The Disciple of Las Vegas by Ian Hamilton Page A

there was only fifteen minutes before departure, so she went directly to her gate. She turned on her cellphone to call Uncle and saw that he had left two messages. She chastised herself for not calling him earlier.
    â€œUncle, I’m sorry,” she said when he answered his phone. “I left the hotel early this morning and I didn’t want to wake you.”
    â€œYou worried me,” he said softly. “Where are you?”
    â€œAt the airport. I’ve located Jim Cousins. I’m on my way to talk to him.”
    Even over the phone she could hear his breathing change, his spirits rise. “Good God, so soon. Even for you, Ava, this is fast.”
    â€œI was lucky, and if my luck holds he’ll be exactly where I think he is.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œIn an apartment in San Francisco.”
    â€œHow did you do it?”
    â€œThat doesn’t matter. You can tell Chang if you want, but it might be wise to wait until I actually get there and confront him.”
    â€œI think he should know.”
    â€œNo promises, though.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œJust because I’ve located Cousins doesn’t mean he’ll be there. And even if he is, it doesn’t mean we’re any closer to recovering the money. So be careful about what you say. Don’t let them draw the wrong conclusion.”
    â€œWhere is the money?”
    â€œI have no idea,” she half-lied.
    She could sense his doubt — he knew she wasn’t telling him everything. “When you find out, call me in Hong Kong. I am going to fly back today after meeting with Chang and Ordonez,” he said.
    â€œI will,” she promised. The call for first-class passengers to board the plane came over the PA. Ava was guided to her seat by a series of flight attendants. When she had settled in with a cup of coffee in hand, she reviewed her notes, trying to make sense of the information Johnny Yan had given her. Aside from the fact that all the money had gone to Costa Rica, the amounts and the recipients and the banks seemed to be almost completely random. The same wasn’t true for the three and a half percent that had found its way into Jim Cousins’ bank account. It was obviously for services rendered, but what services?
    She sat up straight and gingerly stretched her arms. Her shoulder still ached, and a combination of wine, Tylenol, and the comfort of the Peninsula’s bed hadn’t blunted the pain. She tried to distract herself by focusing on the documents Chang had sent early that morning. The detectives’ report was long on verbiage and short on substance. Maybe they’re getting paid by the word , she thought. Most of it focused on Cousins. They had come up dry at the bank and had run into a brick wall with the lawyer, who wouldn’t breach his trust.
    She shorthanded the information on Cousins into her notebook. Calgary born, educated at the Southern Alberta Institute of Technology. Worked in the Alberta oil fields, Saskatchewan oil fields, Texas oil fields, and Indonesian oil fields, then back to the northern Alberta tar sands. No wife. No kids. No mention of Kelowna until just over six months ago. He had arrived there out of nowhere, and then he was gone.
    The people in Kelowna who met him had thought he was a cowboy and a gentleman. Cousins didn’t seem to have a job but he paid his rent on time, and most nights he dropped a couple of hundred dollars at the local casino without getting bent out of shape. He didn’t drink, do drugs, or do women. He paid his taxes and had no criminal record. He also had no credit cards, which must have complicated the detectives’ work no end, since credit card usage was their favourite trail. They had included a copy of his passport and several photos with the report. She took them out and slipped them into the back of her notebook. The rest of their work went into the garbage.
    Ava turned to the file on Kelowna Valley