Smoke & Mirrors (14 page)

46

THE PRIVATE JETS CARRYING THE ADVANCE SHADOW
team members—a cell comprised of dark ops specialists from four different cities—all arrived at the Memphis airport within the same forty-minute window. They had been dispatched as soon as word that Paulus Styer was in Tunica had been received by their organization. Once they were on the ground, the group was driven to Millington Naval Station, where two Yukons, already loaded with their equipment, had arrived in a C-130 cargo plane from North Carolina. The Millington gate guards had been instructed by their base commander to ignore the arriving team members and to wave their matching Yukons through when they exited the base.

The men in the cell knew each other well because they had worked numerous missions together, but they knew each other only by the names they had been assigned. They were ex-military Special Forces members who had died in combat or in training accidents. Their given names, along with their histories, had been buried with the bodies—or parts thereof—supplied by the shadow cell to fill their coffins.

The search for Paulus Styer, who was called Cold Wind by the CIA, had been going on for over ten years, and had cost six of the shadow team’s elite professionals and millions of dollars. The team members knew that Paulus Styer was a continuing top priority, and that the men who ended him would be generously rewarded. Even as the shadows traveled toward Tunica, Mississippi, other units were moving to join them.

47

STANDING AT ATTENTION IN THE VAST HOSPITALITY
suite, windows at his back, Pierce Mulvane watched as workers finished assembling an architectural model of the River Royale resort. The model, made in Los Angeles by a company that built scale models for use in movies, had cost a great deal of money, but it would all be expensed. Press releases would show dignitaries standing behind the model, and pictures of it would be used to illustrate brochures and vacation articles. The model would then be moved downstairs in the lobby and placed on a table for public viewing while the actual complex was completed.

The River Royale, situated far south of the other casinos in Tunica County, would eventually cover over three thousand acres. The model depicted indoor tennis courts, swimming pools, fountains, two eighteen-hole golf courses, a spa, the casino itself, designed to replicate a palace in Monaco, a seven-hundred-room hotel, five mini-villas, a concert hall, a four-screen movie theater, a promenade with high-end specialty shops, heliport, and eight restaurants. The closest competing casino would be fifteen miles away, as if any casino could compete with a world-class, one-stop destination where gaming was the core profit generator, though it appeared to be only one more method of entertainment for the guests.

Pierce looked at the model, and although it wasn’t physically apparent, a large section in the center of the project stood out—the parcel that Kurt Klein didn’t yet own. Looking at it, Pierce felt another wave of nausea rise within him.

The workers finished their task and left without saying anything. Pierce had hardly noticed until he turned to find Tug Murphy waiting for him.

“Yes, Tug?”

“Klein’s guy, Steffan Finch, wants to see you.”

“Again? I shouldn’t keep him waiting…long, I suppose.”

“It’s a beautiful resort,” Tug said, nodding in the direction of the model.

Pierce rubbed his hands together briskly. “We have a great deal to accomplish and not much time to do it in. I wonder if Albert knows more about this Beals thing than he’s said.”

“That could be,” Tug said.

“I wish I knew everything that’s going on. Maybe it’s best I don’t. Given the circumstances, deniability may be my best friend,” Pierce said as he lifted a tiny golf cart and moved it from the cart path to a fairway. He thought,
Maybe Herr Klein has done me a huge favor by being so damned secretive.

Across the desk from Pierce Mulvane, Steffan Finch sat, his sunglasses still on. Beside him, a visibly nervous Albert White sat twiddling his thumbs.

Finch said, “Instead of waiting until Tuesday, Herr Klein will be arriving tomorrow from Atlantic City. I have some good men coming in with Herr Klein to handle his personal security needs.”

“I told Mr. Finch that if he needs anything from us, I will arrange it,” Albert White said.

“Quite a bit of bother over this Beals fellow,” Finch said. “When I spoke to Herr Klein earlier, I mentioned its being on the news, and he indicated I should place myself at your disposal in case this threatens to expand into something larger.”

“Yes,” Pierce said. “If it does, we’ll make sure you are kept apprised.”

Albert said, “It was a very unfortunate thing. Beals seemed to be completely trustworthy. It appears, however, that he was up to something on his own.”

“His connection to this casino should be of no concern,” Pierce said. “Isn’t that right, Albert?”

“No way this can come back on the casino,” Albert said, straightening his tie and shooting Pierce a nervous glance. “I can assure you he wasn’t acting on our behalf.”

“Herr Klein is always concerned about blowback, and my job is to address his concerns. These are very important people who can’t afford to be associated with any hint of scandal. So tell me what you know about Beals’s escapade. Herr Klein says that you are to level with me.”

Pierce said, “Well, I mentioned to Albert that I wished I could discover how a certain young man was managing to cheat this house. Albert asked Jack Beals to talk to the young man to find out how he was cheating. I have no idea who killed Beals. He was making himself useful to a certain someone whom Kurt sent to help with a land complication, and perhaps that man may have decided to take matters into his own hands for some reason not known to us. I mean, Kurt—”

“You’re mistaken,” Finch said, interrupting. “Have you seen anyone sent here by Herr Klein? Did Beals tell either of you that he had been helpful to anyone who was dealing with any problems for Herr Klein?”

“Of course not,” Pierce said quickly. “You?” he asked White.

“I’ve seen nobody. I just told Beals—as Mr. Mulvane told me to—that when someone approached him and used the name Pablo that he should do whatever this person asked him to, and that Pablo would compensate him directly. Jack never told me he had been approached, but I had also told him never to mention it again,” Albert said, smiling uncomfortably. “That’s all I know, and I only know that much inside this room, between us. Mr. Mulvane told me to find someone that could be trusted, and I picked Beals since he has always performed with professionalism. And, as a lifelong resident of Tunica County, he could furnish information on the Gardners. Is it possible this Pablo killed him so he wouldn’t have to pay him? Or to keep him quiet? I mean, with Beals dead, nobody else has even seen Pablo—if he actually ever arrived.”

“I see,” Finch said. “Beals was someone you could depend on. Isn’t it possible that this cheater had someone watching his back who was in the room when Beals went inside?”

“I didn’t know he killed that girl,” Albert said. “Out on the Gardner plantation.”

“The girl yesterday?” Mulvane said, turning his eyes to exchange glances with White, who nodded.

White said, “The sheriff said so on the news a little while ago. They searched Beals’s house, according to my source at the department, and found the rifle used to kill the girl, and close to two hundred grand.”

“Where did Beals get that kind of money?” Mulvane asked immediately. “We don’t pay him anywhere near that much.”

“He might have inherited it, sold something, saved it up, I guess,” White said. “Maybe Pablo paid him that money for helping him.”

“But you can’t be sure it wasn’t stolen from us,” Pierce said. “I mean, if he was embezzling, that makes him appear more criminal and less like he could have been acting on our behalf, like he told that gambler. Right, Albert?”

“He was never alone with large sums of cash. None of my people are.” White seemed confident.

“Nobody pays that kind of money to a helper, not even a full partner,” Finch said.

Mulvane opened his hands expansively. Albert was being slow on the uptake. “Well, obviously he was stealing from us, which means he didn’t get paid to kill anybody, or anything that would need further looking into. We were victims too. Exactly how much money was found?”

“One hundred and eighty thousand, two hundred twenty dollars,” Albert said. “And he had an arsenal in that house. Like thirty guns.”

“Well,” Finch said, clapping his hands together. “I see we’re on the same page here. I’ll tell Herr Klein all of this when I see him. No sense bothering the man with details, is there? He’s not really interested in details, just the overall picture.”

“Of course not,” Pierce said. “Not at all.”

48

THE BLUE & WHITE RESTAURANT, PAINTED ROYAL
blue and white, was located on Highway 61. The Tunica County institution looked like a large roadside restaurant and gas station. Years before it had been a popular truck stop, but all that remained of that was the original cafe structure, the gas pumps long since removed. There was an L-shaped dining room, tables, and a series of booths against the open kitchen.

Brad waved at or made small talk with several diners before joining Winter and Alexa Keen at a corner table.

Brad said as he slid in, “I went over our missing-person files, and some of the people were supposedly headed here, or had called someone from here to say they’d won big. So it’s safe to assume Beals was using his casino job to target people like Scotoni. People he checked out. Maybe he killed them and disposed of their bodies. According to the IRS, four of the missing people paid taxes on winnings at the Roundtable.”

Winter said, “Beals was a security guard, so he would have needed a partner with access to information on the targets. He filmed them leaving, so I think he was off duty when they took their winnings out.”

“Could Styer have been his partner?” Alexa asked.

“I doubt it,” Winter said. “Robbery would be lower than bottom-feeding for him. Styer killed Beals, but Beals’s robbery operation wasn’t their connection. I think the Roundtable is connected to Styer’s presence, and the land Leigh owns has to be why Sherry is dead. Maybe Beals knew about Styer. It’s quite possible the casino wanted Beals killed, so Styer did it, tying Sherry’s murder to Beals so the trail ends there.”

“He knows you’ll know it’s him, but you won’t be able to tie him in officially,” Alexa said.

“The casino may have had Sherry killed as a message,” Brad said.

“Far as the FBI knows, the Roundtable is clean,” Alexa said.

“Doesn’t mean they’re clean,” Winter said.

Brad said, “Albert White knew we were talking about Scotoni and we never used his name. Not proof we can use. White left his job in West Memphis and took the casino position when RRI bought it. Beals went to work there three years ago.”

“Circumstantial at best,” Winter said. “Could be White and Beals were in cahoots, but it still isn’t enough for a search warrant on White’s place. What do we know about RRI?”

“RRI is owned by a German industrial family named Klein,” Alexa said. “Kurt Klein is the present CEO of Klein Industries, which owns RRI. Klein is a billionaire industrialist. RRI is his hobby.”

Winter looked around the room.

“A big-deal German would have access to Styer’s services. He may have brought in Styer to clear the way for the land acquisition. Maybe the purpose of killing Sherry was to put pressure on Jacob. And he killed Beals because Beals could identify him,” Alexa speculated.

Winter said, “Only thing I know is that whatever Styer’s up to, he’s not finished yet.”

“How can you be sure?” Brad asked.

“Because he hasn’t yet made an appearance before Winter,” Alexa said. “And that’s his bow before the curtain falls.”

The trio had finished eating when a slightly stooped white-haired man wearing a wide-brimmed felt hat and a bulky wool coat over a cardigan walked in, looked at their table, and made a beeline for it. A second man, about the same age but twenty pounds heavier, came in behind him.

“Looks like we’re about to have company,” Winter said. “Based on the pictures in your den, I’d say this is the famous Dr. Barnett.”

Brad turned and raised his chin in salute to his father, who was greeting diners as he made his way toward them. “The other man is his best friend, Woody Seiders. They grew up together. Woody is a fixture and a hell of a handyman. He oversees Daddy’s rental properties, keeps my yard straight, and plays nickel-dime poker with Dad and their buddies every other Monday night.”

Woody smiled and waved at Brad as the two men approached.

Brad stood and pulled out a chair beside him, which the doctor lowered himself into. Woody took a chair from a vacant table and sat at the corner to Dr. Barnett’s left.

“Alexa, Winter, this is my father, William Barnett, and Woody Seiders. Dad, Woody, meet Alexa Keen and Winter Massey.”

“Call me Will,” he said, shaking hands with Alexa and Winter. His handshake was firm, his hand warm, the skin loose, bones close to the surface. His bright gray eyes locked on Alexa’s. “My, what a delightful dinner companion you gentlemen have. Ms. Keen, you bring sunshine into an otherwise dreary evening. Is there a Mr. Keen?”

“Alexa,” she said, smiling.

“Cut the crap, Dad. You’re about forty years too late for her,” Brad said, shaking his head.

Woody guffawed. “Doc’s just window-shopping these days. Sex at his age would be like playing the drums with cooked spaghetti.”

“Nonsense. Some younger women appreciate the added value and benefits offered by a mature gentleman. Especially when he’s a Harvard-trained physician who isn’t going to live forever or leave his considerable estate, which includes an above-average coin collection, to his surviving son.”

“Where’s my shovel? It’s knee-deep in here,” Woody said.

Alexa smiled. “Most women do appreciate a mature gentleman,” she said. “It’s nice to meet a handsome man who is also a physician,” she went on. “Not even counting a coin collection.”

“General practitioner for forty-four years,” William said.

“Alexa is with the FBI. Winter is…”

“Been helping you find Sherry’s killer,” William said. “I know all about him, and he did a great job wrapping it up. Little of consequence, or without, escapes my network of ever-faithful patients. Speaking of which, I saw Cynthia yesterday afternoon at the office.”

“She came to see you for….?” Brad asked.

“That’s about six miles into none of your business, Bradley. Beautiful child, Cynthia. So, Agent Keen, before my son interrupted, you were about to tell me about your present marital prospects.”

“I didn’t have any before tonight,” she said, smiling.

“You were once married, I bet,” William said.

She shook her head. “Not yet, Will.”

“Well now, my dear, that has to be a situation of your own choosing.”

“Just haven’t found the right gentleman,” she said teasingly.

“I don’t suppose my son mentioned that I am an accomplished ballroom dancer.”

“Mostly he accomplishes flattening toes,” Woody said.

“Daddy,” Brad said, “Alexa’s young enough to be your daughter.”

“I often wish I’d had a daughter,” William said, frowning at his son.