Smoke & Mirrors (26 page)

100

ALEXA DRESSED IN THE LIVING ROOM WHILE STYER
and Cynthia looked on.

“You are a very attractive woman,” he said.

She buttoned her blouse.

“I find women of small stature attractive.”

“Girls who look boyish.”

“I didn’t say that,” he said, frowning. Styer’s eyes hardened for a few seconds, then softened.

“You don’t have to. Maybe psychotic young men like Jack Beals are more your speed. I’ll just use my imagination.”

“Jack…?” Cynthia said, startled. “He’s dead?”

“Males have never held any sexual fascination for me. Jack had a high opinion of his mediocre talents with a gun. He never allowed his targets to face him on even ground. He was a thief and a coward, who used a badge to get close.”

“Why did you kill him?”

“
You
killed Jack?” Cynthia asked, her lip trembling.

Alexa didn’t know that Cynthia knew Beals. She would have loved to ask her how she knew him.

Styer shrugged. “The young man was supposed to be helping me, but I discovered that he was trying to figure out what I was up to so he could tell certain people with interests contrary to those of my employer. All of this intrigue over the land, and so much duplicity swirling around. As it happened, his body was a convenient sign holder for Massey.” He smiled.

“Did you kill Sherry Adams just to draw Winter in?”

“File that under killing two birds with one bullet. Now, Cynthia, put on your parka. If you so much as look the wrong way, your fashion accessory will spread your lovely body, and unfortunately ours, too, all over the landscape. You get that?”

Cynthia nodded mutely.

Styer made Alexa’s skin crawl. She was fairly sure, despite his assurances, that he didn’t intend to leave her alive after she’d served his purpose. Time was running out, and she had to start looking for a weakness to exploit.

Alexa put on her coat and slipped her purse on her shoulder. After Styer fixed the do-not-disturb sign on the door, she walked beside him down the hall toward the elevators. His left hand, hidden in his coat pocket, held his cell phone. The valise in his right hand contained God knew what.

They didn’t speak as they rode down to the casino, now crowded with Saturday night gamers. The gamblers ranged from fat to fit, rich to poor, and their clothes reflected a wide range of fashion and functionality—from gowns to jeans and halter tops, Armani to hunter’s camouflage jackets and matching ball caps. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the insipid sounds of ringing bells, as the wheels of a thousand slot machines spun in place.

Alexa kept her eyes on the floor in front of her, thinking in ten directions at once. “We’ll take your vehicle,” Styer said. “Wouldn’t be good if Massey saw it sitting here, what with you supposed to be in Memphis meeting with those FBI agents.”

As they exited the casino, Alexa spotted Albert White climbing into a limousine. He stooped to get his considerable bulk into the Cadillac, reminding Alexa of a fat groundhog slipping into a narrow opening in a wall.

At Leigh’s pickup, Alexa unlocked the door and handed Styer the keys. He aimed Cynthia into the rear seat and placed the valise on the floorboard beside her feet. He watched as Alexa opened her door and climbed into the cab. She started the engine and backed out carefully.

“So what’s in the valise?” she asked.

“Maybe I’ll let you look if you behave yourself. Aren’t you going to try and use psychology on me? It’s a long drive out to the plantation, and I like entertainment where I can find it.”

She shook her head.

“Well, then, what’s your listening pleasure?” he asked, turning on the radio.

101

ALBERT WHITE SQUEEZED PAST FINCH’S PALS IN THE
jump seat and crabbed back to the rear bench, lowering his bulk to the cushioned leather. The other two men, whose names he hadn’t bothered to learn, were large and serious individuals who didn’t look like they were going to enjoy this any more than he was. Only Steffan Finch was smiling, and as soon as the car rolled away, he opened the bar on the side bench and started fixing a drink, dropping ice cubes into a crystal highball glass, then pouring in scotch from a decanter.

“You know how to get to the steak house?” Albert called to the driver as they stopped at the entrance to the casinos, facing the highway.

The driver shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be driving for the casino until you know the area,” he said, annoyed. “Take a left.”

The driver looked into the rearview and lit a cigarette, illuminating his features for a couple of seconds. He didn’t look familiar to Albert—at least the back of his head didn’t, but the cap made it hard to tell.

One of the two large men coughed.

“Put out that cigarette,” Albert commanded.

Instead of tossing out the cigarette, the driver took a deep drag from it and turned right onto the road, pushing down the accelerator.

“Fuck’s sake,” Albert mumbled. “I guess he doesn’t want to keep his job. Well, then close the glass.”

The driver slid up the glass partition.

“And turn around, damn it!” Albert said, his anger rising.

The man who had coughed leaned to the side, reached down under his leg, and took out a pistol tipped with a thick black silencer. Resting the gun on his knee, he aimed the automatic directly at Albert’s chest. Albert froze.

“Albert,” Finch said, tasting the scotch. “This is very good, by the way. Would you like some?”

“No,” Albert heard himself say. “I quit drinking ten years ago.”

“Never too late to go back,” Finch said, bringing smiles to the two goons’ faces. “Unless it turns out that way. It’s entirely up to you.”

Albert said, “This isn’t funny. Don’t aim that thing at me.”

“No, it isn’t, is it? Not funny at all. Here’s the deal. We’re going to make a stop a few miles from here. You are going to make a tape for Herr Klein. On this tape you will tell the story of how you hired Jack Beals to kill Leigh Gardner so her ex-husband could sign over the land Mr. Mulvane so desperately needed. He had already purchased the land from Jacob Gardner when he found out that Gardner did not own it, his ex-wife did. When Mulvane discovered that she would never sell it as long as Jacob needed her to do so, he became desperate because he had intended to take the land from Gardner by force and say he paid a million dollars for it in order to cover the embezzling he has been doing for a long while. Beals killed the wrong person and panicked. Mulvane had Tug Murphy, or yourself, if you’d like to go to prison, kill Beals and Jacob Gardner to keep them quiet. You, being a decent man, couldn’t live with this sin on your head, so you’re making the tape to incriminate Mulvane and Tug Murphy. Then you leave town, or die by your own hand. I don’t care which, though you might. I think that’s about it.”

“That’s crazy,” Albert said. “Who’s going to believe that?”

“Some of it is true enough.” Finch took a small recorder from his coat pocket. “People will believe it because it explains everything nicely, and people like for things to make sense. And Herr Klein will make sure they do. He is investing over a billion dollars locally, and you are a fat, stupid, crooked ex-cop who works for a casino. The alternative is that Herr Klein will have Tug make the tape and blame you, which seems just as logical to me. All the denials you can muster won’t help you. One way or the other, Mulvane is going to take the rap. So is it going to be you or Tug in a cell with Mulvane?”

“I have a lot of money,” Albert said. “Let me go and it’s yours. Half a million dollars. Cash.”

“No, you don’t have that kind of money. Does old Albert here have any money, Gregory?”

The man who wasn’t aiming at Albert said, “We visited your home to look around and we found your twenty grand.”

“It’s nine hundred grand,” Albert growled.

“Nine or five, we only found twenty grand. Isn’t that right, Carl?” Steffan said.

The man with the gun nodded. “That’s right, Steffan.”

“Better for us. People will believe you took twenty from Mulvane for dirty favors,” Finch said. “Any more than that just complicates things. And Beals got what the cops found in his place for getting rid of troublesome individuals for you. It all works in more than one way.”

Sweat oozed from every pore in Albert’s large body.

“So,” Finch said holding out the recorder. “You choose. You have thirty seconds to begin your confession.”

Albert took the recorder and, shifting uncomfortably, promptly emptied his bowels.

“Nice,” Finch said. “Carl, roll down some windows.”

102

WINTER SAT WATCHING HAMP PLAY A VIDEO GAME.
To everyone’s great relief, Cyn had just sent a text message saying she would be home by ten
P.M
.

Seated on the floor with his legs crossed, the controller in his small hands, Hamp worked his fingers expertly, his eyes glued to the screen where muscular figures dressed in tight outfits traded punches and kicked at each other.

“Which one are you?” Winter asked.

“The white one,” Hamp replied. “The good wizard.”

Winter’s cell phone rang and he opened it, stood, and walked out of the room so he wouldn’t disturb Hamp.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Yeah, what?” Sean’s voice said.

“Yeah, hello, my dear.”

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I was sitting in a room with a child that reminds me of my son.”

“How’s it coming?”

“We’re winding down. We have a meeting in a little while to transfer some land that has already cost three lives.”

“Three?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you later.”

“What about you-know-who?”

“He who must not be named?” Winter said, infusing the joke with a joviality he didn’t feel.

“Yes.”

“Nothing but tracks,” he said truthfully.

“You’re being careful?”

“Of course I am. How’s Trammel doing?”

“Hank’s really proud of Faith Ann’s deer. He is getting the pictures blown up for the wall. Is Alexa with you?”

“Not at the moment. She had to go handle some Bureau politics.”

“The FBI getting involved?”

“No. It’s still a local matter.”

“I wish you were here,” Sean said. “I wish you were here in our bed with me. I could use some of that special Massey attention.”

“I’ll bring you a few pounds of that when I get this done. Word of honor.”

“Should I worry?”

“No, you definitely should not.”

Winter heard Olivia crying in the background.

“I have to go. Sleeping Beauty is awake. Call me in the morning?”

“Of course I will.”

“Massey, you know what?”

“No, what?” he asked, smiling.

“When you get back, I’m going to show you what.”

“I love you, Sean,” he said. “Tell the gang I said I love them.”

“Even Hank?”

“Don’t tell
him
.”

Winter closed the phone after Sean broke the connection. He formed a picture in his mind of Hank and Millie Trammel and felt his eyes narrow into slits, as he pictured them run down and shattered in that rain-soaked New Orleans street.

Winter looked over his shoulder and what he saw stopped him cold. There through the partly opened kitchen door Winter was treated to a view of Brad and Leigh. They were embracing, her head against his chest. As he watched, Leigh leaned back, looked up, and instead of stepping back, as Winter expected, the two looked into each other’s eyes and put their lips together.

When their kiss finally ended, they tightened their embrace, and when Leigh opened her eyes, they met Winter’s and enlarged in the same sort of embarrassment that one might expect from a teenager caught singing to her reflection in a mirror. He wondered, as he turned away, if she’d seen the same expression on his face.

103

AS SOON AS ROY BISHOP AND ANOTHER DEPUTY
arrived to stay at the house with Estelle and Hampton, Winter, Leigh, and Brad prepared to leave. Four other armed deputies would caravan to the casino and wait until Leigh’s business was concluded, then stick with them until the papers were signed. Billy Lyons was going to meet them at the casino at nine o’clock to make sure the documents were legally binding and correctly signed.

Before the trio filed out of the house, Leigh embraced her son and told him to mind Estelle and the deputies. He agreed easily. All Hampton and Estelle knew was that Leigh was going with Winter and Brad to a business meeting.

Brad drove them in Winter’s Jeep since it was being monitored. They’d decided they wanted the cutouts to know if Styer made an attempt on Winter.

The drive to the casino was uneventful. Winter wondered if Brad knew he’d seen the couple kissing in the kitchen. He supposed Leigh might have said something to him, although he didn’t act any differently than before.

Winter couldn’t help but wonder if this trouble had broken down the icy wall between them. As far as Winter could tell, the years they were apart had been unnecessary, due to their youth and misunderstanding. He supposed that Leigh’s stubbornness had played a big part in their lengthy split. It was Winter’s experience that successful relationships depended on open communication, mutual respect, and forgiveness, but he figured they understood that now.

At the casino, the cruisers parked and the deputies stepped out to their assigned posts, where they would await further orders. Billy Lyons waited under the portico, briefcase in hand.

Leigh’s cell phone rang and she looked at the caller ID. “It’s Cyn!”

She flipped open the phone. “Cyn, where are you?”

She listened for a few seconds.

“That’s great. We’ll see you later at the house and you can tell us all about it.” She hung up and smiled.

“She’s being dropped off at a public place as soon as the deal is done,” Leigh said. She wiped a tear from her eye. “She’s fine.”

“Did she say where she was?” Brad asked. “Who had her?”

“No,” Leigh said. “But she said she’s fine. She sounded fine. She said to call her phone as soon as the papers are signed.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Winter said, relieved.

After the deputies were in position, Brad cut the motor and said, “Showtime.”

They walked toward the casino, Winter’s and Brad’s eyes scanning the crowd like two cowboys headed toward the only saloon in a lawless cow town.