“It is clear.”
“You are a valuable asset to the Bureau,” Hatcher said. “Let’s keep it that way. Does the sheriff have a case against this manager?”
“Not at the present. Jacob Gardner, the landowner’s ex-husband, had information crucial to that investigation, but unfortunately he was killed before the sheriff could convince him to cooperate.”
“I’ll alert the Memphis field office that if you need help, they will offer any necessary assistance. I want you to explain to Mr. Massey that we are watching over his shoulder. I think it would be wise if you make certain this doesn’t become an international incident.”
“I understand.”
“I know you have a good relationship with the director, and I want you to know that I have spoken with him about this. He told me that he has faith in your loyalty to the Bureau, and in your ability to handle yourself appropriately.”
Alexa hung up and reached to pick up her coat from the bed. She felt a bulge in the pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash held together with a rubber band. Thumbing the edge, she saw that the folded currency was comprised entirely of one-hundred-dollar bills. It took her a few seconds to realize that Jason Parr must have put it there when he’d hugged her in the casino parking lot. There were several thousand dollars in the bundle, and there was no way she could keep it.
Alexa left the room to go downstairs and tell Winter about Hatcher’s call.
82
WHEN BRAD ARRIVED, WINTER AND ALEXA WENT out to talk to him.
“My father found an entry wound in the left side of Jacob’s head. He excised the section of scalp,” Brad said.
“Alexa spoke to her boss,” Winter told Brad.
“Well, he is and he isn’t my boss,” Alexa said. “He is a deputy FBI director, but not for my branch. He’s counterterrorism.”
She filled Brad in on her conversation with Hatcher.
“So,” Brad said, “what does that mean? Klein is important to our nation’s counterterrorism efforts?”
“Klein has serious sway,” Alexa said. “We go after him, and hell will look like heaven.”
“This is a little unsettling,” Brad said. “So if he’s in on this, I can’t arrest him?”
“You can do what you please, but they won’t hold Klein accountable,” Alexa said. “And certain people could make sure you regret arresting him, if you do.”
“It’s like that sometimes,” Winter said. “Nothing to do about it. But we don’t know that Klein’s aware of what Mulvane’s been up to. Men like Klein are accustomed to saying they want something to happen while men like Mulvane make sure it does.”
“So you’re telling me that nobody pays for killing Sherry Adams?”
“No,” Winter said, looking out at the spot where the young woman had fallen on the cold hard stones. “Somebody is definitely going to pay for that.”
83
THE OVERCAST SKY AND A STEADY DRIZZLE MADE the afternoon air seem much colder than thirty-four degrees. According to the weather reports, the temperature was going to drop overnight into the mid-twenties as an arctic blast came through the Delta. Winter and Brad stood together on the porch, the cup of coffee in Winter’s hand going cold as the men watched the gravel road.
“This is a good plan, right?” Brad asked.
“It should take Leigh and Hamp out of their sights and get Cynthia back,” Winter said.
“Should?” Brad asked, shaking his head slowly. “I should move Hamp and Leigh to a safer location.”
“There is no safer location at the moment. Moving them before I put this under Klein’s nose is a lot riskier than holding them here. Trust me.”
Brad looked at his watch. “He should be here by now.”
“He’ll be here soon,” Winter said.
Brad’s radio sprang to life. “Unit Four to T.C. One, there’s a black Lexus a half mile out. One occupant.”
“Plate?”
“Vanity Tennessee LAW-ONE. We’re behind him. You want us to pull him?”
“Negative,” Brad said, smiling at Winter. “We’re expecting him. Let him come in.”
“Sheriff.” The deputy laughed. “It looks like he’s dancing.”
Winter unzipped his jacket, took off his glove, and slipped it into his pocket. Reflexively he touched the Reeder to make sure it was secure in its holster, and that all four of the loaded eight-round magazines were secure in the twin holders.
A few seconds later the Lexus flew into view as it roared up the long gravel drive.
“I just hope he isn’t, you know…” Brad said.
“It’s early for that,” Winter said.
The sedan stopped, and when the door flew open, something by ZZ Top spewed out from the interior at an incredible volume. After a few seconds, a man with a flowing blond ponytail, a long beard, and dressed in a topcoat, English riding boots, and a wide-brimmed hat leapt from the car and began to dance in the rain with what could only be described as a blending of the Frug, the Jerk, and the Boogaloo. When the song ended, the man reached in, cut the car motor, brought out a valise, and slammed the door.
“Gentlemen, your law dog has arrived to save the day,” he said, taking the porch steps two at a time.
Winter expected the rib-squeezing hug he got from his friend Billy Lyons, but not the kiss the attorney planted on his cheek. Releasing Winter, Billy turned to Brad and opened his arms.
Brad held out his palms defensively. “Don’t you come a step closer, Billy Lyons. You want to kiss my cheek, fine, but let me drop my pants first.”
“Well, here I am,” Billy said. “This sort of top-secret, faxed-map, come-to-Papa-right-now crap is why I get three bills an hour.”
“Don’t friends get a discount?” Brad asked.
“That’s with the discount, Bradley.”
Billy was hanging up his coat and hat on hooks in the foyer when he saw Alexa standing in the doorway of the den.
“Hello, Billy Lyons,” Alexa said.
“Well, hello, Alexa Keen,” he said jovially. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Nice to see you, Billy,” she said. “Been a long time.”
“Are you still working for the man?”
“Yes,” she said.
Alexa had never cared much for Billy Lyons, but she was glad to see him now. It wasn’t that he was a show-off. He had developed his eccentricities early on to entertain his contemporaries and to separate himself from the crowd—especially his legal competition later in life. Alexa still held a slight grudge against him because he had once made people laugh by mocking her when she was a fifteen-year-old, mixed-race outcast who’d been shunned by both races in their high school. Billy had been close with Winter until she came along, and he had resented and not understood her friendship with Winter. That, as much as anything, had kept Billy and Alexa from becoming friends. But he was a friend of Winter’s, and she knew he had been a good and loyal one at that, and he was about to help them out in a big way.
Alexa stepped back as Winter led Billy into the den, where Leigh was staring at a picture of her children with a faraway look in her eyes. “Billy Lyons, this is Leigh Gardner,” Winter said.
“Nice to meet you, Leigh. Winter told me about your situation on the telephone,” Billy said, sitting in an armchair. “I’ve got most of it already prepared for your approval.”
Billy Lyons opened his briefcase and took out a laptop. After reading the document aloud, he listened to what Leigh had to say and added her suggestions to the legal document. He hooked up to Leigh’s computer, printed the document and Leigh signed it, as Alexa and Winter acted as witnesses. Using Leigh’s scanner and her Internet connection, he sent copies of the signed document to his office and to a judge pal in Jackson, Mississippi, storing a digital copy in his Yahoo e-mail folder.
“Now all I have to do is pop in at the courthouse on my way out of town and file this to make it official,” he said, slipping the original pages into his inside coat pocket before putting the coat on.
84
AFTER BILLY FILED THE PAPERS AT THE COURTHOUSE, Winter had him drop him off at his Jeep. A white SUV—which Winter assumed was carrying cutouts—tailed him from town out to the Roundtable. Winter figured Tunica County was filled with cutouts.
He parked in the Roundtable’s lot. After putting on a ball cap and shades he walked to the entrance, joining the arriving gamblers. With any luck, he would get inside before he was spotted by security. Winter wanted to get to Kurt Klein before Mulvane or White got between them.
Winter walked onto the gaming floor and, unbelievably, spotted Kurt Klein seated at a three-card poker table next to the security man Winter had seen arriving with the wealthy silver-haired industrialist. While Klein gambled, the security man sat with a glass of water in his left hand.
Winter put his sunglasses into his pocket, walked straight up to the table, and took a seat beside Kurt Klein. The security man looked across Klein to stare at Winter.
“My name is Winter Massey,” he said.
Casually, Klein said, “I’m Kurt Klein. Nice to meet you.”
Klein placed a bet, looked at Winter for the first time, and smiled. He slid a stack of chips from his pile to rest in front of Winter. “Something to keep your hands busy?”
Winter pushed them back. “I’m not much with cards.”
The security man beside Klein nodded almost imperceptibly.
“This is Steffan Finch,” Klein said. “He works for me.”
Winter looked around and saw the two other security men who had arrived with Klein move forward, their hands behind their backs.
“I’m not armed,” Winter said, slowly drawing back his jacket so Finch could see the empty high-rise holster on his belt.
Kurt Klein won with a pair of kings. The dealer had jack high.
“Do you believe in luck?” he asked Winter.
“Sometimes luck is better than skill,” he answered. “It’s just not very dependable.”
“I never depend on luck,” Kurt Klein said, raking in the chips he’d won. “I bet you are more skilled than lucky yourself.”
Winter shrugged. “I’m careful when I can be.”
“So, Mr. Massey,” Kurt said. “Are you here because you want to test your luck?” He placed four chips in front of Winter. “Play a hand with me.”
Winter placed the chips Klein had given him into the bet box, and Klein made a large bet. They watched the dealer toss out the cards.
“I guess I’m all in,” Winter said.
Klein chuckled. “That appears to be the case.”
Winter had nothing, Klein had a pair, and the dealer a king high hand.
The dealer stacked black and yellow chips in front of Klein.
“Luck doesn’t seem to be on your side,” Klein said.
“Not with cards. Is there a place we can talk in private?”
“Let’s go upstairs,” Klein said, tipping the dealer a pair of black and yellow chips. A man dressed in an official Roundtable jacket and red tie picked up Klein’s winnings, stacked them onto a tray, and walked off.
“Accompany me to the elevator,” Kurt Klein said, standing. Winter stood and walked beside Klein.
Finch led the way, the two arm-breakers trailing behind him.
85
“SO,” LEIGH SAID, “IF THIS SPECIFIC INDIVIDUAL didn’t have Cynthia, what would you be doing differently?”
“Every case is different,” Alexa said.
Leigh’s voice cracked with emotion as she spoke. “You must think I’m a terrible mother. Sherry just murdered and I let my daughter leave the house alone.”
“Beating yourself up is a normal reaction, but you didn’t know what was going on then,” Alexa told her. “She’s going to be fine.”
“I always let her do what she wants to do. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
“She’ll be fine.”
“Is that your personal or professional opinion?”
“Both.”
“I know what you people think. If she’s dead, she’s dead. If she isn’t, she probably won’t be killed.”
“I didn’t say that,” Alexa said.
“Winter believes it. You’re saying you don’t think that’s the case?”
“Winter knows this man who has your daughter as well as anyone does.”
“The man is a professional murderer.”
“Yes, he is. But he doesn’t kill unless it works to his advantage. We should talk about something else.”
Leigh looked at the fire in the hearth. “How in God’s name can I talk about anything else? I can’t think of anything but Cynthia.”
“Please, try.”
“You and Winter both grew up in Cleveland.”
“We met in high school.”
“You were good friends?”
“We were best friends. I’ve never had a friend that came close to him.”
“Not more than friends?”
“Never lovers, if that’s what you mean. I was an outsider—a misfit. My parents were drug addicts. My sister and I were split up in foster care. Winter came along at a crucial time in my life, and he reached out to me. He saved my life. He lost friends over it and didn’t care at all. We had a lot in common. He married my best friend and roommate from college.” Alexa laughed. “I was his best man and her maid of honor.”
“Brad says he is very good at what he does.”
“He’s awesome at what he does. His instincts are truly amazing. He is one of the few people on earth I trust completely.” Leigh nodded, and there was a silence, after which Alexa said, “I understand you and Brad went together.”
Leigh’s eyes lit up. “We were engaged. We almost got married.”
“Tell me about it.”
Fifteen minutes later, as Leigh was smiling at Alexa with tears in her eyes, Brad came into the room.
“We were talking about high school,” Alexa said, grinning at Leigh, who blushed.
“That was a long time ago,” he said. “Winter called. He’s gone to talk to Klein at the casino. He’s taking a copy of the papers Billy filed.”
“Alone?” Alexa said.
“Yeah. He had Billy drop him off at his Jeep.”
Alexa swore under her breath. “Leigh, can I take your truck?”
“Sure. Key’s hanging by the back door.”
Alexa got into Leigh’s truck and struck out for the casino, passing three parked cruisers whose deputies, armed with AR-15s and shotguns, were guarding the road leading into the plantation.
Alexa couldn’t believe Brad had let Winter go out to the casino without backup of any kind. Mulvane could react violently if he thought Winter was going to bring his sinister actions to his boss’s attention. And if Klein was protected by his own security and the U.S. government, he could probably do whatever he pleased without worrying about repercussions or legal accountability. She knew Winter was not intimidated by these facts, at least not the way she would be. But frightened or not, she wasn’t about to let anything happen to Massey if she could help it.
It was dusk when Alexa pulled into a space in front of the Roundtable. Putting the purse’s strap over her shoulder, she strode toward the front doors. Walking purposefully through the casino, she caught sight of Winter, Klein, and three security people heading for the elevators. Moving quickly, she tried to intercept the group so Winter would see her, but they turned the corner before she caught up, and she didn’t think running or waving her arms in the air was a good idea. She saw Winter, under no apparent duress, step into an elevator cab with Klein. Klein dismissed the other two men, allowing only his personal security man to accompany them.
Alexa had some time to kill and remembered something she needed to take care of. She went to the hotel lobby and stopped at the house phones.
“Can you please connect me to Jason Parr’s room?” she asked the operator.
There was a momentary pause as the operator looked up the room number and handed her the receiver. It rang four times, aft
er which the gambling pig farmer answered. “Parr here.”
“This is your old gambling partner.”
“Alexa?” he said, suddenly excited. “That really you?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I’m really glad you came by. After the dust settled I found out I shorted you by about nine grand,” he said. “I didn’t know how I’d ever find you.”
“Can you come down? I really can’t accept it.”
“I can’t at the moment. Could you come up? I’m on the eighth floor in suite eight-twenty-two. Unless you feel weird about coming to a stranger’s room…”
“Of course not. I’ll be right up.”
86
CYNTHIA GARDNER WAS DRESSED IN CLEAN CLOTHES, still bound, and lying on a king-sized bed, watching mesmerized as the man who’d kidnapped her peeled away in ragged pieces what she had believed until that instant was the actual skin on his very unattractive face. As he scrubbed the adhesive from his cheeks, he became another person entirely. He wasn’t bad looking, but he wasn’t male model material either. And thanks to the tight spandex underwear he had on, she could see that he was built like a gymnast. Sure, he was sort of old, but every muscle was as perfectly defined as anybody her age.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” she asked him.
“In school,” he said, frowning thoughtfully in the mirror at the sight of his irritated skin.
“Makeup one-oh-one?” she asked.
“Are you feeling one hundred percent yet?” he wanted to know.
“Yes. Thanks for the shot.” Asshole. I could have died. I almost did, I bet.
“Now you are completely out of insulin. So the timing was perfect. By the time you need another shot, you’ll be at home, safe and sound. You have some at home?”
“Yes, I do. You know, I really thought you were going to let me die,” she told him.
“Don’t be silly, Cynthia,” He turned to look at her, smiling. “Do I look like a murderer to you?”
“I’m not really sure what a murderer looks like.”
Smoke & Mirrors Page 21