Page 66 of The Texas Murders

We go in search of Ryan Logan, who is leaning against a police vehicle with his phone to his ear. He sees us and we wait at a distance until he’s finished.

“What now?” he says, pocketing his phone.

Carlos explains what we found.

“We’re going to go check it out,” I say, then reluctantly add, “If you want to send someone with us, you’re welcome to.”

Carlos adds, “Technically, I’m still on your task force. So if you want to consider me as your representative, I can do that. Unless you kicked me off, too.”

He glares at us. I know he wishes we would just disappear.

“Fine,” he says. “Tell me if you find anything.”

As Carlos and I head toward the truck, I say to him, “You know, when Ava and I found that brochure for the massage parlor in Phoenix, that felt like Carpenter made a mistake. He screwed up by leaving that behind. But this,” I add, “it’s hard to believe he’d make the same mistake twice.”

Carlos says that Carpenter probably never thought we’dfind the car in Phoenix. He might not even know that’s how we found the massage parlor. And as for the van, it was pretty well emptied out. Maybe he forgot about the receipt under the cup.

“Maybe,” I say, starting the truck’s engine. Once we’re headed toward the Pueblo, I ask, “Do you want to call Ava and tell her we’re headed her way?”

“Yeah,” Carlos says, pulling out his phone. “It’s time to get the band back together.”

CHAPTER 56

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Carlos and I wait for Ava next to a sculpture near the front entrance of Speaking Rock Entertainment Center. With lights shining from below, the bronze statue shows a muscular man with his arms spread, feathers hanging from them like wings. The sculpture is perched above a pool of water, glowing blue from lights below the surface. A stage has been erected next to the statue, but whatever concert they’ve set up for isn’t happening tonight.

The wind has died down to a stiff breeze, and the clouds overhead are breaking up. The sky had been threatening to rain, but it hasn’t carried through on the threat.

Ava approaches in her uniform, all business, and gives me a curt nod.

“You’re back?” she says.

“I’m sorry,” I say, then gesture to Carlos. “I just needed someone to remind me why I wear this badge.”

Carlos smacks me on the back.

“Rory was just constipated,” he says, and even Ava can’t help but crack a smile at his remark. “He’s had a healthy bowel movement,” Carlos continues, “and now he’s ready to get back to work.”

We all laugh together, and, at least for now, the tension of the reunion has been alleviated. Without further discussion, we head inside.

Though nothing by Las Vegas standards, the casino is larger than I expected—and bustling with activity. The light is dimmed. The building has multiple wings, all packed with slot machines, where patrons sit drinking from daiquiri glasses and beer bottles. On one side of the casino is a large bar, with flat-screen TVs displaying various late-night recaps of the day’s sporting events. On the other side is a room with aBINGOsign above the entrance. The air is filled with the noise of the slot machines electronically mimicking the sound of coins spilling into trays.

We make our way through the maze of machines to the cashier’s cage, where we let Ava do the talking. She asks to speak with a manager, and a minute later, a Tigua man approaches. He has short hair graying at the temples and wears a white shirt with a black bolo tie. Ava, who apparently knows him, introduces us.

“We’re looking for this man,” Carlos says, showing him a photo of Llewellyn Carpenter. “Apparently he cashed some chips in today and got a receipt.”

We tell the manager we’d like to look at security footage before and after the time the receipt was stamped. He looksskeptical, like he doesn’t want to get involved with two Texas Rangers, but Ava says, “You’d really be doing us a favor, Xavier.”

He relents and tells us to follow him. He leads us to an employee door tucked out of sight, and then the three of us walk down a well-lit hallway to a door markedSECURITY. He leads us inside, where a uniformed guard mans a bank of computer screens. Xavier tells the man the time of the stamp, and the guard rewinds one of the computer screens.

A minute later, we’re looking at the black-and-white image of Llewellyn Carpenter walking up to the cage to buy chips. It’s clearly him, the snake tattoo visible on his forearm as he reaches for the receipt the teller hands him. He walks away from the counter with a rack of chips, but within a few seconds, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and appears to answer a call. He looks around and walks back to the counter of the cage—off to the side this time, where he won’t be in anyone’s way—and sets the chips down. He pulls a pen or pencil from his pocket and writes something on the back of his receipt. A minute later, he hangs up the phone and pockets it.

He stares at whatever he’s written.

“He’s memorizing it,” Carlos says.

Thirty seconds later, Carpenter wads up the piece of paper and looks around for a trash can. There’s one in a nearby corner, and he tosses the balled-up receipt toward it.

“He missed,” Ava says, almost breathless.

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