Smoke & Mirrors (23 page)

86

CYNTHIA GARDNER WAS DRESSED IN CLEAN CLOTHES,
still bound, and lying on a king-sized bed, watching mesmerized as the man who’d kidnapped her peeled away in ragged pieces what she had believed until that instant was the actual skin on his very unattractive face. As he scrubbed the adhesive from his cheeks, he became another person entirely. He wasn’t bad looking, but he wasn’t male model material either. And thanks to the tight spandex underwear he had on, she could see that he was built like a gymnast. Sure, he was sort of old, but every muscle was as perfectly defined as anybody her age.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” she asked him.

“In school,” he said, frowning thoughtfully in the mirror at the sight of his irritated skin.

“Makeup one-oh-one?” she asked.

“Are you feeling one hundred percent yet?” he wanted to know.

“Yes. Thanks for the shot.”
Asshole. I could have died. I almost did, I bet.

“Now you are completely out of insulin. So the timing was perfect. By the time you need another shot, you’ll be at home, safe and sound. You have some at home?”

“Yes, I do. You know, I really thought you were going to let me die,” she told him.

“Don’t be silly, Cynthia,” He turned to look at her, smiling. “Do I look like a murderer to you?”

“I’m not really sure what a murderer looks like.”

He said, “Let’s hope you don’t ever find that out.”

“So how long till I go home?”

“Tonight. Around nine.”

As Cynthia watched, the man reached into a cardboard box, lifted out a mannequin’s head, and placed it on the dressing table. All she could make out from the backside was a hairpiece. After applying adhesive from a bottle to a section of latex he’d removed from the head, he pasted the section on his own forehead, patting it down in places.

“So how long does this usually take you?”

“Takes as long as it takes. It’s the painting of the latex skin that takes the longest, and I do that first. This one took longer because of the amount of texture in the panels. It has to be accurate to hold up under close scrutiny. But it’s more than looking right. You have to have the subject’s movements down, and the voice pitch and patterns have to be perfect.”

“So who are you going to be when you finish?” she asked him.

“Well, little sister,” he said in a totally different voice, “just watch and you will see.”

87

WINTER WAS IMPRESSED WITH THE SCALE MODEL
of the resort in the large conference room on the executive floor. He and Klein were alone, his security man having thoroughly searched Massey.

“This is going to be the finest gaming resort ever built in the United States,” Kurt said, sweeping his hand over the model. “It will cost over a billion dollars. Mulvane brought the idea of this location to me, and after a lot of relentless persuasion, and seeing what he did with this casino, its potential became obvious. I would not be investing in it unless I was sure it would be profitable. I do not take chances when it comes to risking such sums.”

“I heard that when you borrow ten grand from a bank, repaying is your worry. But when you borrow millions, your repaying is the bank’s worry.”

Kurt smiled in agreement.

Winter picked up a small human figure from the model, then another, and another until he had five of them in his hands.

Winter said, “It appears that five people have been killed because of this
investment
.”

“You think so?” Klein said, seeming surprised. “I find that hard to believe. Are you sure?”

Winter reached out and laid the figures down, side by side, one at a time. “Sherry Adams, Jack Beals, Jacob Gardner…” He placed the other two male figures next to those. “I don’t know these men’s names, but them too.”

Kurt Klein crossed his arms and rested the fingers of his right hand under his chin.

“There is also the matter of Cynthia Gardner, who has been kidnapped by the person who killed these people.”

“The Gardner girl was kidnapped?” Klein said. The surprise in his eyes seemed genuine.

“It hasn’t been publicized and possibly won’t have to be, if she finds her way home.”

Winter didn’t know whether or not Klein knew about the deaths, or if he did, whether he cared one way or the other. Klein wasn’t the sort of man who gave anything away unless he chose to. At his level, like any major commanding officer far from the front, the realities of life or death struggles on the battlefield were just numbers, the bodies left in the ruins a million miles away.

“All of this has been the work of a top-notch professional killer,” Winter said.

“Does this killer have a name?”

“Paulus Styer,” Winter said, watching Klein’s face for a reaction, which came in the form of a brief tightening of his smile.

“And why is he killing and kidnapping people?” Kurt Klein asked.

“I think it has to do with a piece of land located within this model.” He gestured to a part of the model. “Six hundred and thirty-six acres owned by Leigh Gardner.”

“I think you must be mistaken. I have been assured that all of the land necessary for the project has already been secured. Are you saying that I have been deceived in this matter?”

“I hope so. That would mean that you would pay a fair price for the land and also tell me that you weren’t part of a plan to have the Gardners killed so the land could be purchased from their relatives who might have been in line to inherit it.”

“I am fairly ruthless in the practice of business, but I do not hire killers, Mr. Massey.”

“It’s irrelevant now. Mrs. Gardner has fixed things so that if anything happens to her or her children, none of her relatives will inherit her holdings. In fact, if anything happens to any of the Gardners, it will be years, if ever, before anything is built on that parcel. That includes Cynthia Gardner. I think it would be mutually beneficial for you to pay Mrs. Gardner a fair price and sign the papers, which is as it should have been from the beginning—a perfectly clean and legal business matter.”

“Let’s move this discussion to my suite,” Klein said, nodding. “It will be more comfortable.” He picked up the five tiny figures and slipped them into his pocket before heading for the doorway.

Winter accepted a bottle of water from Steffan Finch, taking a seat across the coffee table from his host. He removed the copy of the legal document from his inside jacket pocket and slid it to Kurt Klein, who put on reading glasses, opened it, and read through the pages in silence.

“So in the event of her and her children’s deaths, Mrs. Gardner has willed her estate to the parents of Sherry Adams, who would be the young girl who was killed by this assassin you mentioned?”

“Yes,” Winter said. “They are corecipients along with their church congregation, the Advent Church of the Holy Spirit. I should mention that the group is unrepentantly anti-gaming. They will also be given a document that states Leigh Gardner’s strong suspicions that Sherry Adams was murdered in order to secure the land for a casino resort. And they all loved Sherry Adams.”

“If that document isn’t based on provable facts, it would be slander.”

“Unless it is merely her opinion, which it is, as it is mine and the sheriff’s, along with others I’ll leave unnamed.”

“And you suspect Pierce Mulvane ordered these killings?”

Winter explained what led him to that conclusion as Klein listened patiently without interrupting.

“And after this land is transferred—if I do not already own it, as I have been led to believe by Mulvane—what else do you want from me?”

“I’d like for Mr. Mulvane to call off Styer and secure Cynthia Gardner’s safe release.”

“Anything else?”

“I’d like to know how to find Styer.”

“The professional killer you believe he hired.”

Winter nodded. “Truth is, I had the feeling when I mentioned the name in the conference room, you recognized it.”

Klein shrugged. “In the world of international business I hear many things about many people.” Klein smiled, looking suddenly weary. “If Mulvane did hire this man to do what you said, he will be held accountable, and he will see that this Styer releases the girl unharmed. Would that be satisfactory?”

“It would.”

“And what do you think is a fair price for the Gardner land?”

“Five million dollars, at this point.”

“So can we do this tonight?” Kurt asked. “I can draw a check, or give her bearer bonds. You may use my phone and call her.”

“I will ask her,” Winter said.

Winter stepped across the room and dialed Brad Barnett. He asked to speak to Leigh, and ran through Klein’s proposal with her, hung up, and returned.

“She agrees. Either a cashier’s check or bearer bonds, and have your attorney bring the transfer papers. Her attorney will be here, along with Sheriff Barnett and myself. We’ll have security in place for her protection. Nothing personal.”

“Done. And I insist on your security measures.” Kurt Klein stood, extended his hand, and the two men shook.

“And Mulvane?” Winter said.

“If he has done what you say, I will know soon, and my people will hand him over to the sheriff, accompanied by a signed confession.”

“He may not want to sign one,” Winter said.

Kurt Klein smiled, showing his slightly yellowed teeth. “If he is guilty of what you say, Mr. Massey, I am certain he will sign it. On that you have my word, and if you know me, you know my word is good. And if he knows anything about Paulus Styer, he will share that with you, and you may do with that information what you like.”

“Then we’ll be here at nine sharp.”

As Klein showed Winter to the door, he said, “Mr. Massey, the thing to keep in mind is that I will not tolerate any threat to my family’s financial well-being.”

88

ALEXA TOOK JASON PARR’S CASH OUT OF HER PURSE
in the elevator riding up to the eighth floor. She looked in at her Glock and her badge case and frowned. Most women her age had never touched a gun, much less fired one. How many of them carried one in their purse ten hours a day as they might a tube of lipstick? But since she spent most of her time behind a desk, the gun in her purse was hardly more than a little extra ballast, which she was quite accustomed to by now.

The wide polished oak doors opening into the suites were hand-carved. According to the signs, there were twenty-five suites on the eighth floor, reserved for high rollers. Eight-twenty-two was down the hall on the right. She did a double take as she passed 825, which had double doors inside a foyer protected by closed wrought-iron gates.

Alexa stopped at 822 and tapped gently. “Come in, Alexa!” she heard Jason Parr yell through the heavy wood.

From deep in the suite, Jason called, “I’ll be right with you, I was just getting out of the shower when you called. Make yourself at home while I get dressed.”

“Okay, Jason,” she yelled back as she walked into the living room. “I can only stay a minute.” No expense had been spared in furnishing the living room. Instead of a medieval theme, modern furniture was placed on an oriental carpet, which made a horseshoe around a marble fireplace. The curtains were open, revealing large sealed windows, the Delta growing dark outside. To her left was an open kitchen with light marble floors, stainless appliances, pickled wood cabinets, and granite countertops.

“I could grow accustomed to this,” she called out.

“We sure ain’t in Kansas anymore,” he hollered back. “I’m almost presentable.”

“I brought your money back. I can’t keep it. I appreciate the gesture though.”

“Whatever you say. Just put it on the coffee table, would you?”

Alexa walked into the room and stopped at the large coffee table. She was about to put the cash on the table when she saw, evenly spaced out in the center of the slab of frosted glass, four red toothpicks. She picked one up and smelled it.

Realization gave way to a thick disorienting fear. She let the currency in her hand fall to the table as she reached into her purse for the Glock. She knew—as she sensed a figure rushing up from behind her—that she’d never get it out in time.

She turned, registered that the man coming at her was narrower than Jason Parr, and felt a stream of cold liquid hit her face—searing her eyes. Even so, she almost got the Glock out.

89

AFTER MASSEY LEFT, KURT KLEIN SAT IN SILENCE
for several minutes, thinking over his options. All things considered, five million was a bargain. Even if it were not, purchasing the land from Mrs. Gardner was the only move he could make without changing the location and starting over, which was not an option. Time was money, and every hour of delay would be financially painful, because his family’s entire empire depended on the continuing trust of a trio of international financiers. These men, who didn’t know better, believed Klein sold them points in RRI’s profits as a personal favor. If they lived, they might find out that Klein had oversold future profits to nine investors at an inflation of almost three hundred percent. However, Klein counted on the fact that for a fee, Paulus Styer would whittle down the money men, and the percentages, to something he could live with.

Klein was in financial straits because of unfortunate choices he’d made regarding the futures of new markets and acquisitions that had unexpectedly tanked. His financial balance sheets were fiction, and if the River Royale resort didn’t open on schedule, everything could collapse like a house of cards. He was a man on the edge.

Styer was the only problem that had not yet been solved. Kurt would call him off, pay him a nice bonus, and send him home until he required his services again—and he was going to need to call on him in the near future.

Kurt placed the five tiny figures from the scale model on the table before him. He lit a cigarette and studied them before separating the two mystery men from the three deaths he was aware of. He had to talk to Styer and get some assurances.

He reached into his pocket and squeezed the key fob he kept close. Seconds after being summoned electronically, Finch walked into the room.

“Steffan, I need my laptop.”

Finch strode to the master bedroom and returned with the laptop, opened it on the table before Kurt, and stepped out to allow his boss some privacy.

Kurt watched the AirPort symbol darken as it found the hotel’s wireless router and connected to the Internet. Kurt went to his private encrypted site before typing the hyperlink to the page he had used to communicate with Styer for the past few years, and keyed:

New developments require an immediate halt to your assignment. I am purchasing some land at nine
P.M
. tonight. I understand you may have some company. Do remember that young ladies should be home before ten
P.M
. Please acknowledge receipt of this message.

After he closed the link, he typed an e-mail to the GM of RRI in Manhattan, which read:

Harvey,

RRI paying 5 million US dollars for parcel C tonight. Have that amount in bearer bonds delivered immediately. Alert Jerry Cunningham to come at once with papers for the transaction.

Kurt

He sent the e-mail. Klein smiled. Even though the relief he felt at that moment would be temporary, any break in the chaos of commerce was welcome.