“These are weird charges for someone on a spending spree with a stolen credit card,” Martine said.
She and Levi were sitting in her car in a parking garage Downtown, mapping the thief’s movements on her tablet. In the time it had taken for the credit card company to notify Carmen Rivera of the activity and for Martine and Levi to coordinate their approach, the card had been used at a 7-11, an Economy Motel, a Laundromat, and a bakery. All the businesses were in the same general area, though there was no defined pattern. They’d sent uniformed officers out to start taking statements and checking for helpful security cameras while they waited for the next charge in hopes of catching the thief in the act.
Levi stretched out his legs and twisted from side to side to crack his back; he hated being cooped up in a car like this. “It’s a good thing Hensley’s wife agreed to leave his credit cards active so we could monitor them.”
“Mmm-hmm. I talked to her a couple hours ago, by the way. She’s flying into Vegas tomorrow morning.”
“Nice of her to rush right out here.”
Martine snorted. “Well, I did warn her that we wouldn’t be able to release Hensley’s body for at least a few more days. But yeah, I got the impression that she wasn’t too broken up about his death. Are you really shocked?”
“Not much shocks me anymore,” said Levi.
A message flashed on Martine’s tablet. She swiped her finger across the screen and said, “It’s from Carmen. Hensley’s card was just used at the Market Street Café in the California Hotel and Casino.”
“That’s only a few blocks from here.”
They drove to the hotel and left the car at the valet stand with apologies and a flash of their badges. Levi felt optimistic—the thief had probably left by now, but a restaurant meant a server who had personally interacted with them and would be able to describe them, maybe have an idea of where they were going next.
The Market Street Café was a casual 24-hour diner with a kitschy island theme. The hostess hurried them right to the back to speak to a manager, who called over one of the servers once they’d explained their purpose.
“Tanya, did you wait on a Stephen Hensley at Table 14 within the past hour?” he asked.
“His daughter,” Tanya said. “She’s still here, actually, just finishing up her dessert.”
Tanya pointed across the restaurant to a corner table near the entrance—and God, it was just a kid, a skinny teenage girl with golden-brown skin and black hair in a messy ponytail. She was dressed in a baggy sweatshirt, hunched over her plate and shoveling pie into her mouth.
Martine reached out to lower Tanya’s pointing finger, but it was too late. Across the restaurant, the girl’s head jerked up like a deer scenting a hunter in the woods. She looked straight at them, and Levi saw her register them as enemies in the split second before she leapt from the table and bolted.
“Shit,” he said, and ran after her.
“I’ll call for backup!” Martine shouted.
The front of the restaurant had a few stanchion barriers set up to corral the long lines that formed at busier times of day. The girl slid right underneath them without missing a beat and took off across the casino floor. Too tall to do the same, Levi planted a hand on the bar and vaulted over instead.
Between the two of them, Levi was doubtlessly faster in terms of base speed—but he was wearing a suit and shoes not designed for running, and she had the adrenaline of fear on her side. He was just able to keep her in sight as he pursued her through the casino and into the lobby, where she nimbly darted around a heavily laden luggage cart a bellhop was pulling across the floor. With no time to change course, Levi hurdled the stacked suitcases to cries of shock and alarm.
The girl burst out the front doors and sprinted into the pedestrian crosswalk at the intersection of Ogden and Main despite the fact that the lights were decidedly not in her favor. Horns blared and tires squealed as cars swerved to avoid her. One car screeched to a halt right in Levi’s path; he hopped up on the hood and slid sideways across it, ignoring the driver’s cursing.
Somehow, they both made it to the other side of the street intact. The girl pelted down the sidewalk, but it was a straight shot with clear sightlines and little pedestrian traffic at the moment, so Levi started gaining ground.
That is, until she made a sharp left into the Freemont Street Experience.
“Oh, fuck me,” Levi groaned.
The Freemont Street Experience was a pedestrian mall crowned by the world’s largest video screen, a vaulted canopy suspended ninety feet overhead that extended the entire five blocks. It was too early for the light shows and live bands, but the place was swarmed with tourists drinking and shopping and people-watching—the perfect place to shake a pursuer.
Levi chased the girl through the thick crowd, dodging sightseers, break-dancers, street magicians, and even more exotic entertainers. There were distractions everywhere—music blasting from the speakers, excited whoops and hollers, screams from the people riding the zip lines that ran overhead. The girl knew what she was doing, too, creating a zigzagging path around souvenir kiosks and denser groups of tourists. It took all his concentration to keep her in his eyeline. His heart pounded in his chest, his lungs burning as he labored for breath.
Two blocks down, his cell phone rang.
“Now—is not—a good time,” Levi gasped, not decreasing his speed at all.
“Just tell me where you are so I can get backup to your location,” Martine said.
“FSE. Fourth Street side.” He hung up without any pleasantries; she wouldn’t care.
When they finally emerged on the far side of the Freemont Street Experience, Levi was flagging. He had great cardiovascular endurance, but running at top effort for over half a mile was ridiculous.
Fortunately, the girl wasn’t immune to fatigue either. She slowed down as she ran past Crazy Ely’s Western Village and then turned right down an alleyway. Levi put on a final burst of speed as he followed.
The alley was a dead end. Thank God.
He heard the girl’s frustrated shout when she realized she was trapped. He stumbled to a halt about twenty feet away, panting, his hands on his hips. Sirens wailed in the distance.
The girl whirled around to face him in a fighting stance with her fists raised. Levi noted absently that her form wasn’t bad.
Showing her his badge while spreading his own hands wide, he said, “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a police officer.”
Her expression only hardened. Obviously, cops weren’t a source of reassurance for her.
Now that they were no longer running, Levi took a closer look. She was as young as he’d first assumed, fifteen or sixteen at the most, and she wasn’t fast-metabolism skinny—she was not-getting-enough-to-eat skinny. Though her clothes were clean, they were worn-out and ill-fitting. Her battered sneakers were held together with duct tape, coming undone after the hard chase, and her fingernails were caked with dirt.
A black and white drove past the entrance to the alleyway, braked, and backed up. Two uniformed officers sprang out.
Levi came to a quick decision. He waved the officers off, instructing them to return to their car and kill the lights and siren. Then he turned back to the girl and said, “You’re not in trouble. I just want to talk.”
She didn’t lower her fists. “About what?”
“I’m a homicide detective. The man whose credit card you’ve been using today—he was murdered on Saturday night.”
The girl’s eyes went round, and she dropped her arms to her sides. “I didn’t kill him!” she said in a tone laced with panic.
“I know that. I’m not accusing you of anything, and you’re not under arrest. I’d just like to talk to you for a few minutes. Maybe we could sit down?”
She hesitated, biting her lower lip, and then nodded.
They ended up crossing the street to sit at the bench in a bus shelter. Levi pulled off his jacket and loosened his tie; between the run and the terrible heat, he was soaked with sweat and a little dizzy. He’d kill for a bottle of water.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Adriana. Adriana Velazquez.”
“I’m Levi Abrams.” He offered his hand, which she shook after a moment’s pause. “You’re not from Vegas, are you?”
She shook her head, clasping both hands in her lap and staring down at them. “Reno.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” she said, giving him a shifty sideways glance.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Sixteen,” she muttered.
“Your parents know you’re out here?” he asked, already anticipating her answer.
“No parents.”
He considered her hunched, defensive posture, her swift flight from the restaurant, the hunted look in her dark eyes. “Foster family?”
She flinched and tried to cover it up with a nonchalant shrug. Levi sighed. He hated being right about things like this.
“The man the credit card belonged to—Stephen Hensley—he died Saturday night. His wallet, cell phone, and some other valuables were stolen. Can you tell me where you found them?”
“I didn’t find all that! Just—just the card. It was laying out on the sidewalk.”
“Where?”
She gave him a location Downtown, nowhere near the Mirage or anywhere Diana Kostas would have gone between there and home. Her feet shuffled as she spoke, her fingers twisting together, and she never looked him in the eye. It couldn’t have been more obvious that she was lying.
She didn’t trust him, and she didn’t feel safe. What reason did she have to tell him the truth? There was no chance a homeless runaway with the history her body language suggested was going to confide in a strange male cop who’d just chased her through half the neighborhood.
“Adriana—”
“Am I gonna go to jail?” she interrupted. “I know I shouldn’t have taken the card. I know it was wrong. I—I was just really hungry, and I wanted to take a real shower for once.”
That explained the charge for the motel room. “You’re not going to jail,” said Levi. “I’ll speak to his family and the DA’s office and explain the circumstances. I’m sure we can work something out.” Gently, he added, “But you know I can’t let you run back out into the streets, right?”
She pressed her lips together, her gaze trained on her hands. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “Please don’t send me back there.”
Levi looked up to where Martine was hovering half a block away, watching them closely. He nodded for her to join them and said, “Maybe you could come back to the substation with me and my partner. We know someone who might be able to help you.”
An hour later, he had Adriana set up in a comfortable interview room with a soda and some snacks from the vending machine. Martine stayed with her while Levi waited in the bullpen for Natasha Stone.
A good friend of Levi’s for several years, Natasha worked in the LVMPD’s Police Employee Assistance Program. She’d counseled Levi himself after he’d shot and killed the perpetrator of a hostage crisis earlier that year. There was nobody he trusted more to handle a sticky case like Adriana’s.
Natasha showed no irritation at being called back to work for something that wasn’t even technically her job; she greeted Levi with the same calm, friendly energy that always surrounded her. Her very pale skin was dusted with freckles, and her rich auburn hair spilled loose over her shoulders.
“I’m sorry to call you in after-hours,” Levi said. “I know you’re not in victim advocacy anymore.”
She smiled and squeezed his arm. “I’m a social worker, Levi. I’ll always be in victim advocacy.”
“I’m just not sure what to do here. I checked out her story, and she’s in the foster system in Reno. Been missing three months. I didn’t press her for details, but I suspect some form of abuse—physical, maybe sexual.”
“Strictly speaking, we’re supposed to send her back to Reno.” Natasha lifted a hand before Levi could protest. “But obviously I’m not going to do that if there are abuse allegations. I have a few tricks up my sleeve, and I know how to game the system. I can work out a way to keep her in Vegas temporarily, buy us some time to find a more permanent solution that keeps her safe.”
Levi let out a slow, relieved breath. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”
He brought her to the interview room, where Adriana and Martine were visible through the open blinds over the large window. Natasha slipped inside, exchanged a few words with Martine, and then sat in the chair across from Adriana while Martine left the room to stand beside Levi in the hall.
Within five minutes, Adriana was relaxed, smiling and chattering away like any normal teenager.
“How does Natasha do that?” Levi asked.
“She’s a people person.” Martine looked up at him. “Adriana lied to you, you know.”
“Yeah. But if I’d pushed her any harder, we’d never get anything out of her. I thought maybe if we showed her we’re on her side, helped her out with her situation and made sure there aren’t any legal charges, she might be more forthcoming.”
“No arguments here. That poor kid—she’s jumpy as fuck. I don’t know what happened to her, but it must have been some bad shit.”
“There’s one thing I do know for sure,” he said.
“What’s that?”
He turned away from the window and squared his shoulders. “Diana Kostas didn’t kill Stephen Hensley.”