.
"Name's Shirley Ventura. She's married to a guy named Anthony Meeker. I don't know which name she used."
"Coop," Romero said.
"Start checking the hotels. Try the MGM Grand first."
Cooper had a small notebook.
"Meeker with two e's?" Cooper said.
"Yes."
Cooper scribbled in his notebook for a moment.
"Got a next of kin?" he said.
I told him and he wrote it down and headed for the car.
"How you know her?" Romero said.
"Her father hired me to find her missing husband."
"You find him?"
"Not yet."
"And you think he's out here?"
"Yeah."
"So you came out looking for him."
"Yeah."
"She come out here with you?"
"No."
"So what's she doing here?"
"Maybe she came out to look on her own."
"You know where she was staying?"
"No."
"Think she found her husband and he killed her?"
"I doubt it," I said.
"He doesn't seem like that type, what I hear.
And I'm pretty sure she was too dumb to find him anyway."
"You know, the husband?"
"No."
"Got a picture?"
"Yeah."
"Might want to borrow it."
"Sure."
"Got any thoughts on this?"
I shrugged.
"Maybe if you told me what you know so far."
A police photographer appeared. Romero took my arm and steered me carefully away from the crime scene, so the photographer could take pictures. We leaned against the back wall of the defunct restaurant. It was late morning and the dry heat lay hard and flat over everything.
"Couple Mex night workers, got off work at six this morning, say they were just cutting through the lot on their way home. Except home isn't in that direction. I figure they scooped a six-pack from the hotel kitchen and came out in the lot to drink it."
"Going to notify robbery?"
Romero smiled.
"Probably not," he said.
"Anyway they found her and one of them called us and here we are. You see the way she was when we found her. No clothes. No purse. Mexican could have taken it, but I don't think so. If they had, they wouldn't have called us."
I nodded.
"M.E. will want to look at her more closely but it looks like the cause of death was manual strangulation."
"She been raped?"
"Almost certainly."
"And somebody beat her up."
"Yeah. Happens a lot with rapes."
"I know," I said.
"Where'd you find my card."
"On the ground near the body. I figure it was in her clothes, maybe tucked in her bra or someplace, and it fell out when the guy made her
Similar Books
