Las Vegas Gold by Jim Newell Page B

cooperation and got on with the routine work.
    The public address announcer told the crowd: “An emergency situation has arisen which necessitates the postponement of the game until further notice. Fans are asked to leave the stadium in an orderly manner. Keep your ticket stubs and you will be able to exchange them for a ticket to another game in the future.”
    The announcement caused a great rush for the doors, many of the fans fearing an imminent bomb explosion or some other disaster. However, the ushers and stadium security people managed to keep the wholesale rush from the stands in some kind of order. Radio and TV commentators and the rest of the media tried their best to discover what was happening, but nobody on the field or in the Yankee dressing room would talk to them. The Las Vegas clubhouse was barred, the players still on the field, and all of them silent when reporters tried to talk to them. Finally the reporters just gave up, and the TV and radio broadcasters signed off in frustration at the unsolved mystery.
    Tabby had been shot in the back of the head while he had been standing at the urinal, just after zipping up. It would appear he had no inkling of an assailant in the room. The bullet hole looked as though it had been fired by a small-bore handgun, likely a .22. Since the clubhouse man had suffered wounds from a similar gun, it would seem the gunman had used a silencer, preventing Tabby from hearing the first shots.
    Clarence “Happy” Jefferson, the clubhouse man, was still alive but unconscious at a New York hospital, where a policeman was standing by to guard him and communicate any changes.
    Again, Sparky Hooper was a busy man dealing with media questions and requests, when he had nothing he could tell them.
    * * *
    When things were sorted out a bit, the New York Police departments were cooperating with the FBI who assigned about a dozen agents to the job. Mike Malone, accompanied by George Halverson, both in shock, had flown east to New York in Mike’s company jet late in the evening, and Molly and Larry Henderson joined them for breakfast in Mike’s hotel suite. Jeff Turnbull also joined them. He looked exhausted, having been up all night.
    â€œIf there’s fault to be found, it’s mine,” Turnbull said contritely. “The killer got Tabby in the one area of the stadium I never would have thought to place a security man. The police are still trying to find out how somebody got in there and out again without being seen. There were about sixty thousand people in that stadium plus the hundreds of staff people, but nobody saw a thing.”
    â€œLet’s not talk about fault,” replied Mike. “Let’s just get the guy and whoever else is involved. You said you had a man following this Trenowski or whatever his name is. How come he wasn’t followed to the stadium, and how come he hasn’t been picked up?”
    â€œWould you believe he lost his shadow on the way to the stadium? Our guy still doesn’t know how. A moment’s inattention, I guess. It happens. The New York and LA cops are looking for him this morning.”
    At that moment, the meeting was interrupted by a phone call for the FBI agent. “Excuse me,” he said, and took the phone at the other end of the room. The others could clearly hear his end of the conversation. “Both of them? How did Trenowski get back to LA that fast?…. Take them both in and hold them until the LA force can pick ’em up and take them there…. I know, Currie’s gonna holler like a wounded hound dog for his lawyer. Tell him he can’t see him until I give him permission. That ought to give him plenty more to yell about…. Charge Trenowski with Murder One for now. Just tell Currie he’s being held for questioning…. Yeah, I know he won’t like it. That’s too bad. I’ll see you at Los Angeles police headquarters. I’ll leave as soon as I can get