Drawing Dead (A Chase Adams FBI Thriller Book 3)

by Patrick Logan

  Stitts followed him.

  “Geez, maybe your contact is the real Houdini.”

  Greg chuckled.

  “I honestly doubt that.”

  Stitts knew better than to press a man about his contacts.

  “Show me the footage from outside Shane’s office around the time of the murders first.”

  Greg nodded and pulled up a video. It was grainy, but clear enough for Stitts to confirm that it was taken from outside Shane McDuff’s office. What surprised him, however, that he could also see inside the office.

  For an hour preceding the shootings, Shane’s office was empty. People came and went in the hallway, but none of them were of interest to Stitts. Fifteen minutes before the first report of shots fired, Shane appeared in the frame, walking briskly into his office. He sat down at his desk, checked his watch, then picked up the phone.

  Several minutes passed, during which time an agitated Shane did nothing more than fiddle with his pen. Four security guards entered the office next, including Mr. Ponytail who had stopped Stitts in the hallway earlier.

  “Why did he call them all in before the shooting?” Stitts asked. “That seem strange to you?”

  “Just keep watching. It gets even weirder.”

  Shane said something to the men, to which several of them nodded. The phone appeared to ring then, and Shane picked it up. He said something brief, then hung up.

  Stitts glanced at the timestamp.

  “That was probably the first call, the complaint about the fireworks going off.”

  Greg nodded in agreement.

  Shane addressed his security once more, but none of them seemed to do much of anything.

  Five minutes later, there was a second call. After hanging up this time, Shane said something to Ponytail, who nodded and left the room, presumably to go investigate the complaint.

  Greg stopped the tape.

  “What the hell,” Stitts said. “Shane calls in all of his security and they stay in the office doing pretty much jack shit even after the report of fireworks. It’s like… it’s like Shane is buying time for the killers to get in and out of the room… however the fuck they managed that.”

  His eyes darted to the board and he shook his head. Shane was on the motive side, not as a suspect.

  “Double-crossed, maybe?” Greg offered, reading his mind. “Blackmail?”

  Stitts shrugged.

  “I have no fucking clue. The only thing I know is that I need to speak to the slimy bastard again.”

  “Now?”

  Stitts shook his head.

  “Play the tape a little longer, I want to see footage from the day after the shooting.”

  Greg pressed a few buttons and the video sped forward. Eventually, it showed the police arriving and speaking to Shane as well various other uninteresting interactions.

  “We’re running out of tape here,” Greg informed him.

  Stitts instructed him to keep it going.

  Roughly twenty hours after the shooting, a hooded figure appeared at Shane’s door. As he reached for it, a frazzled looking Shane emerged. He barked something brief before grabbing the man’s arm and heading off-screen.

  “Any footage of where they went?” Stitts asked.

  Greg shook his head.

  “No; and if I were a betting man, I’d put my money on them speaking where Shane knew there were no cameras.”

  Stitts nodded.

  “Go back,” he instructed. Greg rewound the tape to where Shane grabbed the man’s arm. “No, a little bit more, when the hoodie first reaches for the door. There — stop the tape. Now, can you zoom in? Can you zoom in on his hand?”

  Greg clicked a few more buttons and the screen magnified. It was even grainer now, but there was enough detail to make out what Stitts wanted to see.

  “Well, Ms. Hartman will be happy,” Stitts said under his breath.

  “Why’s that?” Greg asked, squinting at the screen.

  Stitts tapped the hooded man’s wrist.

  “Because, Greg, it looks like we found her son’s watch.”

  Chapter 40

  It was a desperate plan, and Chase knew it.

  During the entire time that she’d spent with Stu Barnes — the time that Chase could remember, anyway — all he’d spoken about was Kevin. For such a successful businessman, Stu seemed to care little about losing large sums of money. Whether or not he’d be willing to part with two million to back someone he’d only met once, was a different story entirely.

  This time when Chase parked in the man’s long driveway, she withdrew her badge and gun from the glovebox and slipped them on her person.

  It was late, but she knew men like Stu Barnes; they worked into the wee hours of the night and they rose early. This was one the main contributors to their success. That and being born as an upper-middle-class Caucasian male of United States of America, of course.

  Chase made her way toward the front door, rehearsing what she was going to say in her head. But when the door flew open before she even reached it, Chase was so startled that she forgot her speech.

  “Back so soon?” Stu asked. He had changed out of his outfit he was wearing earlier in the day and was now sporting a tailored tracksuit.

  “Yeah, about that,” Chase said, putting on a fake smile. “We need to talk.”

  ***

  “I like you, Chase,” Stu said pouring himself a scotch. He offered Chase one, but she declined. “But my Spidey sense is tingling. Something tells me this is not just a friendly social call.”

  How astute of you, Chase thought.

  “No, it’s not. Let me start by apologizing to you; I wasn’t completely forthcoming earlier.”

  As she spoke, Chase pulled her badge out of her pocket, but before she could open it, Stu held up a hand.

  “Oh, that’s okay. I understand why you didn’t want to tell me that you’re with the FBI.”

  Chase’s jaw fell slack.

  “You knew?”

  Stu took a sip of his drink and stared at her over the rim of the glass.

  “I know a lot about you, Chase Adams,” he said. “As soon as I heard about what happened to Kevin, the first thing I did was see who was heading the investigation. But even if I hadn’t done that, I would have known that you weren’t who you claimed to be. Don’t get me wrong, you were good — damn good — but you made one mistake.”

  The man’s smugness annoyed her, but Chase decided to play along for now.

  “And what’s that?”

  “You said that Kevin told you about me online. Kevin would never discuss our arrangement, online or otherwise.”

  Chase chewed her lip, recalling the messages she’d received from ATM.

  Well, someone out there knows.

  She decided to press him further, test his knowledge.

  “And do you know why I’m here now?” she asked.

  Stu sipped his drink and took his time answering.

  “You want to borrow two million dollars,” he said simply.

  For the second time in as many minutes, Chase was taken by surprise. Stu Barnes was turning out to be a much more interesting character than she’d first thought.

  “Two million,” Chase repeated.

  Stu placed his now empty scotch glass down on the table and stood, turning his back to her.

  “You intrigue me, Chase, mostly because you didn’t ask me what I know about you. Why is that?” Stu said as he made his way toward a large oak desk at the back of the room.

  Chase shrugged.

  “Why does it matter? Either what you found about me is a lie, in which case I wouldn’t be able to convince you differently, or it’s the truth. And if it’s the truth, then I already know it.”

  Stu paused for a second and then chuckled.

  “I guess you’re right, I’ve just never heard of someone put it like that.”

  He reached under his desk and pulled out a large case and then made his way back towards her.

  Chase stared
at the case and tried to contain her shock when Stu opened it and showed her stacks upon stacks of neatly wrapped hundred-dollar bills.

  She swallowed hard.

  And this is why they use chips, because the idea of $2 million in cash is almost incomprehensible.

  “You know, there’s a good possibility you’ll never see this money again,” Chase said quietly. “Either I’m going to lose it, be robbed, or, worst of all, it’ll be confiscated by the feds.”

  Stu pushed his lips together and shrugged.

  “I’m willing to take that risk, Chase. I’m willing to take that risk because of Kevin. And because of you.”

  Chase raised an eyebrow and finally managed to pull her eyes away from the money.

  “Because of me?”

  Stu nodded.

  “I’ve got a lot of money, which affords me a lot of powerful friends. Friends that told me quite a bit about you, Chase. That being said, there are only a few things that really mean anything, that hold any value.”

  “And what are these ‘things’?” Chase snapped, annoyed at herself for not being able to avoid the trap that she’d so graciously sidestepped earlier.

  “That you’re a closer, Chase. Everything you get involved in, for good or for worse, comes to an end. It happened in Alaska, it happened in Boston, and it happened in Chicago. And I know you’ll do whatever it takes to find out who killed my friend Kevin O’Hearn.”

  Chapter 41

  “You didn’t seriously wake me up in the middle of the night and haul my ass in here for this, did you?”

  Stitts stared at the sergeant. Fully dressed in his uniform, it was clear that Sgt. Theodore hadn’t left the office yet, but Stitts let this slide.

  “Ms. Hartman claims that her son would never go anywhere without his watch. And we know from his Facebook photos that he’s always wearing it.”

  Sgt. Theodore frowned.

  “That’s it? That’s all you got? A shady manager who meets with a guy — who you can’t identify, by the way — who’s wearing a watch that looks like the watch of one of the deceased? Seriously?”

  Stitts couldn’t help but feel that what he’d presented was underwhelming when stated so succinctly.

  Sgt. Theodore squinted at the printout.

  “How can you even tell that it’s the same watch? It just looks like a shitty Timex to me.”

  Stitts couldn’t argue with that. He handed over the complaint made by Harry Hartman next.

  “What about the shady manager? The complaint made by Mike’s father?”

  “This is Vegas, son. Everyone either looks or is shady.

  Stitts was getting desperate now.

  “But it all adds up to a motive.”

  “A motive for who? If you tell me Ms. Hartman, I’m going to send you on a direct flight back to Quantico, Stitts.”

  Stitts ground his teeth and said nothing.

  “The motive is money,” the sergeant continued. “Always is, always was.”

  He calmly folded his hands together and laid them on the desk.

  “Look, I called you in on this job because I thought you guys could help. I still think you can help. But I’m stretched to my limits here. After the Planned Parenthood and Gay Jesus church bombings, I’ve got all my men out there in the field looking for some guy — some guy who you said in your profile was going to escalate. I’ve got men stationed throughout the entire city at any possible location that has anything to do with gays or drag queens or abortions — anything. I just don’t have the manpower to help you out right now. It’s not that I don’t care about the victims, I do. But I have a public safety issue at hand that takes precedence. I hope you can understand that.”

  I understand that you know solving which crime will help you get promoted, Stitts thought. That’s what I understand.

  “I gave you Greg, but that’s all I can offer right now.”

  You gave me Greg, and as helpful as he’s been, you only did that because no one else wants to work with the man.

  “With all due respect, Sgt. Theodore, I’ve got eleven dead bodies—”

  Sgt. Theodore flexed his jaw before interrupting.

  “With all due respect to you, Agent Stitts, you don’t have any dead bodies. The shooting occurred on Las Vegas soil, which means that they are my dead bodies. Let’s keep in mind that I asked you to come in and help, not the other way around. I can just as easily send you back home.”

  Stitts felt anger build up inside him.

  “That’s right, you asked the FBI to help, only you tie my hands once I get here. Doesn’t make sense. There’s someone out there—”

  “You want me to tell you what I think happened? I think that some ex-military group found out about the game, came in, grabbed the cash, and ran. One of the security guards probably took a shot at them, so they took him out. And once one was dead, it only made sense to kill them all. It’s already felony murder, so why leave potential witnesses behind?”

  Stitts gawked at the man. His simplistic reasoning was so flawed that it was almost comical.

  “Are you serious?”

  Something inside Sgt. Theodore’s face broke then, and Stitts realized that they were playing their own poker game. Only the stakes weren’t cash, but people’s lives.

  “Stitts, I’m sorry, but there’s so much political pressure to solve these bombings, that you wouldn’t believe it. Let me find this asshole, then I’ll give you all the resources I have at my disposal. For right now, however, I just can’t do it.”

  Stitts stood, looked at Greg beside him, and then gestured towards the door.

  “Stitts, you’re not to bring anybody in, not now. Just follow the manager if you think he’s involved, build intel, and when this mess is over, I’ll help. I swear.”

  Yeah, I need your help like I need a hole in my head.

  Eleven people dead and all he cares about is some broken windows. What in the hell is this world coming to?

  I’m just going to have to take things into my own hands.

  PART III – Reformation

  PRESENT DAY

  Chapter 42

  Chaos.

  Just as the dealer dealt the flop — Q, 6, Q — the entire room erupted into chaos.

  First, the hotel door blew inward, and then the bullets started to fly. One of the security guards was taken by surprise and was hit in the shoulder and chest. He went down without firing a shot.

  The other guard was more prepared. He slipped the pistol from his jacket and leaped to one side.

  Aside from Chase and the second guard, no one else in the room reacted; it was as if they were frozen in time. She saw Mike Darwish eat a bullet in the leg and as he bent over, another tore through his neck. Blood spurted onto the table, soaking his cash and the felt.

  Both Tim Tigner and The Guru were struck at the same time, although Chase couldn’t tell exactly where, given that she had slipped to the floor the second the door exploded.

  All of this happened in a matter of seconds, and yet there were already rivers of blood soaking the carpet. Someone yelled — maybe Chase, maybe the attacker — and the dealer finally reacted.

  He flipped the table forward, sending cards and cash flying into the air. Several rounds easily passed through the wood and the dealer’s white shirt suddenly bloomed with red.

  The rich divorcee, Deb Koch, collapsed next to Chase and she instinctively pulled the woman close, trying to protect her from stray bullets that still rained above them.

  “Stay down,” Chase whispered, wishing that she’d chanced bringing her gun to the game even though it would have almost certainly been confiscated at the door.

  When the woman didn’t reply, Chase leaned back an inch.

  Deb’s glassy eyes stared at her.

  Chase’s initial instinct was to shove the woman’s dead body away, but at the last second, she thought better of it. Instead, she pulled Deb on top of her and then wedged her body against the base of the overturned poker table.

&nbs
p; Gunfire continued to fill the room, but now she heard the sound of an alarm or siren from somewhere in the hallway.

  Chase tried to catch her bearings, to determine how many attackers there were, but from her vantage point, she could only see the security guard. He was to her left, near the wall of windows, lying on his side. He’d been struck in the leg at least once, but this didn’t seem to slow him down.