Stripped by Brian Freeman Page B

said, choosing his words carefully, “but sometimes we find connections in ways we don’t anticipate. Or we can pursue more productive areas of investigation because we can cross things off the list.”
    In other words, we’ll keep digging until we find out
, Stride wanted to say.
    Lane didn’t take the bait. He didn’t say a word.
    Stride finally gave up after the silence stretched out too long. “How long had MJ lived in Vegas?”
    “Since he turned twenty-one.” Lane’s tone was clipped, unhappy.
    “You didn’t approve?” Stride asked.
    “No.”
    Stride began to understand why the man had never made a movie longer than eighty-seven minutes. “Why is that?”
    “Because the city is a sewer,” Lane snapped. “It’s immoral. A wasteland. There are only two kinds of people living there, users and suckers.”
    Amanda casually held up one hand and extended her middle finger at the phone. Stride shrugged.
    “When were you last here?” he asked.
    “A lifetime ago, Detective.”
    “A lot’s changed since then,” Stride said.
    “Nothing’s changed. Nothing at all. Now, if you have nothing else, let me go back to my job, and you can go back to yours. Finding out who killed my son.”
    “I do have a few more questions,” Stride said.
    Lane’s impatience crackled through the phone line. “What?”
    Stride was running out of ideas for making the man talk and decided to take a wild leap. “MJ seemed to be very interested in that new casino project near his building. The Orient project that Boni Fisso is launching. Do you know why?”
    “I have
nothing
to say about Boni Fisso,” Lane hissed.
    Stride and Amanda looked at each other. Boni’s name had obviously struck a raw nerve.
    “Was MJ somehow involved with the Orient project?” Stride persisted.
    Lane exhaled in disgust. Stride wished he were there in person to read the man’s body language.
    “MJ didn’t care about the
new
casino,” Lane retorted. “All he could talk about was the Sheherezade.”
    “Why is that?” Stride asked.
    There was another stretch of silence.
    “The Sheherezade,” Lane said. “When I read it was coming down, I thought finally it would all be over.”
    He paused, but Stride could hear the fissures in the dam grow wider. Lane wanted to tell them. Just like he had wanted to tell MJ.
    “Boni couldn’t just drop it in the dead of night. Let everyone wake up and find a pile of rubble. All its secrets leveled, ready to be carted away. No, no, make it another goddamn tourist attraction. The governor’s going to push the button. Half the congressional delegation will be there applauding. Like it was something noble. Like they were saying goodbye to something sacred.”
    “What happened there?” Stride asked.
    “Las Vegas killed me, that’s what happened,” Lane retorted. “Now it’s killed my son. Both of us. My God, it never ends. Sins live forever in that city. I just never believed it could reach out and destroy me again.”
    Stride waited until he was done. He could hear Lane gasping for breath.
    “You sound like you think you know why MJ was killed,” Stride said. He added, “Does it have something to do with Boni Fisso?”
    “No, Detective, I don’t know why. The past is the past, and I have no reason to think what happened then has any relevance to what happened to MJ. Or any connection to Boni. I don’t see how it could.”
    “Still—” Stride began.
    “Still, you want to know. You’re curious. That’s your lot in life. I’m sorry. I’ve said more than I should have already, and I can’t say anymore.”
    Amanda leaned closer to the phone. “But if it was so long ago, Mr. Lane, why not tell us?”
    “No, I can’t. I’m grieving over MJ. I’m wishing I had been a better father. That’s enough pain without dredging up mistakes I made when I was a young fool.”
    “Mr. Lane,” Stride said, “we know that MJ called you a murderer.”
    “Yes, he did.”
    “Why?”
    Lane sighed.