‘Really?’
‘You doubt me? There’s a programme on which a minor celeb learns all kinds of sad details about his or her ancestors. In this case it was a man whose father had fought with the Highlanders or some similar regiment out in Burma. You know of that war? It was foul. Really foul. This fellow clearly suffered. He had shrapnel wounds that left him badly injured, and he’d fought in two of the worst battles in the Jap wars. Afterwards he came home, but couldn’t adjust. So after a while he went out to Malaya and that was where he died. And what the family never learned was, he blew his brains out. You see, he’d lost all his mates in the war. The only people who could understand him were dead. So he played Russian Roulette each weekend, until one day he was finished.’
‘You wouldn’t do that, would you?’
‘Oh, yes. When there’s no more money, why not play the final game? It’s a game that shows who’s won rather more explicitly than any other, I would think. Wouldn’t you?’
*
19.48 Las Vegas; 03.48 London
The Strip was full of traffic again as Frank and Debbie tried to make their way across the city to the Sahara. There were calls going out on the radio, but Frank was determined to get up there before the cops. He wanted to get Jack and hold him for himself.
‘Come on!’ he hissed.
‘Don’t take it so personal, Frank,’ Debbie said. She was staring across at him.
‘It’s not personal. I just want to get the guy,’ Frank said.
‘Weird, huh. The guy in LVPD recognising one of the two in the Gas Park shots.’
Frank negotiated a space around a electric pink Hummer stretched limo.
‘Did he give me the finger?’
‘He’s in behind a black windshield, Frank. How’d I know? Did you hear me?’
‘Yes, I heard you. Yes, it’s weird. The guy was a hitman, though, and a few of them do come from the military, I guess.’
‘I guess,’ she said, but her eyes were narrowed as she continued thinking.
‘What?’ he demanded, his foot hitting the brakes just as they were about to hit a truck. ‘Shit!’
‘No prints, no DNA, no ID of any sort. You said the only folks with the power to remove all that data about someone would be someone in a big agency, and now we learn he was with the boys in Iraq. So he could have been intelligence out there. Which would mean he could have had his ID wiped by folks in the government. Like you said.’
‘That’s just paranoia.’
‘Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get me,’ she said, but without smiling. ‘I want to run a check on this Ian McDonnell who could have been in the Abu Ghraib.’
‘You do that,’ he said, swearing under his breath as a Chrysler pulled out in front of him.
‘The cop in there was really convincing.’
‘Yeah. I agree with you there,’ Frank said. ‘I just hope Sumner is still there when we arrive.’
‘I just hope we get there this year,’ Debbie said, looking at the traffic ahead.
*
19.59 Las Vegas; 03.59 London
Jack questioned Sumner a little more, checking on the description of Peter Sorensen, the man at the Mirage.
‘Heavy build. Looks like one of those fellows who spent all his teenage years pumping iron and drinking ridiculous concoctions designed to make his muscles look even bigger. Fair to brown hair, which could be faded because of the sun out here. Always wears a white shirt, short-sleeved, with dark slacks, black shoes, a black belt, and very flash designer Ray Bans when he’s outside. Indoors he always has a jacket on, just a lightweight thing, but enough to cover his pistol. Like so many of the security men over here, he isn’t dressed without his gun.’
‘Face?’
‘Square, and he has a moustache with just a trace of grey in it. Wide hazel eyes, and he has a broken nose. Looks the sort who keeps it to brag about being in a fight,’ Sumner added with contempt. He glanced down at his own arm momentarily.
‘Thanks for that,’ Jack said. ‘You want another coffee?’
Sumner pulled a grimace.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ He stood. ‘I need a leak after that stuff. It’s the problem with caffeine, you see. My body is a temple, and I worship it with lavish quantities of bourbon. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go for a piss, then back to my table.’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘Just one thing, though. Danny, you said you thought someone put a bullet in his head for him. Are you sure of that?’
‘No. He could have shot himself, but it didn’t look like it to me.’
‘In Alaska?’
‘A town called Whittier.’
‘Never heard of it. What was he doing there?’
‘He had a diary. He said that they’d paid for him to go out there. He was being put up in a log cabin way out in the middle of nowhere. They didn’t suggest it to you?’
Sumner shook his head.
‘I didn’t think they were the kind to let me know a secret if I didn’t need to, so once I got to the “Thanks, but no thanks” stage, I backed off before they decided I was a threat.’
‘Could be you made the smarter move.’
‘Yes,’ Sumner said, with a fretful anxiety in his eyes again. ‘But I led him to his death. That’s the long and the short of it.’
Jack said nothing more as Sumner shook his head again, and then stood and made his way towards the toilets. He was steady on his feet, and Jack was impressed. He’d been drinking solidly, from his appearance, and the fact that he was functioning indicated to Jack that his liver was inured to the punishment.
He didn’t see the man who followed Sumner into the toilets.
*
20.06 Las Vegas; 04.06 London
The toilets were not crowded yet at this time of day. Stilson walked in and saw Sumner with his back to him at a urinal. There were mirrors in front of each, but Sumner was not looking behind him. He was studying his own reflection.
There must have been thousands came in here over the years, with exactly that same look, Stilson thought to himself, thousands who realised after a late night that they no longer owned their cars, their houses, or even their mobile phones. All lost. It happened so often.
But this one was different.
At the urinals there were two other men, murmuring a conversation as they emptied their bladders. They zipped up and walked out without glancing at Stilson.
A large bin was under the paper towel dispenser. It was a fair weight, and Stilson moved it to the door, jamming it. When he turned he saw that Sumner’s eyes were on him.
‘So you want me now?’ he said simply.
Stilson said nothing, approaching cautiously but with speed.
‘Wait until I’ve at least finished my piss!’ Sumner said.
They were his last words. Stilson hit him at the base of his skull with a fist. Sumner jerked forwards, his head cracking on the mirror, and Stilson pushed him to the floor. He put his knees on Sumner’s back, his left elbow around his throat, right hand on his skull, and jerked and twisted. It took little effort. He pulled the body into a cubicle, pulled Sumner’s trousers down round his ankles, and left him propped on the toilet. Shutting the door he turned the vacant sign to engaged by inserting the blade of his pocketknife into the slotted screw. Then he pulled the garbage bin away from the door, washed his hands thoroughly, and exited.
At the entrance a series of figures appeared: two moved off to the left, another couple to the right, while three stood in the middle of the entranceway, staring into the main slot machine hall. Stilson saw a security guard march towards the men, and saw Frank Rand pull out a wallet and show something. There was a gleam of metal. It must have been a badge, and that meant police or FBI. Then he saw four uniformed officers hurrying in, the man with the wallet pointing them along one side of the hall.
Stilson wanted nothing to do with police of any sort. Without breaking step, he turned and marched away to the right, towards
the lifts.
*
20.11 Las Vegas; 04.11 London
It was the barista who saw the cops entering.
‘Aw, fuck! What do they want here?’
Jack turned and caught a glimpse of two officers, both with their hands near their pistols.
‘Do they often come in?’
‘No. Usually we have to call ’em because of some punter acting like a dick. Sorry, present company etcetera, etcetera.’
‘That’s fine. Tell you what, how about another shot? A single, this time.’
‘Sure, honey. You wait there.’
She busied herself at the machine, emptying the old puck, flicking the lever on the grinder to dispense just the right amount of coffee, tamping it hard, leaving the surface smooth and flat, and then locking it on the coffee machine. She pressed the button, and steam began to rise as the water was forced through the coffee at high pressure. And all the while Jack’s eyes were fixed on her movements, smiling at her as she caught his gaze. She could not realise that the polished metal of her espresso machine was his mirror. He was watching four officers moving through the lines of slot machines behind him. And then he saw a face he recognised – an African American face from Anchorage.
‘Here you go.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, and dropped a note on the counter.
‘Hey, thanks!’ she said with notably more enthusiasm as he rose and picked up his cup. ‘You have a nice day, y’ hear?’
‘You too,’ he smiled, and moved off before Frank Rand could see him.
*
20.13 Las Vegas; 04.13 London
Jack walked quickly but without urgency, sipping from the hot coffee as he went out towards the back of the complex. From a quick look around he reckoned he could understand the casino’s layout. Large main hall here, bars and restaurants at the back where guests had to pass through the slot machine hall to reach them, and he was convinced that the lifts would be out here too. He finished his coffee on the way, and dumped the cup in a bin.
He was right. There was a set of lifts, a door next to them. This gave onto the stairs. Quickly, he pressed the buttons to call the lifts. There was one already waiting, with the doors open. He reached in, pressed the button for the top floor, and slipped back out as the lift’s warning pinged and the doors closed. By the time it was shut, he was already in the service stairwell. He heard the sound of running feet, and he took the stairs two at a time to the first floor, and darted out into the corridor. In the staircase he could hear feet pounding up, as officers sprinted to catch him at the top floor. Jack looked about him and strode along the passage looking for another staircase. Soon he found a smoke alarm. Further up the corridor he saw a cleaner’s trolley, with dirty linen bags, clean linen, and complimentary soaps and shampoos. He walked to the trolley and saw that there was a cardboard box full of books of complimentary matches with the casino’s name and logo in silver. He took two, and walked to the alarm sensor. Striking one match, he let it flare, then lit both books and held the flames under the sensor. It took a moment or two, and then a loud klaxon sounded. Instantly he heard a scream and, as he blew out the matches and dropped the still-hot embers into the trolley, people began to hurry from their rooms. He was soon being swept along in a crush of people, taking off his jacket and bundling it as he went, and smearing his hair down flat to emphasise the widow’s peak.
Outside there were more people, all hurrying to the car park, and Jack pushed and shoved until he was at the front of the queues of men and women, ignoring the shouts and demands to know what was happening. He remained, watching carefully, as the police arrived and forced the crowds back, followed by the massive red fire trucks with their lights flashing and sirens wailing and honking.
Jack walked to his car and started the engine as the last of the police and casino staff left. There was so much security in these places that staff always assumed a fire alert was actually a diversion for thieves, so they would always lock up all the chips and cash before evacuating the building. Jack was impressed that they had succeeded in their lockdown procedures in such a short period.
The Mirage was at the opposite end of the Strip. He made a quick decision, drove out of the car park, and headed back down towards the Bellagio. As he did, he saw a car parked at the side of the road with two men inside. They had the look of Federal agents, with their suits and short hair. Jack averted his face slightly, thinking that they must be hunting him, but, as he did so, he saw one of them glance in his direction. He did not make any connection with Jack, clearly, because he turned back to stare at the casino, eyes narrowed, and then pointed. His companion leaned forward, nodding, both men absorbed by something or someone at the casino entrance.
Jack drove on by. These two weren’t looking for him, then. When he glanced back, he saw a group at the main doors, Frank Rand among them.
*
20.14 Las Vegas; 04.14 London
Frank Rand stood outside the Sahara with a sense of rising frustration. There had been a moment there when he had thought that they would have him. He could have sworn that the man at the coffee bar had been Jack, but when the alarms went off it blew his chances. The girl serving in the bar was somewhere out here with the milling crowd, but there was no way of telling how long it would be before he could question her or show her a copy of the mugshot. Damn! He had been so close, he reckoned. And now this fire alarm meant that Jack would be far away before Frank could even check to see whether it was him here.
‘Does this mean we’ve lost him, you reckon?’ Debbie asked with a grunt and she joined him. She had been questioning all the staff she could find, but now that LVPD officers were taking over she was getting in their way. ‘Too hot to be interviewing people here,’ she said in answer to his unspoken question.
‘For now, I guess,’ Frank said. ‘But we can still get Sumner, with luck. He’s bound to be in here somewhere. Just keep looking for him.’
‘I have done, and the cops are doing all they can,’ she said. ‘You never know. Maybe we’ll get him.’
Frank was about to respond when he noticed a police officer at the doorway to the gentlemen’s washroom.
‘What’s his problem?’ Frank asked.
The man was waving urgently to two other officers, and the three returned to the toilets in a hurry. Frank glanced at Debbie.
‘I suppose I could send you in there.’
‘Wouldn’t be my first time in a John,’ she said.
‘I think I’d better go too, in case of upsetting them,’ Frank said.
He led the way through the slot machines to the washrooms. There he pulled out his ID for the officers.
‘What is it?’
‘A guy in here. Must have overdosed or had a heart attack or something,’ said the officer whom Frank had noticed.
Frank nodded to the closed door.
‘Let’s see.’
Another officer stepped forward and pounded on the door. Frank knew that they would be reluctant to barge straight in, not because the man could be embarrassed, but because it could be a drug addict brandishing a hypodermic. There was no answer, and the officer took a step back, and was about to kick the door, when Frank held up his hand. He had a dime on him, and he used that to turn the screw, opening the door. He pushed the door wide.
‘That answers that,’ Debbie said, taking in the sight of Sumner’s slackly drooling mouth as the officer reached in tentatively and tested for a pulse.
‘He have a heart attack?’ one of the other officers asked.
‘I don’t think a heart attack would make his head go like that,’ Debbie said caustically. ‘Look at him. You think he’s managed to break his neck while sitting on the John? Doesn’t ring quite true to me.’
‘Why’d he kill this guy and then set off the alarms, then? Don’t make sense to kill him, set him in here to make him look like he’s takin’ a dump and then call attention to it,’ an officer muttered.
‘True,’ Frank said decisively. ‘Debbie, outs
ide.’
When they were alone, Debbie turned to him.
‘What?’
‘I could have sworn I saw Jack Case in there as we walked in. He was over at the coffee bar, I think.’
‘You think he could’ve killed this guy?’
‘Could be. I just don’t make him out as a murderer,’ Frank said. ‘Why’d he kill this Sumner? Makes no sense to me.’
‘If it wasn’t him, who was it? He’s been around two places today where we’ve found dead bodies, if you’re right,’ Debbie said. ‘You know, I don’t like coincidences. They don’t happen much in real life, I reckon.’
‘Neither do I,’ Frank admitted.
‘Well, first thing is, find the barista you think could’ve served him his coffee, and see whether she recognises his face. If she does, we got confirmation it was him there, then we can start to check whether he went to the John and killed Sumner.’
‘Yeah,’ Frank said.
‘And meanwhile, we can see what we can get on Sumner himself. And this Ian McDonnell. I’m interested in this guy.’
*
20.43 Las Vegas; 04.43 London
Jack was soon back at the Bellagio, and dropped his car off at the rental area. From there he walked up to the main lobby area, where he paused a moment before striding out to the casino hall. At the other side there were shops, he remembered.
Before long he was back in his room with a fresh blue check shirt in and a sports jacket. He studied himself in the mirror and wished he had some reversible clothes, perhaps a set of false spectacles, anything. To be walking about without disguise made him feel exceptionally vulnerable. In the end, he washed his hair and left it to dry without a parting in the hope that it would make a little difference. With a splash of eau de cologne from the Giorgio Armani shop, he felt ready for his next effort. He looked about him, then walked from the room.
Act of Vengeance Page 29
