“Gamblers might just want to shoot ducks, or hogs, or frigging bison. They’ll pay for the pleasure same as they pay for sex.” Jacob smiled as though he’d just made a closing argument that had the judge and the jury nodding.
“I see,” Brad said. “You have big plans, as usual.”
“I can’t believe you think I’d kill Leigh,” Jacob said. “You’re wasting my time. Of all the things I might be, I am not a killer. Like I said, I was in Memphis yesterday morning.”
Brad shook his head. “I didn’t say you fired the shot, Jacob.”
“Mr. Gardner,” Winter said, “do you gamble?”
Jacob shook his head.
Winter said, “See, if you owed money to someone, you might not be aware of that person’s plan to kill your ex-wife in order to get his hands on her land. That someone might figure if she dies you inherit enough to cover the loan. If you told someone that, you don’t have clear title, but you would if Leigh wasn’t around…”
“No,” Jacob said. “That’s not possible. I don’t owe anybody money. I don’t gamble anymore.”
“I’ve heard you don’t gamble any less,” Brad said.
“I have a law background and I know how things work,” Jacob said.
“If you are being threatened,” Winter said, “we can help. Whoever did this failed, but they may try again.”
“If they harm Leigh, and I find out you’ve lied to us about anything, I will see that you pay,” Brad said.
“Your affection for my ex radiates from you like sunshine, as always. That’s what this is really about. You’re white knighting to impress her by trying to make me look bad. Don’t threaten me, Barnett. You’re a sheriff, not a judge and jury.”
“Fine,” Brad said. “And I’m glad you aren’t worried about your daughter being out of pocket.”
“Out of pocket? Please. Cyn’s been sexually active since she discovered she was cute. If she isn’t at my mother’s, she’s shacked up with some boy.”
“Your mother isn’t answering her phone,” Brad said.
“She turns off the ringer.”
“Leigh has left messages.”
“My mother hates Leigh. If Cynthia wasn’t there, she’d call. Mama loves Cynthia.”
“Let me know when you hear from her so we can stop worrying.”
Jacob Gardner’s eyes relaxed and he smiled. “If that’s all,” Jacob said, lying down, “Cyn’s an adult. Cut the light off and get the hell out of my room.”
“Tell you what. If we talk about this again, it’ll be in my room.”
Brad walked to the door, which Winter had opened.
“By the way,” Jacob said. “I didn’t take Leigh away from you. You threw her to me.”
35
AS BRAD AND WINTER ENTERED THE MAIN DRAG near the courthouse, the radio came to life.
“Sheriff, what’s your twenty?” Chief Deputy Roy Bishop’s voice crackled.
“I’m almost at the courthouse.”
“Me too,” Bishop said.
“I see you,” Brad said.
A cruiser flashed its lights ahead and pulled over on the opposite side of the wide street. Roy Bishop got out and hurried over as Brad rolled down the window. “What’s up, Roy?”
“The damned press is driving me crazy. We have to tell them something soon.”
“Soon,” Brad told him. “Tell them we’re getting close on the Adams murder, and as soon as we have things sorted out, we’ll let them know. You met Winter last night.”
“I did.” Roy reached over Brad to shake Winter’s hand. “Bettye said you were some kind of specialist. Welcome aboard.”
“Winter’s a retired U.S. marshal. Grew up in Cleveland, Mississippi. He’s agreed to help us with the Adams homicide and Beals. As a personal favor.”
The chief deputy gave Winter a quizzical look. “Wait a damn minute,” he said, his face reddening. “You’re that Winter Massey? I mean, Jesus Christ! You’re that U.S. marshal. Hell, I thought you would be taller.”
“So did my mother,” Winter said.
“We don’t get many murders around here,” Roy said. “Now we get two in one day. Jack Beals was a first-class prick, but he didn’t deserve to die like that. Hey, is this something bigger than it looks?”
“Looks plenty big to me as it is,” Winter said.
“Where’s David Scotoni?” Brad asked.
“At the Best Western with Walters watching him. He wants to get the hell out of Dodge.”
“No problem,” Brad said. “He’s told us everything he knows. Get his phone numbers and escort him to the state line.”
“Sure thing,” Roy said, straightening as a speeding Lincoln Navigator flew past, then made a sweeping U-turn. “Damn,” Brad said. “Go on, Roy. If you need me, use the cell. I don’t want to use the radio with the press all over the place.”
Winter saw a red-faced man in a suit who looked like a newscaster get out of the Navigator and race toward the truck. The man maneuvered around Bishop and looked into the cab.
“Brad,” he said.
“Ed,” Brad said. “I want you to meet Winter Massey. Winter, this is our prosecuting attorney, Ed Moore.”
Moore nodded at Winter. “I had a call from the head of MBI. They want in on these killings now. They said you’re blocking them so they want me to make the request. I wanted to clear it with you as a courtesy before I did it.”
“Don’t need them,” Brad said. “This is proceeding nicely.”
“Two homicides, Brad. Why wouldn’t you need them, for Christ’s sake?”
“That’s why I asked Massey in. He’s a specialist in this sort of thing and has no dog in the fight. Lab assistance is all I need from the MBI for now.”
“Captain Mackey was very insistent,” Moore said.
“He said I’m in over my head, right? They only want in on the Beals killing because it’s tied to a casino employee, and they want to clear it up however they can. We’re already on top of it and it’s staying that way.”
“Damn it, Bradley. If it concerns the casinos…” Moore said nervously.
“Relax, Ed. It concerns an ex-deputy dead guy who worked security at a casino. If you want, you can tell them it was an armed robbery gone bad. We both know that MBI will only come in and make us look bad if they can, to make sure the casino doesn’t get any negative publicity. They’re always working in the casinos’ best interests.”
“That’s not something I know at all,” Moore said defensively.
“Know this. If the MBI comes in, I’ll request the FBI come in and we’ll have us a sharp-elbow sideshow and I can guarantee you that the casinos will get more negative press than they can deal with.”
“Wait a minute,” Ed said. “That’s not something we want. That sounds like a threat.”
“I can make that a promise if you’d feel more comfortable with that. The FBI isn’t coming in unless I request their assistance,” Brad said. “MBI is not going to use my department to wipe the casino’s butt, and they aren’t going to bury anything as long as I’m in this office. If someone from the casino operation is responsible for a murder, that’s just going to be a shit-hits-the-fan deal. Early next week we’ll reevaluate where we are and if I need MBI, I’ll pull them in.”
Moore said, “Your office doesn’t exactly have a sterling reputation around the state. People see the MBI as better suited, less able to…”
“You say ‘be bought off,’ and I’ll climb out and beat your ass right here in the street. I whipped your ass in the fifth grade and I can do it again.”
“I’ve known you all my life, Brad. You don’t have to say shit like that to me.” Moore smiled. “This is still our county. It’s your call.”
“I know it.”
Using the back of his fingers, Ed Moore slapped Brad’s shoulder through the window.
He turned and took a few steps before turning around and coming back. “And, Brad. You didn’t beat my ass in the fifth grade. I slipped and fell.”
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Brad pushed open the door, and Ed made a show of hurrying toward the Navigator. His laughter echoed richly in through the window as Brad rolled it up.
“In the fifth grade I whipped old Ed like a redheaded stepchild,” Brad said, winking at Winter. “He’s been in denial ever since.”
36
THE LAND-TRANSACTION RECORDS FOR THE COUNTY were kept in the basement of city hall. A clerk who looked like a Jessica Tandy impersonator located the plot and its corresponding numbers on a county map and wrote them down. Armed with the scrap of paper, Alexa placed the book the clerk had pointed out on the table, opened it and ran her fingers down the columns, looking for the numbers for the southwest corner of the county.
She found the entry where Jacob Gardner had transferred title of the plot to Leigh nine years before. Checking the adjoining plots, she quickly discovered that a corporation named RRI Limited had systematically purchased the surrounding land over the past eighteen months.
Alexa decided the best way to check out this RRI corporation was to see whether the kind of people who would resort to violence might be connected to it. She dialed an extension at FBI headquarters and asked for Louis Sykes with the Organized Crime division.
“Louis, it’s Alexa. I need a favor.”
“Name it,” he said. “Anything but my peanut butter cookie recipe.”
“Can you check your files for a corporation named RRI Limited? All I have is the name on some land transfers.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be waiting for your call.”
Alexa put the books back and went outside, where Winter and Brad had just parked. After Winter got out and opened the back door, she climbed into the backseat of Brad’s truck.
“A company named RRI Limited has been buying up the land around Leigh’s parcel.”
“It could be a hunting deal like Jacob told us,” Brad said. “But I wouldn’t believe Jacob if he said tornados scatter dirt. Who’d kill to put together a duck-hunting club?”
“Twenty-nine hundred acres so far,” Alexa said. “I assume that since RRI now owns all of the surrounding land, they’d want Leigh’s. I’m having OC look to see if there are any red flags associated with their name. Then we can look them up on the Internet and I’ve got friends who can get us the pertinent information.”
“I bet Jacob is aware of RRI’s purchase, and thinks he’ll make serious bucks on the deal,” Winter said. “If RRI can’t do whatever they have planned with their land unless they have hers, that’s a motive.”
“If anything happens to Leigh, the kids inherit the land,” Brad said, “but it would be tied up in probate for a long time.”
“Unless a judge sped that up for the right person or group,” Alexa said.
Winter said, “We could check to see if there are plans to improve the roads, deal with utility upgrades, power, sewage, water pipes, that sort of thing.”
“I haven’t heard anything,” Brad said. “Anybody starts pulling permits from the county, people talk. Maybe they’re waiting until they have the land sewed up to start that process.”
Alexa said, “I don’t know, Leigh, but I got the impression that something was eating at her.”
“Like her babysitter getting her head blown off?” Winter said. “Her daughter going AWOL?”
“Just a feeling I’ve got. You know her, Brad. Do you think Leigh is telling us everything? Is it possible that she knows more about the land than she’s letting on?”
“I’ve known Leigh most of my life. She’s a tough cookie and she pinches a dollar until Washington pees his pants, but if you’re insinuating…”
“I’m not casting aspersions on her character,” Alexa said. “But I’ve got a sense there’s things she isn’t telling us. I could be wrong.”
“My mother had this old adage. ‘Have more than you show, pay as you go, and tell less than you know,’” Winter said.
“That sounds like it was written about Leigh,” Brad said.
“What do you guys say to having a look at this land?” Alexa said. “I’d like to see what three thousand acres of worthless land looks like.”
37
PAULUS STYER PULLED THE VAN BACK INTO THE equipment barn. He found Cynthia asleep in the mummy bag in her tarp-covered car, still knocked out from her last injection. A corpse would take less of his valuable time, but he had decided to keep her alive for the time being. If he changed his mind, there would be plenty of time to finish her before he had her mother and brother in the same place, and then he could stage all three of their accidental deaths. His instructions were clear, but how he accomplished the task was up to him. It was nice to be in a position of trust, though he had more than earned it over the years.
He watched the girl’s eyes slowly open and he saw the fear gathering in them, so he quickly took out the syringe and, leaning over, gave her another injection. This time she would not be asleep as long as she had been before, but he was going to move her closer to his base of operations, and somebody might come along to check on the equipment.
After she closed her eyes, Styer lifted her and carried her to the waiting van. As he laid her inside, he was sure he heard something and went to the open door. Looking out, he saw a truck pull into the fields from the woods. He pressed the switch to close the massive overhead doors, cursing the slowness of the winch that growled as it dropped the steel door from the ceiling. He ran to the van and took out his pistol, waiting as the door finally closed and went quiet.
He moved to the personnel door, cracked it open, and watched as the sheriff’s truck moved slowly toward the building. He didn’t see how they could have tracked him, but they must have seen the big door closing.
Angry that he had left the gate open, he cursed the fact that Massey and the sheriff were taking all the fun out of his operation. But Styer was prey with teeth. He smiled as he thought, What is, is.
38
IT TOOK TWENTY MINUTES OF DRIVING ACROSS THE bleak landscape on blacktop county roads, plus a trip down a rutted thinly graveled trail, before they arrived at the site, a vast flat field nestled against the levee. Under the smoke-gray sky, it looked like a black and white photograph of a WWI battlefield. Stagnant water stood in a series of shallow ponds inhabited by hundreds of ducks. For half a mile to the north and south, trees had been cut to the ground. Scattered piles of tortured tree limbs and other organic debris lay where hardwoods had been pushed or broken down as if by artillery shells. At the southern end of the scalped land stood an enormous, newly constructed metal building. It stood alone on a graveled lot surrounded by a tall hurricane fence topped with barbed wire.
“This is recent,” Brad said.
“Equipment came over from that building to do the clearing,” Winter said, tracing the dozer tread tracks with his eyes to the fenced-in structure. “Whose is it?”
“That’s just outside the county line. I recall something about the Corps of Engineers putting in an equipment facility to support their dredging activities, but we don’t really patrol this corner unless we’re called because it’s all private land.”
Alexa wondered aloud, “Would the Corps of Engineers have done that for a company?”
“I don’t know,” Brad said. “They’ve worked all the way around Leigh’s parcel, and can’t go onto hers until that acquisition is final. But as soon as they know it’s a done deal, whoever it is can begin doing whatever the hell they have in mind.”
Alexa’s cell phone rang and she looked at the ID. “It’s Louis Sykes from OC.” She opened it. “Louis, that was fast.”
She listened for almost two minutes without interrupting, thanked him, and hung up.
She said, “RRI stands for Royale Resorts International. They own casino resorts all over the world. Most are high-end all-inclusive resorts with a couple of exceptions, most notable being the Columns Casino in Atlantic City and the Roundtable.”
“I guess the connection between the Roundtable and the Gardners is solid enough now,” Winter s
aid.
“Sure looks that way,” Brad said, as he drove toward the barn.
Alexa asked, “If they were going to put in a casino, they could cut a channel in the levee and replace it once the casino gaming structure is in place. That is how it’s done, isn’t it?”
“They could put fifty casinos on this place,” Brad said.
“Or one extremely large gambling resort,” Winter said. “It’d cost hundreds of millions of dollars.”
The personnel door next to a large equipment door swung closed. “You see that?” Winter asked.
“Sure did,” Brad said. “Someone’s in there.”
“Let’s go talk to them,” Winter said.
“And say what?” Alexa asked. “I don’t think we should let them know we’re interested in this land.”
“You’re right,” Winter said. “We’ll just say we’re looking for a duck-hunting site.”
As they approached, it was easy to see from the truck that the gate wasn’t locked. The logging chain and padlock were hanging from the chain links, and the gate hadn’t quite closed the last time someone had come through it. Winter opened the gate and they drove into the lot. Brad parked near the door and they climbed out. While Alexa and Brad stood on either side of him, Winter made a fist and pounded on the corrugated steel personnel door, which was locked.
“Hello in there!” he shouted.
“Who is it?” a muted voice called from inside.
“Deputy Sheriff Massey,” Winter called out.
“Sheriff Barnett,” Brad yelled.
Alexa was silent.
“What y’all wants?” The voice was that of an elderly black man.
“Open the door and we’ll talk,” Brad said.
“Y’all ain’t supposed to be here unless Mr. Todd says so. I been instructed not to open the door for nobody what ain’t been announced ’forehand. That’s the rules and I don’t wants to get fired.”
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