“Right. He rolled doubles, so he got to go again.”
Hughes uttered a single syllable of laughter, without mirth or joy. “So let me get this straight: You think your dad has got these guys playing a game of murder Monopoly, killing people or dumping them based on where they land on the Monopoly board?”
“Follow them. Each murder matches a spot on the board in some way. I did the math—every murder is reachable by a roll of the dice from the one before it… if you assume there’s two players. Look—Park Place,” Jazz said, jabbing a finger at the paper. “A murder at the Coney Island boardwalk.”
“I told you—those are just coincidences. Do you know what apophenia is?” Hughes asked, somewhat paternally.
“Yes.” Apophenia was a form of insanity that made people see patterns where there were none, or imbue meaningless patterns with great import. Like crazy conspiracy theorists. “I know what it is. But this isn’t—”
“Finding these ridiculous patterns… stretching this to fit a board game, of all things… I’m worried about you. Maybe we pushed you too—”
“It’s not apophenia if the pattern’s real,” Jazz protested. “Look, it’s not important that it’s Monopoly. It could have been anything. All that matters is that they have some kind of structure. It could have been checkers or chess, but Billy would find that too simple. Cliché. Everyone does chess, he would say.” Hughes shivered, and Jazz realized that—without intending to—he had once again done his dead-on Billy impression. “This is more like… like reverse apophenia.”
“Oh, really?” Hughes folded his arms over his chest.
“Yeah. It’s not seeing a pattern where there is none—it’s hiding a pattern where there doesn’t have to be one. These guys don’t need a Monopoly board to kill people. They would do it anyway. He’s just making them dance.”
In the face of Hughes’s obvious skepticism, Jazz pressed on. “Two murders with the guts left in KFC buckets? Kentucky Avenue. Dog did one, rolling a six to get there. Later, Hat rolled a five and landed on the same spot. One of the other cops even mentioned it. You were there: The nearest KFC was a mile away. Why bring the bucket and do it twice? Hell of a lot easier than transporting the body all the way to the nearest KFC, right? They only move bodies when they have to, in order to comply with the rules of the game.” Hughes said nothing, so Jazz kept going. “He left that body on the S line in Manhattan because—”
“—it’s the shortest line,” Hughes mumbled. “Short Line Railroad.” The detective’s finger skipped down the page. “Saint James… the church. Right…”
“And look at where Belsamo landed right before coming into the precinct.”
Hughes skimmed the list and looked up, puzzled. “Community Chest?”
“He drew the Get out of Jail Free card.” Jazz grinned triumphantly.
“But he wasn’t in—”
“Right. So Billy had to send him in. He had to put him right in the precinct. Remember what he told you guys in the interrogation room? That if he lied he knew he would go directly to jail? It’s right out of the game, a direct quote. Billy sent him in so that he could play the Get out of Jail Free card and keep playing the game.”
Hughes took a step back, exhaling a long, shuddery breath. “Jasper, this is… this is nuts. You know that, right?” He favored Jazz with a look Jazz had by now gotten used to, a look that said, I knew this kid would snap someday.
“Hat left the body on the Short Line, on the S,” Jazz said. “Then Dog got the Get Out of Jail Free card and came in to confess. Billy probably promised him it wouldn’t last. If he’d gotten—I don’t know—the beauty pageant card, he would have killed a model. But he didn’t. So it was a calculated gamble on Billy’s part: Belsamo could have botched his whole confession act. Or maybe you guys could have really cracked him and led us to Hat. Hell, Hat could have even been caught dumping the body at Baltic.” Hughes said nothing, so Jazz kept talking. “But Billy himself was never at risk, so it was a gamble worth taking. Especially since it meant he got to mess with your heads. He knew we already had Dog’s DNA, so if he was going to sacrifice either of his players, it would be Dog anyway. Plus, he knew Belsamo was either so unhinged or so good at playing unhinged—I don’t know which yet—that he would give us nothing worthwhile. Plus, he had a secret weapon: Hat. We didn’t know there were two killers. And then the dice helped Billy tremendously. Hat rolled an eight and ended up on Baltic. So close, it was perfect.”
“So he left a body at the corner of Henry and Baltic, four blocks from the precinct, to alibi Dog.” Hughes thumped the wall with the flat of his palm. “Really? All of these coincidences just pile up into a plan? You want me to believe that Billy Dent, the most meticulous lunatic in history, lets a roll of the dice determine what happens next?”
“Of course he does!” Jazz exploded. “He doesn’t care about these guys! It’s a game, and they’re just pieces on the board. This amuses him. He saw a way to march Belsamo right in here under our noses and then right back out again, so he took it. If Hat hadn’t rolled an eight, Billy would have come up with something else. You cannot imagine…” He took a deep breath and started again. “You can’t begin to imagine the contempt he holds for you guys. He respects you as a group, as a collective with resources that can stop him, but individually? You’re all pathetic, stupid fumblers, groping in the dark for clues.”
Hughes raised an eyebrow. “That your daddy talking or you?”
“I’m trying to help you!” Jazz couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t believe Hughes wasn’t with him. “I’ve got it all worked out, right down to the next dump site! When Billy called me, he said the number nine, then five and four. So he’s rolling for these guys. He rolled a five and four, which adds up to nine.” He held up the cell phone Monopoly app again. “Nine spaces from Community Chest is Atlantic Avenue, Hughes. That’s where Belsamo—Dog—will leave his next victim.”
“But you talked to him!” Hughes said. “He knows you know the number nine is next, so why wouldn’t he just change it?”
“Look,” Jazz said patiently, “the fact that Belsamo is casing dump sites on Atlantic Avenue tells you that he’s still on the board and planning on moving to the same spot. He still rolled a nine. So, what? Billy called him back on a different phone and gave him the number.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why not change it up? To mess with us?”
“Because Billy knows I know the number nine, but he doesn’t know that I know what it means. And he doesn’t think I’ll figure it out. As far as he knows, I still think Hat and Dog are the same guy. Besides, I’m getting the feeling… the way he risked sending Belsamo in here, I’m getting the feeling that Billy’s getting tired of the game. He’s ready for it to end, and maybe Belsamo’s the loser.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Hughes asked. “Ending the game, I mean? When the game ends, the killing stops.”
Jazz shook his head. “This is Billy. I think once the game ends, that’s when the real trouble begins.”
CHAPTER 45
Howie waited until the airline website on his smartphone told him that Connie’s flight was in the air before making a beeline for the Lobo’s Nod Sheriff’s Office. He spent most of the drive trying not to think about two things: the implications of the blank FATHER field on Jazz’s birth certificate, and whether or not Sam was just as nutso as her brother.
Man, if that’s the case, then I’m totally swearing off hitting on my friends’ relatives.