Ashes to Dust (Las Vegas Mystery)

“What time did you get there?”
    “It was about three o’clock.”
    “Did you talk to anyone? Can anybody verify it?”
    “Oh yes,” Tully said. “I’m a regular there. I use my player’s card, always. And the bartenders know me. I always sit at the main bar and play video poker. You get drinks faster that way.”
    “It’s not that we think you had anything to do with Laura’s death,” Alice insisted. “We just need to check on everyone who knew Laura and came in contact with her.”
    Tully nodded. “I understand. You can ask the bartenders—they should remember me.”
    “Dr. Tully,” Snow said, “do you think there is any chance Crystal might have found out about your fling with Laura?”
    “Crystal?” Tully said. “I don’t think so.”
    “How did she act toward you after the murder?” Snow said.
    Tully shrugged. “I actually haven’t talked to her since last Monday night.”
    Snow glanced at Alice and returned his gaze to Tully. “Why is that?”
    He shrugged again. “I don’t know. She hasn’t called me, and I thought she might need some time to deal with this.”
    “You didn’t feel like calling to console her?” Alice said.
    Tully scratched the side of his head. “It’s just that—we’ve been having problems…”
    “Dr. Tully,” Snow said, “how do you think Crystal would react if she found out you were having an affair with Laura?”
    “Oh.” Tully raised his eyebrows. “No doubt she’d be upset.”
    “Did Crystal and Laura ever get into it, physically?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “A physical altercation. They ever come to blows?”
    “You mean—like punch each other?”
    Snow nodded.
    Tully shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
    “You ever see Laura with a bruise on her jaw?”
    Tully’s eyes narrowed. “Bruise on her jaw? I never noticed one. No.”

    Back in the car, Snow turned his head to Alice. “How are we supposed to figure this out with everyone lying about everything? This is about the worst I’ve ever seen it—and that guy takes the cake. How would you like to have him for your dentist?”
    “If everyone told the truth,” Alice said, “there would be no need for investigators. The perpetrator would always confess.”
    Snow slipped the key into the ignition and cranked the engine to life. “Most of the cases I handled in homicide—that was exactly what happened. The suspect would either confess at the murder scene, his home, or in the interview room. I still managed to stay pretty busy.”
    Alice nodded. “I’m pretty sure he was lying about Laura coming over to his house Tuesday afternoon. That woman seemed to enjoy the risk of getting caught. I think it gave her a thrill. I suspect Andrew met her at her house. Crystal came home early from work with a headache—remember?”
    “You think Crystal might have caught them in bed together?”
    “It’s possible,” Alice said. “It’s one of the leading motivators—for murder.”
    “You’re right. Food for thought,” Snow said, shifting into reverse. “You know what I’m thinking?”
    “Jim,” she said, “I’m not in the mood for another buffet.”

The main bar at the Royal Palace Casino was shaped like a rectangular racetrack. It was situated in the middle of the gambling floor for easy access.
    After leaving Alice to the task of talking with casino security about Tully’s player card activity, Snow walked up to the nearest of the two bartenders. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, clean-cut, with short brown hair and an easy smile. He wore the uniform burgundy shirt with a gold nametag that read Ricky .
    Snow introduced himself and explained about the investigation. The bartender provided a firm handshake and the name Ricky Dows.
    Snow stood with his hands in his back pockets. “You know a fellow by the name of Andrew Tully, Ricky?”
    “I sure do,” Ricky said. “He comes in here a couple times a week or more.” He turned and pointed to the end of the bar. “He always sits at one of those three slot machines. Always plays video poker, and usually drinks gin martinis, up, with no olives.”
    “Was he in here last Tuesday afternoon?”
    Dows looked over his left shoulder at the bar and thought for a moment. “Let’s see. It was either Tuesday or Wednesday. I’m off Sundays and Mondays, and it seems to me like it was the first day of my work week. So that would be Tuesday—but I can’t swear to it.”
    “He was using his player’s card in the slot