Smoke & Mirrors

by John Ramsey Miller

  Winter said, “Beals was a security guard, so he would have needed a partner with access to information on the targets. He filmed them leaving, so I think he was off duty when they took their winnings out.”

  “Could Styer have been his partner?” Alexa asked.

  “I doubt it,” Winter said. “Robbery would be lower than bottom-feeding for him. Styer killed Beals, but Beals’s robbery operation wasn’t their connection. I think the Roundtable is connected to Styer’s presence, and the land Leigh owns has to be why Sherry is dead. Maybe Beals knew about Styer. It’s quite possible the casino wanted Beals killed, so Styer did it, tying Sherry’s murder to Beals so the trail ends there.”

  “He knows you’ll know it’s him, but you won’t be able to tie him in officially,” Alexa said.

  “The casino may have had Sherry killed as a message,” Brad said.

  “Far as the FBI knows, the Roundtable is clean,” Alexa said.

  “Doesn’t mean they’re clean,” Winter said.

  Brad said, “Albert White knew we were talking about Scotoni and we never used his name. Not proof we can use. White left his job in West Memphis and took the casino position when RRI bought it. Beals went to work there three years ago.”

  “Circumstantial at best,” Winter said. “Could be White and Beals were in cahoots, but it still isn’t enough for a search warrant on White’s place. What do we know about RRI?”

  “RRI is owned by a German industrial family named Klein,” Alexa said. “Kurt Klein is the present CEO of Klein Industries, which owns RRI. Klein is a billionaire industrialist. RRI is his hobby.”

  Winter looked around the room.

  “A big-deal German would have access to Styer’s services. He may have brought in Styer to clear the way for the land acquisition. Maybe the purpose of killing Sherry was to put pressure on Jacob. And he killed Beals because Beals could identify him,” Alexa speculated.

  Winter said, “Only thing I know is that whatever Styer’s up to, he’s not finished yet.”

  “How can you be sure?” Brad asked.

  “Because he hasn’t yet made an appearance before Winter,” Alexa said. “And that’s his bow before the curtain falls.”

  The trio had finished eating when a slightly stooped white-haired man wearing a wide-brimmed felt hat and a bulky wool coat over a cardigan walked in, looked at their table, and made a beeline for it. A second man, about the same age but twenty pounds heavier, came in behind him.

  “Looks like we’re about to have company,” Winter said. “Based on the pictures in your den, I’d say this is the famous Dr. Barnett.”

  Brad turned and raised his chin in salute to his father, who was greeting diners as he made his way toward them. “The other man is his best friend, Woody Seiders. They grew up together. Woody is a fixture and a hell of a handyman. He oversees Daddy’s rental properties, keeps my yard straight, and plays nickel-dime poker with Dad and their buddies every other Monday night.”

  Woody smiled and waved at Brad as the two men approached.

  Brad stood and pulled out a chair beside him, which the doctor lowered himself into. Woody took a chair from a vacant table and sat at the corner to Dr. Barnett’s left.

  “Alexa, Winter, this is my father, William Barnett, and Woody Seiders. Dad, Woody, meet Alexa Keen and Winter Massey.”

  “Call me Will,” he said, shaking hands with Alexa and Winter. His handshake was firm, his hand warm, the skin loose, bones close to the surface. His bright gray eyes locked on Alexa’s. “My, what a delightful dinner companion you gentlemen have. Ms. Keen, you bring sunshine into an otherwise dreary evening. Is there a Mr. Keen?”

  “Alexa,” she said, smiling.

  “Cut the crap, Dad. You’re about forty years too late for her,” Brad said, shaking his head.

  Woody guffawed. “Doc’s just window-shopping these days. Sex at his age would be like playing the drums with cooked spaghetti.”

  “Nonsense. Some younger women appreciate the added value and benefits offered by a mature gentleman. Especially when he’s a Harvard-trained physician who isn’t going to live forever or leave his considerable estate, which includes an above-average coin collection, to his surviving son.”

  “Where’s my shovel? It’s knee-deep in here,” Woody said.

  Alexa smiled. “Most women do appreciate a mature gentleman,” she said. “It’s nice to meet a handsome man who is also a physician,” she went on. “Not even counting a coin collection.”

  “General practitioner for forty-four years,” William said.

  “Alexa is with the FBI. Winter is…”

  “Been helping you find Sherry’s killer,” William said. “I know all about him, and he did a great job wrapping it up. Little of consequence, or without, escapes my network of ever-faithful patients. Speaking of which, I saw Cynthia yesterday afternoon at the office.”

  “She came to see you for….?” Brad asked.

  “That’s about six miles into none of your business, Bradley. Beautiful child, Cynthia. So, Agent Keen, before my son interrupted, you were about to tell me about your present marital prospects.”

  “I didn’t have any before tonight,” she said, smiling.

  “You were once married, I bet,” William said.

  She shook her head. “Not yet, Will.”

  “Well now, my dear, that has to be a situation of your own choosing.”

  “Just haven’t found the right gentleman,” she said teasingly.

  “I don’t suppose my son mentioned that I am an accomplished ballroom dancer.”

  “Mostly he accomplishes flattening toes,” Woody said.

  “Daddy,” Brad said, “Alexa’s young enough to be your daughter.”

  “I often wish I’d had a daughter,” William said, frowning at his son.

  49

  PAULUS STYER SAT IN THE VAN IN THE PARKING LOT of the Blue & White and watched Massey, Barnett, and the unidentified woman wrapped up in conversation. He could safely go in. Winter was the only one in the group who had ever seen or spoken to him and after the work he’d had done on his features, the disguise he wore, and the stolen accented voice, Winter couldn’t possibly recognize him. But Massey was remarkably intuitive, and it was smart not to give him anything until the time was right. While he would not recognize Styer, he might remember seeing him in the disguise later. He couldn’t afford to lose a vital identity at this point. And they would be meeting face-to-face before long.

  Styer had become familiar with Dr. Barnett when he was setting up the game, along with the old coot, Woody, who was often in his company. Because William was the sheriff’s father, and might prove useful to the situation, Styer had spoken with them that morning at breakfast. In the guise of a visitor considering a move to the area, Styer asked the men question after question, even joining their table at the doctor’s invitation. Dr. Barnett had been friendly, his companion less so.

  Tonight, he had not been able to hear their conversation, but it shouldn’t matter since they were following a trail of his design.

  Styer looked across the highway at a Yukon that had parked in a lot facing the restaurant shortly after the trio arrived. The occupants hadn’t gotten out, and smoke trailing from the tailpipe was the only indication that it was inhabited. He wondered why anybody would be following Massey or the sheriff, unless it was someone from the casino. He considered the thought, that the woman with them might have a protective detail, then realized with a jolt that she matched the description he had of Alexa Keen, Massey’s FBI pal, an abduction specialist. So she was involved now, which meant they knew about Cynthia. Good luck, bitch.

  He started the SUV and backed out slowly. He drove a hundred yards and parked in a hardware store’s lot, waiting to see where the Yukon went when the dinner party split up.

  50

  CYNTHIA WAS LYING ON THE CARPETED FLOOR OF A closet. Thanks to a noose around her neck that was tied behind her back to her feet, she would strangle if she moved. Straightening out
was impossible, and even if she could, the pain in her stomach made her want to double up. Her pants were cold and damp from urine, and she needed a shot badly. She had no idea how long she could go without one. Nobody had ever told her that.

  The man had been gone a very long time. Hours earlier, he’d given her an injection of only half the amount of insulin the needle held. She had begged for more, but the cruel asshole had told her that he couldn’t waste the little insulin she had in case “it” took longer than he thought it would, saying calmly, “Trust me, I won’t let you die. I need you alive.”

  Cynthia sobbed quietly, trying to calm herself. She was sure that her mother would have people looking for her by now, and she prayed they would somehow be able to find her. One thing was certain: she was going to make sure Jack Beals paid dearly for this.

  She desperately needed to pee again, so she let it go in the quiet darkness.

  51

  ALEXA PLACED HER BAG ON THE BED IN THE GUEST bedroom located next to Winter’s. When she came downstairs, Ruger, who had been in the backyard when they arrived, ran to her and jumped up on her, trying to lick her face with a broad and dripping tongue.

  Brad grabbed Ruger’s collar and pulled her back. “She and my father have a lot in common,” Brad said. “They are both enamored with the FBI. Stay down, Ruger.”

  “She doesn’t care for me,” Winter said.

  “Ruger doesn’t know you like I do,” Alexa said, kneeling to put her face on the dog’s level. “Pretty girl. Ruger, be nice to Winter. He is a friend to man, woman, and beast alike. With the exception of deer.”

  Ruger looked at Winter as if she knew what Alexa had said, and her wide tongue bobbed.

  “Get anyone a beer?” Brad asked.

  “None for me,” Alexa said.

  “Thanks anyway,” Winter said. “I need to get some rest.”

  The ringing doorbell sent a barking Ruger bounding to the back door. Brad walked through the kitchen, leaving Winter and Alexa standing in the den. Winter heard a familiar voice and the door closing.

  After thirty seconds, Leigh Gardner came in, followed by Brad and a joyful Ruger.

  “Leigh has something she wants to tell us.”

  “Brad, do you have any bourbon?”

  “I didn’t know you drank,” Brad said.

  “I could use a stiff drink if it’s all the same to you,” she said, collapsing in an armchair. “Just ice.”

  “Have you heard from Cynthia?” Alexa asked before Winter could.

  “Her father spoke to her an hour ago. She’s fine. She stayed overnight with a girlfriend she knows from LSU. I’m furious, but at least she’s all right. He told her how worried we all were and she called me silly. Jacob says she’s trying to keep from thinking about Sherry and she said she’s going to her grandmother’s to spend the night. Probably for advanced bitch lessons. Like she isn’t going to get one from me when she gets home. I’ve half a mind to go up there and drag her home.”

  “At least she’s safe,” Alexa said.

  Leigh nodded and smiled. “That’s some consolation. Do you have children?”

  “No,” Alexa said. “I don’t.”

  “Count your blessings,” Leigh said flatly.

  Brad opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of Maker’s Mark, found a short glass, dropped two cubes of ice from the freezer in, and poured it half full. He crossed the room and handed it to Leigh.

  Leigh drained half the glass before she said anything further.

  “The main reason I’m here is because of the conversation I had with Jacob this evening. I find myself in need of advice from…I suppose all of you,” she said. She drained the glass and set it on a coaster on the coffee table.

  “Whatever we can do,” Winter said.

  “I told you Jacob’s been after me to sell him the bottomland. He brought me an astounding offer. He said that a company needs the land for some project and they won’t take no for an answer.”

  “How much did they offer?” Winter asked.

  “Two million dollars. Well, two and a half. Jacob said they might go higher, but that there’s a risk if I try to hold out. It seems they have been offering big money from the start, which Jacob failed to mention. Of course, he made it sound like it was all for the children.” She massaged her right temple and closed her eyes.

  “We’ve been looking into the land,” Brad said. “That fits with what we found out.”

  Leigh raised a brow. “He owes a lot of money to whomever is behind this interest in it. It seems they have been exerting increasing pressure on him to make sure it happens. Now it has to go forward immediately for some reason Jacob swears he doesn’t know. I’m here because it’s very possible, based on what Jacob did tell me, that Sherry may have been shot to make him level with me. What kind of people would murder an innocent child to make a point?”

  Alexa and Winter exchanged looks.

  “Does Jacob know you came here?” Brad asked.

  “I said I was going to the Adams’s house, and I am, after I leave here.”

  Winter said, “A corporation called RRI owns the adjoining land. They also own the Roundtable casino.”

  “And Jack Beals worked for the Roundtable,” Leigh said.

  Brad said, “They intend to build a three-thousand-acre resort, and your parcel is right in the middle of it.”

  Leigh raised her brows. “Resort? No, he said he didn’t know what they wanted it for. He did mention a man named Mulvane. At first I told him I had to think it over. He told me that it was their final offer, and that I couldn’t take any time because I’d already held the deal up, which made the people very angry.” Leigh put her elbows on her knees and placed her forehead in her hands. “Evidently he’s told me one thing and them another while he tried to figure out a way to get more money. He’s lied to me for months and months, but that’s just Jacob’s nature. And Sherry’s dead because of it.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  She sat up. “He was really afraid, Brad. He told me…” She stopped and looked at her hands. “He said I could either take the offer, or next time, instead of a servant, it might be me, Cyn, or Hamp lying dead in the yard.”

  “That bastard!” Brad said. “It’s your fault even though he kept you in the dark. I bet he’s been playing them and they’re onto him.”

  Leigh shook her head. “He said if I’d have sold it to him, earlier, Sherry would still be alive. He acted like it was my fault, that I made some kind of selfish choice and that was why she was dead.”

  Leigh started crying, and Brad sat on the edge of her chair and put an arm around her. She rested her head against him for a split second before straightening. “God,” she asked, “could it be true?”

  “It isn’t your fault, Leigh,” Brad said.

  “I know it isn’t my fault,” she said. “Could he be telling the truth? Is this a case of ‘sell to us, or your children will die next’? I’m doing it. What else can I do? People will always gamble, and at least I’ll have a legacy for my children and they will never have to farm like I did. It won’t bring Sherry back, but I can use the money to help them out.”

  “We can see them punished for killing Sherry,” Alexa said. She looked at Winter and he frowned. Tying anyone at the Roundtable to Sherry’s death was a real long shot. Styer was the link, but proving that connection might be close to impossible.

  “If you, or someone else, could get Mulvane to admit to ordering the killing,” Winter said. “He’s the casino manager.”

  “You mean carry a recorder and ask this Mulvane to admit ordering a murder?” Leigh smirked. “Just tell me what to do. I want those people to pay for what that Beals bastard did to Sherry.”

  “It might be dangerous,” Brad said. “Pinning Mulvane will be tricky.”

  Leigh looked at Brad, her eyes dancing. “You can arrest him after I sell him the land. Let the bastard pay twice, so at the least, the money will do some good.”

  Winter asked, “How did
you leave it with Jacob?”

  “I told him that if I had no choice, if our children were in danger, I would sell it. I said to tell them to write the check and give me the papers to sign.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said he’d tell them and took off. What can we do now?”

  “We have to develop a plan,” Alexa said. “And a good one if we’re going to take them down.”

  And at that, for the first time since Winter had met her, Leigh Gardner smiled.

  52

  PIERCE MULVANE WAS SITTING AT HIS DESK, WATCHING Jacob Gardner on his flat-screen monitor. Two minutes earlier, Albert White had alerted him to the lawyer’s presence in the lobby, and Pierce had been following Gardner’s progress—going camera to camera—from the time he’d entered the casino. He had dispatched Tug to intercept him downstairs and bring him up. Pierce noted how the degenerate slowed as he passed by each of the craps tables until Tug showed him into the elevator. In the hallway, Tug would frisk Gardner, looking for hidden recorders, wires, or other devices he might be planning to use to get a record of Mulvane incriminating himself. Pierce switched off the monitor and gathered his thoughts during the thirty seconds it took the pair to arrive at the door.

  “Great news!” Gardner boasted. He swaggered to a chair facing the desk and sat, leaning back and crossing his legs. “She’s going to sell it, Pierce. She agreed. Her exact words were, and I quote: ‘Tell them to prepare the papers. The sooner, the better.’”

  “It’s Mr. Mulvane, Gardner.”

  Gardner shifted in the chair uncomfortably. “Mr. Mulvane. Sorry, I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  “You told her what, exactly? What was it that swayed your ex-wife?” Pierce asked.