30. Punched
Punched
ANDY
I called Jeremy from the hallway outside the interrogation room.
"We have an arrest warrant coming for Daphne Alistair."
The silence lasted long enough that I had to check the screen to see if the call had dropped.
"Daphne Alistair?" His voice climbed. "The woman who brings flowers to the bar?"
"I'll explain everything when you get here. I need you at the precinct." I pressed my palm against the wall. "Please. I can't do this alone."
"Of course. Be there in fifteen."
"Thank you. Zeus is preparing the warrant now."
Zeus called me to his desk within the hour. He handed me a packet with the signed warrant and everything they had on her.
"I've opened a case on the sister. McCarthy's out of state. Lockwood's being handled. Bring Alistair in tonight. We'll figure out the rest after."
I looked at her photograph.
I kept waiting for something in my chest to harden. For the anger to come, or the coldness, the thing that was supposed to happen when you found out someone you trusted had been lying to you for as long as you'd known them.
It didn't come.
We drove to Daphne's duplex first. Four streets off Ashmont. Nobody answered. Jeremy checked the alley side and came back shaking his head. Her car wasn't in the drive or on the street.
"Do you want to try the shop?" Jeremy was already looking down the street.
We drove to the shop. The lights were off and the door was locked. The buckets that usually sat on the sidewalk were gone, brought inside for the night. I knocked three times, hard enough to move the glass in the frame. Nothing.
"Maybe she's hiding here." Jeremy had his flashlight against the glass, trying to see in.
"Why would she be hiding? How would she know we were coming?" I stepped back and looked at the dark storefront. Daphne closed at six. It was past ten. She wasn't hiding. She was somewhere else.
I pulled the packet out of my jacket and found the employment line. Custodial, overnight, and the name of a property on the Strip. She'd told me once, the first week I moved to the block, that she cleaned at one of the casinos a few nights a week.
What if she was working tonight?
I read the property name again.
The Golden Hour. Lockwood Development.
Daphne cleaned at Preston Lockwood's casino.
"We have to go." I was already walking back to the car.
"Where?"
The Golden Hour was lit up like every other building on that stretch of Las Vegas Boulevard. Valets pulling cars around, taxis idling along the driveway, the normal pulse of a casino on a weeknight.
Security met us in the lobby. I showed the warrant and my badge.
"We need to see Preston Lockwood. We have reason to believe his life is in danger."
The man behind the desk made a call, then waved over an escort. "Mr. Lockwood's office is on twenty-two. I'll take you up."
The twenty-second floor was carpeted and quiet. A receptionist at a desk near the elevator bank looked up when we came through. Security explained we were LVMPD.
"I'll let Mr. Lockwood know you're here." She stood and walked down the hall toward a set of double doors.
Jeremy and I waited at the desk. He leaned in and lowered his voice.
"Shouldn't we be looking for Daphne? She's somewhere in the building."
"If she's here for Lockwood, she's going to be wherever he is. We find him, we find her."
Then all at once, the alarm went off on every speaker on the floor. The receptionist came back down the hall at a half-run, and within seconds the whole floor was moving. Office doors swung open. People headed for the stairwell without stopping to ask questions.
Before either of us could move, a gunshot echoed from somewhere past the double doors. Everyone on the floor froze.
"Take the stairs. Go." Jeremy waved the frozen ones toward the stairwell.
I grabbed my radio. "Shots fired, twenty-second floor. Two officers on scene."
I drew my weapon. Jeremy drew his and fell in behind me.
The office at the end was empty. Chair pushed back, coffee on the desk. A glass door on the far wall was open, the curtain moving in the wind.
I stepped through it onto the balcony.
Daphne had a revolver pointed at Preston Lockwood. He was pressed against the railing with his hands up and his face wet, pleading for his life.
"LVMPD. Daphne, it's Andy Walsh."
"Andy?" She turned her head without moving the gun. "You shouldn't be out here."
"I know about Sydney."
The barrel dipped.
"Say her name again."
"Sydney. She came here to work. You called her every few weeks until you couldn't. You flew out and her landlord had put her things in a box. Her manager said she'd stopped showing up. Then you found out what those five men did to her."
"Who told you that?"
"Mitchell Dunne. A few hours ago, with his lawyer next to him, on a recording."
Daphne chuckled. It was a terrible sound and it broke in the middle.
"She was twenty-three years old." She was shaking through her arms and her voice. "She moved here to work. She wanted to be a flight attendant. She wanted to travel and see the world. Vegas was supposed to be temporary."
Tears started to stream down her face.
"She called me every few weeks to tell me about some new place she was going to go. She had a list. And he—" The gun came back up and Lockwood pressed harder into the railing. "—took all of it from her."
I lowered my weapon and held my free hand out.
"I know you're angry at him, Daphne. I know what he did." I kept my voice low. "But if you pull that trigger, you carry that for the rest of your life. Can you do that? After everything you've already been through, can you carry another death?"
Daphne's face crumpled.
"Gus wasn't supposed to die." Her voice broke. "He wasn't part of this. He was never part of this. He got caught in the crossfire. I told Jensen to make sure the bar was empty before he went after Stasio. And then Gus—"
She couldn't finish. The gun was still up but her whole body was shaking with it now, and the sound coming out of her wasn't words anymore.
I took a step closer.
"I'm not going to pretend I know what it feels like to have your sister taken from you like that.
But I know you, Daphne. I know who you are.
You gave me a flower my first week on the block.
You crouch down to Birdie every time she comes through your door.
You brought flowers to a bar every week for a man who never once asked you to. "
The gun had dropped to her side. She wasn't pointing it at Lockwood anymore, but she wasn't letting go of it either. At the railing, Lockwood hadn't moved. He was watching both of us with his hands still up, afraid to breathe.
"There's no after this for me, Andy."
Her voice was barely there.
"I died when Sydney died. Everything after that was just finishing what needed to be done."
"Look at me." I waited until she did. "You got him.
He's done. He's going to be arrested whether he goes off this balcony or walks off it.
" I took another step. "Someone should have listened to you a long time ago.
I'm sorry that nobody did. I'm listening now.
And there's one more man out there who did this to your sister, who is walking free right now.
I need your help to find him, Daphne. I can't do it without you. "
Daphne stood there with the gun shaking in her hands. I could feel Jeremy behind me, standing steady with his gun drawn on her.
For a while, I didn't know if any of what I'd said had gotten through. Then Daphne closed her eyes and nodded. The revolver slipped from her hand and hit the concrete. Jeremy kicked it clear.
I holstered and walked toward her. She met me halfway and before I could reach for her wrists she fell into me, arms around my neck, her whole weight coming down like something had finally let go.
Jeremy's gun came up on Daphne.
I waved him off.
"I'm sorry." Daphne broke apart against my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"It's okay." I held her and stroked her hair. She shook against me and I let her. Below us, sirens were building on the boulevard and the faint sound of a crowd being pushed back from the building drifted up through the wind.
When her breathing slowed, I leaned back enough to see her face.
"Daphne, I have to take you in. We'll talk about all of this properly. Will you let me do that?"
She nodded.
I was reaching for my cuffs when the door slammed open. Doug came through with his weapon drawn. Brandon came right behind him. They swept past us and drew on Lockwood.
"On the ground!" Lockwood lowered himself to his knees, hands still up.
"Preston Lockwood, you are under arrest for sexual assault and involuntary manslaughter." Brandon cuffed him on the concrete.
Doug turned to the three of us. "Anyone hurt?"
"We're good." I turned back to Daphne. "I have to do this now."
She held her wrists out. I cuffed her and walked her back inside.
Ground level was coming back to life. The alarm had been silenced and people were slowly filtering back into the building as casino staff herded them through the main entrance.
Patrol cars lined the east driveway. Three engines and a ladder truck from Station 110 were staged along the curb.
Wyatt and the guys were near the truck with their helmets off and their turnout coats unzipped.
Zeus was standing at the edge of the driveway with his hands clasped behind his back. I caught Jeremy's eye and nodded. He took Daphne's arm gently and walked her toward the nearest unit. She went without resisting.
I walked over to Zeus. He watched Jeremy put Daphne in the unit, then turned to me.
"You connected five burglaries to three homicides and a sexual assault, identified the suspect, located her at a secondary employer, and brought her in the same night the warrant came through." He let that sit. "That's excellent detective work, Walsh."
"Thank you, sir."
"How many patrol investigation hours do you have left to do?"
"Eight."
He nodded. "I'm already looking forward to having you on my team. When you need the recommendation, come to me. I'll write it myself."
"Thank you, sir."
He squeezed my shoulder and walked over to Doug, who was putting Lockwood into the back of a patrol car.
Wyatt was there before Zeus was out of earshot. He'd been watching from the side. He stopped in front of me, still in his turnout coat, smelling like sweat and someone else's building.
"Congratulations, Detective Walsh."
"I'm not a detective yet."
He looked at me like he'd forgotten where we were. "I really want to kiss you right now."
"Please don't," I said, trying to fight a smile. "Later. When we get home."
He stepped closer. His hand came up to my face.
"Walsh."
Wyatt's hand dropped. Elliot was walking toward us from across the driveway, sunglasses folded into his breast pocket because it was past eleven and even he couldn't justify them.
"Look at you, Walsh. I knew you had it in you."
"Thanks."
He turned to Wyatt. "I always told Burns, there's a real benefit to having a girl like Walsh on the force. She's our girl."
"I'm not your girl, Handler."
The smile changed. The charm left his face like someone had wiped it off.
"Still, that was a good solve, Andy. I always knew that mouth of yours was an asset to the force." He paused. "In more ways than one."
I stared at him. I couldn't believe it. Both of our body cams were on and he had just said that to my face without flinching.
I was going to remind him, calmly, that what he had just said to me was explicitly inappropriate. That we were at work. That if he didn't stop, I would have no choice but to involve HR. I had the words lined up.
Wyatt's fist caught him square in the face before I got the first word out. Elliot went down between two cruisers.
"Wyatt! Stop!" I grabbed Wyatt and pulled him back, both arms around his chest. He was shaking. I could feel his heart slamming through his turnout coat.
Officers were already coming. They pulled him out of my arms and put him face-first onto the hood of a patrol car.
"No—"
Jeremy caught me. "Andy. Don't."
I watched them cuff him. Wyatt turned his head on the hood and found me. I stood there with Jeremy's hand on my arm and didn't know what to do with a single part of myself.
Two officers were trying to help Elliot up. "Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me." He shoved them off, waving his hand at them. His nose was pouring blood. It was already swelling wrong. Wyatt had broken it.
Elliot got to his feet, one hand cupping his nose, blood running through his fingers. He looked past the officers, straight at Wyatt on the hood.
"You just threw your whole career away, Brooks."
They hauled Wyatt off the hood and walked him toward a cruiser. Jeremy still had my arm. I watched his head dip as they put him in the back seat and shut the door behind him. Through the window, he looked back at me like he wasn't at all sorry for what he'd done.
The cruiser pulled out of the driveway, and I stood there and watched it go.