When he pulled off the county road and drove between two massive piles of dirt, he waved at the waiting three-man watch team, drove past the Yukons, then pushed a button and released a ramp that extended itself hydraulically and dropped gently to the ground.
Watts, freshly dressed in a disposable jumpsuit, a particle mask, and surgeon’s gloves, climbed down and ran around to get behind the wheel of one of the Yukons, which he drove into the trailer. As soon as he returned to the truck, Herf closed the rear. After Watts climbed back up into the rig, carrying the jumpsuit in a garbage bag, Herf expertly turned the truck around and headed east toward the interstate.
“One cold one in the Yukon,” Watts said. “It’s Duncan.”
“How’d he buy it?”
“Edge to the throat.”
“What about his partner, Rowe?” Herf asked.
“Missing and presumed captured,” Watts said.
“Missing and presumed Styered,” Herf said flatly.
“Makes you glad to be on the truck this time,” Watts said. “Cold Wind is a rough job. I’d love to land that bastard. What’s the bonus on him now?”
“One point five, last I heard. We’re to drop off this load and be back in position ASAP.”
“I knew the team should have been larger from the get-go,” Watts said.
“This might be one long weekend,” Herf said. He used the GPS to plot the fastest route to the naval air base north of Memphis, where a C-130 would be waiting to take the Yukon and its cold-meat cargo to a backwater base in Texas where the equipment would be salvaged, the Yukon would be crushed into a block of steel, and their dead comrade would be unceremoniously cremated.
“The way of the gun,” Watts said to himself.
63
WALKING INTO THE HOUSE, WINTER AND BRAD found Alexa breaking eggs into a skillet.
She pointed to a note on the kitchen counter that said, Didn’t find any bugs, but there might be a window vibration reader.
“Smells good,” Winter said after reading the sheet and handing it to Brad. Alexa had the radio blaring rock music from the late ’60s.
“Be ready in three shakes of Ruger’s tail,” she said cheerily. She looked at him inquiringly. “Woody called looking for your father.”
Winter scribbled on the paper, Dropped off and others passed us as we were coming back. No problem.
They ate while making small talk about the Delta and the weather. Afterward, Winter cleared the dishes and washed them in the sink.
“What’s on the schedule today?” Alexa asked.
“Sherry’s funeral,” Brad said.
“Think Jacob Gardner will be there?” Winter asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. He’ll be sticking close enough to count Leigh’s heartbeats until the deal is done,” Brad offered. “That cash’ll hold him like a gut pile holds bottle flies.”
“You’ll be done there by what time?” Alexa asked.
“Funeral’s at one. Say two-thirty. I’ll leave after the graveside service. City cops are handling the traffic.”
“Lex and I will be there, too, with the family. I think this morning we ought to go talk to that casino manager and stir the pot,” Winter said. “Press him about Beals, see how he reacts.”
“He may be totally out of the land loop,” Alexa said. “His Bureau files are squeaky clean.”
“And so are RRI’s,” Winter said. “Maybe their files are all clean, but that doesn’t mean the individuals are. If the land deal isn’t done, their other land is worthless.”
“They could build around it,” Brad said.
“Probably,” Alexa said, “but that would be a pain in the ass and a complication down the road. Especially if Ms. Gardner left it as is, or worse, made it into a trailer park. Think of the view from the hotel rooms.”
Brad smiled. “Under normal circumstances she would do just that. She’s that ornery. But you’re right, they are better off acquiring it. If by some miracle we get Mulvaneor whoever is behind this for the murder of Sherry Adams, the owner can just say he didn’t know the details. Hell, according to Alexa, he doesn’t even live in this country. One thing for sure,” Brad continued, “having an FBI agent along while we’re asking questions might be a sobering experience for whoever is behind this mess. Mulvane may control the MBI in this, but the FBI is a different matter.”
“I don’t think we should show them an FBI badge just yet,” Winter said. “Best to keep you in reserve.”
“Whatever you think, Winter,” Alexa said.
“I need to think about it some more,” Winter said. “I’m still trying to work out some plan other than using Leigh if we can help it. The risk is too great.”
“Well, as a last resort there’s always the trusty bull-in the-china-shop approach,” Alexa said.
64
AT EIGHT-THIRTY A.M. BRAD PULLED INTO THE Roundtable’s parking lot. “Alexa, you going to wait out here?” Winter asked.
“Drop me here and park closer. I want to go in and look around while nobody knows who I am. Ring me when you’re ready to leave. Is there a metal detector?”
“This is Mississippi, Alexa,” Winter said. “Everybody is packing heat.”
As Alexa made it to the front doors, a large rosy-cheeked man with bright red hair and bushy brows held the door open for her. He was dressed in a leather sports coat over a T-shirt. His new-looking jeans broke on fancy cowboy boots.
“Hope you brought money and luck with you,” he said cheerily.
“I sure did,” she replied.
The man walked in after her, drawing even as they entered the expansive foyer. “Normally, I’m surrounded by pigs,” he said.
“Normally, so am I,” she said.
“Jason Parr,” the man said, offering her his hand, which was dry and callused. “I raise hogs all year until my vacation rolls around, and then I come here to Tunica and roll dice. I sure could use some luck, if you’ve got any to spare. As of last night, I’m down to my last two thousand hogs.”
“You’re playing craps?” Alexa asked. She was amazed that the place could be so busy so early.
“‘Playing’ isn’t the first word that springs to mind.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe your luck will change.”
“You ever played craps, Miss…?”
“Alexa Keen,” she said. “No, Mr. Parr. I never have.”
“Well,” the smiling pig farmer said, “it’s about time you did. It’s a fascinating game.”
“I don’t know anything about gambling,” she said, giving him a once-over. “I just wanted to look around.”
“All you have to do is throw dice. I’ll do the rest. If I win, I’ll give you ten percent of whatever I get. And I’ll cover one hundred percent of the losses. It’s what they call a win/win situation, Mrs. Keen.”
“I’m not married. Call me Alexa. I can only play until I get a call from my boyfriend. Then I have to leave.”
“Okay, then, Alexa. Let’s you and me put a choke hold on the cashiers’ cage while you’re on the playground.”
Alexa saw Winter and Brad enter the casino and spotted a large man in a loose-cut suit holding a walkie-talkie and following them. He was built like a pineapple and his face was red from exertion. When he shouted, Winter and Brad turned at the sound of his voice. Based on Brad’s description, Alexa figured he was Albert White, the head of casino security.
65
AS WINTER AND BRAD ENTERED THE CASINO, ALEXA walked ahead of them, beside a beefy red-haired man who talked with his hands waving in the air. Alexa was smiling at him, probably using him as cover.
“Sheriff,” a voice behind them called out. “Hold up!”
Brad and Winter turned and waited for Albert White. Winter hadn’t seen Albert outside, but there he was coming up behind them, his face as red as if he’d been running a city block after a bus.
Winter turned and saw Alexa walking away, the man’s arm making dice-shaking motions. Alexa put her hand behind her back and wa
ggled her fingers to say good-bye.
“What brings you fellows back out?” Albert asked, smiling tentatively as he mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
“We need to talk to Mr. Mulvane,” Brad said.
“Mr. Mulvane is a very busy man,” White said. “You should have called first. He has a guest arriving shortly and he’s tied up with last-minute details.”
“A VIP?” Brad asked, smiling. “A whale?”
“Yes. Exactly. In half an hour or less,” White said.
“Now is good,” Winter said.
White turned angry eyes on Winter and frowned. “I was talking to the sheriff.”
Brad said, “It’s official county business.”
“Let me call him and see if he has a minute,” White said, lifting his cell phone.
“We’ll need more like ten minutes,” Brad said.
White clipped his radio to his belt, and took out his cell phone to make a call. “Mr. Mulvane, sorry to disturb you, but Sheriff Barnett and a deputy are down in the lobby. They want to talk to you for a few minutes.” White listened to whatever Mulvane was saying for several seconds, nodding.
“I explained that to them. Yes, sir, I’ll escort them upstairs,” White said, closing the phone.
“After you,” Brad said.
Albert White led them through the casino. As they walked, Winter scanned the crowd scattered around the playing floor on either side of the wide aisle.
Albert White’s size made the private elevator ride to the executive office suites a close affair.
Albert led them into a mirrored foyer and down the hall to a door marked GENERAL MANAGER. An attractive young woman with dirty blonde hair, a pink ribbon lapel pin, and a wide smile sat at the desk in the reception area. The nameplate on her desk read JANICE PRITCHETT, EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT.
“Mr. Mulvane is expecting you,” she chirped.
Albert led them to the hand-carved door and knocked firmly.
“Enter!” a booming voice called from inside.
As Brad and Massey came in, Pierce stood and rushed to greet them, wearing an expression Winter had seen car salesmen put on as they came out from their showrooms to welcome potential customers.
“An unexpected pleasure,” Mulvane said jovially. “I am so sorry I can only give you a few minutes. Any moment now I have a VIP arriving that I have to welcome personally. Sheriff Barnett, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“This is Deputy Winter Massey,” Brad said.
“Please have a seat.” After they sat, Mulvane went around the desk and made a show of gathering the papers and files into one stack, which he dropped into a desk drawer. Winter suspected the papers had been placed there in the minutes before they arrived.
“The work is never done,” Mulvane said, shrugging. “What can I do for you?”
“It seems clear,” Brad said, “that Jack Beals killed Sherry Adams.”
“That was the young girl’s name?” Pierce said, looking at Albert White.
“Yes,” White said.
“Tragic,” Pierce said, losing the smile and furrowing his brow sympathetically. “Such a terrible waste of life.”
Brad said, “What we can’t figure out is why Beals did it. What could possibly have put him on the Gardner plantation, and what was his motive for killing a young girl?”
“You don’t presume to imagine I could know what was in a killer’s mind. I’m not a psychiatrist…or a psychic,” Mulvane said.
“Are you familiar with the Gardners, Mr. Mulvane?” Winter asked. “Jacob. Leigh is his ex-wife who owns Six Oaks.”
“I’m not a local,” Mulvane said. “We have hundreds of locals who gamble in our establishment. The name does seem familiar. Do you know them, Albert?”
“I am familiar with Jacob Gardner. He is here on occasion. You may have met him. He is very friendly. Outgoing, I’d say.”
“Does he ever win?” Brad asked.
“I’m not sure,” Albert said, shrugging. “You’d have to ask him.”
“Naturally, Sheriff, we do not discuss our customers or their personal affairs,” Mulvane said. “Our clients expect a level of discretion.”
“Mr. Mulvane, you’re obviously a very busy man who doesn’t seem to have any idea what is going on. Maybe we should go back and talk to Jacob Gardner,” Winter said. “He told us that he knows you.”
Mulvane shrugged.
“I’m sure Gardner can clear it up for us,” Winter said.
Pierce’s smile was eroding. “Maybe that would be your best course,” he said weakly.
“See, we’ve been wondering if the death of Sherry Adams could possibly have something to do with a piece of land that Leigh Gardner owns. We had the impression that you are interested in acquiring her acreage,” Winter said.
Mulvane said, “Why would I know anything about her land?”
“Because it’s surrounded by land that your parent corporation RRI has been buying over the past few months to build a major resort. Jacob told Leigh you made her an offer through him,” Winter said.
When Winter said the word resort, Mulvane’s face twitched.
“We’re not saying the two things are connected,” Brad said. “We’re just looking at everything that comes to our attention as we investigate.”
“You can see where the timing of the killing, Beals’s connection to your casino, his own death, and the land you need so desperately…” Winter let the last word hang in the air between them.
A ringing phone saved Mulvane for the moment. He grabbed his cell out of his pocket and answered it, raising a finger to put Winter on hold. “Yes, Tug? Seven minutes.” He closed the phone. “Gentlemen,” he said. “My guest is arriving. If we need to continue this, it will have to be at a later time. Look, I can’t discuss RRI business in progress with anyone outside the organization. The land you mentioned…well, it’s a delicate negotiation, and since you know about it, fine.” He opened his hands as he stood. “We have been trying to acquire it from Mr. Gardner for a long while. We discovered that Mr. Gardner does not in fact own it, so we asked him to tender a very, very generous offer to his ex-wife. As far as I know, this has no connection to anything else that has happened. Our project will bring hundreds of jobs and hundreds of millions of dollars in tax monies into the state. The project represents an operation unparalleled in this county. Which I hope will stay between us until it is announced.”
“Leigh Gardner may or may not sell her land to you,” Winter said. “She is upset that she received your offer from her ex-husband along with what may have been an implied threat that something bad could happen if she didn’t take the offer. Something along the lines of what happened to Sherry Adams.”
“I resent your insinuations,” Mulvane said. “When we discovered that Jacob Gardner didn’t own or in any way control the land in question, which he told us he did, it put us in an awkward position. He assured us he could make the deal happen and would represent Ms. Gardner. That is why we have been going through Gardner. If we can’t reach an agreement on the land from Mrs. Gardner, we can have it condemned by the state and buy it anyway—probably for much less than our offer. But the idea that we would resort to threats or violence is preposterous.”
“Jacob led his ex-wife to believe that she or one of her children could suffer a similar fate as Sherry Adams,” Brad said. “This is a very serious accusation. And one of your employees did kill Sherry.”
“I never said any such thing to Jacob Gardner!” Mulvane stammered. “The man is a liar and a fool.”
“By the way,” Brad said, “I understand you believe Beals stole the money we found at his place from your casino? Any idea how much?”
“Ballpark,” Albert White said, “we’re compiling the exact figure, but it looks to be two hundred thousand dollars and change. How much did you find?”
“Albert, you know that’s confidential,” Brad said. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing your figures.”
Winter said, “We hav
e evidence that Jack Beals was robbing, maybe even killing, winning customers, and we think he was picking them carefully so he wouldn’t get caught. We believe he may have had a partner here in the casino with access to information on the victims. We were sure the money we found hidden in Beals’s house was from that enterprise. But you say it was stolen from this casino, so we’ll be interested in your evidence, since it contradicts ours.”
Mulvane’s face had lost any semblance of its former cheeriness. White seemed at a loss for words as well.
“Maybe we should be talking to the director of RRI,” Winter said. “We have his name and address. Thank you for your time, Mr. Mulvane. We know the way out.”
The men stood to leave, and Pierce took a deep breath and followed them to the elevator. “I’ll ride down with you,” he said.
Winter and Brad stared at Mulvane in total silence after the door closed. Albert White had to take the stairs down since the elevator was too small for the four of them.
“Has it ever been brought to your attention that people who win here sometimes don’t always get to keep their winnings?” Winter asked.
“Of course not,” Pierce said, punching the button for the first floor three times even though the cab was moving.
“Well, Beals told David Scotoni that the casino sent him to retrieve the money he’d won at your tables. Scotoni is the guy who was being drowned by Beals just before Beals was killed. You know, Mr. Mulvane, you strike me as a man who’s living in a world filled with unfortunate coincidences. I know this place is a fantasy world without clocks or invasions of reality from outside, but beyond these walls, actual consequences await everyone.”
When the elevator stopped and the door opened, Brad stepped out and walked off a few paces. Massey blocked Mulvane’s exit, smiling at him.
Mulvane straightened and looked Winter in the eyes. “Are you threatening me?”
“Yes,” Massey said in a low voice. “That is exactly what I am doing. You may have some other people fooled, but I have you pegged. And I know that some others in here have dirty hands too.”
Smoke & Mirrors Page 17