Mistletoe and Murder in Las Vegas (13 page)

"No," she murmured, sinking onto the couch, looking a bit shell-shocked.

"Let me take your things and put them into your room," Archie said, crossing to her.

Mike was moved by his grandfather's calm attentiveness to Joanne. Archie was no fool. Something had happened, but he wasn't going to ask quesitons or act as if anything unusual had just occurred, although obiously something had. He knew instinctively the priority was to create a safe haven for Joanne.

As he carried her laptop, purse and folders into the bedroom, he said over his shoulder, "Grandson, after you put the food into the refrigerator, please bring our guest's clothes into the bedroom."

Minutes later, Mike was hanging up her two suits in the bedroom closet while Archie retrieved his few clothes.

"There's a portable cot in the other closet," Mike said. "I'll set that up in the living room. You can have the couch."

"No need." Archie held several neatly folded plaid shirts in his arms. "While I'm downstairs playing poker, I'll make arrangements with the front desk for my own room, and don't bother trying to argue with your old grandfather because you'll only lose. Not this discussion, but the chance to be with Miss Right. I’m going to leave these shirts and some other things on the dining room table. I’ll pick ‘em up later. Have a good night, Grandson. You’re old granddad is proud of you.”

After his grandfather left, Mike finished setting up the bedroom for Joanne, then joined her on the couch. He heard a familiar song fainting playing. “What’s that?”

She gestured to her phone lying on the coffee table. “Your grandfather downloaded some albums on my smartphone. Said they would cheer me up.”

“Is that Elvis?”

She smiled. “Yes. He’s singing “Wonder of You.”

“it’s an apt song for you this evening. You were brave.”

“Me? You’re the one who dismantled that device!” Emotion filled her eyes.

“It’s all right,” he said gently. “You’re safe here. I won’t let anything hurt you…or the baby.”

"Thank you." She sighed heavily, leaned her head back on the couch. "Why?"

Mike knew what she meant. Why had she been targeted by the Timepiece Arsonist, as if that person couldn't possibly be Dita. As much as he wanted to protect her, it wouldn't help either of them to step around the truth. "I think Dita set it to make you, the police, think the real Timepiece Arsonist is still out there."

"And that she's innocent."

"Right. There was very little accelerant, so the explosion would have probably been more smoke than fire. But if there's anything I've learned, it's to never underestimate the power of fire."

"Oh my God." She stared up at the ceiling. "I tried so many cases at the defenders office...some of my clients were hardcore criminals who scared me, but no one ever tried to hurt me. I wanted to do the right thing for Dita, but it's one thing to be a bleeding liberal and another to be bleeding. I have my baby to think of..."

As she started to cry, he gathered her in his arms and held her close. They stayed like that for a long time. He was ready to tell her to give up the case, when she suddenly said, "If I abandon Dita she'll spend the rest of her life in prison. Oh, she'll get out when she's close to 60, but where will she go? Will Lenny be waiting for her after fifteen, twenty years? She'll have no family, no friends, and she's supposed to make a fruitful life for herself? I can't do that to her. Even if I dump this case and leave her to the wolves, what about the next case where I feel or am threatened? Do I keep running?"

He didn’t say anything. Her decision had to be hers, and hers alone.

"I want to be strong, too," she finally said. "How else will my baby learn how to be strong?"

Something toppled inside him again, but this time it wasn’t just how her smile got to him, or how he admired her bravery, but also that he wanted to be part of helping that baby grow up to be strong, just her mama.

He meant to say as much, but words escaped him. They looked into each others’ eyes and, suddenly, they leaned toward each other at the same time and kissed. A soft, gentle kiss while Elvis sang about the wonder of you.

A
few days later
, a police officer took down their information outside the charred remains of Organica Streetwear. Although the fire occurred weeks ago, and the crime scene was cold, because of the high-profile case surrounding the arrest and upcoming trial of Dita, the alleged Timepiece Arsonist, Las Vegas police had set up twenty-four surveillance with an officer standing guard at the entrance, with a sign-in protocol. Joanne identified herself as Dita's attorney and showed her Nevada attorney license card ID. Mike flashed an ID card he'd made earlier that identified him as Mike Viotti, his mother's maiden name, legal assistant Joanne Galvin, P.C. as driver-bodyguard was a bit too "TV" for an ID card.

They carefully stepped around the charred walls and rubble, taking in the stench of smoke and burned fabric. Except for a jagged supporting beam, the ceiling had caved in during the fire, leaving an overhead view of blue skies and clouds. Winds whistled eerily through the blackened walls, or what remained of them, and the front and back holes, formerly windows that had blown out during the fire.

"I want to show you something." He held out his hand. "I'll guide you the safest spots to step."

She took his hand, so large and warm, and walked slowly behind him, following his instructions on where to step. Maybe he said "bodyguard" was too TV, as if the term were a silly fabrication, but the truth was he really was her bodyguard, had been from that first day when he told her close the door so she didn't catch cold. Funny to think Mike had protected her more in a few days than she could recall Roger doing in four years.

When they reached the back window--now shards of glass protruding from a black, warped frame--Mike stopped and gently dropped Joanne's hand.

"Notice those two lines on the floor?" He gestured at a faint right angle. With his other hand he pointed to burned armoire to their right. "That used to sit here."

"It's so large," Joanne said. "It would have blocked the entire window."

"Which was what it was meant to do." Mike pointed at the old brick wall of the building across a small alley. "Remember, this was a small, upscale boutique. To block the ugly view of that wall, the owner placed an antique armoire in front of the window. From the insurance report, that antique is worth five grand."

"There's one reason the owner, Susan Jay-Doyle, didn't hire Dita to torch this place for the insurance. She would have moved out such expensive items ahead of time."

"Not really. Makes her look less guilty if she lost them in the fire. But I no longer proscribe to the theory of Dita as hired torch, anyway. According to Vegas Sun article this morning, a venture capital group is funding Susan to rebuild Organica Streetwear, so she'll be dropping her chapter 11 bankruptcy."

"So you're now on the side of the defense."

He laughed softly. "No, I'm not joining the dark side, yet. Your girl Dita has ties to an eco-terrorist group, remember? I wouldn't be surprised Dita learned that some of Susan Jay-Doyle clothes were made from mistreated sheep wool or something, so she torched the place."

"That's ridiculous."

Mike arched an eyebrow. "Let's see...her ex is named Mustang for releasing a hundred wild Mustangs from government land. Those horses weren't being made into glue or dog food...the government was planning an auction to sell them to ranchers and others who wanted horses to ride. If Mr. Mustang and his eco-terrorist pals had done their homework they would have known that. Their act was every bit as ridiculous as Dita's reason."

"Don't assume Dita set fire to this place," she snapped. "I like our working together as we're both benefitting from what the other, but I don't like assumptions of guilt, be it this case or any other. The justice system is about evidence, not guesses."

She took a moment to reel in her anger. Part of her was grateful that Mike had stumbled into her life. But another part remained uncomfortable, wondering if he'd pull a fast one and harpoon her case, which could sink her career, too, if the harpoon was big enough. Although they'd agreed their alliance was based on each pursuing their separate sides in this case, they had also agreed not to play dirty. It was one thing to discover evidence damning to the other's side, which they said they would share out of fairness, but another to equate assumptions to facts.

"I apologize," he said gently, those big brown eyes turning soft. "You're right. There is no proof of Dita's guilt. I'll watch my big mouth from now on."

Her anger melted like a piece of ice in fire. So long self-righteous moment. This guy could play her emotions the way a violinist plucked strings. But if she dared to be totally honest with herself, her emotions were vulnerable because her heart was, too.

“I messed up my last attempt to prove my good will,” he continued. “So let me try again. I have compelling circumstantial evidence that weighs on the side of the defense that someone else was the arsonist."

Hope sparked inside her. “Don't keep me in suspense."

"The arsonist broke in through this back window."

"I know that. It's in the police and fire reports."

"Neither of which mention that the armoire sat so close to the window, evidenced by those lines." He again pointed out the faint right angle. "That whoever broke was strong because that person had to push aside the armoire."

The spark burst into a flame. "That's more than good faith. You just handed me the key to swaying the jury to a not guilty verdict."

He grinned. "No, I handed you a reason that Dita had a partner. Which is what the DA will say."

She returned his mile. "Thanks for the heads up. No doubt the DA's investigator has already noticed where that armoire was placed, which will be conveniently buried in Burnette's discovery. Wish I could prove that this strong man--guessing it's a man, but it makes sense--committed this arson solo. How can we can get a lead on his identity?"

Mike looked around the rubble. "As you know from the reports, CSI techs didn't find any DNA, except for the owner's, who weighs less than Dita. We can walk around and look for signs, but it would have to be something obvious, like a man's hefty fountain pen, but it's worth a try."

They walked carefully around the arson scene, pausing occasionally for Mike to take a photo with his smartphone. He pointed out the original of the fire, identifiable by the pattern of flame marks on a portion of the wall, how the arsonist set up the device in an opportune area with nearby clothing as flint and an overhead air duct to fuel the flames.

"Whoever set this fire knew what they were doing," he said, adding, "notice I said whoever."

"I noticed. Thank you."

"Watch devices are the signature of an amateur, mostly because they're imprecise. But the positioning of the device near clothes and an air duct show the arsonist's knowledge of how fires work. Which looks bad for Dita, of course."

Looked very bad because of her dad, the professional torch, and her ties to the eco-terrorist group. A realization that doused that small flame of hope.

A
few days later
, Mike and Joanne sat in the kitchen of the one-bedroom suite with Archie, eating burgers and shakes. Whenever Mike and Joanne were at "home base" they invited Archie to join them for meals. Mike got a kick out of his grandfather who had started calling Joanne "Princess" which made her blush at first, but she obviously liked it, too, from the twinkle in her eye. His grandfather was a charmer.

"Joanne," Mike said, squeezed a packet of ketchup on his fries. "Got some information today from Rex. He found satellite imagery of your office building the night the device was found. In the footage, a figure in a hooded sweatshirt can be seen entering the smaller window off Garces Avenue and re-emerging ten minutes later. The body size indicates a male, approximately six foot. However, he covered his face and head so well, no other identifying characteristics are distinguishable. Rex also obtained imagery of the Organica Streetwear fire, but clouds obscure most of that view, so there's no evidence a man with a similar appearance planted both devices."

"But the circumstantial evidence of the moved armoire likely being moved by a man, combined with this image of a male figure planting a similar device, points to a man possible working alone in both scenarios.”

"Princess has a good idea," Archie said.

Joanne did a bad job trying to hide her smile.

"Should mind my own business," Archie continued. "But this arsonist guy...could it be that Rex fellow? From what you told me, Grandson, he had it out for you years ago. Revenge is a powerful thing."

"Revenge is the most common motive for setting fires, too," Mike said. "Rex and I have made our peace, but he also carried a grudge against me for fifteen years. Doesn't explain who set the fire at Paula's place, although the arsonist has been flagged a fire freak after the next two fires were in young women's apartments, and they had blond hair like Paula."

He'd known about the blond hair similarity between Paula and two other young women, but had never bought into the fire freak theory because those women had not been at home when the other fires were set, which made Mike think the person chose those women to make it seem these were acts of a psycho whose rages to set fires were triggered by a trait, such as blond hair, that brought back memories of an abusive mother, teacher or something along those lines. He had wondered at times if Rex set the Organica Streetwear fire as a means to lure Mike to Vegas where Rex could kill him. Sign of a demented, vengeful mind.

"One way to check up on Rex," Mike said to Joanne, "is to run a trash hit at his home."

"I'll drive the getaway car," Joanne said.

T
he following evening
, Joanne pulled Mike’s SUV into the alley behind Rex’s ranch style home in Sunderland, an upper-crust residential area twenty minutes west of Las Vegas. Mike sat next to her in the passenger seat, Maggie in the back seat.

She parked about fifteen feet from a metal monster-sized dumpster—far enough away so they didn’t appear to be parking next to it, but close enough for Mike to quickly get there.

“Not a lot of traffic, fortunately,” Mike said, looking up and down the alley. “Remember, tap the horn once as a signal if someone’s walking around, whatever, and I should lay low. Tap it once again to let me know the coast is clear.

Her eyes grew huge, filled with anxiousness. Impulsively, he cupped her cheek and drew her in for a kiss. She tasted so sweet, so inviting.

He pulled away. “That was, uh, for good luck,” he joked.

But how he felt at the moment—protective, attracted—was anything but a joke. Of all times to feel drawn to her, this wasn’t it. He never lost focus on a job, yet around Joanne he was constantly fighting himself to stay in control, keep his thoughts in check.

She smiled feebly. “Good luck,” she whispered.

He slipped on one of the latex gloves they’d picked up on the way over. “Too bad that place didn’t have leather gloves...needles and broken glass can easily pierce latex.”

“Be careful,” she whispered with so much sincerity, he was ready to go for another good-luck kiss.

An old car rumbled past, its engine making a clunkity-clunk sound as it labored down the alley.

Mike snapped on the other glove. “Let’s go over this again. Keep the motor running as if you’re waiting for someone, with only your parking lights on. If someone approaches you…”

“I say I got lost...that I’m looking up directions on my smartphone.”

“Exactly.” After a last look around, he slipped out the door and shut it behind him with a soft click.

J
oanne watched
Mike in the rear-view mirror as he strode to the dumpster. After a casual look around, as though he were out for a casual stroll, he paused in front of the bin, pushed back the lid, and in one slick, fast movement, hoisted himself up and into the trash bin.

Looking around, she blew out a pent-up breath. To her right, a fence blocked people’s view of her car and the dumpster. To her left was a asphalt parking lot for a electrical business, now closed.

So far, so good.

Honest to God, she could still feel his warm fingers on her face where he’d touched her. And that kiss...wow. For a big, tough buy he kissed like a matinee idol.

Mike jumped out of the top of the dumpster, lugging two black plastic bags with him. Moments later, he tossed the bags in the back, shut the door and got back into the passenger seat.

“Go,” he rasped, his face flushed and shiny with sweat. “If we don’t’ find anything damning in this trash, it could be Rex is clean.”

“And the trial will be focused on my defense of Dita,” Joanne said, turning a tight corner, one of many in this ongoing mystery filled with twists and turns

O
n the first
day of trial, Joanne and Mike arrived early to the courthouse to avoid the media. As luck would have it, the trial judge would be Darren Fields, whose citation of contempt against Joanne several months ago set her life on this new course.

She had already informed the judge that Mike would be sitting at the defense table as her consultant, which he approved as the defense was always entitled to assistance. He also made it clear to Joanne that she was not to identity him to the jury as a federal special agent because one of his duties as a judge was to block irrelevant and prejudicial information from the jurors, as she well knew after their last go-around in court, and he did not want Mike’s status as a federal agent sitting at the defense table to prejudice the jurors for or against the defendant.

Lenny arrived a short while later with a nervous Dita. The two of them embraced and kissed before Lenny escorted her to the defense table. Joanne and Mike exchanged a look. Neither had been aware that romance had rekindled, which added a bittersweet feel to the trial. Soon afterward, the courtroom started filling up. Reporters, family members, other lawyers wanting to watch the proceedings of the high-profile case, and the general public who had read about this case, seen it on the news and now wanted to watch the grand finale.

She and Burnette then spent several hours in voir dire, jury selection, then presented their opening arguments. Predictably, Burnette played up Dita's background and the surveillance footage. Joanne emphasized that justice wasn't about assumptions, which the DA was doing by leaning on the defendant's past, but about facts, of which this case lacked.

Throughout the rest of first day of trial, the DA shows surveillance footage of Dita sprinting away from Organica Streetwear minutes before the fire ignites, interviewed a detective who attested to Dita’s father being a hired torch, showed photos of Dita and her boyfriend Mustang, a leader of the Animal Liberation Front, being charged with misappropriation of property for releasing cattle that belonged to a Florida packing house.

In turn, Joanne shot down the viability of the surveillance footage as not evidencing guilt because it failed to show a connection between the crime and Dita’s presence on the street. As to Dita’s father being a hired torch, Joanne told the jury that the only link between Dita and her father were their genes. And last, as to Dita being charged for releasing the cattle, Joanne informed the jury that those charges were dropped.

At the end of the day, the prosecution and defense ended with a photo finish.

The second day of trial kicked off with a friend of Dita’s testifying about the two of them in the past having jogged several times in the park near Organica Streetwear. The DA left room for the two eco-terrorists Jim mentioned in his letter to also be witnesses, but surprise surprise, they were a no-show.

Things weren't just looking great for the defense, they were looking damn good.