“Yeah,” Sarge said, “we told him to call you and ask for just that. But there is a major problem. We are pretty sure Strickland is one of the people behind a long string of murders.”
“Oh, great,” Mike said.
Sarge could almost see Mike just shaking his head.
“I owe you dinner,” Sarge said. “You got time for dinner and a long, complicated story involving five sisters?”
“Bellagio?” Mike asked.
“We’re already headed there,” Sarge said.
“See you in fifteen,” Mike said and hung up.
Sarge nodded to Pickett. “He’s on his way.”
At that moment Pickett’s phone rang and she handed it to Sarge.
He put it on speaker and said, “We’re here and on our way to meet Mike for dinner.”
“Bellagio?” Robin asked.
“Where else?” Pickett said, laughing.
“Wish I could join you, but I think I need to stay right here at my computer,” Robin said. “The reason I called is that we found some ugly history in James’ family.”
“Oh, no,” Pickett said softly.
Robin went on. “James’ father abused his mother and his sister. His sister killed herself when she was thirteen. A year later his father was caught raping a twelve-year-old girl and arrested. He was killed in jail by another inmate.”
“Oh, no,” Pickett said.
Sarge felt sick to his stomach. He knew how much both Pickett and Robin liked James. This was going to be difficult at best for both of them. Right now Pickett was focusing on the road and traffic around her, but her jaw was set and her face pale.
“James’ mother died while he was away in college,” Robin said. “Causes unknown.”
Only the traffic noise cut through the silence in the car. Sarge just felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t imagine how Pickett was feeling.
“We’re looking into Strickland’s family history,” Robin said. “Just thought you would want to know about James.”
With that she hung up.
Sarge looked at Pickett who was just shaking her head as she drove.
After a moment she said softly, “How could Robin and I have not seen this?”
“He helped you with cases, didn’t he?” Sarge asked.
Pickett nodded.
“I bet his wife doesn’t even know, and as far as James is concerned, he’s just protecting the innocent like no one protected his sister.”
“He thinks he’s actually helping people?”
“He does,” Sarge said. “But my worry is back to how are we going to prove any of this? We have lots and lots of circumstantial evidence that would get this case tossed out of court in a heartbeat. Especially if we accused someone with the reputation and money that James has.”
“And we still don’t know where the five sisters are,” Pickett said as she pulled into the Bellagio parking lot.
“And if there are more killers besides the five sisters out there setting up their targets right now,” Sarge said.
Actually, that was what worried him the most. Every day this took them to solve, the more chance someone was going to die.
THIRTY-ONE
November 20th, 2016
Las Vegas, Nevada
PICKETT WANTED TO just hit something. She and Robin had trusted James, maybe more than they should have at times. But he had been a good friend, a generous donor to charities, and seemingly a good citizen of Las Vegas.
Now they were thinking about him for the money and brains behind a serial killing spree. This couldn’t be right. But having Strickland call him right after they had that conversation was very damning.
And his background didn’t help the reasonable doubt either. But as Sarge said, they had no real case. They had a lot of suspicions and connections, but no evidence.
So she needed to believe in James for the moment and not completely hang him without evidence.
And as careful as Strickland and the five sisters were, and maybe James as well, they might never find actual evidence.
Pickett and Sarge walked in silence on a sidewalk beside the parking lot and into the Bellagio Casino. The late afternoon air had a chill to it and inside the door of the casino the sounds of people laughing and talking and bells ringing grounded Pickett a little more.
She took Sarge’s hand as they headed along the wide tile walkway toward the café.
As they got to the entrance of the café, she looked up at Sarge. “Really glad you are here with me on this one.”
He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I’m glad to be anywhere with you.”
She laughed. “Wow, a fast and perfect answer.”
She kissed him.
He just laughed and said, “The truth is always a good answer.”
“In this case, yes,” Pickett said, laughing.
And laughing made her feel better. Still angry, but at least thinking again.
Amazingly, their regular booth was open back among the plants and they gave the woman who seated them their drink order of two coffees and glasses of water.
The booth had a large oak-colored table and leather seats and plants ringed the back of it giving it a sense of privacy. The noise was louder in the restaurant than normal, mostly because it was the dinner rush. And there were a lot of tourists walking by along the front of the café pulling suitcases.
Mike seemed to appear out of nowhere as they were getting settled.
He was a solid man, all muscle, with wide shoulders and close-cropped hair. He was former Special Forces but never talked about his background. He had intense eyes that never seemed to miss a detail, yet a smile that could relax anyone around him. He was also one of the smartest people Pickett had ever met, and that was going some.
Pickett had liked him from the moment she had met him a month earlier. Robin and Will thought he was the best there was in the business at security and finding things. And the team of former Special Forces men he had working for him were amazing.
Mike gave the waitress his drink order when she brought the water and coffee and they all ordered dinner at that point as well, since they all knew the menu so well.
Mike had a rare top sirloin with a baker, Sarge had a chef’s salad, which was huge, and Pickett decided she wanted halibut with a dinner salad.
Mike then took out his notebook and pen and asked, “What the hell is going on?”
Starting from the beginning, they told Mike about the case, the five sisters, their discussion with the husbands, the poisoning of the abusive men in the hotels, and so on.
When he got to how many men they thought had been killed, he just shook his head and kept writing.
Then Sarge told him about the conversation with Strickland, his reactions, and how Will and Robin had traced the fact that he had called James Newell the moment they had left, before calling Mike.
“The James Newell?” Mike asked, clearly shocked. “The architect, the same one you went to for help with the older hotels?”
Pickett nodded. She then filled Mike in on what Robin had found about James’ background.
Mike sat back, thinking as the dinners arrived. They all started to eat in silence until Mike said, “So you think Newell is the money behind all this and Strickland the general in the field?”
“Pretty much,” Sarge said. “And we don’t have a damn bit of evidence on any of it that we can prove. So we could be completely wrong.”
“I’m still hoping we’re wrong about James Newell being involved in some way,” Pickett said. “But my gut tells me we aren’t.”
“A friend?” Mike asked.
Pickett nodded. That was all she felt safe doing at that moment. She focused on her halibut, knowing it tasted good, but not being able to really enjoy it.
“So at the moment only the three of us and Robin and Will have this entire picture?” Mike asked.
Pickett and Sarge both nodded.
The three of them ate in silence until finally Mike said, “How do you two get into this kin
d of stuff?”
Sarge laughed lightly. “We’ve been asking ourselves that same question.”
“But the problem is that we can’t really prove what we have found,” Pickett said. “We can’t confirm any of it.”
“And for all we know,” Sarge said, “there are more killers out there besides the five sisters.”
That thought made Pickett push away the rest of her dinner.
“We need to prove this, Mike,” Sarge said. “Somehow.”
Mike nodded.
“And if we can’t prove it enough to put anyone in jail,” Pickett said. “We have to at least stop it.”
Sarge and Mike nodded.
And Pickett knew that they both wouldn’t feel satisfied with that result.
She wouldn’t either.
THIRTY-TWO
November 20th, 2016
Las Vegas, Nevada
THEY FINISHED THEIR meals and were drinking coffee, still helping Mike fill in what gaps they could, when Sarge came back to the question he had been asking all along.
“We need to follow the money,” Sarge said.
He knew that was one of the major keys on this. And now, if the money led back to Newell, as they suspected it did, that would help.
Mike sat forward. “What are you thinking?”
“These five sisters must start lives over every year,” Sarge said. “That has to be expensive.”
“Just new wardrobes of clothes that don’t look all new would take time and money to put together,” Pickett said. “And they all buy at some point under the new name a car and rent an apartment and furnish it. Not cheap.”
“We have the women’s names and details for seventeen years,” Sarge said. “There has to be a money trail to each of them from somewhere.”
“And the marriage license information you wanted me to get is to see if a couple of the women are applying for new marriage licenses?” Mike asked.
“If we can just spot one of them,” Sarge said, “we might have it easier to track.”
“But you said these women are setting up the next target family before they leave the one they are with. Right?” Mike asked.
“So right now all five of them are spending money for yet a new life,” Pickett said.
“You think any of this information is going to be on Strickland’s computer?” Mike asked.
“I don’t think so,” Sarge said. “Even with the bug reporting device on there, I can’t imagine Strickland being that careless.”
“Neither can I,” Pickett said. “And if Newell is involved in this, I know he never would let anything get to him either.”
Sarge sat back. He couldn’t believe what he was thinking, but it was the only answer that made sense on all of this.
“They have a headquarters,” Sarge said.
Pickett looked at him, frowning.
Mike slowly nodded.
“More than likely a store front,” Sarge said, “a perfectly normal legit business of some sort, that everything concerning the sisters and maybe other killers, goes through.”
“A charity,” Pickett said.
Sarge knew she was right. He was about to suggest that she call Robin, but Pickett already had her phone to her ear.
“Makes sense,” Mike said, nodding. “And that would give Strickland and Newell and who knows who else cover.”
“Robin,” Pickett said after a moment, “Sarge thinks there might be a headquarters for all this, some legit business or charity to give Newell and Strickland and others cover.”
Pickett nodded. Then she clicked off her phone and set it on the table next to her coffee.
“Robin and Will and their people,” Pickett said, “of which they have five working right now, are going to see if there are any patterns in the five sisters’ shopping habits and credit card purchases.”
“So back to the murders for a moment,” Mike said. “You think one of the women lures an abuser into the hotel and the other is waiting there with Croton Oil to poison the guy. Right?”
“Croton Oil is tough to detect if not looked for,” Pickett said. “And it mimics food poisoning right up to the point the victim falls into a coma and dies.”
“Takes about fifteen minutes to work,” Sarge said, “which would give the women time to escape, yet that is a short enough time that the victim would never be able to figure out what happened and talk.”
“Every victim we have traced,” Pickett said, “has died alone in a hotel room or from food poisoning or something related to a health condition that could have been triggered by Croton Oil.”
Sarge had a hunch Mike was going somewhere with this line of questioning, so he just waited.
Mike nodded to all this, then asked, “So the theory is that these women marry these men to get into the family and do research?”
“That’s the theory,” Sarge said. “They are very careful and each victim we have looked closely at has been an abuser, of that there is no doubt.”
Mike nodded. “So my guess is that in those retreats the sisters take, they are researching families of men they have met. If no abuser in the family, they don’t bother to get to know the man better.”
Sarge nodded. “And doing it from a remote location in a hotel room would make sure that nothing about the search could be traced later.”
“Exactly,” Mike said.
At that moment Pickett’s cell rang.
She picked it up and said, “You want this on speaker?”
Sarge watched as Pickett glanced around. “Booth area is clear. I’ll warn you if someone is approaching.”
With that Pickett put the phone on speaker and set the phone in the middle of the table between them.
“Women’s thrift store,” Robin said, “out near the old Boulder Highway. Sells used clothing and furniture and donates to a number of women’s shelters around the city.”
Sarge nodded. That would make sense and explain part of how the sisters got new/used clothes every time they had to restart a life.
“The store has existed for seventeen years,” Robin said.
“Could have guessed that,” Pickett said.
Mike nodded.
“Every incarnation of the five sisters that we have traced so far has spent money in that store,” Robin said.
“Still no proof,” Sarge said.
“James Newell is a major donor to the store,” Robin said. “Right from the beginning.”
“Damn it,” Pickett said, softly.
“And Strickland does regular work for them,” Robin said. “Also right from the beginning.”
“Okay,” Sarge said, leaning back and looking around to make sure no one was listening. “Lots of coincidences there.”
“Mike,” Robin said, “Will and I can only dig so far.”
“I’ll get myself and a few others on it tonight,” Mike said.
“Thank you,” Robin said. “We found a few alarms along the way, but nothing you won’t be able to get past if you need to. For a small thrift store, they have a very sophisticated computer system.”
Sarge sat forward on that. “More sophisticated than would be needed to run just five sisters in what we have learned?”
“Far more,” Robin said.
“Shit,” Mike said.
Sarge could only agree with that.
THIRTY-THREE
November 20th, 2016
Las Vegas, Nevada
PICKETT FELT LIKE they were making progress and with Robin and Will and all their computer people on the trail, and tonight Mike and his people would dig even deeper, they might be able to actually get to the bottom of all this.
But she was honestly worried about where the bottom of this cesspool of murder actually was. And how many people were swimming in it.
The sun had long set by the time they left the Bellagio. The air had a sharp bite to it and a slight wind from the north made it feel even colder.
After Pickett got her car started and actually turned on the heat, she suggested to
Sarge that they take a drive out along the old Boulder Highway, not to stop at the thrift store, but to just take a look at it.
Sarge agreed. Both of them wanted a look at what they might be facing. More than likely they would never have to even go in the place, but it still felt right to go look.
She got onto Flamingo and headed east until she ran into the Boulder Highway and then turned right.
The old Boulder Highway had, at one time, been the main road out of Las Vegas, heading up to the town of Boulder. But a faster freeway had left the old highway with scattered nineteen-fifties’ hotels, warehouses, and empty lots where businesses used to exist.
The thrift store occupied what had been a small market at one point and looked to be pretty good sized. It sat on a large lot with a cracked and old parking lot completely around it. Two of the dozen parking lot lights still worked, but only barely.
Pickett didn’t slow as she drove past, then went four more blocks and turned around in an old Burger King parking lot and headed back.
As they passed the thrift store the second time, Sarge said simply, “I’m betting there’s something under that parking lot.”
Pickett could see what he meant. The land was far, far bigger and the parking lot far larger than was needed for even an old market, let alone a thrift store. There had been no reason to ever pave it all.
He took out his phone and called Robin, putting it on speaker as Pickett headed them back into downtown and toward the Ogden which she could see towering next to the casinos ahead.
“Robin,” Sarge said. “We just did a drive-by of the thrift store. Any old plans or permits for a large basement under that store and the parking lot around it?”
“Didn’t see any,” Robin said. “But didn’t look that closely at the history yet.”
“Also check the power bill for that place,” Pickett said, realizing what she had seen without noticing it. The power line running to that building was much larger than needed.
Sarge nodded.
“We’ll check on both and call you back,” Robin said.
“What do you think might be under there?” Pickett asked. “If anything?”
Freezeout: A Cold Poker Gang Mystery Page 10