Aces and Knaves

his credit cards. The companies should be notified. However, I suspected my father was already working on that. There didn't seem to be anything else for me to do. I asked, "Do you, uh, need me to identify him?"
    "If you would."
    Detective Lawson, who had been talking to Stan by the front door, said, "Mr. Buchanan has volunteered to identify the body."
    James Buchanan came into the living room, looking haggard and limping noticeably. He said, "I've known Ned all his life so it's logical for me to identify him."
    I started to protest, thinking it would be too much for him, but he insisted and I stopped pressing since I really didn't want to do it.
    As an afterthought I asked, "Did you find Mr. Mackay's rental car?"
    "The key was in Mr. Mackay's pocket," Detective Washington said, "and we got a description of the car from Hertz. We're searching for the car now." She looked at me and said, "Thank you for your help, Mr. Patterson. If we have any more questions we know where to find you." And to James, "Are you ready to go, Mr. Buchanan? We'll drive you to the morgue."
    James put his hand on my shoulder and said, "As I said, I've known Ned all my life. This is...a terrible tragedy. Please convey my sorrow and sympathy to your father."
    "I will." There didn't seem to be any adequate words for the situation.
    "Stan will drive you back to your hotel." James actually smiled slightly. "I know you lost our bet, but considering the circumstances it's the least we can do."
    ***
    Stan also said some words of sympathy as he drove easily up the hill on the almost-deserted street. It was after 1 a.m.
    "Did you know Ned?" I asked, wondering how long Stan had worked for James.
    "Not real well, but he's come to the house several times since I've been there. I found out he and James grew up together. They also came to this country together, and eventually went their separate ways, but lately they've been talking to each other a lot."
    "How did you know where Ned's business meeting was supposed to be?" I asked, and then realized that I sounded like the police.
    Stan didn't seem annoyed at the question. "Ned called James at our office last Friday. James was out of the building so I took the call. Ned asked me whether he could meet with James Tuesday evening—tonight. He said he had a dinner meeting at the Golden Palace, but he would come over to the house afterward."
    It occurred to me that Stan had known I wasn't Ned when he first saw me on the monitor. He must have consulted James before letting me in. I asked, "Did Ned do much gambling?"
    "He talked a lot, drank a little and did some gambling, but not much that I recall. He didn't seem to have the passion for it that some of the guests do."
    This was at variance with what James had said. Of course, if it was true that no real money was changing hands, maybe that explained Ned's behavior. Perhaps a compulsive gambler wasn't compulsive when there was nothing real at stake. If that was true I couldn't be a compulsive gambler because I liked to play games, regardless of the stakes.
    I wanted to ask Stan about the legitimacy of the casino operation, but why should he tell me anything? Instead, I asked, "How long have you worked for James?"
    "About two years. I went there right from the Stanford business school."
    Another MBA. "Isn't that work a little...beneath your talents?"
    "Oh, I only work at the house one night a week. I work at the corporate headquarters the rest of the time. James makes all his management-track people do that. He says it's good to get some real-world experience. That's true, I suppose, if you want to end up running a casino."
    I wasn't going to show my ignorance by asking what corporate headquarters he was referring to. I said, "I noticed that all his employees were men. Doesn't James have any women working for him?"
    Stan took his eyes off the road and looked at me. Since we were cresting the top of Hyde Street and the pavement had disappeared from in front of us I hoped like hell he'd look back at the road. I felt like Steve McQueen's detective must have in the chase scene from the old movie, Bullitt . He finally turned his eyes back to the road and said, "What are you, a spy for the government equal opportunity people?"
    "No."
    He chuckled. "James just prefers men to women."
    We arrived at my hotel. He pulled up to the front door. "Thanks for the ride," I said. We shook hands and I asked, "Do you have far to go?"
    "Back to the Buchanan place. I live there."
    As