Smoke & Mirrors (12 page)

37

PAULUS STYER PULLED THE VAN BACK INTO THE
equipment barn. He found Cynthia asleep in the mummy bag in her tarp-covered car, still knocked out from her last injection. A corpse would take less of his valuable time, but he had decided to keep her alive for the time being. If he changed his mind, there would be plenty of time to finish her before he had her mother and brother in the same place, and then he could stage all three of their accidental deaths. His instructions were clear, but how he accomplished the task was up to him. It was nice to be in a position of trust, though he had more than earned it over the years.

He watched the girl’s eyes slowly open and he saw the fear gathering in them, so he quickly took out the syringe and, leaning over, gave her another injection. This time she would not be asleep as long as she had been before, but he was going to move her closer to his base of operations, and somebody might come along to check on the equipment.

After she closed her eyes, Styer lifted her and carried her to the waiting van. As he laid her inside, he was sure he heard something and went to the open door. Looking out, he saw a truck pull into the fields from the woods. He pressed the switch to close the massive overhead doors, cursing the slowness of the winch that growled as it dropped the steel door from the ceiling. He ran to the van and took out his pistol, waiting as the door finally closed and went quiet.

He moved to the personnel door, cracked it open, and watched as the sheriff’s truck moved slowly toward the building. He didn’t see how they could have tracked him, but they must have seen the big door closing.

Angry that he had left the gate open, he cursed the fact that Massey and the sheriff were taking all the fun out of his operation. But Styer was prey with teeth. He smiled as he thought,
What is, is.

38

IT TOOK TWENTY MINUTES OF DRIVING ACROSS THE
bleak landscape on blacktop county roads, plus a trip down a rutted thinly graveled trail, before they arrived at the site, a vast flat field nestled against the levee. Under the smoke-gray sky, it looked like a black and white photograph of a WWI battlefield. Stagnant water stood in a series of shallow ponds inhabited by hundreds of ducks. For half a mile to the north and south, trees had been cut to the ground. Scattered piles of tortured tree limbs and other organic debris lay where hardwoods had been pushed or broken down as if by artillery shells. At the southern end of the scalped land stood an enormous, newly constructed metal building. It stood alone on a graveled lot surrounded by a tall hurricane fence topped with barbed wire.

“This is recent,” Brad said.

“Equipment came over from that building to do the clearing,” Winter said, tracing the dozer tread tracks with his eyes to the fenced-in structure. “Whose is it?”

“That’s just outside the county line. I recall something about the Corps of Engineers putting in an equipment facility to support their dredging activities, but we don’t really patrol this corner unless we’re called because it’s all private land.”

Alexa wondered aloud, “Would the Corps of Engineers have done that for a company?”

“I don’t know,” Brad said. “They’ve worked all the way around Leigh’s parcel, and can’t go onto hers until that acquisition is final. But as soon as they know it’s a done deal, whoever it is can begin doing whatever the hell they have in mind.”

Alexa’s cell phone rang and she looked at the ID. “It’s Louis Sykes from OC.” She opened it. “Louis, that was fast.”

She listened for almost two minutes without interrupting, thanked him, and hung up.

She said, “RRI stands for Royale Resorts International. They own casino resorts all over the world. Most are high-end all-inclusive resorts with a couple of exceptions, most notable being the Columns Casino in Atlantic City and the Roundtable.”

“I guess the connection between the Roundtable and the Gardners is solid enough now,” Winter said.

“Sure looks that way,” Brad said, as he drove toward the barn.

Alexa asked, “If they were going to put in a casino, they could cut a channel in the levee and replace it once the casino gaming structure is in place. That is how it’s done, isn’t it?”

“They could put fifty casinos on this place,” Brad said.

“Or one extremely large gambling resort,” Winter said. “It’d cost hundreds of millions of dollars.”

The personnel door next to a large equipment door swung closed. “You see that?” Winter asked.

“Sure did,” Brad said. “Someone’s in there.”

“Let’s go talk to them,” Winter said.

“And say what?” Alexa asked. “I don’t think we should let them know we’re interested in this land.”

“You’re right,” Winter said. “We’ll just say we’re looking for a duck-hunting site.”

As they approached, it was easy to see from the truck that the gate wasn’t locked. The logging chain and padlock were hanging from the chain links, and the gate hadn’t quite closed the last time someone had come through it. Winter opened the gate and they drove into the lot. Brad parked near the door and they climbed out. While Alexa and Brad stood on either side of him, Winter made a fist and pounded on the corrugated steel personnel door, which was locked.

“Hello in there!” he shouted.

“Who is it?” a muted voice called from inside.

“Deputy Sheriff Massey,” Winter called out.

“Sheriff Barnett,” Brad yelled.

Alexa was silent.

“What y’all wants?” The voice was that of an elderly black man.

“Open the door and we’ll talk,” Brad said.

“Y’all ain’t supposed to be here unless Mr. Todd says so. I been instructed not to open the door for nobody what ain’t been announced ’forehand. That’s the rules and I don’t wants to get fired.”

“Who owns this building?” Brad said.

“I don’t know all that,” the man answered. “You the sheriff. Don’t you know it?”

“Open the door,” Brad said.

“Push your warrants beneath the door,” the voice called back. “I can’t open unless Mr. Todd says to. Ain’t you the sheriff over in Tunica County?”

“I am,” Brad called out.

“Well, no disrespecting untended, suh, but this here ain’t Tunica County. I have to ask y’all to leave. If you want, I’ll call Mr. Todd and he can come out and you can talk to hum. He could be here in about a hour or two. He in Memphis.”

Brad was thinking. He looked at Winter, who shrugged in defeat.

“That’s all right. We were just checking out a call about a rabid fox. You seen any foxes wandering around foaming at the mouth?”

The man inside was silent for a few long seconds.

“I got me a rifle and if I sees hum I know what to do with it.”

“Okay. Sorry we bothered you,” Brad said.

The trio walked back to Brad’s truck, got in, and drove slowly back out of the gate.

“Rabid fox,” Alexa said, laughing.

“We’ve had them,” Brad said defensively.

When they had reached the road in the woods, Winter looked back just in time to see the personnel door close.

39

ALBERT WHITE ARRIVED OUTSIDE THE TUNICA
County Airport and parked as close as he could get to the main doors. He climbed out and went around to the passenger’s door. Seconds later, a man with short blond hair, an overcoat, and sunglasses strolled out of the terminal carrying a suitcase and a hanging suit bag. The man moved like a professional athlete.

“I thought Tug Murphy was meeting me,” he said, smiling like a salesman offering up his private stash of brilliant white teeth.

“I’m Albert White, director of casino security. Tug was out of pocket, so I came. He should be waiting for us when we get back.”

“I was messing with you, Albert. Part of my job is to know what everybody at the casino looks like. Nice to meet you.”

He slipped off his sunglasses and shook White’s hand firmly.

“Welcome, Mr. Finch,” Albert said.

Finch looked directly into White’s eyes as if he was reading a sign hanging on the inside back wall of his skull.

White opened the rear door to allow the man to put his baggage inside the compartment. Usually RRI employees arrived in chartered aircraft, landing and pulling into a hangar to keep nosy people from seeing who was arriving or departing. This man was at the main terminal, and no commuter or commercial flights had landed within the last hour. A man who worked security at the airport took money from the Roundtable to steer arriving passengers their way. White had spoken to him and after giving the man Finch’s description, he’d told White that Finch had walked into the terminal from the parking lot to wait near the doors as though he’d just flown in. Very odd. White figured he’d been around scouting before he officially appeared. Supposedly he was good, and Kurt Klein could afford the best of everything.

“I hope your flight was okay, Mr. Finch,” White said.

“My flight was fine, Albert. Call me Steffan,” the man said, nodding. His accent sounded British, but White knew from his research that Finch was South African, and he’d spent years living and working in England with the SAS.

“Let’s be off,” Finch said, checking his watch, a matte black chronometer.

“So Tug is a recent hire, I understand.”

“That wasn’t in your files?”

Finch smiled. “Tug isn’t his real name, is it?”

White shook his head. “A nickname he had legally changed to his Christian name.”

“The nickname Tug,” Finch said. “What does that signify?”

“He told me that when he was a kid, he used to pull on his old man’s pant leg to get his attention. His dad called him Tug.”

“Oh,” Finch said. “I hoped it would be more interesting.”

Albert White put the SUV in gear and rolled off into the bright Delta day.

Finch turned on the radio, which Tug must have set to NPR, and tuned in a classic country music station. While White concentrated on his driving, George Jones told the SUV’s occupants about a relationship he had a few regrets about.

40

ALTHOUGH HE’D HAD A WARNING FROM SECURITY,
Pierce Mulvane didn’t look up when Jacob Gardner entered his office accompanied by a security guard. Pierce calmly finished reading the floor reports from the past twenty-four hours. Despite the fact that the numbers were very good, he held a frown on his face. Finally he looked up, feigning surprise at finding that someone had come into his office while he was engrossed in his business.

Mulvane dismissed the guard with a wave of his hand, waiting until he was gone to speak.

Jacob Gardner wore the sincere smile of a desperate used car salesman and did his best to appear relaxed, but Pierce could smell the anxiety radiating from him, just as strong as the stale odor of booze that wafted from his pores.

“How’ve you been, Mr. Mulvane?” Jacob asked.

“I guess if you didn’t have good news for me you would not be here,” Pierce said. “So I assume your ex-wife has accepted my generous offer.”

“Well, I was inches from getting this resolved, but there was an incident at her place yesterday, so there wasn’t any time for a business discussion. Unfortunate set of circumstances.”

Pierce said, “The hunting misadventure involving the young girl. I heard about it. Very unfortunate, but just as well it wasn’t your daughter or your ex.”

“Leigh’s pretty damned upset, as you can imagine. She was very fond of that girl. We might have to conclude this after the funeral,” Jacob added.

“When is the funeral?”

“Saturday, I think. I’m sure we can negotiate a deal before Monday, Tuesday latest.”

Pierce took out his pen and opened it. “I’m sorry, but this matter has to be concluded before Monday, or it will be out of my hands. This is what I am going to do. I want you to pass on an offer that should negate the need to haggle further. This is going to be the absolute top dollar we will pay and our absolute final offer. We have the political clout to have the land condemned and if I have to wait that long, your ex will be paid a sum for the land based on what we paid for the adjoining properties, which wasn’t very much.”

Jacob had his hands clenched together in his lap, waiting for the number.
Not just yet,
Pierce thought.

“If memory serves,” he said, “we have your checks totaling three hundred and twenty-one thousand dollars. One ten you lost here and the rest was consolidated from certain other casinos and individuals with the help of the list you furnished us.”

“Yes.”

Pierce stared at Jacob. “A substantial amount, secured by a piece of land you claimed to own at the time you agreed to these actions.”

Jacob’s fevered eyes darted around the room as he nodded.

“The last figure we discussed for the parcel was nine hundred thousand, which you told me you passed on to Ms. Gardner. My question is how this woman, an astute businesswoman, can refuse such an offer. You did present her with our offer, didn’t you? Nine hundred thousand dollars?”

Jacob Gardner’s eyes fell to his lap. “Well, I actually…”

“I thought as much. How could I be so stupid to believe anything an attorney—especially a disbarred one—says? What figure did you offer her?”

“Well, I had to cover my losses here in the deal.”

“I told you months ago we’d work that out. And each time we have discussed it, we’ve had to track you down. Each time I pressed you and like a wet eel you slipped away.” Pierce felt his anger rising and clenched his teeth. This was worse than he’d imagined. He should have figured Jacob would try to screw her as he had them.

“I am a patient man, Gardner. Truly I am, but there are people upstairs putting pressure on me who are not nearly as indulgent as I am. I have depended on my powers of persuasion as well as your intelligence, but obviously I badly misjudged you. Even for a degenerate gambler who lives by feeding off the labors of his ex-wife, you set a new record for sleaziness, dishonesty, and selfishness.”

“I know,” Jacob blurted. “I’m not a well man, mentally or physically. I might have cancer. They’re running some tests.”

“I can check that,” Pierce said, adding a note of warning.

“I’m going to have testing done,” Gardner mumbled. “I have some troubling symptoms.”

“Here’s what I’m going to do,” Pierce said, making notes on a piece of stationery. “I will pay Ms. Gardner two point five million dollars for the land. In the interest of rewarding you for brokering the deal, I will not merely cancel your debt to the casino, but I will give you an additional five hundred thousand dollars in cash, which is a net to you of eight hundred and twenty-one thousand. And we will all live long and healthy lives—assuming you
don’t
have cancer, naturally.”

Jacob Gardner straightened suddenly and his lips turned up at the corners. “Okay. I mean, man alive. That’s a very, very generous offer.”

“Now, use all of your persuasive powers to make sure she accepts it.”

“See, I haven’t told her who wanted the land because I know her and I thought that if she sees the intended use for the land, she’ll want more. It has taken a great deal of finesse.”

“Explain to Ms. Gardner that she must take this, or I will pursue alternatives that will be far less financially rewarding. We do not want further unpleasantness, but if there is any, it’s going to be unpleasant for you. That’s all I intend to say on the matter.”

Jacob stood.

“And, Gardner.” Mulvane held out his open hand. “The recorder?”

Meekly, Gardner took a tape recorder from his pocket and placed it in Mulvane’s hand.

“I just wanted to make sure I had it so I’d remember the meeting, the specifics of your offer.”

“Yes.” Pierce snapped the recorder off, took out the cassette, and tossed it into an open drawer before throwing the empty device back to Gardner, who managed to catch it clumsily.

“We have to trust each other. Not to do so is courting disaster.”

“I understand, Mr. Mulvane.”

“I certainly hope so,” Mulvane said, cranking up his smile. “This works as planned. If you screw this one up, nobody on earth can help you.”