Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Diamond Princess Casino
Puyallup, Washington
The Diamond Princess Casino sat on tribal land in Puyallup, its massive rectangular frame stretching several stories high. The windowless red building dominated the landscape. A multi-story screen flashed with smiling faces and the names of performers scheduled for upcoming shows.
Allie held the door for Jason, and they stepped across the crimson carpet into a blast of light, sound, and engineered indulgence.
Allie had been here before. They both had.
Last year, they worked a case that had brought them into close contact with the casino’s management and tribal leadership.
An employee had been murdered, then another, and the killer had moved through the Diamond Princess like a ghost until they’d finally tracked him down.
The place had felt different then—tense and afraid.
Now it hummed with its usual Wednesday morning energy.
Rows of slot machines stretched in every direction, their mechanical chimes and electronic payouts creating a constant backdrop of noise.
Polished metal gleamed beneath flashing lights.
It was an environment designed to shut out time, daylight, and the outside world.
High above, cameras tracked every movement from discreet black domes set into the ceiling.
Allie spotted a familiar face near the craps tables and nudged Jason.
Kyle Werther, the casino’s general manager, was talking with one of his pit bosses.
He wore a dark suit and tie that should have looked professional, but somehow the man still managed to appear unkempt—his shirt slightly rumpled and his tie askew.
His balding head showed a faint sheen of sweat despite the climate-controlled air, and his protruding stomach strained against his belt.
When he glanced up and saw them approaching, recognition flickered across his features, followed quickly by what looked like nervous apprehension.
“Agents.” He extended his hand, and Allie shook it. His palm was slightly damp. “I was wondering when you’d get here after your call this morning.”
“We appreciate you making time,” Allie said.
Kyle pulled a rumpled handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed at his forehead. “Of course, of course. Let’s talk somewhere quieter.” He gestured toward the executive offices beyond the gaming floor. His gait was quick and anxious.
They followed him through a maze of hallways from the manufactured glamour of the main floor and into the harsh brightly lit reality of the back corridors, the cement floors a stark contrast to the polished opulence out front.
Staff in uniforms moved past them with cleaning carts and clipboards.
Allie was thankful that they no longer had to fear someone killing them off one-by-one.
Kyle’s office sat near the end of a network of administrative spaces, its door marked with a simple nameplate. His assistant, a woman Allie vaguely remembered from their last case, looked up from her desk as they approached.
“Ramona, hold my calls,” Kyle said and ushered them inside.
The office was tidy but functional with industrial bookshelves lined with binders and filing cabinets against one wall. Kyle sank into his worn office chair and mopped his brow again.
Allie pulled out her phone and brought up a photo. “We need to know everything you can tell us about Aris Bennett’s stay.”
Kyle studied the image. “Yeah, that’s him.
He was here last weekend. Paid cash for his room and chips the first night.
Most people use credit cards, so cash transactions always get flagged in our system.
” He adjusted his tie a little nervously.
“I approved comping his drinks after that first night when he won big at craps. Seemed like he knew what he was doing. We figured he’d lose it back eventually.
” He shook his head. “They usually do.” Kyle said it without malice, just resigned certainty.
“But he didn’t?” Allie said.
“Not right away. His wins continued on Saturday. But by Sunday, his luck started turning. Monday was worse.” Kyle’s expression grew uncomfortable. “The next day we had to ask him to leave.”
Allie’s attention sharpened. “Why?”
Kyle shifted in his seat, clearly unhappy about the memory.
“He started acting erratically. Begging the house for a loan, raising his voice at dealers. He made enough of a scene that we had security escort him to his room so he could pack his belongings before we walked him off the property.” He looked between them, his voice dropping.
“I feel terrible about having to do that, but we can’t have someone disrupting the other guests. ”
“Where did he go after that?” Jason asked him.
“North. Security footage from Tuesday afternoon shows him heading in that direction, away from the hotel. That’s the last we saw of him.
” Kyle stood, tugging his tie back into place.
“We can pull up the footage if you need to see it. Our security system is state of the art—cost us a fortune, but it tracks nearly every inch of this place.”
Allie felt the disappointment of a lead slipping away, but she nodded. “Yes, we’d like to see the footage.”
“You bet. Follow me.”
Kyle led them across the hallway to a door marked Security Operations Center.
Inside, two men in black polos embroidered with the Diamond Princess logo sat behind a bank of monitors, eyes locked on real-time feeds of the casino floor.
The room was dim, lit only by the glow of dozens of screens showing every angle of the building.
Kyle spoke briefly with one of the operators, explaining what they needed. Within minutes, the footage was cued up on one of the larger screens.
Allie watched Bennett move through the frames like a man possessed.
It was late Friday night, technically Saturday morning, just after midnight.
He sat at a craps table with a stack of chips in front of him.
His face was animated, and his movements were quick and confident.
The timestamp ticked forward. One a.m. Two a.m.
A surge of disappointment washed over her as she focused on the screen. This was their only solid lead, their primary suspect. But here he was, documented and alibied for the exact window when Sterling had been murdered.
Finally, at 2:04 a.m., Bennett pushed back from the table, gathered his remaining chips, and headed toward the elevators.
“Can you fast-forward to when he comes back down?” Allie asked.
The operator’s fingers moved across the keyboard. The footage jumped ahead, and there was Bennett again, stepping out of the elevator at 9:14 a.m. He looked disheveled but focused, his clothes the same as the night before. He made a beeline for the gaming floor.
Allie’s stomach sank. That left a window of just over seven hours.
Thomas Sterling had been murdered sometime between midnight and six a.m. on Saturday morning at his cabin in the Cascade foothills.
Bennett would have needed to leave the casino, drive two hours to the cabin, kill Sterling, and return to Tacoma, all without being caught on camera leaving the building.
And then there was a matter of a car—Bennett didn’t have one.
She turned to the operator. “Is there any footage showing him leaving the casino between two a.m. and nine a.m. Saturday morning?”
The man shook his head. “Already checked when Mr. Werther told us you were coming. He never left the building. We have cameras on every exit and every floor. If he’d walked out, we would have seen it.”
Kyle mopped his forehead again, looking genuinely distressed. “I wish I had better news for you. Bennett was a mess those last couple of days, but whatever happened Friday night, he was here the whole time.”
Jason met Allie’s eyes, and she saw the same frustration reflected there. Bennett wasn’t their guy.
Allie looked over at Kyle. “We appreciate your cooperation. It was good to see you again.”
Kyle walked them back toward the main floor, his handkerchief making another appearance. “If there’s anything else you need, anything at all, just let me know.” He paused near the doors. “I hope you find him.”