“That was a long time ago,” he said. “Winter called. He’s gone to talk to Klein at the casino. He’s taking a copy of the papers Billy filed.”
“Alone?” Alexa said.
“Yeah. He had Billy drop him off at his Jeep.”
Alexa swore under her breath. “Leigh, can I take your truck?”
“Sure. Key’s hanging by the back door.”
Alexa got into Leigh’s truck and struck out for the casino, passing three parked cruisers whose deputies, armed with AR-15s and shotguns, were guarding the road leading into the plantation.
Alexa couldn’t believe Brad had let Winter go out to the casino without backup of any kind. Mulvane could react violently if he thought Winter was going to bring his sinister actions to his boss’s attention. And if Klein was protected by his own security and the U.S. government, he could probably do whatever he pleased without worrying about repercussions or legal accountability. She knew Winter was not intimidated by these facts, at least not the way she would be. But frightened or not, she wasn’t about to let anything happen to Massey if she could help it.
It was dusk when Alexa pulled into a space in front of the Roundtable. Putting the purse’s strap over her shoulder, she strode toward the front doors. Walking purposefully through the casino, she caught sight of Winter, Klein, and three security people heading for the elevators. Moving quickly, she tried to intercept the group so Winter would see her, but they turned the corner before she caught up, and she didn’t think running or waving her arms in the air was a good idea. She saw Winter, under no apparent duress, step into an elevator cab with Klein. Klein dismissed the other two men, allowing only his personal security man to accompany them.
Alexa had some time to kill and remembered something she needed to take care of. She went to the hotel lobby and stopped at the house phones.
“Can you please connect me to Jason Parr’s room?” she asked the operator.
There was a momentary pause as the operator looked up the room number and handed her the receiver. It rang four times, after which the gambling pig farmer answered. “Parr here.”
“This is your old gambling partner.”
“Alexa?” he said, suddenly excited. “That really you?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I’m really glad you came by. After the dust settled I found out I shorted you by about nine grand,” he said. “I didn’t know how I’d ever find you.”
“Can you come down? I really can’t accept it.”
“I can’t at the moment. Could you come up? I’m on the eighth floor in suite eight-twenty-two. Unless you feel weird about coming to a stranger’s room…”
“Of course not. I’ll be right up.”
86
Cynthia Gardner was dressed in clean clothes, still bound, and lying on a king-sized bed, watching mesmerized as the man who’d kidnapped her peeled away in ragged pieces what she had believed until that instant was the actual skin on his very unattractive face. As he scrubbed the adhesive from his cheeks, he became another person entirely. He wasn’t bad looking, but he wasn’t male model material either. And thanks to the tight spandex underwear he had on, she could see that he was built like a gymnast. Sure, he was sort of old, but every muscle was as perfectly defined as anybody her age.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” she asked him.
“In school,” he said, frowning thoughtfully in the mirror at the sight of his irritated skin.
“Makeup one-oh-one?” she asked.
“Are you feeling one hundred percent yet?” he wanted to know.
“Yes. Thanks for the shot.” Asshole. I could have died. I almost did, I bet.
“Now you are completely out of insulin. So the timing was perfect. By the time you need another shot, you’ll be at home, safe and sound. You have some at home?”
“Yes, I do. You know, I really thought you were going to let me die,” she told him.
“Don’t be silly, Cynthia,” He turned to look at her, smiling. “Do I look like a murderer to you?”
“I’m not really sure what a murderer looks like.”
He said, “Let’s hope you don’t ever find that out.”
“So how long till I go home?”
“Tonight. Around nine.”
As Cynthia watched, the man reached into a cardboard box, lifted out a mannequin’s head, and placed it on the dressing table. All she could make out from the backside was a hairpiece. After applying adhesive from a bottle to a section of latex he’d removed from the head, he pasted the section on his own forehead, patting it down in places.
“So how long does this usually take you?”
“Takes as long as it takes. It’s the painting of the latex skin that takes the longest, and I do that first. This one took longer because of the amount of texture in the panels. It has to be accurate to hold up under close scrutiny. But it’s more than looking right. You have to have the subject’s movements down, and the voice pitch and patterns have to be perfect.”
“So who are you going to be when you finish?” she asked him.
“Well, little sister,” he said in a totally different voice, “just watch and you will see.”
87
Winter was impressed with the scale model of the resort in the large conference room on the executive floor. He and Klein were alone, his security man having thoroughly searched Massey.
“This is going to be the finest gaming resort ever built in the United States,” Kurt said, sweeping his hand over the model. “It will cost over a billion dollars. Mulvane brought the idea of this location to me, and after a lot of relentless persuasion, and seeing what he did with this casino, its potential became obvious. I would not be investing in it unless I was sure it would be profitable. I do not take chances when it comes to risking such sums.”
“I heard that when you borrow ten grand from a bank, repaying is your worry. But when you borrow millions, your repaying is the bank’s worry.”
Kurt smiled in agreement.
Winter picked up a small human figure from the model, then another, and another until he had five of them in his hands.
Winter said, “It appears that five people have been killed because of this investment.”
“You think so?” Klein said, seeming surprised. “I find that hard to believe. Are you sure?”
Winter reached out and laid the figures down, side by side, one at a time. “Sherry Adams, Jack Beals, Jacob Gardner…” He placed the other two male figures next to those. “I don’t know these men’s names, but them too.”
Kurt Klein crossed his arms and rested the fingers of his right hand under his chin.
“There is also the matter of Cynthia Gardner, who has been kidnapped by the person who killed these people.”
“The Gardner girl was kidnapped?” Klein said. The surprise in his eyes seemed genuine.
“It hasn’t been publicized and possibly won’t have to be, if she finds her way home.”
Winter didn’t know whether or not Klein knew about the deaths, or if he did, whether he cared one way or the other. Klein wasn’t the sort of man who gave anything away unless he chose to. At his level, like any major commanding officer far from the front, the realities of life or death struggles on the battlefield were just numbers, the bodies left in the ruins a million miles away.
“All of this has been the work of a top-notch professional killer,” Winter said.
“Does this killer have a name?”
“Paulus Styer,” Winter said, watching Klein’s face for a reaction, which came in the form of a brief tightening of his smile.
“And why is he killing and kidnapping people?” Kurt Klein asked.
“I think it has to do with a piece of land located within this model.” He gestured to a part of the model. “Six hundred and thirty-six acres owned by Leigh Gardner.”
“I think you must be mistaken. I have been assured that all of the land necessary for the project has already been secured. Are you saying that I have been deceived in this matter?”