“We’ve always thought they have some kind of connection inside the LVMPD,” she said. “Maybe we’re wrong. What if they get their information from the DA’s office instead? There have to be a few people over there who at least suspected what Kane was doing. And the DA’s office would have known about Dreyer’s fraud investigation, Goodwin skipping bail . . .”
He put the last of the papers back and cracked his tense neck. “I don’t understand how the killer keeps getting access to their victims. Are they being invited inside, or do they force their way in by gunpoint? How do they get the victims to drink the drugged beverages without any attempt at self-defense? Do they really not come across as a threat until it’s too late?”
“Matthew Goodwin was on the run,” Martine said in a contemplative tone. “He should have interpreted anyone as a threat.”
“Detectives,” said a CSI as she entered the room. “I found Ms. Kane’s laptop in the kitchen. You need to see this.”
She set up the laptop on a sideboard while Levi and Martine stood and made their way over. An untitled Word document was open on the screen, the cursor still blinking at the end of the last line.
I owe you one, Detective Abrams. So why don’t we make another deal? Figure out who’s next on my list, and you might be able to save them. I’ll give you a healthy head start.
The odds may be on my side, but I always play fair.
“You want to get out and take a little walk?” Dominic asked Rebel. She pricked up her ears, her tail wagging with excitement. He ruffled her head and fished her leash out of the glove compartment.
After watching Levi head out to yet another Seven of Spades crime scene, Dominic had once again abandoned his intention to leave the case alone—for good, this time. Call it crazy, call it reckless, but he’d never rest easy until this was over.
There were ways he could help, avenues the LVMPD didn’t have the resources or the manpower to pursue. Investigating the stolen identity the killer had used to reserve that private mailbox, for example. The cops would have checked to see if the identity had been used elsewhere recently, but they wouldn’t have been able to delve as deep as Dominic could.
Why this particular identity? The chances that it was completely random were slim. The killer had obtained Lester Harrell’s identity from somewhere, either through a personal connection or by purchasing it on the black market. For that matter, why this particular franchise of the mailbox service? The lack of internal security cameras had certainly been a big draw, but it was one of over a dozen just like it in the Las Vegas Valley. Why had the killer chosen this one?
Those were the questions Dominic had set out to answer this morning. Accompanied by Rebel, he’d spent a couple of hours cruising around the neighborhood and getting the lay of the land, parking now and then to make use of his truck’s personal hotspot by digging through Harrell’s past.
Harrell had died eleven years ago, and his internet presence while he was alive had been essentially nonexistent. Still, Dominic had been able to find his obituary online, which had led him to the man’s closest family members and the company in California where he’d worked his entire adult life.
Background checks of those family members had revealed a couple of interesting tidbits—a brother with a criminal history and a daughter, Charlotte, who was deep in credit card debt. Charlotte’s widespread use of social media made her an easier target, so Dominic started there. After thirty minutes of research, he’d created a Facebook account posing as an acquaintance from the animal rights group she’d belonged to in college, hoping to gain greater personal access even as he trawled through her credit card statements and phone records.
She wasn’t a bounty, and not everything he was doing was strictly legal—but Levi never needed to know that.
It was while waiting for Charlotte to respond to his friend request that Dominic decided to stretch his legs a little, maybe grab something to eat. He and Rebel left the truck parked in a busy shopping plaza and ambled down the sidewalk.
This was a nice area—clean, well-maintained, full of thriving businesses. It seemed to be popular with professional practices, too. Lawyers, doctors, and accountants had all hung their shingles outside offices designed to resemble cute residential townhouses. Maybe the Seven of Spades had chosen the mail service after coming here on business. Maybe they even worked here themselves.
His phone buzzed with an incoming notification; Charlotte had already accepted his friend request. He’d intended to use the connection to open up a casual dialogue about her father, maybe feel her out regarding her shady uncle, but he couldn’t do that while he was walking. Instead, he entertained himself by browsing through her literal thousands of photos. Any details he could gather might be of use.
Rebel trotted at his heel as they continued down the sidewalk, checking out the new sights and smells. A small Pomeranian went into a yapping frenzy when they passed. Rebel cocked her head in interest, but since Dominic didn’t slow down or pause, she didn’t either.
“Good girl,” he said.
She huffed and tossed her head.
They stopped at an intersection not much later, waiting to cross the street and circle back the way they’d come. Dominic was flipping idly through one of Charlotte’s photo albums of a family wedding a few years back, growing bored. There were only so many pictures of strangers a guy could look at before—
He froze, his thumb hovering over the screen. The WALK sign flashed as the light in the intersection changed, but he didn’t move. Other pedestrians grumbled as they maneuvered around him.
“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled to no one in particular. Rather than cross the street, he backed up against the nearest building, out of the path of foot traffic. Rebel sat next to him and leaned against his leg.
The man who Dominic couldn’t take his eyes off wasn’t the focus of the photograph; in fact, he was walking away from the camera, caught by accident in the right one-third of the frame beyond the smiling subjects. But it was exactly that rear view that had captured Dominic’s attention—because this man looked exactly like the one who had bought the Seven of Spades’s gift basket, right down to the haircut.
That had to be a coincidence, right? Plenty of men looked like this from behind.
Dominic thumbed through the rest of the pictures, catching a glimpse of the same man here and there, always blurry and out of focus. Near the end of the photo album, he finally found a picture of the man facing the camera head-on, posing with his arm around a beaming woman.
Dominic’s hand tightened around his phone. He knew this man, had spoken to him on several occasions over the years. Yet even if they’d never met, Dominic would have recognized him. Everybody even tangentially connected to law enforcement in Las Vegas knew what had happened to Keith Chapman.
“It has to be someone else related to the Roth case, right?” Martine said as they scarfed down lunch at their desks. They were working against a deadline, and only the killer knew how much time was left on the clock. “If the Seven of Spades thinks we can figure it out in time?”
“That would be my guess—unless they’re just fucking with us, which isn’t outside the realm of possibility.” Levi speared a forkful of his Greek salad. “Who, though? Nobody else involved in the case broke any laws.”
“We thought the same thing about Kane.” Martine looked thoughtful as she chewed and swallowed. “What about Roth’s defense attorney? There’s a good chance he knew about the bribe.”
“Maybe.” That didn’t sit right with Levi, though. In fact, this entire scenario felt off to him.
If the Seven of Spades’s taunting offer was genuine—which Levi still held in doubt—then they must believe that the cops had enough information to stand a fair chance of figuring out in some logical fashion who the next target was. Yet here they were, floundering around blindly.
“Something’s bothering you,” said Martine.
“It’s just . . . I think we’re missing something. The Seven of Sp
ades showed us why they killed Kane and then invited us to figure out who’s next— But what are we supposed to do, assume someone else involved knew about the bribe when we have no evidence of that? It doesn’t make any sense. There must be more to this.”
Levi pushed his salad away and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. He thought through what each of the Seven of Spades’s victims had done to earn their killer’s ire.
Billy Campbell had repeatedly beaten his wife. Phillip Dreyer had defrauded his investors and embezzled from his employer. Matthew Goodwin had raped an intoxicated woman. Benjamin Roth had gotten behind the wheel knowing he was too drunk to drive, costing an innocent man his life, and Loretta Kane had betrayed her profession and the public in accepting a bribe to help him avoid the consequences—
“God, it’s never been about breaking laws.” Levi bolted upright. “It’s about breaking trust. What does the Seven of Spades care about legality? They have no problem breaking laws themselves to kill people they think deserve it.”
“Maybe they think they’re the exception to the rule,” Martine said, but he could tell he had her attention.
“All of the Seven of Spades’s victims hurt people by violating some form of implicit trust. Their actions also happened to be crimes, so we assumed that was the killer’s motivation. But if you think about it, the Seven of Spades has never actually said that.”
Martine fiddled with the straw of her drink as she listened, her brow creased in a pensive frown.
Speaking faster and faster as the pieces clicked together, Levi said, “We have no evidence that anyone else involved in the trial acted illegally, but there was somebody who acted unethically. Dr. Rathaway.”
“The psychiatrist? You think she’s the target?”
“Her bullshit overblown testimony may not have been illegal, but it was shady as fuck and it gave Kane a seemingly legitimate reason to offer Roth that ridiculous plea bargain. Rathaway used her position of authority and trust to emotionally manipulate the jury and facilitate a miscarriage of justice. I think the Seven of Spades would have a problem with that, legal or no.”
“I can follow your logic here,” Martine said, “and I don’t disagree. But if we leave the defense attorney unprotected, and you end up being wrong . . .”
“I know.” Levi drummed his fingers against the edge of his desk. “We still have to warn him. In fact, we need to warn everyone connected to the case, no matter how slim the chances that they’re the next target—the judge, members of the jury, even the arresting officer.”
She sighed. “We don’t have the resources to protect that many people. And if word spreads, this could turn into a full-blown panic.”
Levi’s cell phone rang, the screen lighting up with Dominic’s name.
Why on earth would Dominic be calling him now? They’d parted ways only five hours ago, and Dominic knew he was working.
He picked up the phone. “If this is your idea of taking things slow—”
“I think Keith Chapman might be the Seven of Spades,” said Dominic.
“That’s impossible,” Levi said, without even thinking about it.
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. “Why?”
“Because . . .” Levi paused to consider his knee-jerk reaction. “Because one of the few things we know for sure about the Seven of Spades is that they’re calm and self-controlled. The last couple of times I saw Keith, he was a hot mess. He’s completely falling apart. There’s no way he’d be capable of the kind of careful, methodical planning and execution these crimes required.”
“How do you know that’s not just an act?” Dominic asked.
“I . . .” Levi blinked. He didn’t, really. His inner cop wouldn’t let him dismiss the possibility out of hand either, but Keith’s emotional and physical distress had been palpable a few days ago. If that was an act, it was the best Levi had ever seen.
“Look,” Dominic said, when he received no response, “I’ve been doing some digging—”
“Oh my God.”
“—and it just so happens that Chapman’s wife Tina is Lester Harrell’s daughter’s cousin’s sister-in-law.”
“What?” Levi said, totally bewildered. Martine was listening intently from her desk; she could only hear his side of the conversation, but that would be enough for her to understand what was going on.
With a touch of impatience, Dominic said, “He’s related by marriage to the man whose identity was used to reserve that mailbox. And from behind, he looks just like the man in the gift shop video.”
“It can’t be him.”
“Why not?” Martine cut in. “Isn’t what Keith was fired for just a milder version of what the Seven of Spades does? Maybe he decided to upgrade to murder.”
“Is that Martine?” Dominic asked. “She agrees with me, doesn’t she?”
“Hang on.” Levi turned to Martine. “You haven’t interacted with Keith lately the way I have. He’s gone completely off the rails, and I just don’t think he could pull this off. I guess we could consult with his psychiatrist—shit, what was it—Dr. Tran—”
“Did you just say Dr. Tran?” Dominic said.
“Yeah.”
“What a coincidence. I just passed the good doctor’s office two blocks ago, and I’m less than a quarter mile from the mailbox franchise.”
Levi had nothing to say to that. He relayed Dominic’s news to Martine, who reached for her own phone.
“We at least have enough for a search warrant,” she said.
“He hasn’t been staying at his house.” Levi thought back to the day Keith had been fired. “His wife kicked him out. I don’t know where he is.”
“I do,” Dominic said.
Dominic directed them to a Best Western on Paradise Road. Levi didn’t ask how he’d found out where Keith was staying; he wasn’t sure the means had been entirely legal, and he wanted to maintain plausible deniability.
Keith wasn’t there, so the manager let them into his room. The place was an unholy mess—he hadn’t let housekeeping inside for days. Dirty clothes lay in heaps all over the floor. Takeout containers and empty beer cans littered the table, dresser, and even the unmade bed. In the bathroom, toiletries were strewn across the counter, and damp towels had been left where they’d been dropped.
“Smells like a men’s locker room in here,” Martine said as she pulled on her gloves.
“That’s a smell you’re familiar with?” Levi asked, though she wasn’t wrong.
She just smirked.
Assisted by a couple of uniformed officers, they searched Keith’s motel room from top to bottom, looking for any evidence that he was connected to the Seven of Spades’s crimes. Levi rummaged through each dresser drawer in turn, taking out every item and feeling along the sides and back. Then he pulled the dresser away from the wall to check behind it.
Martine came out of the bathroom. “Nothing in the toilet tank. Vents are empty too.”
Levi pulled one of the top drawers out again and ran his fingers underneath it. Nothing. He moved on to the next one, and this time, his fingertips encountered a small bump on the underside.
He yanked the drawer out and flipped it upside down on the surface of the dresser. A small key was taped to the bottom. There were no markings to indicate what it unlocked, but Levi had a sinking feeling that he knew anyway—it was too tiny to be used on a door.
This was a mailbox key.
“Shit,” Martine said, arriving at the same conclusion. “It is Keith.”
Levi shook his head, frustrated. Years as a cop had taught him to trust his gut, and all his instincts told him this was wrong with a capital W.
People with nothing to hide didn’t tape keys under dresser drawers, though, and the evidence against Keith was stacking up fast. What value did Levi’s gut have when set against that?
“We could focus on tracking Keith down,” Martine said, “but if he’s not the Seven of Spades, the real one will kill again while we’re dist
racted. Or we could focus on covering the potential targets, try to catch the killer in the act— But if we’re wrong about that, someone else will die. What do you want to do?”
“We can do both,” said Levi.
Dominic was leaning against the side of his truck in the motel parking lot when Levi came out, phone in hand. He straightened up, preparing for an argument as Levi caught sight of him, shoved his phone in his pocket, and strode over.
“I was just about to call you,” Levi said.
“To tell me to back off, right?” Dominic folded his arms. “Because I don’t think I—”
“Actually,” Levi said, “I was going to ask for your help.”
That caught Dominic completely off guard. All he could do was stand there, his mouth hanging open while he wondered if he’d misheard.
“Martine and I have too many bases to cover, and if we spread ourselves too thin, innocent people could get hurt.”
Dominic was confused until Levi explained the challenge the Seven of Spades had issued that morning. With multiple viable leads and a ticking clock, one wrong choice could end in disaster.
“Martine’s going to cover the potential targets while I concentrate on finding Keith,” Levi concluded. “Seems like he’s disappeared—hasn’t been seen in or around the motel all day, and his wife says she hasn’t spoken to him since Wednesday. Which is troubling, because there’s no real reason for Keith to have gone AWOL unless . . .”
“Unless he knows we’re on to him.”
“Possibly. It could be that he’s just ill and upset and looking to lay low. If he is the Seven of Spades, though, he couldn’t have anticipated that you’d figure it out the way you did. No matter what, he could be anywhere right now, and a public manhunt will spook him and cause a panic.”
“You want me to help you track him down quietly.”
“I have discretion to hire you as a private consultant. If there’s one thing you excel at, it’s finding people who don’t want to be found. Plus, you’re like Martine—you’re friendly, and you set people at ease. I . . .” Levi shrugged self-consciously. “I rub people the wrong way sometimes.”
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