Killing Spree (35 page)

Gillian waited by the dollar slot machines at the lobby’s edge in the Club Royale Casino Resort. She’d spoken with Paul Dwoskin, a handsome man in a navy blue suit. He was kind of a throwback to the seventies with his handlebar mustache and sideburns. He had a lot of nice things to say about
Frank,
but seemed ill at ease. Small wonder. In a few moments, he would be introducing
Frank’s
wife to
Frank’s
girlfriend. He’d left Gillian there while he navigated through the crowded main room to find Andrea.

Gillian glanced at her wristwatch: 2:25. She’d thought Ruth would have phoned her right back after she’d left that message fifteen minutes ago. They couldn’t have stepped out. She would call home again as soon as she finished here. Maybe Ruth could get one of her detective friends to check on Rick’s background, and find out what he’d been doing the past few days. Had he had time for trips to New York, Chicago, or Montana during the last two weeks?

She wondered about two years ago. Certainly, they would have questioned Rick about the Schoolgirl Murders. All the male faculty and administration staff at the college had been under heavy scrutiny. What kind of alibi had he given the cops?

“Gillian?”

She hadn’t even seen her coming. Gillian turned to her left, a cordial smile already plastered on her face. Barry’s girlfriend was pretty, with a pale complexion and wavy red hair. Her skimpy waitress uniform—a form-fitting, black tuxedo jacket with emerald-green lapels—showed off her long legs and statuesque figure. She was almost as tall as Paul, standing behind her.

“Well, I’ll leave you two at it,” he said, retreating back into the noisy chaos of the main room.

“Andrea…hi.” Gillian extended her hand. “Thanks for agreeing to see me. I know this is pretty awkward.”

“No kidding.” Andrea shook hands with her. “Listen, I can’t talk long. We’re kind of swamped right now.” She tucked her empty tray under her arm, then glanced back at the main room for a moment. She turned to Gillian again. “So—Paul told me that Frank—um, well, your husband—he’s in some kind of trouble. Is that true? Or are you just pissed off? I mean, if you’ve come here to bitch-slap me or something, then let’s get it over with.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Gillian heard herself say. “I was telling Paul the truth. My husband’s in trouble. I need to get to him before someone else does. And his real name’s Barry, by the way.”

“Barry, huh?” A wistful smile came to her face. “Suits him. He told me his name wasn’t really Frank. A lot of these closet gamblers keep different identities. A lot of them are in trouble too. I knew your husband was in way over his head. But that’s been going on for a few years now. This ‘trouble’ you’re talking about, is it something new?”

Gillian nodded. “He might be dead by tonight if I don’t get to him in time.”

Andrea’s eyes searched hers for a moment. Finally, she took a deep breath. “Listen—Gillian, you should know, he loves you. What he and I had was physical, yeah. But we were mostly friends. He helped me out when I got into this mess with this guy a while back. Never mind the details. But I won’t forget how Frank—
Barry
was there for me.”

“Well, I’m glad he was there for
someone
,” Gillian murmured. Then she quickly shook her head. “I’m sorry. This is very difficult for me. It—it’s good Barry was able to help you when you needed help. And now maybe you can return the favor. I understand you saw him here about six weeks ago.”

Andrea nodded. “It was more like five weeks, but yes, he paid me a visit.”

Gillian didn’t say anything. She wondered why Barry would visit his old girlfriend, but not bother to contact his wife and son. She told herself once more that it didn’t matter. “Um, did he say where he’s living now? Do you know how I could get in touch with him?”

“No. He just kind of showed up out of the blue. He took me out for a couple of drinks after my shift ended. He didn’t say where he’s been living. It’s still not safe for him to show his face in Seattle or anywhere around there. Then again, you already know that.”

Gillian just nodded.

“If it’s any help, he was driving an old Nissan with Montana plates. I don’t remember the number. I asked him whose car it was, and he said it was his. So my guess is he’s living there. And if it’s any consolation to you, all we did during this visit was share a couple of drinks together. Nothing else happened.”

“He drove all the way from Montana just to take you out for a couple of drinks?”

Andrea shook her head and let out a little laugh. “God, no. He made the trip for
you.
”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t seen him in almost two years.”

“You write some kind of mysteries, right? Frank—
Barry
never told me any of the titles. I guess he was afraid of me finding out his real name through one of your books. Anyway, you just published a new book five weeks ago, right?”

Gillian nodded.

“That’s why he took a chance and drove to Seattle. He’s come back twice that I know of. Both times, it’s been to see you. Doesn’t some bookstore in your neighborhood always throw a ‘signing party’ for you?”

Gillian nodded. “Broadway Books.”

“Well, your husband was there for at least two of them. He watched through the store window. You had about twenty people attending the last time, and your son was there too. Barry said you both looked like you were doing okay. He’s really proud of you and your books.”

Gillian just shook her head. She couldn’t believe Barry had gotten so close to her—and didn’t let her know.

“Anyway, he saw you that night, and then drove up here to say hi to me. He told me he was headed home early the next day.” Andrea reached into the pocket of her tuxedo jacket. “Chad from the Golden Eagle gave me a call about an hour ago and told me you might be coming. So I remembered to bring this.”

She handed Gillian a business card:

SALVADOR (“SAL”) SALGADO

Private Investigations

P
ROFESSIONAL
, C
ONFIDENTIAL
& E
XPERIENCED

There was a Portland address and phone number on the card.

“Did you hire this guy to find Barry?” Andrea asked.

Mystified, Gillian looked up from the card and shook her head. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Well, this joker—very slick, Vegas is full of characters like him—he came into the casino a few nights after—um,
Barry
,” Andrea explained. “He asked all sorts of questions. He had your husband’s photo and asked if I knew Frank Dorsett. I told him yes, but I hadn’t seen him in a couple of years. Then he read off about five other aliases. Now that I’m thinking back,
Barry
was one of them. Y’know, when your husband first disappeared two years ago, I had some of these low-life types waltzing in here making inquiries about him. But I could tell they were clueless, chasing down any lead they could. This Sal Salgado character was different. I had the feeling he was closing in on Barry. I remember wishing I knew how to get in touch with your husband, because I wanted to warn him about this guy.”

Gillian glanced at the business card again. “Can I keep this?”

“Sure. The only reason I saved it was to give it to Barry if he ever showed up again.”

“Did this Sal Salgado mention the people who had hired him?”

Andrea nodded. “I was getting to that. See, I said to this private dick: ‘Who are these people you work for anyway? They’ve been looking for Frank for two years now. Why don’t they just give up already?’ And he told me that he wasn’t working for Frank’s ‘business associates.’ He knew all about them. He’d been employed by someone else. And this part really stuck with me. He said, ‘Her reasons for wanting to find this man are very personal.’”

“
Her
reasons?” Gillian repeated, making sure she’d heard right.

Andrea nodded. “That’s why I asked earlier if you were the one who hired him.”

“Hello, Mr. Salgado?” she said after the beep. Gillian stood by Ruth’s Toyota in the parking lot of the Club Royale Casino. She had the cell phone to her ear. “My name is Gillian Tanner. I understand you may have located my husband, Barry, for someone. I’m prepared to pay double whatever this other client paid you—for the same information. I can assure you, I’d keep it totally confidential. The hitch is, you need to get back to me right away. This is a one-time offer, Mr. Salgado. Please, call me on my cell phone at 206-555–1771. I hope to hear from you.”

She clicked off the line, then checked her cell phone again to see if Ruth or Ethan had returned her call. It had been almost a half hour, and they hadn’t gotten back to her yet.

Gillian hit the speed dial for her home number, then counted the ring tones. After four rings, the machine picked up—and she felt her heart sink a little.

Ruth heard the phone ringing again upstairs.

She’d been listening to Ethan and that man, but what they said was muffled and indecipherable. Occasionally, the man had raised his voice:
“I’m not fucking kidding you!”
he’d bellowed at one point.

All the while, she’d heard Eustace’s paws clicking against the front porch floor as he paced back and forth. He’d whimpered—and every few minutes let out a single bark.

Ruth figured the intruder upstairs must not have been listening too carefully. For the last ten minutes, she’d been gnawing away at a section of the old cellar door with a garden spade. She’d dodged the flying splinters of wood as she repeatedly hit the same spot with a series of quick little jabs and scrapes. It seemed to be taking forever, and she was sweating. But she saw a tiny crack of daylight in the area she’d been working on.

Still, she guessed it might be another twenty minutes before she’d made a hole big enough to reach through the door and move that damn shovel. By then, Ethan could be dead.

Upstairs, the phone stopped ringing. She heard a distant mechanical beep, and then a voice—muffled, but recognizable. It was Gillian.

“
Hi, it’s me again
,” his mother was saying on the answering machine.

Ethan sat on the floor, with his back to the wall and his knees up to his chest. Joe pulled over a chair and sat down in front of him.

“Listen, I’m worried because I haven’t heard back from you
,” Ethan’s mother said. “
So call me. Ethan, I really think we’re close to finding out where Dad is. Anyway, give me a call as soon as you get this. Bye.
”

Joe nodded pensively. “Y’know, I believed you yesterday when you told me you had no idea where your dad was. But it looks like things have changed in the last twenty-four hours. Let me give you a little background information, so you know the score as far as your old man is concerned. Okay, Ethan?”

Ethan just nodded.

“This big shot in my organization has a fuck-up son, who did a really stupid thing when he arranged a little heist with one of your dad’s trucks. A guy got killed, and your dad’s testimony could put this kid away for a long, long time. Actually, I don’t give a crap what happens to this big shot’s son. The guy’s an asshole. But his father doesn’t want to see him go to jail. That’s why they haven’t given up on your daddy. He’s a bad loose end. I’d be a real hero in the organization if I could track him down. No more shit-assignments like when they stuck me with you. I could write my own ticket. Now, how about if you do your buddy, Joe, a favor and tell me where I can find your old man.”

Ethan stole another glance at the baseball bat on the floor over by the sofa. If Joe had noticed it at all, he didn’t seem very concerned about it. Ethan’s eyes met Joe’s. “I don’t know any more than you do,” he said, shrugging. That was the truth. He could tell this bastard everything he knew—and none of it would help. “My mother went looking for my dad at a bunch of casinos today. You heard what she said on the first message. I don’t know anything else, I swear.”

Frowning, Joe heaved a sigh. “Well, I believe you, Ethan. That’s why you’re going to do what Mama told you. You’re going to call her back, and find out exactly where she is and what she knows.”

Ethan automatically shook his head. “I—I can’t do that. It won’t work. She’ll know something’s wrong. She’ll hear it in my voice. Besides—”

“Goddamn it, Ethan!” he roared. Joe quickly shot out of the chair, which tipped over behind him. “You saw what I did to that clown in front of the locker room the other day. I didn’t even break a sweat. Hell, I wasn’t even mad at the guy. But you’re pissing me off, Ethan.” He moved toward the cordless phone in the study nook. “Now, you’re going to be a good little faggot and call your mommy.”