Smoke & Mirrors

by John Ramsey Miller

  Leaving the utility room to the sound of gunfire, Alexa shouldered the rifle and moved into the main hallway. When Styer moved into view, she realized her scope lens was iced over and fogged. She looked over it and squeezed the trigger, missing wide, the bullet shattering the glass in the front door behind him.

  Still facing forty-five degrees from her, Styer swung the gun across his chest and aimed it at her.

  Alexa kept firing, adjusting her aim.

  Styer was hit and fell, dropping the gun as he went down.

  As she came up the hall, her barrel pointed at him, he rolled onto his back and laughed, rose-colored bubbles issuing from his nostrils and mouth. The bullet must have entered his chest after passing through his left shoulder.

  As she got to him, she kicked the Glocks away and turned to see Winter getting to his feet and bending down to get his gun.

  “You all right?” she asked him. Her ears were ringing from the gunshots.

  “No,” he said, limping painfully to lean against the handrail.

  “Well, I guess you are going to have to arrest me after all,” Styer said from the ground below her as he groaned in pain. When he spoke, his words sounded wet, lubricated by the blood rising from his punctured lungs. “You know, Massey—”

  His words ended in an explosion from the gun in Winter’s hand. Through the new ringing in her ears, she heard the crisp sound of a shell casing click on the floor.

  Looking down, she saw that Styer was still smiling despite the new black hole below his chin. Whatever thoughts he’d had were scrambled somewhere in the knot of brains that trailed across the shiny floor beyond the exploded top of his head.

  “Jesus Christ, Massey!” Alexa screamed. “Why did you do that?”

  Winter shook his head.

  Then she saw the small black object in Styer’s right hand, his thumb resting on the button. She reached down and carefully took the cell phone in her hands, snapped open the back of it, and, using her fingernail, removed and disconnected the battery.

  “The remote,” she said. “Cell phone remote.”

  “The remote?” he asked in total seriousness.

  “To detonate the bomb.” She stared at him speechless for a long few seconds, shaking her head slowly. “I’d forgotten about it. Thank God you remembered. You did remember, right?”

  Winter winced, snapped the safety on the Reeder up, pushed it into its holster, and sat down on the bottom stair, his face reflecting only a portion of the agony she knew he was feeling. Alexa walked over, plopped on the stair beside Winter, and put her arm on his shoulder.

  “Christ,” she said. “Thank you.”

  It hit her that Winter hadn’t seen the phone, nor had he remembered the bomb below them. It came to her as surely as if he opened his mouth and explained it to her. He had shot an obviously dying Styer because he didn’t want Alexa to have even a monster like Styer’s death on her conscience. As it was, she had merely wounded Styer to save Winter’s life. His bullet had removed the killer’s death from her gun and her conscience.

  Winter had often told her that killing a felon, even in the line of duty, was only a little less damaging than dying yourself.

  128

  SUNDAY

  THE REINFORCEMENTS HAD ARRIVED HALF AN HOUR after Styer died. They took Estelle out to a waiting ambulance and put Brad in another, both headed to a Memphis trauma center. Both Estelle and Brad needed better medical care than they could have gotten locally. Winter rode to Memphis in a cruiser. Alexa stayed at the house.

  FBI and ATF agents arrived, fresh from the equipment barn, and everybody waited in a shed away from the house while the ATF found the bomb in the basement, disarmed it, and carted it away.

  It was almost noon on Sunday before the doctors at Baptist Memorial in Memphis told Leigh and the children that Brad was going to be as good as ever—except he would only have one eye. Hamp said it was a lucky thing he hadn’t lost the eye he aimed with.

  Estelle had two .22-caliber bullets removed and the doctors were hopeful of her full recovery if there were no complications like migrating blood clots or infections. One of the bullets had hit her in the back of her head and knocked her out, and the second was stopped by her spine, thankfully not severing her cord. After the operation she had regained consciousness and had promptly asked for a Coke.

  The FBI had found Jason Parr’s corpse in his suite at the Roundtable. Pierce Mulvane’s body was found near the exploded equipment shed. Best they could figure, he was dead from a gunshot wound in his forehead. He had been in the trunk of the limousine when the blast hurled his corpse fifty feet into a pile of tree limbs, where he’d hung across a branch like a Christmas-tree ornament. Woody had located Dr. Barnett’s body in a closet in his home.

  Kurt Klein had left for Europe that morning after he’d given a statement. All he knew was that Mulvane had missed a planned dinner, and he was asleep in bed when the sheriff from the next county had awakened him.

  Winter’s hip was sore from the bullet wound and he had three fractured ribs from his fall down the stairs. He ate a late breakfast in the hospital cafeteria and looked at the television screen, where a newscaster was getting about ninety percent of the facts wrong on the events in Tunica County. It was something he was accustomed to.

  Sean had wanted to come back to Memphis, but he’d convinced her to wait for him to return to Concord.

  Winter suddenly felt a presence over his shoulder and sipped his coffee as a man he thought he’d never lay eyes on again sat down across from him. The cutout put his coffee cup down on the table.

  “Been a while,” he said.

  “A year,” Winter said to the man whose name he had never gotten when they’d met at a small airport in Arkansas to discuss Paulus Styer.

  “How’s the leg?” the man asked.

  “I’ve had worse,” Winter said.

  “We didn’t imagine you’d come out of this in one piece,” he said. “You never fail to surprise, Massey.”

  “I’d sure like to stop doing that. What do I call you?”

  “Mike.”

  “Mike it is.” Winter waited.

  “Odd you never mentioned you had Styer’s DNA.”

  “You never asked.”

  “That’s fair. I thought I owed you, so we’re taking care of the details on this one.”

  “When have you not?”

  “We also know you moved a friend of ours in the SUV. Took a while to figure that one out.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t. You know, we could use someone like you.”

  “Work’s too hard, it’s dirty as hell, and I don’t like your management.”

  “We have new managers now,” Mike said.

  “Yeah, but you keep getting them from the same sewer.” Winter stood. “Try not to burn your mouth on that coffee, Mike. If we’re done?”

  Mike opened his hands and nodded. “Call if you need anything.”

  “I won’t.”

  Winter used his crutches to walk over to where Hamp was performing magic for a bald child in pajamas.

  Winter placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s you and me go upstairs and check in with the girls.”

  “First, my big finish,” Hampton said, standing.

  Winter waited, smiling as Hampton Gardner seemed to pluck two playing cards from thin air, placing one in each of the child’s small hands.

  The child laughed, and his parents applauded.

  The Great Mephisto put a hand to his stomach and bowed deeply.

  129

  IT WAS THREE O’CLOCK SUNDAY AFTERNOON WHEN Alexa finally showed up in Winter’s room. “Hey, kiddo,” Winter said.

  He turned off the TV. After the initial smile she’d been wearing evaporated, his antennae came out. She put the two manila envelopes she was holding on the table beside his bed.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “Not really. I turned in your rent
al, and your gun’s in one of these envelopes.”

  “They released my gun?”

  “Nobody’s interested in keeping it since the shooting isn’t going to generate any inquest. The FBI and Homeland are handling the incidents. You know the ‘official’ statement drill. Massey, when you think about this, just remember that you did good. Real good.”

  “You all right?” Winter asked her again, trying to get at what was weighing her down.

  “Well, there’s something you need to know. When I was at Brad’s earlier, a deputy came in with Jacob’s coat from the wreck. There was a recorder in the pocket that was damaged and didn’t work. I put the tape into another mini and it worked. You need to listen to it. I put another cassette into the damaged machine so they won’t know I took it.”

  “What’s on it?”

  “Troubling shit. No one else has heard it. I’m headed to the airport, since I’ve been ordered to join an investigation in progress. I’m going to turn this over to you. You decide how you want to handle it and let me know. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

  She gave him a gentle hug and kissed him on the cheek. He saw that her eyes were filling with tears. She moved to the door and smiled weakly.

  “Massey, if it weren’t for a few people like you, I’d have written the world off a long time ago. Sometimes I just want to turn in my badge and go live on the side of a mountain.”

  When she left the room, Winter turned his attention to the envelopes. He reached over to the table and lifted the manila envelope that had Gardner written on it.

  He took the end of the red string and unwound it from the plastic disk, then poured out a pocket mini-recorder.

  Winter pressed the PLAY button. The tape began with Jacob’s voice telling the date of the day he was murdered. That was followed by a confession, a surreptitiously recorded conversation with Leigh, and the unmistakable sounds of his flight from the house, which had ended with his death and the recorder’s destruction. As Winter listened, he felt like a trapdoor had swung open beneath him.

  Before he closed his eyes, he had listened to the tape three times, and still had no idea how he was going to use the information.

  130

  LEIGH GARDNER TURNED AND SMILED WHEN Winter walked into the room where Brad Barnett lay in bed, a bandage encasing the left quarter of his head. His left hand was locked with Leigh’s right.

  “Look who’s here, Brad,” Leigh said.

  “Massey,” Brad said, smiling crookedly. His voice was no more than a low rasping. “Leigh told me that German bastard clipped you. Sorry I wasn’t more helpful.”

  “He chewed on me some.” Winter shook Brad’s free hand gently. “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

  “Since you were injured in the line of duty, Tunica County has your medical expenses covered. Whatever you need.”

  “We owe you everything, Winter,” Leigh said.

  “I asked Leigh to marry me,” Brad said.

  “I think it’s the meds talking.” Leigh giggled, squeezing Brad’s hand.

  “Bullshit,” Brad declared. “I didn’t really believe it, but you were right about that bastard,” Brad said, meaning Styer. “Daddy never had a chance.”

  “I was lucky,” Winter said. “And I had Alexa.”

  “It’s over now,” Leigh said, frowning. “We bury our dead, help the wounded as best we can, and life goes on.”

  “That’s that farmer realism talking,” Brad said. “Leigh’s a rock.”

  “Yeah,” Winter agreed. “That she is.”

  The door opened and Cynthia came bouncing in with a soft drink in her hand. She patted Winter’s shoulder playfully as she passed him, went to the bed, and kissed Brad’s cheek. “How you feeling, Pops?” She looked at Winter and her face lit up. “God, is that ever weird or what? I grew up in the same town with Brad and never knew he was my daddy.”

  “Where’s Hampton?” Winter asked.

  “Gone to spend the night with an old friend of Mama’s,” Cynthia said. “She works as a volunteer at the zoo. He’s helping her feed animals or some happy shit.”

  “Cyn!” Leigh snapped. “Language.”

  “Sorry,” Cyn said, shrugging.

  “I brought you something,” he said, handing Leigh the envelope. “These are Jacob’s personal effects from the accident.”

  “Thanks,” she said, dropping the envelope unceremoniously into a shopping bag beside her chair.

  Winter’s cell phone rang. He opened it and put it to his ear. “Yeah, Billy. Leigh’s right here,” Winter said, handing Leigh his phone. “He needs to talk to you.”

  “Yes? I can be at your office in an hour. Address?” she asked. “Yes, Winter can show me. Cynthia too? Sure, I guess so.”

  Winter put the cell phone into his pocket and spent the next fifteen minutes making idle conversation with Leigh and Cynthia. He had thought it would be more difficult.

  131

  WINTER DIRECTED LEIGH TO A LARGE THREE-STORY building in downtown Memphis that housed Lyons, Battle, Cole & Vance, where a dozen attorneys were growing steadily richer.

  Winter, Leigh, and Cynthia stepped out of the elevator. Through the glass-enclosed elevator bank, Winter spotted Billy Lyons standing in the reception area talking to a young man dressed for golf. When Billy saw them, he ended the conversation, strode across the space, and opened the door for the trio.

  “How’s the leg?”

  “Stiff and sore.”

  “The ribs?”

  “They’re fine as long as I don’t inhale.”

  “I hate to rush things, but can we sign the papers? We need to get back to Brad,” Leigh said pleasantly.

  “Of course. My office awaits,” Billy said, leading the way.

  After Billy closed the door to his office, he indicated the conference table and they all sat down.

  “What exactly are these papers about?” Leigh asked, looking from Billy to Winter. “I thought everything was done. And why did you ask that Cyn come?”

  Winter leaned forward. “Billy is here as your attorney to advise you. After I tell you a few things, you can ask his advice,” he said.

  “Or you can hire another lawyer if you choose,” Billy added.

  “That’s going to be up to you,” Winter said.

  “What exactly do I need an attorney for?” Leigh asked. Her face had been captured by a steely frown.

  “We’ll talk about that,” Winter said. “First you need to hear this.” Winter took out the recorder and placed it on the table in front of him.

  “What’s that?” Cyn asked, looking confused.

  “This was in Jacob’s coat pocket when he was murdered.”

  Leigh didn’t say anything, but the color drained from her cheeks.

  Winter snapped on the machine and sat back.

  “This is Jacob Gardner,” the murdered man’s voice said, authoritatively. “I am making this recording because I think it is prudent for me to have an ace in the hole. It has occurred to me that after this business venture is done, and Leigh does not need me, I will be out in the cold, or worse. I have good reason to believe she’s covered her ass nicely and that I will be fed to the wolves. A year ago, I discovered that a foreign corporation was buying land adjacent to a section I was foolish enough to have signed over to my ex-wife as collateral for a loan to repay people I had fleeced. There is no way to sugarcoat that, as it is a fact. Leigh has the evidence to prove that as well as other things that would discredit me. When I approached her and attempted to get the land back so I could sell it and regain my financial independence and dignity, she refused. When I discovered that the corporation buying the land owned the Roundtable, I did some research and found out that they owned only high-end resorts, with one exception—the Roundtable. I was convinced they were planning to build another large resort and that my land would be worth a fortune due to its proximity to the resort. This was before I learned from Albert White that my parcel was the sole remaining property in
the middle of the whole shebang. I decided there was enough money to go around. Since Leigh was suspicious because I wanted the land back, I knew I had no choice but to bring her in. Leigh’s father knew—”

  Leigh reached out and turned off the machine. “This is crap,” she said angrily. “Jacob was insane.” She stood up. “He never once told the truth in his life. He is trying to make me look guilty of something. This is some sort of revenge in case he got caught!”

  “We should listen to the rest of it,” Billy said.

  “Come on, Cyn. We’re leaving,” Leigh said. “Nothing Jacob Gardner said is worth anything. He never told the truth in his miserable life.”

  Cynthia stood.

  “You’d be right,” Winter said. “Except for the fact that he recorded a certain conversation. You can walk out if you like, but if you do, you’ll force me to turn this over to Brad.”

  Leigh and Cynthia sat.

  Winter turned the machine on again, rewinded a little, and Jacob continued. “Leigh’s father knew Albert White from his younger days when he needed a favor done in West Memphis that involved getting his brother out of a possible assault on a whore. He almost beat her to death. For a fee, White framed someone else and Leigh’s uncle walked. After that, her uncle sold Leigh’s father his interest in the plantation for a pittance because Leigh’s father had the goods on him.

  I finally leveled with Leigh because she wasn’t going to sell back the land to me. I had quit gambling, but Leigh and White suggested that I lose a lot of money to the casino and other casinos. Albert got ten grand up front, which Leigh paid him, against a percentage of the sale price for his help in getting RRI to pay top dollar. He got me a large line of credit at the Roundtable and two other casinos, and we made Pierce Mulvane think I owned the land they needed. Albert correctly figured they would buy up my other debt from the competition, and pressure me to swap the land for them. When they did that, I admitted that I didn’t actually own the land, and that I would have to convince Leigh to sell it. Then Leigh would play the heavy—which is no big stretch—and they would have to pony up really big bucks for it. White and Jack Beals kept us informed as to what was happening inside the casino since those people aren’t above using unpleasant means to get what they want, and did we ever have what they wanted. With White on the inside, we thought we could stay ahead of them and be safe.”