Stepping in Blood

By Richard DeSteno

Lucius Bunk is a detective for the Las Vegas Metro Police. He is assigned a homicide case involving the murder of a casino blackjack dealer, that he has found very difficult to solve. He has been unable to obtain any substantial evidence against his main suspect. He seeks legal guidance from a friend and colleague of his, a blind woman Assistant District Attorney, Marlena Moreno. She provides him sage advice from both legal and ethical perspectives. Thereafter, he meets with her periodically as his investigation progresses, and she continues to guide him through the legal and ethical challenges that he faces. Meanwhile, Marlena is presented with her own challenges involving her derelict sighted brother who regularly asks her for financial support. Her generosity comes back to haunt her as it leads to a dramatic conflict between her brother and her long-term sighted boyfriend, which plunges her into a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Ultimately, Marlena guides Bunk to a successful conclusion of his case as she copes with her own emotional stress.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard DeSteno
• Release date: Sep 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223194521

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was a cool October night in Las Vegas, Nevada. The section of Las Vegas Boulevard with the chain of hotels and casinos stretching for about two-and-a-half miles, known as the Strip, was hopping with activity. The Strip was brightly illuminated by thousands of lights emanating from the numerous hotels. Mobs of fortune-seekers wandered in and out of these edifices of excess every night and day, some winning, but most losing. Yes, Las Vegas, where fortunes are won and lost, dreams can turn into nightmares, lives can be created and destroyed, and the dark side of humanity lurks in the shadows waiting to pounce on the naive and unsuspecting.

It was a little after 9:00 PM on a Saturday evening and the casino was packed. The slot machines were ringing, the roulette wheel was spinning, the craps players were shouting, the music was playing, and cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air. Famous rotund comedian Chub Binkley was traveling solo this night. He approached an empty chair at a high-stakes blackjack table and parked his substantial weight on the seat. He had to pull the chair out a bit more from the table to accommodate his protruding abdomen. The popular comedian was easily recognizable and he was warmly greeted by the dealer and the other players at the table.

Good evening, all, let's make some money! he said.

You want me to lose my job? the dealer asked with a smile.

Chub noticed that the dealer's nametag said Malcolm.

No no, just wanna bring some good luck, Chub said.

Chub pushed four 25-dollar chips out as his first bet. The dealer dealt the cards, two per player, all face up. He dealt himself one face up and one face down. The sharp snapping sound of the cards being dealt was music to Chub's ears. Chub smiled as he looked at his jack and queen, thinking he had a great chance to win this hand. The dealer showed only a six as his face-up card, a real stiff of a hand.

All of the players played their hands and Chub waved off any additional cards, standing pat on his strong twenty hand. The dealer then flipped over his face-down card to reveal an anemic seven. He then snapped down two more cards, a three and a five for a total of twenty-one. Chub was shocked, but maintained his smile as the dealer swept away all of the bets.

Good job Malcolm, Chub said.

Oh, it won't last folks, don't worry, the dealer said.

The waitress came by and Chub ordered a dry martini with an olive. He pushed eight 25-dollar chips in front of him for his next bet. This time, he got a king and a nine equaling 19, so he again waved off any additional cards. The dealer showed a queen with his face-up card. After the players played their hands, the dealer flipped over his face-down card to reveal the ace of spades for a blackjack. Once again, he swept away all of the chips, displaying a sheepish grin.

Looks like you're off to a great start Malcolm, Chub said. This time with a forced smile.

Sorry folks, the dealer said. I seem to be on a bit of a streak.

The waitress brought Chub's drink and he swallowed a big gulp, hoping to regain his composure. The dealer kept dealing and Chub kept losing. Soon, he was down five grand and his mood was turning dark. His smile was long gone and most of the players had left the table in disgust.

Chub spotted the cocktail waitress nearby.

Hey honey, over here please, he said waving his hand in the air.

She approached him, Want another?

Yes dear, please.

Chub played on, fueled by the strength of the martinis and his determination to make back his losses. No matter what he did, no matter how good his hands were, he just kept losing. The good hands became fewer and fewer and every one turned to shit anyway.

After a few more thousands in losses, Chub slammed his right hand on the table and barked at Malcolm with a slurry undertone, Come on, nobody can win that consistently, you're cheating, Malcolm!

No sir, Malcolm said laughing it off, I assure you that I am not cheating.

The tables around Chub grew quiet for a moment, as heads turned in his direction to attempt to see what was going on over there.

After three excruciating hours of losing and many martinis, Chub had lost over ten grand. Finally, he could no longer contain himself, he stood up, glaring at the dealer, barely able to stand after consuming all that alcohol.

He backed up a few steps and hurled his glass against the side of the blackjack table, smashing it into bits with a loud crash.

This is some crooked joint you thieves are running here, you're all criminals! he yelled, and you are going to pay for this, he continued, pointing at the dealer.

Security guards were promptly on the scene and Chub was quickly escorted out of the casino, yelling and cursing the entire way out. The casino became totally quiet for a minute or two.

Chub was deposited by the security guards on the sidewalk outside the casino doors. He staggered onto the Vegas Strip. The traffic was still fairly heavy and vacationers of all shapes, sizes, and ages were walking by, winners, losers, drunks like him, peddlers, crooks, and straight shooters.

He took a few staggered steps, lost his balance, and flopped forward onto the sidewalk.

Hey fatso, how about another drink, a guy passing by shouted.

Is that a man or a beached whale? another fellow mocked.

Give that big boy another drink, a third person yelled.

Chub managed to get onto his knees and finally back on his feet.

Oh man, that's Chub Binkley, a man shouted.

Hey Chub, how about an autograph, a young woman said.

Chub said nothing. He just staggered down the block. He finally flagged a taxi.

Opening the car door clumsily, he stumbled into the back seat as he maneuvered his substantial bulk into the car.

Caesars Palace, he said to the driver, slurring his speech uncontrollably.

Sure, the driver responded in a mid-eastern accent. He did not recognize Binkley as anyone famous.

As the taxi pulled away from the curb, the driver said, Sounds like you had a good time partying tonight.

No, Chub responded, I had a miserable time.

Oh, sorry to hear that. did you lose some money?

I lost all right. Lost, because the damn dealer cheated his ass off. Every hand I had turned to shit, no matter how good it was. He cheated me out of at least $10,000, the bastard.

The driver had heard these drunken loser claims many times before, but found it best to humor the passenger.

That is terrible. Some of these dealers take advantage of players, especially if they have had too much to drink.

I'm glad you agree with me. I am going to make this dude pay. I got his name from his nametag. I swear I'm gonna have his ass wasted. He'll pay big time for stealing from me. I don't tolerate that kind of shit. He is a dead man

The driver, feeling somewhat alarmed by Chub's extreme rage, said, Oh, I see you're very upset. Maybe you should get a good night's sleep and reconsider the situation in the morning.

Reconsider my ass. He will pay with his putrid, worthless life for this.

Not wanting to enrage Chub any more, the driver changed the subject.

Have you been to Vegas before?

Oh yeah, many, many times. I have a home outside the city.

Oh okay, so you know the area.

Yeah, I know it, and I know a cheater when I see one.

The driver felt relief as he pulled up to Caesar's, Here we are, he said.

Chub paid the fare, adding a generous tip.

Thanks buddy, I'm glad you understand how I was victimized. Have a good night, Chub said.

Thanks sir, you too.

Chub fumbled with the car door handle and finally was able to open the door, practically falling to the ground as he exited the car.

Malcolm Glendrum arrived at home that night sometime after midnight. His wife, Audrey, greeted him at the door. She prepared drinks for the two of them and they sat in the living room to relax. She noticed Malcolm's glum look and asked him what was wrong. Malcolm then proceeded to describe the incident involving Chub Binkley. Audrey was astonished that the famous and congenial comedian behaved in such an obnoxious manner. She consoled Malcolm, as she often did, and his spirits seemed to improve. Malcolm reached in front of him to a small box on the coffee table. He pulled out a joint and lit it, inhaling deeply.

That's good. That's what I really need tonight, he said.

Audrey did not join in the marijuana indulgence.

I can understand how someone gets frustrated when they lose, especially when so much money is involved, but accusing me of cheating was ridiculous. Any cheating would be so obvious and result in immediate termination. The whole thing was ridiculous, Malcolm said.

Chapter 2

Two nights later, in the darkness of the beginning hours of a new day, a shadowy figure sat in a dark blue sedan parked near the home of Malcolm Glendrum. It was about 2:00 a.m. and the street was dimly lit. There was no one on the streets of this quiet residential neighborhood. The figure nervously chain-smoked cigarettes, just waiting, waiting, waiting. Suddenly, the long-awaited car was there. It pulled into the driveway of the nearby Glendrum home. The shadowy figure, dressed totally in black with a hoodie and shades covering the head and face, got out of the sedan and rapidly walked toward the home. The figure's pace increased as the car stopped in the driveway and the engine shut down. The figure suddenly brandished a pistol as the man exited the car. Holding the gun at point-blank range, ten shots were pumped into the defenseless victim. The double chunky click of the silencer-suppressed shots confirmed the discharges and Malcolm Glendrum fell to the ground as a pool of blood swelled around his head and upper body. The shadowy figure turned and trotted to the sedan and drove away into the night.

Sergeant Lucius Bunk was a detective for the Las Vegas Metro Police Department. He was a big man, six feet, three inches tall, weighing in at about 235 pounds with a weathered face and angular features. He worked out regularly to stay in shape. He was born and raised in Vegas and knew the city and its surroundings as well as anyone. He was an only child and was raised by two loving parents. He served four years in U. S. Army Special Forces and later earned a bachelor's degree in criminal justice from the University of Nevada at Las Vegas. He was now in his fifteenth year on the force and his seventh year as a homicide detective. He had an impressive record of solving homicides and exhibited excellent investigative skills.

Bunk was in a deep sleep at home, loudly sawing wood in bed with his wife, Heather, beside him. The cell phone on his night table suddenly rang awakening him and Heather. Lucius knew this could only mean one thing. His thought was confirmed when he saw the display indicating a call from Lieutenant Fieldston.

Yes, Lieutenant, Bunk said.

Wake up, Bunk, The Lieutenant shouted. You have work to do!

Bunk sat up straight and jerked his head up to address his boss.

I was out cold, Lieutenant, in another world, Bunk said.

Fieldston laughed and said, Well, you had better get some toothpicks for those eyes, because we just got a call on a probable homicide and guess who is getting the case?

I guess I'm the lucky fellow, right?

Hey, you're more awake than I thought. I'll text you the details. Take Simonson with you, Fieldston said.

Bunk groggily said, Wow, okay, I'll get right on it, Lieutenant.

Maybe you'd better chug down some power-packed coffee first. We don't want you falling asleep at the wheel.

Sure thing, boss.

Bunk grimaced as he anticipated the next few hours, and thought, What a jerk! regarding Fieldston’s sarcasm.

Bunk called Simonson and was soon streaking north with a tight grip on the wheel. After about fifteen minutes, he entered the quiet residential neighborhood and arrived at the address provided by Fieldston. Simonson arrived shortly thereafter.

Chester Simonson was a detective with two years of experience in the position. He was born and raised in the deep south and spoke with a significant southern drawl. He was on the short side and perhaps a few pounds overweight. He was a hard worker and someone Bunk trusted and depended on.

The scene was alarming, even for experienced detectives. A young man was lying face down in the driveway in a pool of fresh blood, obviously deceased. A woman, presumably his wife, was crying hysterically as she stood beside the body. She was covered with blood. The men attempted to console her, but their efforts were not very successful.

After a few minutes, Bunk asked the woman who she was and what she knew about the incident. Through spasms of hysteria, she was able to communicate.

His name is Malcolm Glendrum. I am his wife, Audrey. I heard his car pull up from inside the house. When he failed to come inside, I came outside and saw him on the ground with all this blood. I attempted to revive him to no avail.

Many shell casings were visible on the ground next to the front door of the car. Bunk called in for additional officers, as well as CSI and EMS crews to come to the scene. It was only a few minutes before they began arriving. The area was cordoned off and declared a crime scene. Bunk and his associates discussed the various scenarios of what may have occurred.

It looks like a blatant execution. Someone was lying in wait and carried out a plan to murder this man, plain and simple, Bunk said.

A couple of days later, Chub Binkley woke up in his luxurious Las Vegas hotel room to the demanding din of his alarm clock. His gig last night went well, but the celebrating thereafter left him with a headache. It had been several days since his casino incident, but it still bothered him. It was now just before noon and about time that he got up and pulled himself together. He picked up his cell phone and began to glance through the headline news. Although a shockwave went through his body, he could not help but smile when he saw the story that a casino blackjack dealer was brutally murdered a few days earlier in his driveway in the early morning hours when he returned from work. The name provided was Malcolm Glendrum. A photo of him was shown. It was unmistakably Malcolm, the dealer who cheated him at the casino a few nights earlier. His heart began racing and a wave of euphoria washed over him.

The bastard got what he deserved, he thought.

Chub dragged himself in his hangover stupor over to the mini bar and treated himself to a strong belt of Scotch to celebrate.

You can't cheat Chub Binkley, he thought laughing to himself.

Bunk sat at his desk at the station staring at his computer monitor. It was early morning a couple days after the Glendrum murder and a half-cup of black coffee was next to his keyboard. His UNLV degree in criminal justice hung on the wall behind him next to his Las Vegas Raiders poster. His eyelids were slowly drooping down; he had not slept much the last few nights. He was now reviewing the list of individuals that needed to be interviewed, beginning with the victim's wife, Audrey, and stretching out from there. It was very obvious from the scene of the crime that the cause of death was multiple gunshot wounds, but the official determination would have to await the Medical Examiner's report. Bunk arranged for canvassing the neighborhood for possible clues, as well as the potential existence of surveillance security cameras.

At Bunk's request, Audrey Glendrum sat in front of Bunk and Simonson at police headquarters. She was an attractive blonde with brown eyes and soft features, but she now looked exhausted and beaten down.

Thank you for coming. We just have a few questions to try and find the monster that did this to your husband, Bunk said.

I am eager to provide whatever information you need to get this creep, Audrey said.

Do you mind if we record this interview with video and audio?

No, not at all.

Bunk commenced the questioning.

Audrey, we know this is a very difficult time for you, but it is best to review some facts before too much time passes.

I understand. I'll tell you whatever I know.

What do you recall happening the night of Malcolm's murder?

I was waiting up for him, watching TV and dozing off, as usual. I heard him drive up to the house. He usually left the car in the driveway, so I waited a few minutes or so for him to unlock the front door and come inside. After a short while, I began to wonder what was delaying him, so I went out to the driveway.

At this point, Audrey broke down sobbing, unable to continue for a minute or so.

Do you need a break, Bunk asked.

No, no, I'm okay.

If you need a break, just say so, Audrey.

I went out the door and saw Malcolm on the ground in the dim street light. I called out his name and hurried over to him. I knelt down and called his name over and over. There was so much blood. I knew that he could not have survived those injuries.

Did you hear anything from the time you heard him drive up until the time you left the house?

No, nothing significant, nothing like a gunshot, no, nothing.

How long do you think it was before you called the police?

I don't know, not long. I was stunned, in a total panic, I can hardly remember what happened after that.

Simonson picked up the questioning.

How would you describe the state of your marriage? Happy? Not happy? Neutral? How?

We were happy, maybe a disagreement here and there, but nothing major.

Do you have any children?

No, no kids.

Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Malcolm?

No ... oh wait a minute. He came home very upset a few nights earlier. He said that Chub Binkley, the comedian, came into the casino and sat at his blackjack table that night, as he was dealing. He said that Binkley was very pleasant and friendly at first, but began losing some significant amount of money. Binkley started drinking heavily and kept increasing his bets and continued to lose more and more. He became abusive to Malcolm, accused him of cheating, and eventually got up and threw his glass against the table, making threats and creating a big scene. Security then threw him out of the casino. That is all Malcolm told me.

Bunk and Simonson looked at each other with surprised expressions after this revelation.

Well, well, that is a very intriguing revelation, Audrey, Bunk said.

Now that I think of it, I wonder about Binkley doing this to Malcolm, or maybe hiring someone to do it, Audrey said.

It is certainly something to follow up on, Bunk said.

That’s for sure, Simonson said.

I guess that's about all for now, Audrey. We'll call you if we need anything further, Bunk said.

Bunk and Simonson thanked Audrey for coming and Simonson drove her home.

When Simonson returned, the two men discussed the Audrey interview. They agreed that, as the victim's wife and the person who discovered the body, she had to be considered a person of interest, but there was no basis for considering her a major suspect at this time, pending further investigation. However, her description of her husband's problem with Chub Binkley certainly was somewhat of a bombshell and provided a basis to consider Binkley a person of interest as well, at least for now.

The next day, Bunk and Simonson went to the casino and spoke with the pit boss who was on duty when the Binkley incident occurred. They also spoke briefly with a few employees who witnessed the outburst. Their opinion that Binkley was a legitimate person of interest in the case was bolstered by the eye-witness descriptions of the incident.

Later, Bunk updated Lieutenant Fieldston on the case. In view of the prominence and celebrity status of Chub Binkley, it was agreed that they should proceed with caution and a high level of confidentiality in contacting Binkley for an interview. The public relations department had to be consulted.

A few days after the murder, the Las Vegas Dispatch posted a bold headline on its website:

Chub Binkley, Maybe Not So Funny!

The article described the repugnant conduct of comedian Chub Binkley at the casino a few evenings earlier. Apparently, either a casino employee or customer provided the details to the Dispatch. The story was quite accurate with all the details of the incident. The story went on to cite the violent murder of the dealer who was the target of Binkley's tirade, Malcolm Glendrum. The author of the article was careful not to make any accusations, but the implied connection of the two incidents was unmistakable.

The next evening, Binkley was doing a show at a Las Vegas Strip hotel. Shortly into the show, an obviously drunk member of the audience began heckling him:

Hey Binkley, have you turned hitman? Who are you gonna kill next, Chub? Did you do it yourself or hire a fixer?

Security quickly descended on the drunken patron and hustled him out of the theater. The large room was silent for a minute or two as Binkley shrugged off the outburst and eased back into his routine.

Chapter 3

Sylvester Strand lived and worked in his modest home somewhat isolated on the outskirts of town. He sat in his office and wistfully reviewed his inventory of goods. He smiled as he examined each package, calculating the profits they would bring.

Yes,