114. The Interstate Case, the Casino Broker

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At seven in the morning, the sky was a dull, gray haze.

A faint white light filtered through the glass window of the conference room, illuminating ashtrays on the table piled high with cigarette butts.

The officers, worn out from an all-nighter, looked exhausted. Kruger yawned repeatedly, wrapped in a blanket; Karl smoked a cigarette as he paced around the room, exhaling clouds of smoke; Holden’s bloodshot eyes fixated intensely on the tree diagram on the whiteboard.

Someone pushed open the conference room door.

“Thank you all for your hard work. Come, have some breakfast.”

Dean and Luster brought out wrapped burgers, coffee, toast, and doughnuts, placing a generous spread before each person.

“How do you know my preferences?” Kruger grabbed a doughnut overloaded with sugar and calories and took a big bite. Cream splattered everywhere, and the irritation on his rough, tough face instantly melted into satisfaction.

Holden took the steaming coffee, sipped it, and a hint of color returned to his oily face.

“The clue analysis is complete; we have several findings,” Karl said, extinguishing his cigarette, biting into a hot dog, and with his other hand casually smoothing over his thinning, shiny hairline.

“Multiple hotel staff witnessed this man harassing Gracie, but unfortunately, no one knows his identity. Gracie never revealed it either.”

“Also, Gracie was well-liked at the hotel, with no disputes with colleagues or guests. Everyone was saddened by her resignation, and some even organized searches after hearing about her disappearance.”

Karl tossed several statements onto the table.

“So far, it appears her former colleagues have little to do with Gracie’s disappearance.”

Holden added, “We scoured surveillance footage from the neighborhoods Gracie frequented, and found her at a gas station camera…”

A few somewhat blurry photos were laid before them.

In the photos, a woman sat behind the wheel of a Ford F-150. She had red hair, heavy makeup, and wore a blue smock on her upper body.

“Where was Gracie headed?” Luster asked, picking up a photo.

“I-15 Highway,” Holden wiped grease from his mouth, “She was leaving Las Vegas, heading southwest toward Los Angeles.”

“The time was around 8 a.m. two days ago. In other words, after you prepared her breakfast and she changed into her work clothes, she left home and got on the highway directly.”

Luster’s face went blank.

“If Gracie was going on a trip, she’d have told me in advance. She was forced, right? That scar-faced man was in the car threatening her?”

“No other passengers,” Holden pointed out regretfully, showing several photos from different angles that clearly revealed the inside of the car — only one person in the driver’s seat. “Gracie left Las Vegas entirely on her own, with no signs of kidnapping or coercion.”

Luster fell silent.

Dean massaged his temples hard, wondering why the case was unfolding so differently than he had imagined.

Holden asked, “Luster, think carefully. Did Gracie ever mention visiting any relatives or friends in California?”

Luster cupped his face with both hands, rubbing until red, and shook his head.

“To my knowledge, she has no acquaintances in California. She has no reason to go there. And in the past decade or so, Gracie has never left me alone to travel far by herself.”

Dean patted his shoulder, then turned to the officers.

“No footage of Gracie returning?”

Holden shook his head, his expression serious.

“No return records. So Gracie definitely left Las Vegas — beyond LVPD’s jurisdiction. We can no longer track her whereabouts freely.”

“What do you mean?” Luster was startled.

“Are you going to halt the investigation?”

“Listen,” Karl knocked on the round table, explaining, “Every police department has its jurisdiction. LVPD only handles cases within Las Vegas city limits. If a missing person case occurs outside this area but still within Nevada, we coordinate with the local police there.”

“But Gracie got on the highway, which doesn’t belong to any local police territory. We have to rely on the Nevada State Police Highway Patrol to track her.”

“Yes, the bureau has already contacted the patrol to trace that F-150. We should hear back in a day or two.”

“So we just wait?” Luster understood now that highway cases depended on the state patrol.

“That’s how it looks. But there’s a worse possibility,” Karl put his hands on his hips and looked at Luster with sympathy.

“If Gracie drove into California, the case becomes interstate.”

“In America, each state has its own laws; police departments operate independently. Local police can’t enforce laws across state lines. We can’t just go into California to look for her.”

Dean and Luster’s faces darkened.

Karl continued, “We can only apply through the FBI, which has nationwide jurisdiction, to send agents to California for investigation.”

“Isn’t Holden FBI?” Dean asked.

“Yes, but he still must apply through official channels. Otherwise, he can only investigate privately and won’t get local police support.”

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Karl shook his head.

“Besides, thousands go missing every year nationwide, and police resources are limited. The application process takes several days.”

The entire office fell into silence.

“Why is it so complicated? Can’t they just go to California? FBI needs an application too?” Luster muttered, head down, a look of absurdity and despair on his face.

Is Gracie just going to become one among thousands of missing persons every year?

Dean looked at Karl.

“Even if Gracie is still safe now, delays like this could put her in danger!”

“There’s no choice; rules must be followed,” Karl turned his head thoughtfully, then for once showed a sincere expression.

“But we’ll keep monitoring this case in Las Vegas, pushing for updates. We’ll notify you immediately of any progress.”

Dean sighed, no longer pushing. The tireless efforts of Karl’s team were a kindness, not an obligation.

“Gracie’s destination is unknown,” Dean mused. “Let’s investigate the scar-faced man first, figure out what happened between him and Gracie—maybe that’ll reveal where she went.”

“No news on the scar-faced man yet,” Karl met Dean’s gaze. “And according to the footage, he wasn’t in Gracie’s car. His involvement is unlikely.”

“I understand,” Dean replied perfunctorily, checking the investigation progress. After this discussion, it had only moved from 25% to 30%.

Progress was painfully slow.

…

The weary officers leaned against the table to rest. Holden led the two men out of the conference room.

“Rules are rigid, but people are flexible. I have some personal contacts in California police departments. I’ll help you check.”

“I knew you were different from that stubborn Karl,” Dean patted his chest. Luster looked grateful.

“I need a nap before resuming work. You two, don’t act rashly, got it?”

…

“Dean, should we drive along I-15 to look?” Luster suggested once outside the precinct.

“No need; the highway patrol is already on it. We can’t match their efficiency,” Dean shook his head.

“Then what about checking local private loan companies?”

As they debated leaving, a familiar figure strode toward them.

An Indian man, dressed in a newly bought blue suit, wore a fierce face but a bright smile and said bluntly,

“Gentlemen, I have major good news! A friend of Andre’s gave an important lead. That scar-faced man is Teagan Fran, often seen at the Royal Casino on Stuart Street in the old district. He works there, responsible for recruiting customers and collecting debts.”

“What kind of friend is that, finding this faster than the LVPD?”

Dean felt a rush of relief, glanced at the system:

Investigation progress jumped from 30% to 35%.

A logical thread formed in his mind.

Teagan works for the casino.

He repeatedly harassed Gracie and even hired people to beat her son as intimidation.

Gracie was in dire financial straits, having sold treasured family jewelry.

Putting these facts together, Dean concluded,

“Gracie owes the casino money from gambling debts; Teagan is hounding her to pay!”

Investigation progress surged from 30% to 40%!

“Gracie has been leaving early and returning late, skipping work for about a month—probably working off the debt for Teagan.”

“Driving alone to California because of this?” Dean looked at Luster, who furrowed his brow.

“Impossible!” Luster shook his head firmly. “Gracie never gambled, and she wouldn’t owe debts.”

He clenched his fists, trying to reassure himself. “Her colleagues can vouch—she never set foot in a casino!”

…

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“Luster, this is Las Vegas—the city of sin and temptation. The thrill of risk and passion beats like a heart that never stops.”

Paquay sighed like a seasoned veteran.

“Thousands of casinos line every corner, like a siren’s second mouth. Once curiosity gets the better of you, you go once, then twice, then three times, until you’re utterly lost.”

“No, Gracie never believed in such probabilistic games.”

“But what if it was for your college tuition? Would she not take the risk? Sometimes a sudden thought leads one down a dark path.”

Luster’s face turned pale. His lips moved but no words came.

“I’ve seen countless unlucky souls who only planned to gamble a bit, hoping to win some, but ended up losing everything.”

Paquay’s tone grew heavier.

“Casinos are dirty places, full of dirty tricks to fleece the naive. Fall into their trap once, and your life is ruined.”

“I have intel that Teagan is ruthless and clean-handed; several unresolved disappearances are linked to him.”

“Call the police! Let’s notify them immediately,” Luster turned anxiously.

“Go arrest him at the Royal Casino and find out where Gracie is!”

“Naïve!” Paquay scoffed at the mention of police. “Anyone who runs a casino—even a small one—has extraordinary backing.”

“This guy is so ruthless yet remains untouched.”

Paquay fixed them with a piercing gaze.

“Do you think no one protects him? No one pulls strings on his behalf?”

“In Las Vegas, casinos mean money, and money makes anything possible.”

“Even the police station building stands on the foundation of money.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully. His uncle’s friend had found the scar-faced man’s whereabouts in half a day.

Yet the proud LVPD officers had nothing.

Was it just slow progress, or was there internal sabotage?

…

Dean looked at the stunned Luster.

“The current surveillance evidence shows Gracie drove away alone, unconnected to Teagan.”

“Even if the police confront him directly, he can hire a top lawyer to clear his name and twist the facts.”

Dean recalled his own experience: Gru Stone brazenly kidnapped a child in broad daylight and was acquitted, while Dean, the good Samaritan, nearly ended up in jail.

His own relatives, the Layton Stone family, had been hiding in Las Vegas all these years, protected by power and wealth, nurturing a nocturnal predator who claimed countless lives.

And nothing happened to them!

The world’s bottom line was far lower than he had imagined.

…

This thought took root and grew stronger in Dean’s mind.

…

Luster looked up at the darkening sky, caught in confusion and despair.

“Gracie went to California. The missing person case is now interstate. Finding her is going to be very difficult.”

“And Teagan Fran, who’s connected to her disappearance, has deep roots.”

“If we don’t report it to the police, what can we do?”

…

A cold glint flashed in Dean’s eyes as he looked at Paquay.

The other man was staring at him intently, eyes sharp as arrows, as if piercing through his thoughts. Then he grinned fiercely yet knowingly.

…

“Luster, what are you willing to sacrifice for Gracie?”

“She’s my only family in the world. Nothing can happen to her. I’d give everything for her.”

“Even if it means breaking your own limits, violating the rules you’ve always lived by?”

“I’m willing!” Luster clenched his fists and shouted.

“Then tonight, we bring Teagan Fran back.”

(The End of this Chapter)