27
“LOOK AT THE telephone messages,” Sandy said as Nina came in after lunch, Paul, Kenny, and Jessie behind her. “It’s a callback. You people wait out here a minute.”
Nina flopped into the chair behind the desk, slipped off her shoes, and picked up the pile of messages. On top was the one from Alex’s mother Sandy had wanted her to see.
“Alex is gone. Funeral Saturday at 11, St. John Vianney Episcopal Church,” said the note.
Just like that. The pale, smart teenager had left this earth. Nina took it hard. The words of the message blurred in front of her.
So many losses! Where were they, the ones who left early?
Alex’s mother answered the phone. “At noon,” she said. “I was there with him. His soccer coach was there, his best friend, his aunt and uncle, his grandfather. He was very comfortable. No pain at all. He had been unconscious for two days.”
Nina shivered. It had just happened. Alex’s mother had just been brushed by the chilling wind.
“Don’t be sad,” Alex’s mother said. “We were prepared. Alex left gently. It’s all right. Don’t cry.”
“He—was such a—great kid.”
“I just wanted to thank you. For showing me that Alex had a right to decide what came after. The medical school already has his body. He wanted to make his mark. I’m willing to take the chance with him—that it’ll do some good.”
“That’s wonderful. It’s what he wanted.”
“We worked it out at home. It wasn’t the sort of thing you work out in a law office.”
“It must be so hard for you.”
“I’m going to volunteer for the Leukemia Society and follow the research. Alex never had a chance to have children. But, you see, his cells—his living DNA—may save other children someday.”
“I’m so sorry,” Nina said.
“Thank you for caring so much, Nina. I’ll see you Saturday. We’re celebrating his wonderful life. Don’t wear black.”
“What hit you?” Paul said, coming in and closing the door. Nina was wiping her eyes with the tissue she kept for clients.
“Alex. He died.” She went to him and let herself be held. For some time they stood there while she let the tears fall onto his shoulder.
“You should go home,” he said. “It’s bringing back some memories.”
“No. I’ll be all right now.” Awkwardly, she moved away from him. “Too much to do. Let’s get Kenny and Jessie in here.”
Kenny was lugging his laptop, no case, just the black iBook. He would be one of the first people to have computer implants, Nina imagined. His eyes were bloodshot. He had slept in his clothes, if he had slept. They all looked ten years older. Stress, the murders, the court battles, the interview with Cheney today—and Jessie had just started Gabe on colchicine that morning.
“All right,” Nina said. “You’ve been carrying that thing close to your chest all morning like it has the Mona Lisa inside it. What is this information you weren’t ready to talk to Sergeant Cheney about?”
“Kemp definitely knew,” Kenny said, plopping down in a chair and booting up.
“He knew the jackpot would hit?” Paul asked.
“That’s right.”
“You’re sure of this?”
“If I had the access Kemp’s co-conspirator must have had to some crucial information, I could do it myself.”
“You mean the hypothetical insider you’ve been talking about?”
“That’s him. He has to exist. Kemp couldn’t pull this off without the insider.”
“Are we all thinking the same thing?” Nina said. “That the biker is the insider?”
“As soon as you do find him, we can kiss the money good-bye,” Jessie said. “Kenny doesn’t seem to care about that. Gabe’s medical care, Kenny’s debts, your legal fee, Nina.” Jessie’s voice broke. “Everything.”
“Oh, I’m very mindful of that,” Kenny said, looking surprised. He took his glasses off and rubbed them on his sleeve. “And I would never do anything to hurt you, Jessie. You should be mindful of that, too. But the law, that’s Nina’s department. I’m sure she’ll figure out some legal way to keep the money, because you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Kenny, who rigged the machine doesn’t matter. If it was rigged, Jessie won’t get the money,” Nina said. “I can tell you Nevada law is quite clear on that.”
“But it wasn’t rigged,” Kenny said.
“It wasn’t?” Jessie said, frantic. “Was it or wasn’t it? If I wasn’t dying to hear the end of this story I would kick you right out of here into your City of Gold to rot and play with imaginary dollies for the rest of your life, Ken Leung!”
Kenny chuckled. “I’ve discovered something so interesting, ” he said. “Real life. I don’t need the City anymore.”
That fist of hers went up, clenched tight. “Then tell us! Go on, spoil it!”
Kenny put up a fist to match hers. Then, slowly, tenderly, he opened his hand and wrapped his fingers around hers. He gave her a reassuring smile.
Nobody moved while the gesture registered with Jessie. Startled but clearly moved, she relaxed her hand slowly, pulling it away gently and settling it into her lap. She tipped her head up to study Kenny, and then down again to study her hand.
“To return to the point,” Paul said, clearing his throat. “What makes you say the machine wasn’t rigged, Kenny? You just told us Kemp knew the jackpot was coming. How could he know it, if he didn’t rig it?”
“This,” Kenny said, holding up some printed pages. “I got the first clue straight out of an online local paper called the Nevada Appeal. According to a story on gaming from several years ago, some of the slots are programmed so that the random number generators are not actually random, but cyclical.”
“Cyclical? What do you mean?” Paul asked.
“They run through the same long series of plays over and over again. I mean, we are talking about thousands and thousands of numbers. But not random. Cyclical.”
“But that’s illegal!” Nina said.
Kenny shook his head. “Here’s a copy I printed out of the article. Nevada Appeal, September 24, 1997. The reporter’s name was Geoff Dornan.” He handed the papers to Nina.
She read with growing fascination, while in the room around her Jessie curled and uncurled fingers around the arm of her chair, Kenny booted up and tapped on his laptop, and Paul coughed, each trying to give her time, each feigning patience. She passed the story on to Paul, who read it with pained attention. While she waited, she leaned over to see that Kenny was reviewing local news articles on gambling he had downloaded from tahoe.com on his computer.
“It’s legal,” Kenny said, looking up. “Like it’s legal to set slot machines so they give a seventy-five-percent return. Or the way it’s legal to program sevens so they line up a lot more often than randomly on the line above or the line below, to keep the sucker playing. Your department, Nina. You figure the legal part out.
“Now, this long series of numbers is generated from a source code that is kept under lock and key at Global Gaming. The security level has to be high. But if you had the source code and a laptop computer, you could go around to certain slot machines and find where they are in the sequence. Say, the sequence was twenty percent through its cycle. You wouldn’t bother with that one, because there are other variables like the one they call the action—the number of times the button gets pushed, or the handle gets pulled, per hour. With so many numbers to go, you couldn’t really predict when the machine would hit.
“But let’s say you keep checking a lot of machines, and finally you find one that’s ninety-five or ninety-eight percent through the cycle. You can look at average action figures, if you’re an insider, and you can predict within, say, an hour or so when that machine will hit the big one.”
“But that would mean that Global Gaming is rigging its own machines to control the payoffs,” Nina said slowly.
“Right,” Paul said grimly, “to be sure th
ey don’t have to make too many big payouts in any one year.”
“But—wouldn’t something so important be picked up by the big newspaper chains? Gannett? Hearst?” Nina asked.
“Hear the thuds?” Paul said. “That’s us losing chunks of naiveté.”
“So an insider took advantage of knowledge about a machine that was already legally rigged at the factory,” Nina said, thinking hard. “That’s what you’re suggesting?”
“Right. Kemp told me he had already lost three thousand dollars in that machine. He had been there a while. He may have been starting to doubt what his boss told him, or he just had to hit the head. Many a man has been undone by his bladder.” Kenny smiled triumphantly. “Am I good or am I good?”
“Then,” Paul said, “the insider works at Global Gaming.”
“Munzinger must have access to all the codes,” Nina said. “Or it’s one of the people he supervises.”
“I don’t know who has the access,” Kenny said. “Maybe the operations people at the casinos. I doubt it, though. Maybe the Nevada Gaming Control Board. They oversee Global Gaming’s operations.”
“Why did Atchison Potter have to die, though?” Paul said. “I can see that this insider goes after Kemp. Some kind of falling-out among thieves. And if our insider is the man in the goatee, he was with Amanda Lewis right before the jackpot hit. Maybe she knew too much. Or more likely, she heard Kemp was killed and decided to bail or speak up. He couldn’t afford that, and so he killed her. My money’s on the man with the goatee for Charlie Kemp and Amanda Lewis.”
“Which is a problem,” Kenny admitted. “I hacked into Global Gaming’s Human Resources files and found a directory with employee pictures. I can tell you, he wasn’t in the group. I also checked the Gaming Control Board and Prize’s.”
“Then this whole thing falls apart,” Paul said. “Unless he was wearing a disguise. I mean, people only do that in old British mysteries. Sherlock Holmes.”
“It’s not so outrageous, Paul,” Nina said. “The man in the goatee wanted to see the hit happen, but he couldn’t show up in a casino looking like himself if he works in the business. He might be recognized. Remember Al Otis?” She turned to Kenny and Jessie and explained, “I had a case when I first came to Tahoe which involved a card-counter named Al Otis who wore disguises into the casinos so he wouldn’t be recognized and thrown out.”
“Okay, maybe it’s a disguise,” Paul said. “But I repeat. Why did Atchison Potter have to die? Why kill him?”
“I can’t imagine,” Kenny said.
“Could our insider with the goatee,” Nina said, “now this is going to sound far-fetched, but bear with me, could he be nuts enough to still be trying to get his hands on the jackpot money?” Confusion crowded out other thoughts. “But how would killing Potter help him do that?”
“Potter was holding the money hostage in court. Kill Potter, and the only remaining obstacle is Jessie,” Paul said.
They all looked at Jessie.
“But then I’ve got the money. I’m hardly going to hand it over to someone,” Jessie said, scowling.
“Remember, we’re talking about someone we think has killed three people,” Paul said. “And tried to kill Kenny. I don’t think he expects you to hand over the money. I don’t think he’s counting on that at all.”
“You mean he would wait until I had the jackpot and then kill me? I’m not walking around with that kind of money on me.”
“He might extort it,” Nina said. “Threaten you or your family. Demand a ransom.”
“For Gabe?” Agitated, Jessie leaned forward. “Don’t even suggest such a thing!”
“You know what?” Paul said. “I don’t think we can predict what this guy is planning, because there’s a spontaneous quality behind these murders. Like the guy is making up his mind five minutes before he does it. But he does it execution-style. He’s not getting pleasure out of it. He’s coldly eliminating people. My take on this guy is— he’s very narrow, very focused. Obsessed. He wants the jackpot money. He thinks the money is his. And by God, he’s going to get it and nobody stays alive standing in his way. Unless . . .”
“Unless what, Paul,” Nina asked.
“Unless Jessie is involved. Potter’s death works to her advantage, no doubt about it. How about it, Jessie? Own any baseball hats?” Paul was half-kidding, but only half.
Jessie had fallen into a funk. She didn’t lift her head or speak.
“Did you take the gun, Jessie?” Paul said. “If you did, tell us now and we’ll try to help you. But by God, if you don’t tell Nina now and you kept the gun, you’ll have me to deal with.”
Nina took a breath and held it.
Jessie got up and went to the window. She put her hand down flat on the windowsill and ran it along the paint. “I didn’t take the gun,” she said.
“Jessie, is there anything you want to talk to me about privately?” Nina asked the pensive figure at the window.
Jessie turned around. “No,” she said. “And the hell with you people if you don’t believe me. Forget the jackpot. You know what? I’m going home to my baby.” Slipping swiftly past Paul’s chair, she went out the door, leaving the other three to their doubts and discomfort.
“Now see what you’ve done,” Kenny said, eyes stuck on the doorway. “Everything was going along fine.”
“What I’ve done?” Paul said. “This was your great hypothetical scheme.”
“Paul,” Nina said, “you are a fine detective. But now and then you throw out such an enormous blooper that I can only listen in awe.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You forgot that Jessie was eating dinner at Caesars with Kenny, not to mention Gabe and Dr. Jun, during the Potter shooting.”
“Jesus,” Paul said. “I did forget.” He laughed, relieved.
“Three murders. The man in the goatee is still out there. He doesn’t have his money. Not yet.”
“Jessie!” Kenny came to life. “I don’t think she should be alone with that guy out there. I’ve got to catch her.” He slammed the lid of his computer shut and scuttled out the door.
“So much for science,” Nina said. “He did have a lot to say before he rushed out. I think we’re on the right track.”
“He’s more confident with Jessie. He’s in love with her, isn’t he?” Paul said.
“Sure looks like it.”
“What does she feel for him?”
“She trusts him and I think she’s impressed with his intelligence after all. But they don’t have much in common.”
“Neither do we.”
“That doesn’t stop us,” Nina said. “Does it?”
“I don’t know, Nina. Does it?”
“I don’t know either.”
“Stalemate. After this is over, I want something from you,” Paul said.
“What?”
“A gift.”
“Anything special?”
“Time. Undivided. Uncontested.”
Paul didn’t wait for her answer. He went out to rustle up some fresh coffee. While he was gone, Nina leaned back and put her feet up, scattering her messages, closing her eyes.
She imagined the scene in the casino just before Jessie sat down on the stool. Kemp playing to Kenny’s right. Amanda Lewis on his left. The goateed man handing her money and finally wheeling her away. If only she could go back to that night, that moment, watch the people playing the Greed Machine, watch the forces set in motion, see it all. . . .
A thought came. “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said out loud. She sat up and smiled.
“Paul,” she said when he returned, bearing two dripping mugs, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Again? I turn my back on you for one second and you’re up to your old tricks.”
“No, listen, now. We need to figure out who the man in the goatee is. If he’s Munzinger, we’ve got to get him stopped. And I’ve got an idea about that—about that man in the goatee. You know how we were saying he we
nt into Prize’s in disguise so that they wouldn’t recognize him? Well, there’s another good reason he might wear a disguise.”
“Oh?” he said, baffled.
“And I think I know how we can get a look at the killer. Now, wouldn’t that be handy?”
“How?”
“I’ll tell you on the way,” Nina said, pulling her cell phone out of the clutter on her desk and stowing it in her pocket.
Kenny found Jessie in the parking lot, rearranging boxes in the trunk of her car. “I’m getting so tired of not having a permanent residence. I hope this is all over soon,” she said.
At that moment, Paul and Nina left the building. They waved, but hurried into Nina’s Bronco and drove off.
“They know you didn’t do it,” Kenny told Jessie. “He apologized.”
“They’re like some old couple that does crossword puzzles together. Why don’t they just get married?”
“They’re not so old.”
“Come on, he’s at least forty. The way they’re always finding a way to touch each other—what’s holding them back?”
“I guess life can get pretty complicated by then.”
“It’s complicated now. I just had to get out of there. All this law stuff. I hate it.”
“I’m glad you didn’t leave without me,” Kenny said. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“I have a temper, don’t I?”
“Yes.”
“I’m a rough character.”
“It’s you. You’re fiery. It’s beautiful.”
“You are so half-baked.” She shoved a box to the back of the trunk. “You don’t know how to censor yourself. You just blurt things out like a kid.”
“Why shouldn’t I tell you how I feel? When I lie awake at night dreaming of you, not the City, thinking of you and me and Gabe. Happy.”
“Stop!”
“Do you have to leave right away?”
“You need a ride?”
“Yeah. I’d like to come back with you. I’ll just be a minute. Lock up inside the car while I’m gone.” He handed her the laptop.
“Don’t be such a mother hen.” But she slid into the driver’s seat.
“Okay.”
Writ of Execution Page 35