Writ of Execution (35 page)

29

NINA MADE THE call as they negotiated clots of traffic on the last block before Prize’s. Cars in the opposite lane beamed headlights in their eyes as they passed, primed for the night’s slick roads. For her second, lengthier call, she checked on Bob, who had already eaten and was playing African drum songs but had a lot to tell her about nevertheless. Most of what he said buried itself in the musical din.

She punched End. “Steve Rossmoor says that he’ll have things ready when we arrive. He didn’t want to do it, but we got lucky. Michelle was there. She insisted he help.” She felt the twinge of a smile pulling her lips.

“Lucky us, with friends in such high places.”

“One day I’ll know everybody in this town,” she said, taking a curve with one hand. Paul took the phone out of her other hand so that she could put both hands on the wheel. Traffic moved with funereal slowness through the dampening winds. She felt time pressing on her. A black knight was out there in the rain, a murderer.

“Everybody, including Jeff Riesner, unhappy ex-clients and assorted foes,” Paul said. “And you’ll have to have a book to keep the favors you owe even with the favors owed you. All part of living in a small town.”

“I don’t see things that way. Tahoe isn’t a small town, anyway. Not with millions of tourists coming through every year.”

She parked in the lot behind Prize’s and zipped past the clanging bells and smoky metal smells of the casino, taking the elevator up to the penthouse, where Rossmoor had his offices.

Steve Rossmoor opened the door himself. Tanned, as always, slimmer than Nina remembered, he wore a spiffy gray suit only a shade darker than the texturally complicated, single-hued decor. She remembered Paul saying he came from East Coast money. He sure looked it. Dressy California style at this hour for businessmen would be tie-less, a business shirt over clean jeans. “Sorry to bother you so late. Is Michelle still here?”

“She apologized for missing you. Said she’d give you a call soon.”

“I’d like that.”

“It’s good to see you both again,” he said. “Although, as I told Paul on the last occasion, it seems like bad news for me and my business every time I hear from either one of you. Maybe we can play tennis next time. Innocent fun for a change, eh?”

They walked into the suite and got the polite pleasantries out of the way quickly, admiring the drizzling view out of floor-to-ceiling windows.

“John Jovanic is keeping me posted on the court hearings. He knows you’re here. He advised me not to show you these.”

“Did he say why not?”

“You’re not a friend of the casinos. But I can’t see the harm in letting you see the tapes,” Rossmoor said, “as long as they remain here in my office. I do have to insist on knowing why you want to see them so badly.”

He gestured, and they sank into gray chenille chairs that faced a flat-screen hanging on the wall.

Rossmoor walked over to a glossy cherry cabinet and opened it. He held up three small cassettes.

“Three?” Paul asked.

“Only one is really excellent. The other two are less useful. The floor is extensively covered by cameras. Does that surprise you?”

“No,” Paul said. “Makes sense.”

“Your client chose a seat that is blocked somewhat by a pillar, making some of our other coverage ineffective. We’re now looking at relocating that bank of machines. If, in fact, someone was trying to hide, that would be a good spot, considering the alternatives in that room.

“Of course, we had these jackpot tapes right at hand. The Nevada Gaming Control Board has copies, and so does Global Gaming. The people in both organizations and the police have already reviewed them and found nothing particularly enlightening, unless it is that our server was possibly overgenerous with the Buds that night when it came to a certain young Asian man.”

Nina was disappointed. If neither the Gaming Control Board nor Global Gaming had recognized the goateed man, how in the world could they?

“It’s a long story,” Paul said. “The abbreviated version is, we want to see someone who was standing near Nina’s client right before she won the jackpot.”

“Ah. You’re interested in Charlie Kemp. But he left the stool before she arrived, as I recall. Some possible connection to his death?”

“Maybe. But it’s not Kemp we want to see.”

“No?”

“The man accompanying the girl in the wheelchair.

That’s who we need to look at.”

“Why?”

Paul looked at Nina, who nodded slightly, then back at Rossmoor. “We have reason to believe he may be involved in Kemp’s murder, among other things.”

“Really,” Rossmoor said. “Why do you think that?”

Paul gave him the severely edited version of their ruminations, leaving out their speculations about how the jackpot had been predicted.

“If you believe the jackpot was manipulated somehow, isn’t that going to pose a problem for your client, Nina?”

Nina pitched in at this point, making her explanations without telling him much. A killer was out there, possibly planning another murder, that was what mattered right now, not the jackpot, not anything else. She explained that she didn’t want to get into her legal strategy at this point, and didn’t really expect grand results from viewing the tapes. She was operating on instinct.

Rossmoor shrugged and slid in the first tape. Nina opened a small notebook in her lap and got out a pen.

They watched all three tapes until Rossmoor was reduced to an ordinary, exhausted businessman snoring away in his chair, the shadows on his shaved cheeks suddenly darker, his silk tie askew. A dozen times, they ran back the sequence where the man in the leather jacket came up behind Amanda Lewis, the moment he pointed a finger at Kemp and said a short phrase. Although the tapes did have an audio track, the background noise of the casino made voices unintelligible.

“You were right,” Paul said afterward to Nina. “Our man in the goatee was definitely avoiding being filmed. He moved with his back to the cameras more than would be normal without knowledge of the location of each and every one. What did you think?” They arrived back at the Bronco, wet and cold in the open lot. He unlocked Nina’s door, then the driver’s side, and got in.

“Disappointing.” She scooted closer to him. “I only cared about one thing. I expected to recognize him.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. Did you notice anything?”

“No. Good try, though. Where to?” Paul asked.

She frowned. “Head back to the office, I guess.” She smacked her hand down on the seat beside her. “I know you must be tired of hearing me say it, but will this guy go after Jessie or not?”

“I did notice one thing,” Paul said. “Right about when he was straightening Amanda’s sweater on the back of her chair.”

“What?”

“His hands. Twitching as he watched the others play. Like he was just bustin’ to get his hands on those machines.”

“What about when he left Amanda and hit the machine two rows away? He lost hundreds in those couple of minutes. I stopped counting at two fifty.”

“Yeah. He poured the money away, and he got angry about it. Remember? Holy shit, Nina.”

“What?”

“Our man is a compulsive gambler.”

“Keep going.”

“His job that night was to keep an eye on Kemp. He shouldn’t have let the guy out of his sight. Never! But he did! He wheeled her away just before Kemp got up!”

“Yes, I saw that.”

“He rushed over to the machine where he had just lost the money and started playing it again. He was totally blind to what was happening with Kemp. He was completely wrapped up in that machine. Our man’s got a problem, Nina. He literally couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t pull himself away, not even to ensure the biggest hit of his life.”

“Kemp lost the jackpot. He must have been beyond anger,” she said. “Anger at himself as well as Kemp. If he’d controlled his habit, stayed there and watched Kemp—”

“He wouldn’t have blamed himself. He would have felt that he was a victim.”

“So he started shooting whoever—whoever what, Paul? Whoever was keeping him from the money? I can understand Kemp, but not Amanda Lewis.”

“But she knew he knew Kemp,” Paul said. “Kenny heard him say something to Kemp. She heard it too.”

“So he tried to kill Kenny. And he shot her.”

“But not Jessie,” Paul said. “No, she’s under the protection of the gods. He’s got some idea that as soon as she gets the money, it’ll be his.”

“He identifies with her. Or, no, Paul, it’s more as if she belongs to him, because she holds the money. But how would he—”

“Get it from her? I doubt he thinks that far ahead,” Paul said. “He sees an obstacle and he shoots it. He sees another obstacle, and—”

“But how could he have that gun!”

Paul shook his head, slammed his hand on the wheel. “Took it from my goddamn pocket that night. Touched me. Stole from me.”

A creepy feeling came over Nina. “Paul, something happened today. I figured, and the killer must have figured too, that the money would now be freed up for Jessie. But a new—a new obstacle has appeared.”

“I’m not following.”

“We’ve had another change of fortunes. In the case. The money is still tied up. And our killer isn’t much good at waiting around for the law to sort things out.”

Paul said, “No. Not—tell me it isn’t so. The killer won’t go after . . .”

“He’s in the way,” Nina said.

“You really think so?”

“He’s on the payline. He put himself there today.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“We have to warn him.”

“We could just go put our feet up. Would the legal profession really miss him?”

“At least we have to tell Cheney!”

“Let’s not do it and say we did.”

“Come on!”

Red pulled the Harley right up to the back door of Prize’s and parked. They wouldn’t ticket his bike tonight in this rain, the lazy bums. They would be taking it easy in some heated room somewhere, not out here worrying about a few stray vehicles. Hell, Prize’s ought to be happy for the business on a night like this. They ought to be encouraging his business. Anyway, he didn’t need long for what he had to do. Just lure Jeffrey Fucking Riesner outside into the night and kill him.

His long ride up into the mountains had changed his mood. He had ridden fast and taken chances. There was one moment there when, at fantastic speed, he had cut in front of a semi. The truck swerved, closely avoiding a jackknife, and Red had skidded so close to a cliff edge he had previewed a dark glimpse into the void to come, but luck was with him after all. He had survived to win another game.

So now he was experiencing a resurgence of the old confidence, flooded by the same rush of pleasure he felt when he was swept along on a winning streak. Whatever faint glimmerings of conscience he had he pushed back behind the much more brightly shining thought of the money to come. He could still pull this thing off, get the money, make it up to Donna. Really, it was so simple, it amazed him. In twenty minutes, hell, half that maybe, it would all be over.

Then the girl would roll over like a pussycat. She had a baby, he now knew, and no mother would risk losing her child over mere money.

He pushed the door to the casino open, breathed the heady mix of smoke, sweat, and metal, and stepped in, thinking he would stop first to wash the ride off his hands before replacing his leather gloves. He wanted to do this in an orderly fashion. He wanted to be prepared.

“Have we done our duty?” Paul said as they rushed along the slick black road away from the South Tahoe police station.

“Cheney said he’d call Riesner’s house and have a talk with him,” Nina said. “I think he understands.” Her cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“I can’t reach him,” Cheney said. “His wife and kid were home and said he’d gone out, but she didn’t know where. Any idea where he might be?”

“I sure don’t hang out with him,” Nina said. Then she remembered something Michelle Rossmoor had told her once. “He plays poker,” she said. “I think he has a regular place but I can’t remember where.”

“I asked the wife if he might be out and about in the casino district,” Cheney said. “Where else would a man be on a night like this? But she mumbled something about work. I called his private number at his office. He’s not there.”

“If I think of the place, I’ll let you know,” Nina said. She pushed closed the phone and looked at Paul, who was driving, appraisingly.

“Don’t start. We’ve done more than enough,” Paul said, eyes on the road.

“Cheney’s not going to check from casino to casino for him,” she said. “But it wouldn’t take long. An hour or so. The district is small and compact. Caesars, Prize’s, the Horizon, Bill’s, the Lakeside, Harvey’s, and Harrah’s.”

“It wouldn’t be Bill’s or the Lakeside,” Paul said. “No good poker games there. Too small. Tell me again why we should ransack the casinos for him.”

“Don’t ask me,” Nina said. “I can’t stand him.”

“Charlie Kemp. Amanda Lewis. Atchison Potter,” Paul said. “Are we thinking straight here?”

“Sergeant Cheney seemed to think we weren’t complete idiots.”

“Who is it?” Paul said. “Munzinger? He stayed close to me that night. Jovanic gave me a bear hug at one point. That guy is a jolly green menace. Ully Miller, he was working the whole room. Andy Doig, I talked to him for half an hour in the corner, both of us trying to keep our eyelids open. Gary Gray. I don’t remember much about him. He’s—gray. It could have been any of them.”

Nina grabbed his arm. “Pull over. I have to think. I remember something on the video that’s coming back as we talk about these guys. Remember the biker, he’s playing his slot machine on the video, pushing the buttons. And he’s still wearing his gloves.”

“Yeah. Which incidentally is screwing up the investigation, because he seems to wear them on his shooting sprees too.”

“He wore gloves that night,” Nina said. “The night of the jackpot. I shook hands with a man wearing gloves. But I was tired. Watch the road!”

“Think!”

“There were so many people. Do you remember anything like that?”