Killing Spree (33 page)

Barry was somewhere in the area, within driving distance.

That was what Gillian had ahead of her, a lot of driving. She would start thirty miles south at the Emerald Queen in Tacoma, then work her way north again to Everett, then up to Anacortes. It would take at least four hours, but she might save Barry’s life.

Returning to the kitchen, Gillian grabbed the refrigerator magnet for Redi-Rental.

“You can take my car, hon,” Ruth said. “But I think your luck at those casinos will be about as good as ninety percent of their customers, which is slim to none.”

“I have to go,” Gillian explained. “Even if there’s just the
slightest
possibility I can get to Barry before this killer does. I have to try.”

“Can I come with you?” Ethan asked.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Most of these places don’t allow anyone under twenty-one in the casinos. Besides, I’ll need you to keep Ruth company. Someone has to be here to let the police into Vicki’s apartment.”

As she got ready to leave, Gillian felt optimistic. After two years, there was a chance she might see Barry again. If only she could get to him in time.

She had a few last-minute instructions for Ruth. “Todd has a mother named Christine. She lives in Arizona—Phoenix or Tucson, my source wasn’t sure. I wrote it down on the list we made. Anyway, Todd’s mother might know where he is—if you can track her down.”

“Will do,” Ruth said, handing Gillian her cell phone. “Keep us posted.”

“Another call I’d like you to make,” Gillian said in a low voice. She slipped the cell phone into her purse, then buttoned up her coat. “Could you phone your friend, Lynn Voorhees, and tell her about Vicki and Chase? Tell her those two people were murdered yesterday—one day after she refused to help us. Will you do that?”

“Yes, I’d like very much to make that call,” Ruth said. She handed Gillian her car keys. “Do you have a photo of Barry to show people?”

Gillian slapped her forehead. “God, I’m such an idiot. Thanks, Ruth. I didn’t even think of that.” She went back to her study nook and grabbed a framed photo of Barry off the wall. Suddenly, she realized why Jason Hurrell had done the same thing. And it was for the very same reason. He wanted to track down Barry. Obviously, he had an idea where Barry might be, too. Was he hoping to get to her husband before anyone else? And why was that so important to him?

Tucking the framed photo in her purse, Gillian kissed Ethan good-bye. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Ethan nodded. “Say hi to Dad for me, okay?”

Gillian gave him a hug, and then headed for the door.

“Excuse me, have you seen this man?”

The waitress was young and pretty with a trim, toned figure. Of course, all the waitresses in the grand ballroom of the Golden Eagle Casino in Auburn had to be in good shape considering their uniform: a high-waisted tuxedo blouse, glittery bow tie, spandex miniskirt, and black stockings. Balancing a tray-load of drinks, she paused to glance at the framed photo of Barry for only a moment. “Cute, but no, he doesn’t look familiar at all.”

“Are you sure?” Gillian asked, talking loudly over all the noise and the music. But the waitress had already moved on.

This wasn’t working. Gillian had already spent thirty minutes over at the Emerald Queen Casino, trying to get one of their waitresses or floor people to give her a minute of their time—all to no avail. She’d tried a couple of the cash windows, and a few of the dealers between games. Finally, some big, albino-looking man in a navy blue suit with the casino logo on his breast pocket had approached her, saying he would escort her to the parking lot and she wasn’t welcome back.

From the highway, she’d spotted a billboard for the Golden Eagle, and decided to give it a try. She’d been here for twenty minutes now, and it was just like the other casino—except the music was louder, the main room smaller and more crowded, and some woman had accidentally spilled a rum and Coke on her. Fortunately, it didn’t show up that much on Gillian’s black-slacks-and-sweater ensemble, but she now smelled like a distillery.

She spotted another cocktail waitress. “Excuse me,” she said. “I hate to bother you, but could you take a look at this picture and tell me if you—”

“You asked me that fifteen minutes ago!” hissed the brunette with the heavy eyeliner. She carried a tray full of dirty glasses. “The answer’s still no. Now, would you please get out of my way?”

“I’m sorry,” Gillian said, stepping to the side.

She felt someone touch her arm. She turned to see a tall, formidable-looking man in a security guard’s uniform. He had straight brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and only one ear. On the right side of his head, there was a hole and a bunch of pinkish scars where his ear should have been. “Excuse me, ma’am, the manager would like to see you.”

“Um, I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to bother anyone—”

“You can tell that to Albert,” the guard said, leading her away from the tables. “He’s the manager, and he wants to talk with you.”

She tried to show him the photo of Barry. “If you wouldn’t mind—”

“I’m not interested,” he grumbled, not even casting a glance at the picture. He took her to a door marked
PRIVATE
, punched in a security code on the number-pad under the handle, then pushed the door open. After the plush green and gold carpeting and all the gaudy trimmings of the main ballroom, the cement-and-cinder-block stairwell was stark and cold.

The guard wordlessly led her up two flights of stairs. Gillian caught a glimpse of the gold name tag on his navy blue uniform shirt:
CHAD
. She figured it should have said,
MR. PERSONALITY
.

She followed him through a series of narrow, slightly grimy corridors to the manager’s office. The door was open. Behind the big mahogany desk, a chubby man with a gray comb-over smiled and waved them in while he chatted into the telephone. The office had thick green carpeting, a wall with about a dozen built-in closed-circuit TVs, another wall full of framed licenses, a third wall that was gold-foil-mirrored—and finally, behind the manager’s desk, one long window with a view of the casino’s main ballroom. Gillian figured he’d seen her down there, and that was how she’d been busted.

Chad, aka Mr. Personality, pointed to one of the two black leather upholstered chairs in front of the manager’s desk. “Sit down,” he grumbled.

Gillian obeyed. She watched the chubby man on the phone. He was laughing—a jolly chortle. “Oh, that’s just like him! Ha!” he bellowed. His laughing turned into a coughing fit; then once he caught his breath, he said, “Listen, I have a pretty lady sitting here, waiting to talk with me. I gotta go.”

Gillian figured if she apologized nicely enough, this man might take pity on her. These casinos had detectives and floorwalkers all over the place, and one of them might know Barry. Her husband was very friendly, the type of guy who knew all the clerks’ names whenever they went to the supermarket. Certainly, people knew him here. This manager would only have to make a couple of calls.

He hung up the telephone, cocked his head to one side, and smiled at her. “Well, I’m Albert, and I’m the manager here at the Golden Eagle. It looks like you’re running some interference with our girls taking the drink orders, and that clogs up the works here.”

“I’m very sorry,” Gillian said. “I’m trying to track down my husband, who’s been missing for a while. His name is Barry Tanner, and he—”

“Excuse me, excuse me,” he said, waving his hand and shaking his head at her. “Mrs. Tanner, I’d like you to take a look at my friend Chad here.” He pointed to the security guard.

Gillian turned in her chair, and suddenly a flash went off, blinding her.

It took her a moment to realize what had just happened. Once she could focus on the security guard, Gillian saw the Polaroid camera in his hands. It spit out a photo, which he tossed on the manager’s desk.

“This picture of you will go out to our doormen and floor people,” Albert announced. “It’s SOP with all undesirables. You’re bad for business. We get this shit all the time, people looking for missing spouses or kids. And I’m sick of it. If we see you in here again, Mrs. Tanner, you’ll be arrested for trespassing.”

“Sir, I’m just trying to find my husband,” Gillian pleaded. There were still spots in her vision, and she kept blinking. “This is an emergency, a life-or-death situation, and I’m not exaggerating—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your problems, lady,” he cut in. “You’re out of here.” He nodded at the tall man with one ear. “Take this sorry bitch out the side door. I don’t want her going through the casino again.”

The guard took hold of her arm and led her out of the office. In the hallway, Gillian wrenched away from him. “Get your hands off me,” she growled.

Stone-faced, he pointed her down another hallway, then another. He led her to a different stairwell, but it was just like the other one, all cinder block and cement. She almost stumbled on a step, and grabbed the banister. The photo fell onto the landing. The glass in the frame broke. Chad picked it up and glanced at the picture.

“Give that to me!” Gillian said, tears in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of this big creep. But she felt so defeated.

He handed the framed photo back to her, then opened a metal door.

Clutching the broken picture, Gillian paused in the doorway. It led to an alley—with four big Dumpsters along the side of the building. “Where’s the parking lot from here?” she asked, unable to look at the guard. She just wanted to get out of there.

“Ma’am, I know him,” she heard the guard say.

Gillian turned and stared at the man.

He nodded. “I recognized him in the picture. He’s a really nice guy—only I know him as Frank. Frank Dorsett.”

“Have you—have you seen him recently?” Gillian asked. “Do you know where he is?”

“Last time he was in here was almost two years ago. But he was a regular here for a while. You told Asshole Albert upstairs this is a matter of life and death. Is that true?”

Gillian anxiously nodded.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you to your car,” Chad said. “I know someone who saw him not too long ago. But I’m not sure you want to hear about it.”

“Go ahead,” Gillian said. “I’d be grateful for anything you can tell me.”

“This cocktail waitress who used to work here, her name’s Andrea, she and Frank—your husband—they had kind of a thing going on a while back. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think it was anything too serious.”

Gillian didn’t break her stride as they walked down the alley together. She’d been in such deep denial during her years with Barry. It had taken his leaving for her to realize—along with all his other secrets—he’d probably strayed too. She swallowed hard, and told herself that it didn’t matter anymore. “Go on,” she said.

“Andrea eighty-sixed this dump a while back. She works at the Club Royale up in Anacortes now, but we still talk. She told me she ran into Frank about six weeks ago.”

“In Anacortes? He was in Anacortes?”

Chad nodded. “Want me to call her?”

At the end of the alley, they came to the parking lot. Music churning over a speaker system by the entrance competed with traffic noise from the nearby freeway. “Hold on for a second, okay?” Chad took out his cell phone and backtracked into the alley.

Gillian remained at the edge of the alleyway, watching him talk on his cell phone. He cupped a hand over the hole where he once might have had an ear. Gillian glanced at the photo of Barry again—behind the cracked glass of the frame. She couldn’t believe he’d been in Anacortes—only eighty miles away—just six weeks ago. The copycat killer wasn’t lying to her about finding Barry. Her husband was still alive—and not so far away. Even if she had to find him through some woman he’d been sleeping with, Gillian was ready do whatever it took. She had to get to him before this killer did.

Tucking the phone in his pocket, Chad lumbered up to her. “Do you mind driving up to Anacortes today?”

“No, not at all,” Gillian said.

“Andrea works the main room. She’s not there yet. Her shift starts at two today. But when you get there, ask for Paul Dwoskin. He’s expecting you. He’s a floorwalker there, nice guy. He knows your husband too. He’ll hook you up with Andrea.”

Gillian nodded. “Thank you, thank you very much.”

“I hope you find your husband, ma’am,” Chad said. “It’s none of my business, but I hope you can forgive him too. He’s a pretty damn nice guy. Tell him old One-Ear-Chad said hello, okay?”

Gillian impulsively hugged him, and kissed him on the cheek. Still holding Barry’s picture to her chest, she hurried toward the car.

He showed the photo of Barry and Gillian to the desk clerk. She was a thin, brown-haired woman in her late thirties with lipstick on her teeth and a green cardigan over her T-shirt. The lobby was tiny—with room for two orange plastic bucket-style chairs and a Formica table, which supported a Mr. Coffee machine, a stack of Styrofoam cups, a bowl of sugar packets, and a canister of Coffeemate. He’d torn the clerk away from the TV behind the counter. Right now, Paul Newman was talking with Eva Marie Saint, but they were on mute.

Jason drummed his fingers on the countertop while the woman studied the photo. “Yeah, I know him,” she said at last. “He stayed here for a few weeks a while back—maybe four or five months ago.”

“Does the name Barry Tanner ring a bell?”

She snuck a peek at her TV, then shook her head. “No. I think this guy’s name was Frank.”

“Could you check your registration records?”

She shook her head. “Everything before last month is in the basement, and I don’t have a key. You could ask the owner, but he’ll probably tell you to get lost—unless you’re a cop. You aren’t a cop, are you?”

Sighing, Jason took the framed photo from her. “No, I’m not with the police.”

“What do you want to see this guy for anyway?” the woman asked.

“I owe him some money,” Jason lied. He headed for the lobby door. “Thanks for your time.”

He would try the next hotel down the road.

“Anyway, this person saw Barry only six weeks ago,” Gillian said into her cell phone. She had just passed a sign along the Interstate that read:
ANACORTES FERRIES
—17
MILES
“I’m on my way to this casino in Anacortes so I can talk to her.”

“
Her?
” Ruth repeated.

“Yes,
her
, and at this point, it doesn’t matter.” Gillian sighed. “Put Ethan on, okay?”

“He can’t talk right now. He decided to give Eustace a bath and he’s up to his elbows in suds and dog. What do you want me to tell him?”

“Just say what I told you, and that I think we may be close to getting in touch with his dad. So maybe something good might come out of all this.”

Gillian heard water splashing on the other end of the line, then Ruth explaining to Ethan that his father had been in Anacortes only a few weeks ago. “
Really?
” he kept asking while Ruth relayed the information to him. “And your mom says maybe some good might come from all this,” she heard Ruth finish up.

“God, that’s fantastic! Awesome, Mom!”
Ethan shouted.

“Watch the dog, honey,” Ruth said, her voice a little muffled. “Eustace, stay! Gill, we’re going through all your towels here. I’m going to put a load in your wash. Is there anything else you need cleaned while I’m at it?”

“I got stuff!”
Ethan piped up.