Page 19

Cedar Creek, Nevada

Saturday, June 24, 1995 10 Days Prior . . .

BY 6:00 A.M., NEARLY FIVE HOURS AFTER THE ACCIDENT WAS CALLED in, investigators from the Nevada Highway Patrol had taken control of the scene, shutting down Highway 67 for a mile in either direction of the accident site. As they continued the tedious process of evidence collection—taking thousands of photos and hours of video that documented everything about the scene and the body—Sandy sat in his cruiser and waited for the plates to come back on the abandoned car.

“You there, boss?” the female dispatcher’s voice squawked from his shoulder-mounted radio.

“Yeah, go ahead. You have an ID on those plates?”

“Yes, sir. Car is registered to Annabelle Margolis.”

Sandy’s pulse quickened. An ugly situation had just gotten messier. Annabelle was the newly minted wife of Preston Margolis. Sandy walked a fine line when dealing with the Margolis family. For the last century, the Margolis clan had acquired such a stranglehold on Harrison County that the family believed they were above the law. There was no problem that could not be solved with influence and money. And on the rare occasion when neither worked, the family resorted to good old-fashioned intimidation or worse. But Sandy Stamos today, and his father before him, had kept the Harrison County Sheriff’s Department clear of the Margolis shadow. Having just won his fourth reelection campaign, Sandy assured that the last vestige of power in Harrison County would remain free from Margolis corruption for at least another few years. The rest of Harrison County was another story. From the state police to the prosecutor’s office, most of the public sector was firmly under the control of the Margolis family.

“You still there, boss?” the dispatcher asked.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll head out to the house. Keep that info to yourself for now, will you?”

“Roger that, boss.”

Sandy knew he’d have to be careful with the details of his investigation. All around him were members of law enforcement who could be manipulated and influenced by the Margolises, including the Highway Patrol and the accident investigation unit. He’d have to be selective with whom he shared details of his investigation, because as soon as word broke that Annabelle Margolis’s car had been found near the scene of the hit-and-run, he’d feel pressure from every direction.

At just past six in the morning, as the sun was brightening the horizon, Sandy twisted his cruiser in a U-turn and headed into town to find Annabelle Margolis. He was about to go toe-to-toe with the Margolis mob.