Marianne sighed. “If only Kevin were alive today. The two of you would probably be settled in your own home with a lovely family. I’d be a grandmother and you wouldn’t have to be off doing these oddball jobs at all hours of the night.”
“Ma, I love my job.”
“That’s because you don’t have anything better to occupy your time. Kevin would’ve been an established attorney today, making enough money so that you could stay home and raise a family.” She sighed again. “Life can be so cruel.”
Kasey was spared the burden of continuing this conversation when Bobby Lee, laden with a stack of Styrofoam containers filled with leftovers, arrived at their table.
Groaning from too much food, they said goodbye to the doting, hovering Lee clan and left. At ten o’clock, Kasey had her mother back at her car in the theater parking lot, and by ten-thirty, Kasey was inside her room at the hotel.
After calling her mother to make certain she had made it home safely, Kasey reported in to Jay.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The following day, Det. Frank Loweman picked up Jay King in his unmarked tan Ford Fairlane and headed out of town. On the horizon ahead of them, storm clouds grew as they drove north along Highway 395, past one valley community after another. Sun Valley, Panther Valley, Golden Valley, Lemon Valley, on their way to the valley of Cold Springs.
Despite the approaching storm, or perhaps because of it, the afternoon was hot, muggy, and oppressive. With each mile, the Ford’s air conditioner sounded more taxed, whining and squealing until Loweman finally switched it off. He rolled down his window and Jay did the same.
Jay felt a fat raindrop hit the side of his face. A dozen more drops splattered against the windshield, then stopped.
“We know Mr. Lucas Cage didn’t work at any of the clubs at the lake that it said on his employee sheet,” Loweman said, pulling off his blue paisley necktie and stuffing it in his jacket pocket. “So he probably switched sheets with this Andrews guy. I’ve got calls into L.A., Vegas, and Florida. If he was a cop in any of those territories, we’ll know soon enough.”
“L.A. to Miami,” Jay mused. “Coast to coast. Frankie, what would influence a cop to play geographical hopscotch like that?”
“Boredom, variety. But most likely he’s what the department calls a gypsy cop. That’s a cop who’s shuffled around in an attempt to cover up something either embarrassing or unsavory.”
“Unsavory? Such as?”
“Could be a number of things. Tampering with evidence, a drinking or drug problem, the inability to get along with fellow officers. He may have been swapping favors—sexual or monetary—on the street.”
“Taking a bribe?”
Loweman nodded. “On a small scale. Nothing major or he’d get his ass busted along with the rest of the crooks and scumbags. My guess would be unnecessary roughness. Most big-city P.D.s will overlook a cop who once in a while gets a little overzealous in the line of duty. An officer can get away with it for years until one day he maims or kills someone. Someone, that is, with a family who will demand answers. Can’t have the whole department looking bad because of some hot-headed shield with a spring-loaded fist.”
“His fellow cops just look the other way?”
“To a degree. You don’t rat on your own. The blue wall of silence is mighty formidable.”
“Blue wall of silence?”
“It’s an unwritten code. Doctors, lawyers, Indian chiefs, they all adhere to a similar code. There’s a simple solution. Transfer the offender. Make him someone else’s problem.”
“Why would the police force in another state be willing to take this gypsy on?”
“Because they usually don’t know, or don’t care to know. In crime-infested cities like Miami, L.A., Detroit, they don’t ask too many questions. They need the manpower and if a couple heads get cracked trying to maintain law and order, well, che sera, sera. Those are mean streets. Who’s gonna miss a pimp who just cut up his lady and threw her out the window or a junkie who just sold his kid to a psycho for smack?” Loweman glanced over at Jay. “The problem is that these bad apples don’t limit their brutality to lowlife. Violence becomes a way of life and they get carried away, cross over to the regular folk. A businessman, pulled over for tipping a few too many, gets mouthy, and bam. A rebellious teen. Bam. A domestic dispute turns into a free-for-all when the law shows up. Bam, Bam. You get the picture.”
“That profile fits Cage to a tee. The guy was a loose cannon in his twenties. Knew how to use his fists and seemed to derive great pleasure from it. He may have learned to compose himself over the years, but I doubt if he changed much.”
“People don’t change,” Loweman said flatly. He flipped on the right-turn blinker and exited the highway onto Red Rock Road. “What’s that address again?”
“Pioneer Trail. Number 6.”
“Way the hell out there. If memory serves me, Pioneer butts up against the Peterson Mountain Range. Nothing out there but an occasional trailer or shack and a lot of God’s own creatures.”
“That fits, too. He was a loner in the service. No one could recall ever seeing him with anyone, male or female.”
After a dozen miles or so on Red Rock, Loweman turned onto Pioneer Trail, a gravel road that soon became hard-packed dirt. Very few signs of inhabitants remained. Another mile and the road petered out to loose sand and sagebrush. A hundred feet off the road, to the south, stood a dilapidated house and behind it, a three-sided wood structure, large enough for a car, which stood empty.
“Nobody t’home,” Loweman said. “No car, no pickup, no hoss hitched to the post.”
Jay felt a sense of relief. He had come along hoping to confront Cage. To be present when Frank questioned him. Loweman had no warrant, no subpoena, no authority to do anything more than ask questions. If Cage refused to talk, there was nothing he could do about it. But now, way out here at the end of the line, miles from anyone, Jay wasn’t so sure he was ready to meet up with his nemesis. They were sitting ducks if Cage were inside with a rifle and he chose to use it.
Loweman radioed their position. They left the car and went up to the front door. Loweman rapped on the splintered, peeling wood. Without waiting for an answer, he stepped off the porch and disappeared around the side of the shack. A moment later, having circled the structure, he returned to the front door and turned the knob. The door swung open.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Loweman said and stepped inside.
Jay could see for miles down the road. If anyone came, a plume of dust would mark the course.
A moment later, Loweman was back in the doorway. He stepped off the wooden porch, slapping his hands together as if ridding them of something dirty. “Cleaned out. Well, cleaned out might be stretching it. Cleared out. He was here, and not too long ago. There’re scraps of food on the table that can’t be more than a day or two old.”
It was too much for Jay to hope that Lucas Cage had decided to leave town. Cage was deep into the game. For all Jay or anyone knew. Cage had taken up residence at the hotel and was having one helluva good time watching them watch him.
Jay stepped up on the threshold and looked inside. The interior, gray from the pale, dreary light filtering in through small, dirty windows, was littered with fast-food wrappers, pizza boxes, and an assortment of empty booze bottles.
The two men set off toward the ridge. Several hundred feet from the shack, scattered around the base of a massive boulder, Jay saw broken glass and scattered shell casings. He bent and picked up a casing. .44? Rolling it against his fingers, he continued to walk.
He spotted the first body twenty feet away—a tiny, decomposed lump of fur. Ground squirrel. He spotted another and another. All blown to pieces.
Alongside one or two of the brownish-gray bodies was an occasional magpie, the black-and-white winged scavenger of the desert, decomposing as well. Probably picked off while attempting to make a meal of the bounteous feast before them.
“Hey, Frank,” Jay called o
ut to his friend, who was poking around some sagebrush with a stick. “Come look at this.”
When Loweman joined Jay, both men stood silently, taking in the scene of the carnage.“More of the same over there,” Loweman said, nudging a headless squirrel with the toe of his shoe. “Guess Cage and his neighbors didn’t get along too well. They may have outnumbered him, but he was better armed. Not an animal lover, by any means. Unfortunately, it’s not against the law to shoot varmints. I can’t arrest him for squirrel genocide.”
A raindrop hit Jay on the back of his hand. Several more spotted the front of Loweman’s light-gray suit.
“C’mon, let’s get out of here before the damn sky opens up on us,” Loweman said. “Don’t want to be caught out here in flashflood territory.”
Jay kept his head down, averting his face from the stinging raindrops as he headed back to the car. The large drops kicked up dust like scattered buckshot. A few feet in front of him, Jay spotted a small white-and-red plastic bottle. He bent down, scooped it up, and dropped it into his pocket before hurrying on.
The skies opened up.
*
Kasey heard the light ping of what sounded like rain against the window. A moment later, the crack of thunder made an official announcement. She looked up from the newspaper where she had just read her daily horoscope. Someone is putting you to a test. A day of action, Romance is put on hold.
“So what else is new?” she murmured under her breath. She stood, went to the large bay window in Jay and Dianne’s suite, and looked out. The windows in this room, like all the others in the hotel, were permanently sealed—a deterrent to jumpers. She wished she could open one, if only a crack. She wanted to smell the pungent scent of sage that often preceded a heavy rain storm, particularly a summer storm.
She looked down at the street below, to Victorian Square, and watched tourists scattering about, taking shelter from the rain inside nearby casinos, shops, and the open gazebos in the plaza.
Another clap of thunder, this one louder, like a sonic boom, jarred the windows sharply.
“Jay? Jay!”
Kasey turned away from the window and hurried toward the guest bedroom where Dianne had been napping and was now obviously awake, sounding frightened and confused. Jay had asked Kasey to stay with her while he and Loweman checked out Lucas Cage’s residence. Kasey had hoped he would return before Dianne awoke.
Kasey entered the dim room. “It’s okay, Dianne. It’s only thunder. We’re having a long-overdue summer storm. Can I get you something? Something to eat, drink?”
Dianne scooted up on the bed until her back rested against the headboard. She swept hair from her face, which was pale and puffy, particularly around her eyes, and reached for a cigarette on the nightstand. Her hands shook so badly, Kasey had to light it.
“Kasey? What are you doing here? Where’s Jay?”
“He’ll be back any minute. He went with Detective Loweman.”
A look of disbelief and dismay came over Dianne’s face. Since the attack the night-before-last, she had changed drastically. Her out-of-character behavior surprised Kasey. An average woman might act that way, Kasey told herself, but Dianne was different. Kasey had always thought of her as a tough cookie, not one to easily crumble.
That morning Jay had told Kasey that Dianne had stayed up all night again, finally succumbing to sleep in the early morning and sleeping most of the day. Though he didn’t say it, Kasey suspected Dianne was drinking during most of those waking hours.
What had that man done to her?
“Went where? Kasey, where did he go?” A note of hysteria crept into her voice.
“He—they went to question someone who might be a suspect.”
“They think they know who the man is?”
“They have a pretty good idea.”
“Oh God,” Dianne said, her fingernails clawing at the back of her hand. “What if he kills Jay?”
“I don’t think—”
“He’s going to try to kill me, too.”
“Dianne—”
“How could he leave me alone?”
“You’re not alone, Dianne; I’m here. There are men—”
“That animal could be right outside the door now. Right out there waiting to hurt me, to kill me.” Her voice was low, gravelly, close to a growl. “What has Jay gotten me into? What, Kasey, what?”
Kasey had no response, no pat answers for Dianne. All she could say was “You’re safe here. No one is going to get to you again. There are armed men all around you. He—this man, whoever he is—is not invincible. He’ll slip up and the police will get him. Believe me, Dianne.” Kasey knelt, took Dianne’s hand, and squeezed. “Believe me.”
Dianne pulled her hand away. Ashes dropped unnoticed on the bedding. “Could you bring me a drink?” she requested quietly. “Please? I need a drink.”
Kasey stood. She nodded with resignation, left the room, and went to the wet bar. An instant later, she heard water running in the bathroom. Dianne was up and moving around at least.
The phone rang. Kasey answered the one on the bar.
“Kasey, it’s Brad. Put Jay on. Hurry, it’s urgent.”
She told him Jay was out and where he had gone.
“We got trouble. Big trouble, Cummings got a call from a man who says he planted a bomb in the main mechanical room.”
The mechanical room housed the building’s central air conditioning and heating system. It was in the basement, situated at the core of the entire structure, directly under the hotel and all its rooms.
Kasey remembered the last bomb threat. It had proven to be a false alarm. “Is there anything to it?”
“There’s a big metal box down there wedged between some heating units that wasn’t there yesterday. Maintenance says it doesn’t belong to them.”
“Shit,” Kasey whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Who else knows about this?”
“The chief of maintenance, of course, and LeBarre in security. Cummings called security first.”
“What now?” Kasey asked.
“LeBarre says if this is the real thing we have to act fast. The hotel is booked solid. Cummings is calling an emergency meeting with Yanick and Epson. Christ, Kasey.”
“Have them meet up here. This is the first place Jay will come.”
Kasey called the Sparks P.D. and left a message to have Det. Loweman contact her as soon as possible.
“What about that drink?” Dianne crossed the room, her robe hanging open, the sash trailing on the carpet. “What’s wrong? Who was on the phone?”
“Brad,” Kasey said, pouring an ample shot of scotch into a rock glass and handing it to Dianne. “I’m afraid we’ve got more trouble.”
*
Loweman and Jay were on Interstate 80 approaching the Victorian Plaza when two patrol cars sped by, nearly cutting them off at the ramp exit. At the same moment that the dispatcher’s voice came over Loweman’s car radio, Jay saw a half dozen emergency vehicles, sans lights or sirens, surrounding the club.
His heart slammed in his chest. What now? Who was it this time? Images of three people—Dianne, Kasey, Brad—flashed in his head like a twirling kaleidoscope.
Loweman stomped down on the accelerator. He ran the red light at the intersection, narrowly missing a UPS truck before jumping the median to come to an abrupt stop at the main entrance of the club. Both men jumped out and worked their way through a throng of pedestrians on the sidewalk to get inside. Loweman stopped the first uniformed officer he saw.
The policeman took them aside, out of earshot of those around them. “Bomb threat, sir. Lower level. Mechanical room.”
“Has the bomb squad been notified?” Loweman asked.
“They’re on the way.”
Jay scanned the casino, making a quick evaluation of the surroundings. At a little before noon, the club was already crowded and it would continue to fill up as the day progressed.
As quickly as possible they made their way thr
ough the mass of tourists to the bank of elevators.
When they reached the elevators. Jay grabbed a courtesy phone on the wall and dialed his suite. “If we have to evacuate,” Jay said to Loweman, “I want it done right. I don’t want a panic. I don’t want people hurt or fright—Brad, it’s me. What’s going on? Who’s in charge?”
Brad put LeBarre on the phone.
“Mr. King, this time there’s a box. It looks like the real thing.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jay was attacked the instant he entered the suite. Dianne flew at him, pounding on his chest with her fists and shouting accusations.
“Damn you,” she hissed, twisting and pulling at his shirt. “How could you? How could you leave me alone when you know the bastard’s coming back to get me? You don’t care anything about me. You only care about this fucking club. I hope it blows up. I hope it blows into a million goddamn pieces.”
“Dianne, please,” Jay said under his breath. He caught her wrists and held them.
Loweman had stopped behind him, evidently unsure of what to do.
From the entry hall Jay looked into the living room. Kasey, Brad, and a cluster of men stood staring at them.
Kasey came forward, put an arm around Dianne, and said softly. “You don’t mean that, Dianne.”
“I mean it. I mean every word of it.”
“C’mon, let’s let these men do their job.”
“No!” she shouted, pulling away from Kasey. “I’m getting out of here. I’m not going to hang around and be blown up. I’m going home.”
Jay caught her arm. “Dianne, I’ll take you. But first let me find out what’s going on.”
“I don’t want you to take me. I don’t want you with me. Don’t you understand? I don’t want you anywhere near me. You stay. Stay with your precious club. Stay with your family of executives. Just stay the hell away from me. I’m not safe with you around. He wants you, not me. Not me.”
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