Kasey remembered seeing the picture somewhere before and recognized all three men from previous press coverage. Several other men, dressed in suits and looking like bodyguards, stood off to the side, blending into the background.
“Here, Danny Boy,” George said, handing the 8x10 glossy to his grandson. “Something shiny for you to fold.”
Danny had already creased and folded the photograph in several places when Kasey, watching him work, suddenly blurted out, “Wait!” She gently took the photo from his fingers.
“What is it, Kasey?” George asked.
She straightened the folds, laid it flat on the table, and took a closer look. She pointed at one of the suited men in the background. “George, do you know who that man is?”
“Don’t know his name, but I know he was one of Doyle’s henchmen. The man has a hoard of ‘em.”
“You mean a bodyguard?”
“Call ‘em what you will. I call ‘em henchmen. Thugs.”
Thugs. Henchmen. The man standing off to the side of Ansel Doyle was the security guard Kasey had been looking for.
“When was this taken?”
“Early this year. I took those shots when they had the grand opening for the downtown project. See the dome and towers in the background? The bowling stadium’s off to the left there. I peddled that particular photo to the Gazette-Journal. At the time, Doyle was making a lot of flap about doing a river project even bigger than what had already been done north of the tracks.”
“This picture was in the local paper?”
“Yeah. On the financial page in a Sunday edition. It went along with an article on a slew of proposed projects that were guaranteed to boost the slumping economy.”
She vaguely recalled seeing it in the newspaper. Of course at the time it had meant nothing to her. Just two state bigwigs and a casino tycoon. She would never have noticed the other men in the picture’s background.
She took the photograph and drove into town.
*
The maid reached down between the bed and nightstand and lifted the plastic object wedged there. It was an ordinary nasal spray bottle, the kind found in any drugstore. She placed it on the nightstand, then continued making up the bed in the master bedroom of the King suite.
*
The Monk kept the speed of the Camaro at a conservative 40 miles an hour. He was in no hurry. Just out for a little drive in the country on a hot July afternoon. Air from the open window rushed inside, cooling him. It felt cooler at his damp armpits. The car was equipped with air-conditioning, but he preferred the real thing. Artificial heat and air were for pussies, for suits. His father had always said that the true test of a man was how much he could tolerate. If a man couldn’t get back to nature, couldn’t make his own comfort or live in extremes without whining, he might as well shove a gun barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger.
Last night, he had spent seven punishing hours in the clubhouse, that airless three-by-five room on the second floor. Without his nasal spray, his head had felt as if it were caught in a giant vice, the jaws crushing his frontal lobe to the bursting point. He had been forced to breathe through his mouth like a beached carp.
At seven that morning, he had worked his way down to the casino floor to the east exit where he merged with hotel guests about to board the many tour buses lined up there. By cutting between two buses, he had stolen away into the early morning traffic.
Now, many hours later, he drove down the long lane to the white frame, two-story house with the green shutters.
He entered the yard, pulled under the massive weeping willow, and parked. He sat there a moment listening to the pings and clicks of the engine cooling and looked around, again impressed by what he saw. It must be a great place to live, he thought. An even better place to grow up. Acres and acres of land with the Sierra for a backdrop.
But all that took a backseat to the young woman with the strawberry-blonde hair. Since he had laid eyes on her Saturday, she’d been heavy on his mind. He wondered if she were at home today. He had made up his mind he would go slow with this one. If something were worth having, it was worth waiting for. Patience. When it came to important things, no one had more patience and fortitude than the Monk.
He opened the car door and eased out, stretching. He was about to close the door when he saw movement on the east side of the house. A large Saint Bernard backed out dragging a small bush in its jaws, soil-clumped roots still intact, worrying the bush like a big bone. The dog spotted him, immediately dropped the bush, made a woofing sound, then bounded forward.
The Monk opened the door wider and waited until the animal had reached him before he reacted. With lightning speed, he grabbed the dog’s collar and viciously twisted, his fist becoming a makeshift garrote wedged firmly against the animal’s throat, strangling him. The dog was immobilized instantly. The Monk held on a little longer until he felt it slump against his legs. He eased the dog to the ground.
“You need to learn some manners, pal,” he said to the nearly unconscious animal. “That was lesson number one.”
He gently closed the car door, stepped over the dog, and, with long, yet unhurried strides, made his way to the house. On the front porch he glanced back at the dog. It was sitting up now, retching slightly, seemingly dazed. There were two things he could not tolerate, unruly kids and stupid animals. Both should be seen and not heard. The less seen the better.
A short time after he rapped on the stained-glass pane of the front door, it was opened by the gray-haired landlady. She wore loose-fitting jeans, a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves, sneakers, and a billed cap turned backward on her head.
“Hello, Tom,” Marianne Atwood said with a smile. “I thought you might show up today.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kasey glanced up at the surveillance camera on its makeshift mount above the door of the King suite. The security guard seated to the side of the door had already checked her out and radioed his boss that she was there.
Jay opened the door. He looked tired and solemn; but when he saw her, his eyes seemed to brighten. His smile was slight, but welcoming.
“Kasey.”
Just that. Kasey. It was her given name; she heard it a dozen times a day. Yet now, spoken through his lips, it sounded very special. Sensual, almost.
Oh God, she had it bad. How was she to get past this state of suspended emotions? she wondered. Staying away, being together, it made no difference. She was going to have these feelings for him no matter what. She could only hope it was an infatuation and that it would soon crest, then die out so she could get on with her life and begin to think clearly again. Not bloody likely, she told herself
She stepped in. Jay closed the door, turned to her. They stood in the foyer, face to face, saying nothing. His blue eyes burned into hers, seared a path to a needy place deep inside her, both warming and chilling.
“Who’s there?” Dianne’s voice rang out from another room.
They broke eye contact. Jay’s hands disappeared into the pockets of his pants; he turned slightly.
“How is she?” Kasey asked quietly.
“Come in. Sit down. I’ll be right back.” He turned left toward the guest bedroom and disappeared inside.
Kasey crossed to the dining room table. She remained standing. A short time later Jay came out, softly closed the door behind him, and joined her.
“She’s still pretty shook up,” he said. “Late last night she had housekeeping change the bedding and even replace the mattress. Then, after all that, she wouldn’t spend the night in that room. She refused to sleep where he had been. She can’t close her eyes without reliving the whole thing.”
“I’m sorry, Jay.”
“When I get my hands on that bastard, I’ll tear him to pieces. He’ll regret the day he chose my family to come after. This damn playing around is over. I don’t give a shit if he knows I’m on to him. I want him. It’s obvious he wants me. So why the hell doesn’t he just come out and face me? One
on one.”
“Because he doesn’t like playing fair. He’s killed two defenseless women. That should tell you something about his character.”
At the mention of the two dead women, some of Jay’s anger seemed to slip away. “At least he didn’t kill her.”
“No, he didn’t kill her.”
“But she was violated, and it’s going to take awhile for her to work this out. The doctor thinks she should go into some sort of crisis therapy.”
“I agree.”
“If only she did.”
“Would it help if I talked to her?”
“Maybe. Later.” He pulled out a chair for her. On the window ledge outside, two pigeons pranced and cooed. With a flurry of flapping wings, a third one joined them.
Jay watched the birds absently. “Security blocked all the exits as soon as I radioed in last night. They monitored them all through the night. Nothing. The guy’s a phantom.” He looked at Kasey. “Can I get you anything?”
“No thanks. Jay, I found this.” From her purse she took out the 8x10 and handed it to him. “It might help.”
He sank into the chair as he studied the photograph. “Where did you get this?”
She told him. “Jay, aside from the governor, the attorney general, and the formidable Mr. Ansel Doyle, does anyone else look familiar?”
He studied the picture carefully. Then he lightly tapped the picture over Doyle’s bodyguard. “This one. Yes, this one. If it’s the same guy I think it is, I knew him in the service. Army. We were both stationed in Germany. That was, hell, twenty years ago at least.” His dry chuckle held no humor. “Of course. Of course.”
“What? You two were army buddies?”
“Hardly. The closest we came to embracing each other was as boxing opponents in the ring.”
“Let me guess. You beat him and he swore to get even?”
Jay shook his head. “He beat me. TKO’d in the sixth round. The guy was brutal. Ruthless. He could take a pounding and not go down. Talk about someone out for blood. I don’t think the word defeat was in his vocabulary.”
Jay rose, again offered her a drink, took a bottle of Foster’s from the refrigerator, opened it, then leaned on the bar. “No, it was later, at the tail end of overseas duty, when we had a serious run-in. I was to be a witness for the prosecution in his general court-martial trial. Only it never got that far. The charges were dropped. Lack of evidence.”
“What charges?”
“Aggravated assault and mayhem. He damned near killed a fellow serviceman one night in the alley behind a bar. He was an M.P. He claimed the soldier was drunk and disorderly and had resisted arrest. That’s not the way I saw it.”
“What happened?”
Jay took a moment to reflect on it. “He came into the bar all puffed up, looking for trouble, looking like trouble. By the way he stood at the door taking in the scene it was obvious he was searching for someone in particular, and he found him. It happened so fast. One minute this young kid is kicking back with his buddies, on leave, minding his own business; and the next, he’s being hauled out back getting the holy crap beat out of him. He never had a chance to resist. He never had a chance period. We—three of his pals and I—jumped in and broke it up. A couple more minutes and there wouldn’t have been anything left to salvage.”
Jay sipped the lager. “Because the soldier’s injuries were so extensive, CID stepped in.”
“CID?”
“A department of the military that investigates crimes committed by American soldiers. As it turned out, I was the only eyewitness willing to take the stand against him. The others suddenly developed mass amnesia. The M.P. had gotten to them first, scared them off. My testimony alone wasn’t enough to make the charges stick. My word against his. He walked. The allegations, however, did serve to get him reassigned to a desk position. To a man who thrives on pushing people around, that was the same as prison time. He swore that one day he’d come after me. Payback.” Jay looked at Kasey. “I guess that day has arrived.”
“You’re sure this man in the picture and the M.P. are the same man?”
“About as sure as I can be.” He scrutinized the photo again. “Yes, it’s him. He’s heavier, has less hair, and his face is more rugged; but it’s him. You see, I’m not really surprised. In fact, I think I expected it. About three or four years ago, Dianne, Brad, and I were guests at one of Doyle’s clubs in Vegas. I thought I saw him there. It came back to me then. Germany, the beating, the hearings, his threats. For a couple of weeks after returning to Reno, I looked over my shoulder. But when nothing came of it, I figured he wasn’t who I thought he was. I got involved in the club again and, well, he just faded from my mind.”
“Was that when Ansel Doyle made you an offer for the club?”
“No, that took place in the spring of this year. Doyle came here. Spent a week in the Executive Suite.”
“Did you see this M.P. then?”
“No.”
“Can you recall his name?”
Jay stared off into the distance. “Not offhand. I’ve tried already without any luck. His fighting moniker was something religious. Pope, friar something like that.”
“Does the name Lucas Cage sound familiar?”
“Lucas Cage? Lucas. That’s it. Lucas the Mad Monk.” Jay paced to the window, back to the table, and dropped into a chair. “And, oh man, the name fit. Mad. You could see it in his eyes. The guy was psychotic. Before the incident in the bar, he almost killed another man in a championship bout, which pretty much ended his boxing career in the service. Who in their right mind would want to climb into the ring with a potential time bomb? They also called him the Monk of Mayhem. Jesus, I can’t believe I didn’t put it together.”
“Why should you? It was years ago when you saw him and that was in another city clear across the state. At the time you weren’t even sure it was him.”
“Well, he was in no hurry to get back at me. My old army buddy, Lucas the Mad Monk, can sure as hell hold a grudge, I’ll say that for him.”
“What now?”
Jay snatched up the phone, dialed. “Knowing what I know about this man, there should be enough criminal activity in his past to get the D.A. involved.” A moment later he was telling Loweman they had ID’d the suspect. He hung up. “He’s on his way over. Kasey, how’d you get his name?”
“He was the other possible. The other security guard. All along we had his name and file; we just followed the wrong lead. I think he was smart enough to stay off security duty. We had Andrews and no one to compare him with.”
She thought of Brad, who had positively sworn Andrews was their man.
“Yes. And he managed to stay away from me, stay out of my sight. I would have recognized him otherwise,” Jay said. “The game is in high gear. He’s closing in now, and the stakes have become very high. Judging from his actions last night, it’s not just me he’s after. It’s my entire family.” He lowered his voice. “His assault on Dianne was meant not so much to inflict pain, but to terrify her. He didn’t just cut her, Kasey, the bastard carved his initial on her. ‘C for Cage. Remember last night when she said he’d branded her? If she only knew how right she was. He intends to hurt me through the ones I care most about. C’mon,” he said, taking her arm, “we need that file on him.”
Dianne called out for Jay.
Kasey stood. “Look, I’ll get it. You stay with Dianne.”
Jay caught her wrist as she turned to leave. “Kasey, please be careful. He came after you once, that night he chased you on the highway. If he’s as shrewd as I think he is, he’ll try it again, and more aggressively this time.”
It wasn’t necessary to ask what he meant by that. She knew. He intends to hurt me through the ones I care most about. Lucas Cage knew they had been together the night before in the Jacuzzi.
She nodded and backed away until they were at arm’s length. He released her hand. She hurried out as Dianne called out a second time.
*
Bot
h files were missing. Cage and Andrews.
Kasey went from the monitor room into Jay’s office, hoping they would be there. When they weren’t, she picked up the phone on the desk, called down to personnel, and asked to have the files with the original documents pulled. After several moments of waiting, the woman came back on the line, “Miss Atwood, the file on Andrews is here, but I can’t find one for Lucas Cage. In fact I don’t see anything for a Lucas Cage. Are you sure he’s an employee here?”
Kasey wasn’t surprised. Lucas Cage could alter, switch, and even remove files; but he couldn’t wipe away all evidence of his existence at the hotel casino. And he was too smart to think he could. This was just another ploy on his part to spice up the game. To let them know what he was capable of doing.
She called the security department to find out when Lucas Cage had last reported to work and when he was scheduled again. Ted Lunt, the supervisor, told her Cage had reported to work on Wednesday, then called in sick. He hadn’t been seen in five days.
At least someone had information on Cage. He wasn’t a phantom and he couldn’t destroy all the records or silence everyone through intimidation.
“Ted, what can you tell me about him? About Lucas Cage?”
“He hired on for the summer, does his job, and keeps to himself pretty much.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, personally I didn’t like the man. He’s got a chip, if y’know what I mean. Doesn’t take orders too well. If we weren’t shorthanded, I’d’ve let him go after the first week.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“He’s got a mean streak. He’s been on report two, three times. Insubordination, strong-armin’ folks, making his own rules, stuff like that. He’s at the limit. One more and, shorthanded or not, I’m gonna have to bounce him outta here.”
“If he shows up for work tonight or if you see him anywhere on the premises, call me or Mr. King right away.”
From the third-floor window of Jay’s office, Kasey looked down at the street below. She saw a black Camaro turn the corner and pull into the parking garage directly beneath her. Cage?
Mortal Crimes 2 Page 123
