Red 13

Part 1:

The Trillium Casino glittered under the seductive glow of chandelier lights - a lavish oasis in the heart of Las Vegas. Marble floors gleamed beneath the neon glare of slot machines, and the hum of anticipation thrummed like static electricity. But tonight, tension coiled around a single roulette table, where fortunes balanced on the edge of a spinning wheel.

At its centre was William “Billy” Steele, wearing success like a second skin. With a devilish grin and a glass of red wine swirling lazily in his hand, Billy ruled the room - a predator among gamblers. To those who knew him, he was more shark than man; to those who despised him, he was pure venom, ready to strike.

Eyes darted with envy and contempt, and the room seemed to close in like a predatory circle around a fresh kill. Tommy “Ace” Johnson, sharp-featured and slick-haired, dealt cards with practiced ease, but the resentment in his eyes simmered like a slow-boiling pot. Billy had humiliated him once - exposed his card cheating and laughed while Tommy’s career burned. The insult hadn't faded; it had carved itself into Tommy’s nerves, which twitched tonight like a gambler on the brink of losing everything.

Ling Jhing sat opposite Billy, his face a disciplined mask, though tension lurked in the clench of his jaw. Billy’s winning streak had cost him not just money but respect - a slow bleed that had sapped his standing among other high rollers. Billy’s taunts cut deeper than the losses; they left invisible scars, reminders of a man cornered. Ling’s fingers drummed on the table, slow and steady, as if keeping time with the pulsing lights around them - a rhythm that might stop if he let his control slip.

Then there was Marek Szkisa, the tall, lean newcomer, impeccable in black. He was an enigma - quiet, observant, the kind of man who might hide every thought behind a poker face. He spoke little, and when he did, his words seemed to carry double meanings, a private joke only he understood. His eyes traced the movements of every player, noting every shift in posture, every tell that would go unnoticed by others. Tonight, he seemed to watch the table not for entertainment but for strategy, as if each spin of the wheel revealed something crucial.

Two others rounded out the table - a middle-aged businessman and a socialite - both there for spectacle, their polite smiles stretched over unease. All eyes followed the croupier’s call for final bets as the roulette wheel spun - a mesmerising blur of red and black, like the pulse of the casino itself.

“Still chasing losses, Ling?” Billy leaned back, his grin smug. The scent of wine, rich and heady, hung on his words. “You’re digging your own grave - slow and steady.”

Ling’s gaze didn’t waver from the wheel, but his fingers tapped once against the table - a single, controlled gesture that betrayed his irritation. “Luck changes, Steele. Waves crash eventually.”

Billy’s grin widened, exposing teeth. “Is that a threat? Don’t worry, I swim well.” The words slithered through the air, daring someone to bite back.

A faint smile played at the corner of Marek’s mouth. “Confidence is good. Arrogance? That’s when mistakes happen.” His voice was barely a ripple in the tension, but it carried weight - like the slow closing of a trap.

Billy arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “I like you already. But don’t bluff someone who knows how the game’s rigged.”

Tommy’s hands faltered as he shuffled, and his eyes flicked toward Billy - a mix of anger, fear, and something else, something darker. “Some games are meant to be rigged,” he murmured, barely audible. “You just have to know who’s holding the cards.”

Billy raised his glass, the liquid inside a deep crimson, swirling slowly. For a split second, the wine seemed to glimmer, catching the light like blood in water. “I’m holding the cards, Tommy. Always have, always will.”

The ball clattered against the spinning wheel, its erratic dance drawing every gaze. Quinn McCarthy, seated quietly at the edge of the bar, watched with narrowed eyes, her instincts prickling. She was supposed to be off tonight, but she couldn’t help herself. After all these years on the force, she’d learned to smell trouble before it erupted, to feel it curling in the pit of her stomach like a storm cloud. Tonight, it hung thick as smoke. The ball bounced between pockets - chaotic, unpredictable - and settled: black thirteen.

Billy’s smirk sharpened. “Looks like the night belongs to me, boys.” He raised his glass in victory, savouring the win. But as the wine touched his lips, his expression twisted - a grimace of pain, choking. His hand flew to his throat.

The glass shattered on the marble floor, the red wine blossoming like a bloodstain. Billy crumpled, writhing for a breathless moment before going still. For a second, silence choked the room; then panic broke loose - shouts for help, frantic footsteps, a rising tide of chaos. Ling remained frozen, his jaw locked tight as if he could stop himself from reacting. Marek’s expression softened - not in shock, but in fascination, as though Billy’s collapse was an expected twist in a story only he knew. Tommy’s face paled, his bravado dissolving into fear.

The casino doors swung open, and in strode Detective Quinn McCarthy. She moved like a force of nature - calm, deliberate, the only person untouched by the chaos. The Trillium had become a storm of noise and confusion, but Quinn’s steady focus cut through it like a knife. Every step was measured, every breath controlled. There was no surprise in her eyes; the anonymous tip had warned of “red wine” being spilled tonight, and now, there it was, staining the marble.

“Nobody move,” Quinn commanded, her voice slicing through the confusion. “This is a crime scene.”

The room buzzed with whispers, but Quinn’s presence stilled the panic. She knelt beside Billy, noting the faint froth at his mouth. A detail others would miss - a detail she’d seen too often in the last year. Poison, a killer’s tool that spoke of precision and control.

Standing, she spoke into her phone, her voice low but urgent. “Get me back up, now. Lock this place down. Every exit. No one leaves.”

Turning to the croupier, who stood rooted to the spot, she gave a swift order. “Clear the tables. No one touches anything. All chips, glasses, and cards stay put.”

Quinn stepped onto a small platform, surveying the faces like a card shark weighing her odds. Every eye in the room darted nervously. A blur of faces tried to hide behind masks of calm, but she knew how to spot the cracks - the tiny flinches, the downcast gazes, the involuntary twitches.

“Listen up,” she said, voice steady and commanding. “Everyone in this casino is a suspect. If you’ve got something to hide, now’s the time to start sweating.”

And they did. Faces blanched, smiles faltered. The thrill of gambling curdled, replaced by cold, creeping dread. The wheel had spun, and tonight, someone’s number was up.

Part 2:

The hum of whispers faded to a tense murmur as Detective Quinn McCarthy took control. It wasn’t supposed to be a work night - she’d planned a rare weekend off to drown out the noise of a hundred cases that never quite left her mind. But when she heard the shouts from downstairs, she knew: she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

Quinn’s eyes swept the scene - the fractured glass, the dark stain, the roulette wheel lying still on black thirteen. Her heart pulsed in time with the flashing lights, a steady beat that centred her focus. For a moment, the casino noise dimmed to a dull throb, and all she could hear was her breath. In, out. Steady. She was back in control.

“Alright,” she said, her voice firm, a blade cutting through the unease. “I need names and details. Starting with those closest to the victim.” She fixed her gaze on the croupier. “Name?”

“T-Tommy Johnson,” he stammered, slicking back already greased hair as if trying to compose himself. “Everyone calls me Ace.”

“You dealt tonight?” Quinn’s voice was steady, but beneath it lay a simmering current, searching for a crack in Tommy’s composure.

Tommy nodded, fingers twitching, the nerves vibrating off him like an off-note in a symphony. “Yeah. Been here for years. Steele was a regular - cocky, smug, a real piece of work. But tonight was just like any other... until...” He stared at the shattered glass, eyes wide, as if expecting it to reveal secrets he couldn’t.

“Focus,” Quinn’s voice sliced through his panic. “Anything suspicious? Anyone acting strange?”

Tommy swallowed hard. “Grudges, yeah. That’s all this place is. But poison? No, I wouldn’t know.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed as she caught Tommy’s slip. “I never mentioned poison.”

Tommy’s face went pale, and for a moment, he looked as if he was trying to swallow rocks. “I - well, I just assumed... with all the talk, you know?” His gaze darted nervously around the room before settling on Ling Jhing.

Quinn turned to Ling, stiff as iron. “Ling Jhing?” she read from the guest list. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “You’ve lost a lot to Steele. Losses like that tend to fester. Got something to say?”

Ling’s voice was controlled, almost rehearsed. “Losing is part of the game. Steele was good at exploiting weaknesses - mine included. But murder? That’s not how I conduct business.”

Quinn tilted her head, letting silence build between them, the pressure almost visible. “This isn’t just about money, is it? Steele took more than cash - he took respect. And from what I hear, he didn’t leave you with much of either.”

A flash of something - anger, regret - flickered in Ling’s eyes before vanishing behind his mask of composure. “Respect is earned. And so are losses. Whatever I thought of Steele, this wasn’t my play.”

Quinn studied Ling, letting her gaze rest a little longer than usual. She’d seen men like him before - men who’d lost more than they could bear and still kept a poker face, holding their secrets close. She filed his reaction away, knowing that sometimes, the truth emerged from the tiniest crack.

Before she could press further, the sharp click of heels echoed like a countdown. A woman with fiery red hair strode in, her presence like a spotlight. “Isabella Martinez,” she announced, her voice smooth yet steely. “Billy’s wife.”

Quinn’s brow furrowed, studying the woman’s face. There was no grief, just a resignation that felt too casual. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Surprised?” Isabella’s laugh was brittle, sharp. “No. Billy had plenty of enemies. If it wasn’t tonight, it’d be some other.”

And you?” Quinn’s voice was calm but inquisitive, her eyes searching Isabella’s face for any flicker of emotion. “Your marriage to Billy... I understand it was complicated. I've heard there were some differences?.”

“Too many to count, detective.”

Quinn leaned in slightly, holding Isabella’s gaze, her tone remaining gentle but probing. “A marriage like that can be... trying. You must have had your reasons for staying with him despite the difficulties. And with his death, would anything be different for you? Maybe financially, or just... emotionally?”

Isabella’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flash of something - pain, perhaps, or anger - flickering and then fading. “Trying doesn’t even cover it, Detective. Billy was controlling, manipulative. Affairs? Sure, there were plenty, but not just mine. I knew what he was doing behind my back, and he knew what I did behind his.” She gave a dry, humourless laugh. “But he thrived on drama, on control. Made sure that leaving him wasn’t an option for me, or at least, not a smart one. You think his death would change things? It’s not that simple. Everything’s a mess now.”

“Sounds like a lot of tension to live with,” Quinn said softly, tilting her head. “And if you felt trapped, like there was no way out...”

Isabella shook her head firmly, cutting Quinn off. “He was a bastard, sure. But he was a rich bastard. The kind of rich that’s more useful alive than dead, even if that meant I had to play my part. Trust me, Detective - I knew how to survive him. I wouldn’t have thrown all that away over a little bitterness.”

Marek’s voice cut through like a knife. “The real question isn’t why. It’s how. Poisoning a man in a casino isn’t subtle. So who had the chance?”

Quinn’s eyes flicked to Marek, and she let the silence settle, like a net cast wide. “Marek Szkisa, right? First night here, and already you seem to know your way around. So what brings you to The Trillium?”

Marek met her gaze steadily. “The thrill, Detective. Same as anyone. Steele was just a sideshow, not my problem.”

“We’ll see,” Quinn replied, the doubt clear in her voice. “No one leaves until we get answers.”

As Quinn moved on, the tension gnawed at her. Isabella’s calm, Marek’s composure - they all felt too neat. She knew this casino was built on lies and bluffs, but tonight, she was determined to strip away the masks and see who would crack.

Part 3:

Detective Quinn McCarthy leaned against the bar, her eyes roving over the casino floor like a predator seeking its prey. The Trillium’s lights, once bright and welcoming, now seemed cold and clinical, exposing secrets rather than hiding them. The whispers of Billy Steele’s death coiled around the room like smoke, thickening with every passing second.

She thought back to the cases that haunted her - unsolved mysteries, late nights staring at evidence boards until her eyes burned. The pieces never quite fit; they teased at the truth, just out of reach. But this time, she was going to get there. She could feel it, that electric current that only came when you were standing on the edge of something big.

“Detective McCarthy,” a voice broke through the tension - smooth, controlled, and too confident by half. Marcus Rossi, co-owner of the casino, approached with the swagger of a man who thought the world owed him a favour. Beside him, Elena Rossi moved with equal poise, her raven-black hair falling like a veil, her eyes sharp as glass.

“Mr. Rossi, Mrs. Rossi,” Quinn greeted them, her voice cool. “I was about to come find you.”

Marcus’s smile was tight, calculated. “We’re concerned, Detective. Our casino’s reputation is on the line. We need this resolved quickly.”

Quinn met his gaze, unflinching. “And I’m more concerned with how someone poisoned a high roller in your house. You run this place. How did it happen?”

Elena’s voice cut through, low and cold. “We run a legitimate business, Detective. Whatever happened to Steele, it wasn’t our doing. You’d do better to look at those he antagonised - there’s no shortage.”

Quinn’s eyes sharpened, like a blade catching the light. “Sure. Except you both have plenty of reasons to want him gone. He wasn’t just taking your money - he was mocking you. And now you’re trying to rush me along? That’s suspicious.”

Marcus’s smile thinned, his patience wearing like thread. “We’re cooperating, Detective. But this is still our casino. We only came out of the office when we heard the commotion.”

Quinn watched the slight flicker in Elena’s eyes - a flash of something, quickly buried. “Your alibis will be checked. I need full access to security footage and employee records.”

Elena’s smile was glacial. “You’re pushing boundaries.”

Quinn didn’t flinch. “Boundaries blur when there’s a body.”

Before the tension could fray further, a voice snapped through the room. “You think you can accuse people without proof?” Daniela Cruz, Billy’s mistress, her face flushed with anger, a glass gripped tightly in her hand like a weapon.

Isabella’s expression was cool, disdain curling her lips. “I’m just waiting for the truth, Daniela.”

Daniela’s voice trembled with rage. “You should be thanking whoever did it. We all know what kind of life you had - miserable, and now you’re free.”

Isabella’s composure cracked - a flash of pain, sharp and fleeting. “You were nothing to him. A toy. I was his wife.”

“His wife?” Daniela’s eyes blazed, her voice venomous. “The one he couldn’t stand. If anyone wanted him gone - ”

Quinn stepped between them, her voice a whip crack. “Enough. Both of you.” She turned to Daniela. “Where were you when he collapsed?”

“At the bar,” Daniela spat. “Watching him gloat, like he always did. But I didn’t touch his drink.”

Quinn’s gaze shifted to Isabella. “And you? The spa, you said. But you’ve got anger enough for motive. Why stick around?”

Isabella’s smile was cold, calculated. “I wasn’t happy. But Billy alive was worth more than Billy dead.”

Marcus’s frustration broke through. “Detective, this is getting us nowhere. We need to reopen the casino. The press are here, and we can’t have our reputation damaged any longer.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “No one goes anywhere until I say so.”

A uniformed officer approached, his face grim, handing her a plastic evidence bag - a note stained red. “Found this in Steele’s pocket.”

Quinn unfolded the note, her pulse quickening at the hurried scrawl: “The house always wins, but some bets aren’t worth the risk.”

Her gaze swept the room, faces draining of colour, eyes shifting nervously. She held the note up, letting the words sink in. “Someone’s sending a message, and they think they’ve got the perfect hand. But there’s always a tell,” Quinn said, folding the note back into the evidence bag. “And we’ll see who folds first.”

The whispers rose like a tide, tension tightening like a spring on the verge of snapping. Quinn didn’t need to bluff - she just needed to see who would crack under the weight of their secrets.

Part 4:

Detective Quinn McCarthy stood at the edge of the crime scene, her eyes locked on the roulette table where Billy Steele had met his end. The casino was a web of false smiles and buried grudges, and Quinn was determined to untangle every thread. She needed to get closer to the truth, which meant digging deeper into each suspect’s motives and piecing together the trail that led to Billy’s demise.

“Detective,” one of the officers said, approaching with a tablet in hand. “We’ve been going through the security footage. There’s something you should see.”

Quinn’s eyes sharpened as she replayed the footage, focusing on the bartender’s hand as he wiped Billy’s glass. “Notice that?” she muttered to the officer beside her. “Leo wipes the glass more than once - not just a casual clean. He’s making sure something sticks.”

The officer nodded as Quinn rewound a few frames. “And here - watch this,” she said, tapping the screen. A shadowy figure near the bar reached out discreetly, slipping something to Leo.

“Pause it,” Quinn said quickly. The image froze, blurry and dark, the camera angle obscuring the figure's face. But Quinn knew what she was looking at - a transaction made in the shadows. Someone was covering their tracks.

“Zoom in,” she ordered. “I want to see what he passes over. And get me a clearer frame of his face.”

“On it, Detective,” the officer said before heading off to carry out the orders.

Quinn stood still, running the details through her mind. Whoever poisoned Billy had been careful, but every plan had a flaw. If she could figure out who interacted with the bartender, she could corner the killer. And killers, in her experience, always made one mistake - they believed they were smarter than everyone else.

Her eyes drifted over the casino floor until they found Marek Szkisa again. Unlike the other suspects, who seemed restless or nervous, Marek had a composed stillness about him, as if he were detached from the panic around him. He had the air of someone who saw everything and revealed nothing.

“Marek,” Quinn called out as she approached, her boots tapping out a steady rhythm against the marble. “Enjoying the show?”

He looked up, and a small, knowing smile formed on his lips. “Detective McCarthy, back so soon?” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “I didn’t think I’d be the main act tonight.”

“I’m not here for a performance,” Quinn said. “But something tells me you have a front-row seat to this whole mess. You seem to have an eye for detail, Marek, so let’s cut the pleasantries. Tell me what you saw.”

Marek’s eyes flickered with an unreadable glint, and he folded his arms across his chest. “I saw what everyone else saw - a man playing with fate and losing. Billy Steele lived on borrowed time, and tonight, it seems his credit ran out.”

Quinn narrowed her gaze. “You talk like someone who knows more than you’re letting on. I don’t think you just happened to be at The Trillium by chance. It’s your first night here, and yet you’re... comfortable. Almost too comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Marek chuckled, the sound light but devoid of warmth. “Let’s just say I’ve been in enough casinos to know when a game is rigged. And believe me, Detective, tonight was rigged. But not by me.”

Quinn leaned in slightly, the distance between them shrinking. “Who, then? I know you're watching, analysing. You’re not the kind of guy who just walks in and watches a high roller collapse without paying attention to every little detail.”

Marek’s eyes met hers, calm and steady. “You’re right. I pay attention. But I don’t interfere. Billy Steele was already drowning; I didn’t need to push him under. I just wanted to see how deep he’d sink.”

“Did you see anyone hand something to the bartender? Maybe someone hiding in the shadows?” Quinn probed, trying to pierce through his cool demeanour.

Marek shook his head, his expression thoughtful. “I was at the table most of the night. But I know this much - Billy didn’t just make enemies. He made a spectacle of ruining people. And one of those people finally decided to make their move.”

Quinn stared at him for a moment longer, searching for cracks in his composure, but found none. Marek was too smooth, too practiced. But one thing caught Quinn’s attention  -  a fleeting, almost imperceptible gesture as Marek’s eyes shifted toward the direction of the bar for just a second too long. Was it a tell, or a red herring? “Stay close,” she said, her voice low and firm. “I’ll be watching to see just how deep your interest goes.”

As she moved on to the next suspect, Quinn felt the weight of Marek’s gaze on her back. He was playing a game of his own, and she was determined to figure out the rules before he got a chance to slip away.

She found Tommy “Ace” Johnson nearby, lingering around the roulette area. His hands fidgeted with a deck of cards, his nervous energy barely contained. The way he shuffled  -  the cards clicking rapidly  -  betrayed a jittery, compulsive tension.

“Tommy, you’ve got more to lose here than most. Billy exposed you as a cheat - cost you your reputation and your standing at the tables. Must’ve been hard to swallow.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. “I’m a professional, Detective. Sure, Billy cost me a few things, but I’ve moved on. I’ve got nothing to gain from seeing him dead.”

“Really?” Quinn’s eyes bore into his. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve got everything to gain. With him gone, there’s no one to keep reminding everyone that you’re a cheat. And considering how jumpy you’ve been, I’m starting to think you’re hiding something.”

Tommy’s hand stilled on the deck of cards. For a moment, his fingers trembled before he forced them still. “You think you know what happened, but you don’t have a clue, Detective. I was dealing cards when Billy croaked. I didn’t go near his drink. Hell, I barely even spoke to him tonight.”

“Maybe not directly,” Quinn countered, “but you had eyes on him the whole time. You were watching every move he made. And I’ve got footage of someone slipping something to the bartender - a vial. Care to explain how that fits into your ‘professional’ routine?”

Tommy’s face paled, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple, but he quickly recovered. “I don’t know anything about a vial, and I didn’t pass anything to anyone. If someone’s setting me up, they’re doing a good job of it. But I’m telling you, I didn’t kill him.”

Before Quinn could press further, a sudden outburst drew her attention. Across the room, Daniela Cruz and Ling Jhing were locked in a heated argument. Ling’s normally stoic demeanour had cracked, and he was pointing an accusatory finger at Daniela.

“You’ve got a hell of a nerve!” Ling shouted, his calm exterior shattered. “Everyone knows you were obsessed with him - stalking him like a lovesick fool. If anyone’s guilty here, it’s you!”

Daniela fired back, her voice rising. “Oh, please! You’re just bitter because you lost a fortune to him. Don’t try to pin this on me because you’re a sore loser. We all know how much you hated him!”

Quinn stepped in between them, raising her hand for silence. “Enough! Both of you.” She turned to Ling, her eyes sharp. “Why don’t you tell me where you were when Billy collapsed? You’ve got as much reason as anyone to want him gone.”

Ling’s anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. “I was exactly where you saw me - at the table, playing the game. I didn’t even touch a drink the entire night, let alone Billy’s. If you’re looking for a killer, try starting with someone who can’t control their jealousy.”

Daniela scoffed but said nothing more. Quinn sensed the truth was somewhere in this tangled web of hostility and desperation, but she needed more. She turned back to the officer who’d shown her the security footage.

“Get a hold of that bartender. I want to know who he talked to, who handed him that vial, and what else he saw tonight. Someone’s slipping up - I can feel it.”

The officer nodded and hurried off to find the bartender, while Quinn let the tension of the room settle back into uneasy silence. She could see the cracks beginning to form, could almost hear the gears turning in the minds of those who thought they were safe.

Part 5:

Detective Quinn McCarthy felt the rising tension in the room as she moved with quiet determination. The atmosphere in The Trillium was electric - every suspect a wire stretched taut, ready to snap under pressure. Quinn was closing in on the truth, and she knew that breaking the bartender was the key to cracking this case wide open.

The officer soon returned, leading a young bartender named Leo Granger into the private lounge. Leo’s face was drawn, his eyes darting nervously as Quinn motioned for him to sit. His hands fidgeted on the table, and sweat beaded on his brow under the harsh lights.

“Leo, you’ve had a busy night,” Quinn began, her tone deceptively calm. “I’m sure you’ve already heard - Billy Steele’s death wasn’t just an accident. Someone poisoned him, and the evidence points to a vial that passed through your hands. I need you to tell me who gave it to you and what really happened.”

Leo swallowed hard, his eyes shifting between Quinn and the officer standing by the door. “I - I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective. I just did my job, served drinks, and minded my own business. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Quinn leaned in, lowering her voice to a dangerous whisper. “Leo, I’m giving you one chance to come clean. If you keep stonewalling, you’ll be facing accessory-to-murder charges. But if you cooperate, maybe - just maybe - you’ll walk out of here with a deal. So I’ll ask again: who gave you that vial?”

Leo’s breath hitched, his eyes wide with panic. For a moment, it seemed like he might crack, but he shook his head, clenching his fists. “I don’t know anything about a vial!”

Quinn held his gaze, her eyes cold and unyielding. “You think you’re protecting someone, but trust me, they won’t protect you. They’ll hang you out to dry the second they think you’re a liability. Is that what you want? To be the fall guy?”

Leo’s composure finally broke. He lowered his head, hands trembling as he whispered, “It was Tommy. He - he slipped me some cash and told me to add something to Billy’s drink. Said it was just ‘to make him mellow out.’ I didn’t know it was poison, Detective. I swear, I thought it was just some harmless knockout drug.”

Quinn’s pulse quickened. She was getting closer. “And the person who handed Tommy the vial - what did they look like? Was it a man or a woman?”

Leo’s voice shook as he continued, “I couldn’t see them clearly. They stayed in the shadows, but it looked like a man - tall, wearing a dark jacket. I didn’t recognise him, but he kept his head down, didn’t say a word. He just passed the vial and left.”

Quinn leaned back, satisfied that Leo was telling the truth, or at least enough of it to confirm her suspicions. “Thank you, Leo. You’ve been very helpful. But if I find out you’re holding anything back, your immunity deal will go up in smoke.”

Leo nodded frantically, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’ve told you everything I know, Detective. Please - just don’t let this ruin me.”

Quinn gave a curt nod to the officer, signalling him to take Leo away. As the door closed, she stood still, piecing together the implications. Tommy “Ace” Johnson was the link she needed - the one who orchestrated the poisoning, driven by his festering hatred for Billy Steele. But Tommy wasn’t working alone; someone else had provided the poison, and that meant there was another player in this game.

Quinn’s thoughts were interrupted by Marcus and Elena Rossi entering the lounge. They’d been watching the proceedings from the sidelines, their expressions a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“Detective,” Marcus began, his voice laced with impatience. “We’ve cooperated with your investigation, but this situation is affecting our business. We need to know what’s going on.”

Quinn met his gaze with a steely calm. “Your business is the least of my concerns right now, Mr. Rossi. But since you’re so eager for answers, let me ask you a question: why did your security team conveniently overlook the exchange between Tommy and that shadowy figure near the bar? You run one of the most sophisticated casinos in Vegas, yet somehow, key footage was conveniently missing until I dug deeper.”

Elena’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Are you accusing us of tampering with evidence, Detective? We run a legitimate operation. We’ve got nothing to do with this.”

“Maybe not directly,” Quinn replied, “but you certainly had a stake in Billy Steele’s downfall. His winning streak was costing you a fortune. If I find out you had any hand in this - whether by looking the other way or facilitating this - then I’ll come down on you with everything I’ve got.”

Marcus bristled but held his composure. “We don’t need to get our hands dirty to deal with people like Billy. The house always wins eventually. But if you think we’re guilty, you’re wasting your time.”

Quinn gave a cold smile. “We’ll see about that.” She wasn’t entirely convinced that the Rossis were involved, but she knew they were holding something back. The question was whether they were protecting themselves - or someone else.

With her mind racing, Quinn turned her attention to the other suspects. She called for one more round of questioning. Ling Jhing’s alibi was airtight, confirmed by witnesses and time-stamped records. Marek Szkisa remained enigmatic, but his story checked out - he was just a high roller passing through, with no real connection to Billy. Daniela Cruz, however, remained a wildcard. Her jealousy and obsession with Billy made her dangerous, but she lacked the means to pull off a murder this complex.

As Quinn wrapped up the interviews, she noticed Isabella Martinez watching her from across the room, her expression unreadable. Despite her grief - or perhaps because of it - Isabella had been surprisingly composed throughout the investigation. Quinn decided it was time to push her a little harder.

“Isabella,” Quinn said as she approached, “I can’t help but notice that you’ve kept your distance from all the chaos tonight. You say you were at the spa when Billy died, but witnesses place you near the bar shortly before he collapsed. Care to explain?”

Isabella’s eyes darkened. “I had every reason to avoid him, Detective. He humiliated me, betrayed me more times than I can count. But I’m not a murderer. I went to the bar to get a drink, to steady my nerves, and then I left. Whatever you think you know about me, you’re wrong.”

Quinn didn’t back down. “You had motive - more than anyone here. But I also know you didn’t have the skill or opportunity to pull this off alone. If you’re innocent, you’d better start talking, because I’m about to make an arrest, and it’s going to shake this place to its core.”

Isabella’s face tightened, but she remained silent. Quinn could see the cracks forming - Isabella was hiding something, but whether it was her own involvement or someone else’s was still unclear.

Quinn turned away, her decision made. The net was tightening around Tommy, but she needed one last piece of confirmation before making her move. The truth was close - just one more push, one more slip-up, and the whole twisted scheme would come crashing down.

Part 6:

Detective Quinn McCarthy stood outside the VIP lounge, taking a deep breath before stepping back into the swirling tension inside. She knew this was it - the final act. Everything hinged on what was about to go down. The clues had led her to the truth, and now it was time to lay all the cards on the table.

As she entered the room, the suspects were gathered once again: Tommy “Ace” Johnson, his hand twitching nervously at the deck of cards he always carried; Isabella Martinez, icy and distant; Marcus and Elena Rossi, standing together with calculated composure; Daniela Cruz, her eyes still red from tears of anger and grief; Ling Jhing, arms crossed and expression guarded; and Marek Szkisa, who watched it all with detached amusement, the same coldness in his eyes as before.

Quinn’s gaze sharpened on Tommy, who was trying to keep his composure with rapid shuffling - desperate to maintain some semblance of control, but the rhythm was offbeat, clumsy. “Tommy, enough with the act. We’ve got a witness, a bartender who put that vial right in your hands. And the security footage shows everything - the quick exchange, the money, the handoff. You think you’re some kind of genius at the table, but you played your hand too openly tonight.”

Tommy’s face drained of colour, but he forced a smirk. “You don’t have anything solid, Detective. Just some blurry footage and a scared bartender trying to save his own skin.”

Quinn’s voice cut through the tense silence like a blade. “You’re right, Tommy. Alone, that might not be enough to put you away. But I’ve got more - a list of everyone who owed Billy Steele money, your name circled at the top. The security footage shows you glancing nervously at the bartender every few minutes, just before Billy took his last drink. You had every reason to silence him before he could destroy you.”

Tommy’s defiance crumbled as Quinn’s words tightened around him like a noose. His face paled, and the cards in his hand trembled before they dropped to the floor. “Yes, okay, fine! I hated Billy. He ruined my life, left me with nothing but debts and a bad name. But I swear, I never meant to kill him. It was only supposed to knock him out, buy me some time to get back on my feet.”

Quinn didn’t let up. “You thought you were just playing a game of chance, Tommy. But you weren’t just rolling dice. You set up the bartender to do your dirty work, thinking no one would catch on. You orchestrated the perfect sleight of hand, didn’t you? Only this time, the house wasn’t on your side.”

The room went silent, all eyes on Tommy as the weight of Quinn’s words sank in. He looked around, searching for a lifeline, but there was none. The truth was bearing down on him, and there was nowhere left to hide. The flicker of guilt in his eyes - that moment of broken resolve - told Quinn all she needed to know.

“Alright, alright!” Tommy finally snapped, tossing the deck of cards onto the table. “Yeah, I set it up. I paid the bartender to slip something into Billy’s drink. But it wasn’t supposed to kill him! Just knock him out long enough for me to grab back some of what he stole from me. The poison wasn’t my idea.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Then whose idea was it?”

Tommy hesitated, his gaze darting to Isabella, then back to the Rossis. “I don’t know who exactly. I was given the vial by someone else - someone who wanted Billy gone for good. They said if I did my part, they’d make sure he wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

Quinn felt a chill run down her spine as she considered the implications. Someone had manipulated Tommy into being the fall guy - someone who had far more to gain from Billy’s death than just settling a grudge. She turned to Marcus and Elena Rossi, who had remained conspicuously silent throughout the exchange.

“Care to explain, Mr. and Mrs. Rossi? It’s your casino, your staff, and you both have the most to gain from Billy’s death. A man who was draining your profits with his winning streak, threatening to bankrupt your business.”

Elena’s cool facade finally cracked, her eyes blazing with anger. “You think we’d risk everything by getting involved in murder? We’ve dealt with high rollers like Billy before. He was just another gambler who would eventually lose it all back to us. We didn’t need him dead.”

Quinn nodded slowly, watching them carefully. “True, killing him would be messy and risky. But what if you didn’t care about the money? What if you cared more about protecting something else - like your reputation, or your control over this place?”

Elena’s face darkened, but it was Marcus who finally spoke, his voice eerily calm. “Detective, you’ve got it all wrong. We don’t involve ourselves in the petty squabbles of gamblers. If Billy was blackmailing anyone, it wasn’t us. But we did know he was holding something over others. People who owed him more than just money - people who were desperate enough to take drastic measures.”

Quinn’s gaze shifted back to Isabella, who sat completely still, her expression unreadable. Marek’s eyes remained trained on her, his detached curiosity suddenly more focused, more intense. Ling Jhing, who had kept his composure throughout, flinched as if struck by a sudden realisation, his face twisting into an angry snarl.

“Isabella, you said you were done with Billy,” Quinn began, her voice growing colder. “That you were just here to watch him self-destruct. But you were never just a victim, were you? You had your own reasons for wanting him out of the picture.”

Isabella’s eyes met Quinn’s, and for the first time, they were full of rage - a rage barely concealed behind her cool exterior. “You have no idea what it’s like, Detective - being humiliated, lied to, treated like a pawn. Billy thought he could play with people’s lives, including mine. But I was tired of being his collateral damage.”

Ling Jhing let out a shocked, incredulous laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You... You really did it, didn’t you?” he muttered, a mixture of fear and disgust in his voice. “You actually killed him.”

Marek, on the other hand, simply watched, as if the entire spectacle had met some grim expectation of his. There was no surprise in his expression - only quiet satisfaction, like a man who finally sees a puzzle piece fall into place.

Quinn’s voice cut through the noise. “You didn’t kill him yourself, Isabella. But you knew about the poison. You knew Tommy would take the bait if you dangled a way to get back at Billy. So you pulled the strings, making sure he would carry out your plan while you kept your hands clean.”

Isabella’s face twisted with fury, the calm mask she had worn all evening cracking under the weight of Quinn’s words. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she spat. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?”

Her voice trembled between a sob and a scream, drawing everyone’s attention. “Billy was a monster!” Isabella continued, her words spilling out like venom. “A monster who deserved everything that happened to him! Yes, I put the pieces in place, but I didn’t force anyone’s hand. They made their own choices. I just... pushed things along.”

Quinn’s voice remained steady. “And that’s what makes you guilty, Isabella. Manipulating people, pushing them to do your dirty work while you sat back and watched. That was your game, and now it’s over.”

The room held its breath as Quinn’s words hung in the air, the silence heavy and suffocating. Isabella’s eyes darted around frantically, looking for any way out, but the truth had closed in around her like a trap.

“You’re under arrest,” Quinn said, her voice cold and unyielding. “For conspiracy to commit murder.”

Isabella’s composure finally shattered. “No! You can’t do this!” she shouted, but the officers were already moving in, her wrists twisted into cuffs. Her protests echoed through the room, shrill and desperate, as she struggled against the iron grip of justice. “You don’t know what he was like! I did what I had to - he deserved it!”

Ling Jhing, still in shock, sank back into his chair, muttering under his breath. “I never thought she’d... I never thought...”

Marek simply raised a brow, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. “Guess the house played a trickier hand than we thought,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Quinn watched, expressionless, as Isabella was led out of the room. Then she turned back to Tommy, who sat slumped in his chair, all the fight drained from him. “And you, Tommy - you’re under arrest too. You might not have planned the whole thing, but you still played a part in it. You wanted revenge, and you let someone else use you to get it.”

Tommy didn't resist as the officers cuffed him, the once-cocky gambler now reduced to a husk of his former self. The room was silent as Quinn watched them both being led away, the weight of the case finally settling on her shoulders. She’d solved the mystery, but there was no satisfaction in it. Just a cold reminder of how greed, jealousy, and desperation could twist people into doing the unthinkable.

As the suspects were taken out of the casino, the remaining guests and staff began to disperse, the tension slowly fading from the room. Marcus and Elena Rossi gave Quinn a respectful nod before retreating back to their office, eager to restore order and return to business as usual.

Quinn lingered for a moment, staring at the roulette table where it all began. The wheel spun lazily, the ball clattering as it found its final resting place on black thirteen - the number that had sealed Billy Steele’s fate, now red.

With a weary sigh, Quinn turned and headed for the exit. The case was closed, but the undercurrents of The Trillium ran deeper than just one man’s death. In a place built on risk and reward, there would always be more secrets, more deals made in shadows, and more games played with people’s lives.

But for now, Quinn had done her job. She’d seen through the lies and brought the truth to light. Tomorrow, there would be another case, another mystery to unravel. But tonight, she’d take a moment to breathe - to let the dark glitz of Vegas fade into the distance.

As she stepped out into the cool night air, Quinn’s mind replayed the evening in sharp flashes: the shattered glass, the spinning wheel, the look in Isabella’s eyes as the truth unraveled. She’d seen it all before, how quickly the glamour could turn to grime, how fortunes flipped in the blink of an eye.

The city pulsed with life, indifferent to the dramas that played out within its walls. And she knew that for those caught in its web, luck was only ever a fleeting illusion. She took one last look at the neon lights burning bright against the black sky.

In the end, the house always won.