Hair of the Dog (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-three

He left the hospital feeling a whole lot better. They were keeping Mom for two more days, and then he and Elaine would pick her up and bring her home—to their house. It remained to be seen if she'd even want to go back to the townhouse in The Villages. But her furniture was there and Stanley wouldn't be so he didn't rule out Maggie giving it a go. In the meantime he still needed to prove conclusively that the insured, Dixie Halifax, was not involved in the disappearance of five greyhounds—three of which proved to be alive. It was like one part of the puzzle was only partially completed and there was a jumble of other pieces sitting on the side. Pieces that seemed to resist fitting in anywhere.

So far, the facts were slim. Thanks to Stanley or Joey, there was Mafia involvement in moving money through the casino and getting it out of the country. And Stanley, thanks to Dan's mother being alive to testify, would be put away for attempted murder. Dan would bet on there being no chance of parole. But that left two completed murders with murderers still at large. Had Jackson Sanchez helped himself—got caught with his hand in the till? Found out that there were large sums of money lying around just waiting to help him pay off gambling debts? Not too difficult to believe he could have dipped into funds and earned a painful death and the epitaph “thief.” But Wayne Warren. What was his crime? Discovering how his casino was being used? He could have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And it might be tough to prove otherwise.

By now the fingerprint of Franco Marconi would be FBI fodder. Old dead Mafioso come to life. Or should he say old dead husbands come to life? Where did that tidbit of info fit in? Too coincidental that Franco was working “for” his wife. Dan smelled conspiracy. The two of them scheming together. He still thought of the maintenance barn as a house of horrors. Would the Feds check? He made a mental note to chat with Scott and share his suspicions about how Jackson Sanchez got smashed toes. He certainly hoped a fingerprint inside a bloody glove would get someone's attention. But that still left the greyhounds and his particular part of the puzzle. Who had them now? Only one was accounted for—in the flesh.

“I've put off viewing the recordings for the perimeter cameras from the night of the fire.” Dan was doing a quick inventory of things left to do and running the list past Elaine. “I assumed they would have been monitored and checked as part of the investigation by Police Chief Cox's men. But maybe what would be a red flag to me wouldn't raise a question for someone else. I have no idea what I expect to find but it's one more rock to turn over.”

“Let me come with you. I'd like to pick up Simon and give him an outing. And I want to make sure that Daisy's been taken to Dixie's farm.”

“You know, it might make sense to see if Fucher can come, too. He'd be able to explain anything about the track's routine that I didn't understand. Anything that might be different—outside the norm that night.”

***

They presented quite the entourage pulling into the casino parking lot and walking toward the reception area—a very beautiful woman playing a make-believe game of hopscotch with a young man who quickly bested her by hopping the furthest distance on one foot. Dan brought up the rear, pulled forward by a very large dog straining on his leash and obviously reacting to an olfactory overload of dog smells. Even a sharply ordered “heel” was ignored.

“I'm going to take Simon around back.” Elaine took the leash, and after a quick kiss, walked toward the side of the building. Simon was beside himself but, Dan noticed, remembered how to “heel.” Damn. His own dog. How did she do that? Did animals really have opposite-sex preferences when it came to humans? He guessed it could be true. Or maybe he should remember to put the food down more often.

“We need to see Ms. Taichert.” He turned to Fucher who was continuing a one-footed approach to the front door. “Then I'm going to need you to help me.” Dan needed to put a “work-face” on this outing and curb just a little of Fucher's enthusiasm. But he could sympathize; Fucher had been more or less on house arrest for awhile. And not working or being able to care for the dogs must be frustrating. Let alone watching the track recordings of races—now that was tedious.

“I like Carol. She's nice. She has candy.”

Dan wasn't sure about the candy part but it was obvious that Fucher had friends at the track. It took them twice as long to get to Wayne Warren's office because of the people coming up to wish Fucher well. Lots of inquires about his coming back to work.

“I don't know, can I?” Fucher turned to Dan.

“Not up to me. If it were, I'd have you back here tomorrow. We could talk with Ms. Halifax later, if you want.”

“Yeah, I'd like that.” Fucher was beaming and Dan realized it might have been best if he'd felt out Dixie first. What would happen if she refused? Fucher had been exonerated. Bail returned—and put in the bank, Dan noted to himself. No need to broadcast that bit of news. But where did Dixie stand? He really had no idea. She had certainly talked like she thought he was guilty. He hoped he hadn't put his foot in his mouth.

Carol Taichert looked worn out. Sallow skin, gray circles beneath her eyes, the woman probably had slept badly since learning about her boss. But she had candy. Fucher retired to the leather sofa against the opposite wall with a large Snickers bar.

“I know this is probably not a good time, but I mentioned a few days ago that I'd like to view the footage captured by the surveillance cameras on the day of the fire.”

“That won't be a problem.

“I'm assuming the cameras are manned at night?”

“Oh yes, security is in charge of that. We have three full-time guards.”

“Do you have the name of the guard on camera duty the night of the fire?”

“Oh, that was so unfortunate. That person was already standing in for a guard who had called in sick. Then the stand-in was also taken ill and couldn't complete the shift. I don't think he called a replacement because he didn't leave until three, and the first shift comes on at five-thirty. On any other night backup wouldn't have been needed. It was the wrong call but who could have known what was going to take place?”

Uh oh, something's a little fishy. Dan made a note of talking with the guard and his replacement. Did someone pay him to leave his post? “I'd like to talk with the man who covered for the ill guard. Do you have a name?”

“Well, yes, you see this was a bit out of the ordinary. We had a young man on the custodial team who often helped out at night in the camera room. Only in emergencies, I might add. Roddy Stack. An unfortunate young man who we've all tried to help. He's no longer with us, and I have no idea how to reach him.”

“I see.” In fact, Dan did see. Roddy. No wonder he disappeared. Roddy probably had had a pretty lucrative month between ducking camera duty and collecting ashes from certain urns. He could only hope the money hadn't gone up his nose or in his veins.

“Are you familiar with the technology or should I find a security officer to walk you through it?”

“I'm familiar with most systems. I'll need passwords but that should be all.”

“Well, just in case, here's a cheat-sheet. The system is brand new. Even saves to the Cloud.” A little shrug indicated that that bit of technology might be beyond her. “Spare cameras, dedicated PCs, and other recording equipment are kept in the office/mechanical room in the maintenance barn. It's security's thing. Maintenance was the only place big enough for all the equipment. We have eleven outside cameras—four are infrared for night-viewing and nine interior cameras for the casino. The system is really state-of-the-art. Of course, the four cameras from the kennel area were burned to a crisp. Not one escaped unscathed. Give me just a minute, I'll get you a key to Mr. Manson's office.”

Damn. No record of inside the kennel but did he really expect there to be? Well, to tell the truth, he'd hoped one or two of the cameras might have been out of range of the fire. He'd like to see them anyway but that was probably impossible. Carol came back into the room and handed him a ring with two keys.

“First key is to Fred's office. This key is to the mechanical room. Do you know where the office is?”

“Yes, I recently had a latte there.”

A roll of the eyes. “Can you imagine? Lattes? He treats that place like his own. You probably noticed the cot? I think…” she lowered her voice, “that he, uh,
entertains
there.” A knowing nod and pursed lips. “I've discussed it with him. How he's breaking rules—how it looks to the other workers. And he just says he's boss. His word is law.”

“Molly.” Fucher offered, pushing a large piece of candy to one side of his mouth and yelling from across the room.

“Who's Molly?” This from Carol.

“The one who visits. Fred likes to entertain her a lot.”

“Visits? What do you mean by ‘entertain'?” Carol asked as both she and Dan turned to look at Fucher. Dan noticed a red flush creep up Carol's neck. Sort of a spinster's reaction to hanky-panky. Must lead a sheltered life.

“You know, coffee and stuff. She's always hanging around. She came to my house day before yesterday. She brought me a present. Fred likes her a lot.”

“I don't doubt it.” Carol's hands were clenched and the pursed lips were now a tight line. “He knows better. Boss or no boss, he knows better. Mr. Warren read him the riot-act—he simply cannot use the facilities for personal…pleasure. This could mean trouble. Trouble with our license.”

“Yeah, Fred says girls are a lot of trouble. He says that I should stick with dogs and leave girls alone. Dogs are your best friends.”

Some wisdom in that, Dan thought. He really wanted to change the subject but thought he'd ask, “Is Fred off today?” Dan had been wondering why he was going to need a key. He didn't relish meeting the man who in all likelihood had been detained and questioned about a bloody surgical glove and why, just possibly, he was living under an assumed name and closely connected to a track owner. He was counting on Scott having acted on his phone message, but he hadn't heard back. He'd feel a lot more comfortable if he knew he wasn't going to run into Franco Marconi.

“Just taking a sick day.” Hmmm. That could mean the Feds had made a move. He should have called Scott earlier and double-checked that someone had received Dr. Hunt's submission of information. Or maybe she had sent her results to the local police chief.

“Can I have another?” Fucher had walked to her desk and was eyeing a bowl of miniature candy bars. “I could take a little one.”

“Just one. We'll have some trick-or-treaters here tomorrow night. I have to have candy for them.”

Good God, Halloween. Dan had totally forgotten it was this week. It wasn't like all the papier maché and plastic yard ornaments shouldn't have given him a clue. Joan had put out a five-foot-high black spider at the entrance to the complex right in front of a three-foot-tall fake tombstone. He still wasn't sure how those two images fit together. But he guessed each was suitably scary. He'd remind Elaine that they would have to pick up candy on the way home.

***

If Dan could say one thing for Fred, aka Franco, his office/apartment was neat and clean. He hadn't noticed before but there was a door off the kitchenette—a ten-by-ten-foot room of walk-in closet size with one wall a solid bank of electronics—monitors, computers, and fans all humming and whirring and blinking as the screens changed. Dan counted eleven screens: four for the front of the casino, three along each side, two at either end of the kennel, and two keeping tabs on the maintenance building. Another nine screens showed the lobby and front door, the restaurant, each of three gaming rooms, the hallway leading to the corporate offices, including Dixie Halifax's office, the kitchen, and two on the betting windows—one in front, one behind. Those monitors were on the opposite wall.

Dan sat down at the central computer with its oversized monitor sitting on the desk and the tower on the floor underneath. The machine was in sleep mode but sprang to life when he entered the passcode. Files were numbered as to week and day of the week and kept in a separate folder for each month. It was Fucher who pointed out that there were fifty-two weeks in a year and seven days in a week and three hundred and sixty-five days in a year…unless this was a leap year and then he'd have to look it up.

If Dan's calculations were correct, he needed to be looking at weeks forty-two, forty-three, and forty-four. The fire occurred on a Tuesday, but did security start the numbering on a Sunday or a Monday?…Looks like Monday is the first day—if he could trust the circled days in red on a paper calendar hanging above his head. Dan idly wondered if the software lacked a calendar. Tech savvy but someone still used red pen on paper. Interesting. Dan popped a flash drive in a USB port, opened the file marked Oct42 and clicked on 42-2-6A(1-4).

All the days seemed divided into A and P segments—of course, a.m. and p.m.—he should have known. The “6” must mean six in the morning and the tapes were simply numbered one through eleven or if grouped together must mean they overlapped a particular area. Dan looked at the cheat-sheet from Carol Taichert. He was right; cameras one through four were mounted on poles at the four corners of the parking lot according to the attached diagram. These cameras seemed to have a sweep mechanism. Whatever restrictions as to border one camera might have, another seemed to cover that ground for it. And all four were infrared, night-sensitive.

“Pull up a chair.” Fucher was hovering and Dan needed him to give his attention to the screen. “I want you to tell me what's happening as I play the video. For example, give me approximate time of day, whether you're on the grounds or haven't come to work yet, and pinpoint the exact location of what you see on the screen. I want to know if that's normal activity for the time and place.” Dan could only hope Fucher had gotten all that. Oh well, no time like now to find out. Dan pressed “enter.”