One-Eyed Royals

by Cordelia Kingsbridge

  “Looks like that boy of yours got himself in some hot water,” Paulie said while the anchorwoman continued her appeal to the public.

  “He’s not my boy,” Dominic said absently, eyes still riveted to the TV.

  “Wish the cops would find this freak already.” Paulie slurped around his chew. “He’s bad for business.”

  Tearing his attention away from the TV, Dominic tossed Paulie a smirk. “What’s the matter, Paulie? Worried you might be next?”

  Paulie scowled. Dominic chuckled and headed for the door, though now his mind was less on the Royce case and more on Levi.

  Over the past year, Levi had become a highly recognizable public figure in Las Vegas. He was generally regarded in a favorable light, his mystique only heightened by his flat refusal to speak with the press, but if civilian sentiment turned against him now . . .

  On his way out of the pawnshop, Dominic bumped into a group of three young skinheads coming inside. They were wearing threadbare tank tops and low-slung jeans, all the better to show off the tattoos of white supremacist symbols and Utopia gang signs scrawled across their pasty skin.

  “Watch it, bro,” one of the gangbangers said.

  Dominic drew himself up to his full height, letting the breadth of his shoulders and the bulk of his muscles speak for him. He could see the men were packing—they had their guns tucked into their waistbands, the morons—but so was he. Ever since the Seven of Spades had trashed his apartment, he’d taken to carrying his gun everywhere it was legal. And he doubted these assholes had any real training or skill with a firearm.

  A reckless craving inside him wanted the men to start something. He had half a foot and sixty pounds of muscle on the largest of them, and beating three Nazi punks to a bloody pulp might be the most fun he’d had in a long time.

  “Do we have a problem?” he said mildly.

  The gangbanger who’d spoken hesitated, taking in Dominic’s stature. His eyes traveled knowingly over the slight bulge of the shoulder holster beneath Dominic’s jacket, so it seemed he wasn’t completely brain-dead.

  “Nah, man.” He lifted his hands, though his chest was still puffed up. “It’s cool.”

  He and his two buddies continued on their way. Dominic glanced back at Paulie, wondering if he should leave him alone with these skinheads. Paulie was watching the men with clear irritation but no apparent fear.

  Figuring a straight white Christian man like Paulie was about as safe around Utopia as anyone could possibly be, Dominic left the shop to the chime of the bell over the door.

  Levi pulled into a visitor’s garage in a business park east of the Strip, not far from where Dominic lived near the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. His own car was still a crime scene, so he’d picked up an unmarked sedan from the department motor pool. Even once his car was released, though, he’d never be able to drive it again. Maybe he should donate it.

  Shaking his head, Levi pulled his mind off the Seven of Spades and put it back on the matter at hand. Of everyone involved in the kidnaps-for-ransom case, Nathan Royce had the greatest means and opportunity—he had unfettered access to the K&R policies and more than enough resources to hire and supply professional mercenaries.

  The missing link was motive. Levi was here to follow his hunch that Royce’s relationship with his assistant Juliette could have driven him to arrange the kidnappings in preparation for taking off with her. Although that theory did raise the question as to why Royce would kidnap Buckner when he would have known for a fact that the man’s policy had lapsed.

  Dominic might have gotten the jump on Levi in interviewing the victims, but he wouldn’t have gone anywhere near Carolyn Royce—he wouldn’t investigate his own client, if only to avoid pissing off his boss. This was one lead Levi had all to himself.

  Levi strolled through the business park, surveying the pale, tidy stucco buildings with their neat rows of enormous windows. This was no different from anything he’d see back home in New Jersey, with the exception of the palm trees dotting the landscape.

  Carolyn and Nathan Royce had both been independently wealthy before they married. She was the executive VP of Graff Gaming, a corporation that owned dozens of gaming properties across the US. It had been founded by her grandfather, and her family still ran it, though it had since gone public.

  After checking the building’s directory, Levi took the elevator to the third floor and stepped out into the lobby of Graff Gaming’s head offices. He approached the receptionist’s desk, passing a chattering group of people who just missed the elevator as it closed behind him.

  He flashed the receptionist his badge. “I’m Detective Levi Abrams with the LVMPD. I have an appointment to see Carolyn Royce.”

  The group by the elevator, who’d already been shooting curious glances his way, stopped talking altogether and stared. The receptionist gaped up at him. The elevator doors slid back open with a soft ding, then closed again a few seconds later when nobody got inside.

  Levi forced himself not to react. Martine had warned him that some of the news about his connection to the Seven of Spades’s victims and Sheppard’s murder had leaked.

  Instead of snapping at the receptionist the way he felt the urge to, he clasped his hands at his waist, squeezing until his knuckles strained against his skin, and simply raised his eyebrows.

  “Um . . . yes, sir. One moment.” She picked up her phone and punched in an extension. “Alan? I have Detective Abrams for Ms. Royce . . . Yeah, thanks.” She hung up, gave Levi an awkward smile, and said, “Her assistant will be right with you.”

  “Thanks.”

  She continued to stare at him. The people at the elevator were whispering to each other now, making no move to call the elevator back, and Levi couldn’t take it anymore. He turned around.

  “Don’t you people have somewhere to be?” he said coldly.

  The gawkers startled, most of them flushing and ducking their heads. The man nearest the elevator jabbed the call button; the doors popped open immediately, and everyone piled on. They all avoided Levi’s eyes until the elevator whisked them away.

  When the assistant came to collect Levi, he was much more discreet, welcoming Levi politely and leading him to a corner office. He knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for a response, ushering Levi inside.

  The office was a handsome space, decorated with obvious wealth but lacking ostentation. Framed photographs of Graff Gaming’s properties hung on the walls alongside several industry awards and a diploma from the Wharton School of Business.

  The woman who rose from her desk and came forward to greet him was white, in her late fifties, with pale blonde hair going silver. Like her office, she exhibited no vulgar display of wealth, but Levi noted the custom fit of her suit, the pearls adorning her ears and throat, the Patek Philippe watch glinting on her wrist. This woman had money, and plenty of it.

  “Detective Abrams,” she said with a gracious smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Thank you for making time to see me, Ms. Royce.”

  “Carolyn, please.”

  “Levi,” he said as they shook hands.

  “I have to admit, I already know a lot about you. I’ve been following the Seven of Spades case since last April.” Carolyn waved him into a comfortable chair and sat behind her desk. “I heard about the circumstances of the murder this morning. I’m very sorry. That must have been awful, and to be removed from the investigation after all your hard work . . .”

  Levi held himself stiffly, perched at the edge of his seat. “It’s in the best interests of the case.”

  “Those two other men are still missing?”

  “Ms. . . . Carolyn. With all due respect, I can’t comment on that investigation. I’m here to talk to you about a different set of kidnappings.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, seeming unoffended by the brush-off. “Nathan’s kidnap-and-ransom clients—you said as much on the phone. I’d love to help, but I’m not sure how I can.”

/>   “Has he told you what’s been going on?” Levi asked.

  She tilted her hand back and forth. “A bit. We don’t usually talk much about work. He did tell me more after the homicide, but . . .”

  He filled in the blanks for her, though he held back a few details that weren’t being shared with civilians. She listened with her chin propped on her clasped hands, a slight frown on her face.

  “So Nathan thinks it’s either corporate sabotage or insurance fraud?” she said when he finished.

  “Yes. But the private investigator he hired has found no evidence to that effect.” He watched her closely. “If I can be honest, this looks like an inside job.”

  “An inside . . . You mean Nathan’s a suspect?” She leaned back in her chair, waving a hand. “Impossible. Nathan would never harm anyone, and besides, he has no reason to do such a thing. It’ll ruin his professional reputation, and it’s not like he needs the money.”

  “Are you sure about that? Does your husband have any debts? Any interest or activities that might get him into financial trouble?”

  She shot a pointed glance toward the photographs on the wall. “You mean like gambling? No. Nathan’s never been much of a risk-taker, which is another reason I can’t imagine him doing anything like this.”

  “People can do surprising things when they’re backed into a corner,” Levi said. “Does Mr. Royce have any expensive hobbies? Cars, wine?” He paused. “Women?”

  Carolyn’s lips quirked. “If there’s something you’d like to say, Levi, feel free.”

  All right, then. “Are you aware that your husband is having an affair with his assistant?”

  Unexpectedly, she laughed. “They’re sleeping with each other, but it’s not an affair. Nathan and I have always been nonmonogamous. We’re free to have our fun on the side, so long as we’re discreet.”

  “Do you really consider having sex with his assistant to be discreet?” Levi couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.

  “It’s not the smartest thing he’s ever done.” She shrugged. “But Juliette is very beautiful, and Nathan is— Well, you know how men are.”

  “So their relationship isn’t serious?”

  “Not at all.”

  That didn’t fit with what Levi had observed of Royce and Juliette’s interaction, though that moment had admittedly been brief. “Do you have any concerns that he might want to . . . take his relationship with her further?”

  She blinked, and he could see her putting the pieces together. “And start a new life with her and his ill-gotten gains, you mean? No. I’m sure Juliette is a lovely playmate, but that’s all she is. Nathan wouldn’t sacrifice safety and stability for her—or anyone else, for that matter. He’s not that kind of man.”

  Though Levi wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, he’d spent a decade listening to hundreds of people repeat variations on the same theme: He would never do that. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’d never leave me. In every single case, that emphatic statement had been dead wrong. Everyone hid parts of themselves, even from the people who loved them most.

  “Can I ask to what extent you and Mr. Royce share your finances?” he said, rather than directly question her faith in her husband.

  “We don’t, really. We both came into the marriage with a great deal of money and family assets, so we have a strict prenuptial agreement, and we keep our incomes separate. We have one joint account for the mortgage and things of that nature.”

  Meaning it would be easy for Royce to move large amounts of money around with his wife being none the wiser. He could funnel thousands of dollars to the mercenaries doing his bidding, and she’d have no way of knowing.

  Levi drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Have you noticed anything unusual in his behavior lately? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  “No,” Carolyn said right away—but like most people, she stopped and reconsidered once she gave the question real thought. “Well, I mean, he has seemed anxious these past few weeks. Jumpy, even. But who wouldn’t be, considering what’s been going on?”

  “What do you mean by anxious and jumpy?”

  “Oh, you know. Hurrying out of the room to take calls, sometimes at odd hours. Startling badly when he’s taken by surprise. Keeping his briefcase with him at all times.” Her speech slowed as she talked, her eyes becoming unfocused. “But that could all be explained by the kidnappings. It was probably his investigator he was talking to.”

  Whereas before her voice had been firm with confidence, now she sounded more like she was trying to convince herself. It was a common phenomenon—having been asked to consider Royce’s recent behavior in a certain light, she was seeing patterns she hadn’t consciously noticed before.

  That new suspicion meant she’d do part of Levi’s job for him; she was better placed to investigate her husband than Levi ever could be. He decided to back off before he pushed too hard.

  “I think I have enough for now.” He handed her his card as he stood. “If anything else occurs to you, please give me a call.”

  “Of course,” she said, standing along with him. “You’re not planning to arrest Nathan, are you?”

  “Not at present. We don’t have enough evidence to arrest anyone, though that may change if there’s another kidnapping. Hopefully, the new police attention will convince whoever’s behind this to call it quits.” Levi glanced at his watch, most of his focus on his plans for the rest of the day. “I’d do even more to ensure that, if your husband would cooperate.”

  Carolyn frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “He knows who all the potential victims are. The kidnapping ring only targets the subjects of KIG’s kidnap-and-ransom policies. The LVMPD would like to warn everyone who may still be in danger, but he refuses to share that list with us.”

  Her face went blank for a moment, and then her nostrils flared and her lips thinned out. “He what?”

  “We’re battling it out with lawyers,” Levi said, taken aback by the strength of her reaction. “I’m sure he’ll be forced to turn over the list eventually.”

  “There’s no need.” Her voice was as flinty as her pale-blue eyes. “I’ll take care of this. You’ll have that list by the end of the day—I give you my word.”

  That was a surprising coup. Levi hadn’t been angling for Carolyn’s help in strong-arming her husband, but he was appreciative nonetheless. He didn’t envy Royce whatever she had in store.

  Levi returned to the substation, but he hated the way everyone was treating him like a volcano on the brink of eruption, so he left at the regular quitting time—which was so unusual for him that it drew even more attention. Though Martine wanted him to stay at her place for a while, he didn’t think that was a good idea. She already had two teenage daughters; she didn’t need a third black hole of depression and anger management issues brooding all over her house.

  Instead, he went to the fitness center at his building and pushed himself through over an hour of high-intensity interval training, until he was worn down to the bone and on the razor’s edge of losing his stomach. Then he went up to his apartment and took an irresponsibly long, scorchingly hot shower.

  When he emerged from the steamy bathroom, he was so dizzy that he barely made it to the couch before he fell over. Only then did he realize he hadn’t eaten all day.

  He grabbed his phone off the coffee table and opened the Postmates app. Halfway through ordering his dinner, however, an email notification popped up on his screen.

  As promised, Carolyn had ensured that the list of KIG’s kidnap-and-ransom policyholders, along with the subjects of said policies, had been emailed to the LVMPD. Levi had been copied on the message.

  Curious, he abandoned his dinner order and opened the attached document. It was a long list, but the names of those subjects who lived in or frequently traveled to Las Vegas had been helpfully highlighted.

  Levi only had a moment to be pleased by that before his eyes got stuck on the very first highlighted name. />
  Barclay, Stanton.

  “Detective, please slow down. I can barely understand you.”

  “I need to talk to Mr. Barclay immediately.” Levi did his best to speak at a normal speed even as he paced his living room like a crazed tiger. “It’s an emergency. I’ve called him five times and he’s not answering.”

  “Mr. Barclay is in Geneva,” said Bridget, Stanton’s long-time executive assistant. Her voice was shaded with irritation.

  Levi turned so suddenly he bumped into his couch. “He’s what?”

  “He’s at a hospitality conference in Switzerland. They’re nine hours ahead. I’m sure the only reason he’s not answering your calls is because he’s asleep. You know he turns the ringer on his cell phone off when he goes to bed.”

  Weak-kneed with relief, Levi leaned heavily against the couch’s arm. “When’s the last time you spoke to him?”

  “Ten a.m. our time. He was fine then.”

  “When is he coming back to Vegas?”

  “Not until next Monday.” Her tone softened as she added, “If there’s really an emergency, I can give you his number at the hotel. The room phone will wake him up.”

  “No, no,” Levi said, glad she couldn’t see the mortified flush burning his cheeks. “I was concerned about a potential threat to his safety, but if he’s not in the United States, he’s not in danger.” He cringed, thinking about the multiple frantic voice mails he’d left on Stanton’s cell. “Can you please tell him there’s no need to call me back?”

  “Of course, Detective,” Bridget said. “Have a good night.”

  “You too.”

  He hit End, dropped the phone on the couch, and buried his face in both hands. Good God, he’d lost his shit and panicked like a rookie on his first call.