Smoke & Mirrors

by John Ramsey Miller

  Styer had somehow known enough about Beals to cast him as the perfect patsy. Had they met on a web site? Maybe Styer hoped they would search through the computer to find all his posts and responses, but they had neither the time nor the manpower to do that yet. And Winter doubted they could spot Styer in them. It was certain that Styer had removed any evidence of his connection to Beals when he left the rifle and the DVD he’d made. And while the fingerprint evidence wouldn’t be processed for a few hours, Winter knew Styer wouldn’t have left any. The techs had said that all of the prints looked, at first viewing, to belong to Jack Beals.

  The one shot of the Gardners was all the footage there was of the family. After going over the videos that Beals had made, the only differences between them seemed to be the subjects leaving the Roundtable. Winter figured he had been selecting robbery victims, but who he had actually robbed, if he had done so, was not going to be easy to pick out. Brad would have to send fliers to sheriffs’ and police departments asking for possible victims of strong-arm robberies who had gambled at the Roundtable.

  It was after seven when the doorbell rang and Brad went to the door. While Ruger barked from the backyard, Winter could hear Brad’s voice but not the person he was talking to. He heard Brad say, “Come in.” Seconds later, Brad came into the kitchen and said, “Winter, this FBI agent says she knows you.”

  When Alexa Keen entered, Winter grinned, jumped up, and embraced her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I was just in the neighborhood?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “I knew you’d tell me not to,” she said.

  While Winter shook his head, his cell rang. He opened the phone and saw ProCell Labs on the ID.

  “Massey,” he answered. Talk about timing.

  “Mr. Massey, John Jolly at ProCell. I just finished those prelims. Now, once again, the test is not yet proven so it isn’t acceptable for legal purposes.”

  “I don’t care about that. Do you think it’s accurate?”

  “So far accuracy of the results is moving in the right direction, but in lay terms it’s because we’re doing a fast cook, forcing things. Not square pegs in round holes, exactly…We have it down to about a twenty percent negative error read after the other testing is completed for comparison accuracy, and I’d say we’re closing the gap.”

  “What do they say?”

  “Your sample matches the one Sheriff Barnett sent.”

  “So it’s eighty percent.”

  “No. There is no difference between the two. I’d say it is one hundred percent.”

  Winter hung up, and looked from Brad to Alexa. “That was ProCell. It’s a match.”

  He noticed that Alexa was staring at him. Knowing her as he did, it was obvious that she was pissed off.

  “So,” she said. “It’s Paulus Styer?”

  “Yes,” Winter admitted.

  “That’s interesting,” she said simply. “Do go on.”

  “Styer shot Sherry Adams, and he killed a man named Jack Beals,” Winter said.

  Winter shrugged and felt his face flushing like a kid caught shoplifting candy. “I should have told you.”

  “Yes, you should have.” Alexa put her hand on Winter’s forearm. “Well, now we know for sure what we’re up against.”

  The call wouldn’t change anything. Maybe having Alexa there would help, if only because she fully understood Styer’s game.

  Winter and Brad filled Alexa in on the investigation while the trio had a breakfast of cold cereal. When the front doorbell rang, Brad answered it and returned with Leigh Gardner.

  “Just coffee for me, Brad. And thank you for asking,” she said, taking a seat at the table across from Winter.

  “Morning, Ms. Gardner,” Winter said.

  “Call me Leigh and I’ll call you Winter.”

  She smiled at Alexa and offered her hand.

  “This is Alexa Keen,” Winter said. “She’s an old friend of mine. She’s also an FBI agent.”

  Leigh raised her eyebrows. “The FBI is interested in Sherry Adams’s murder?”

  “No. I’m strictly here as a friend of Winter’s and to help if I can,” Alexa said. “Unofficially.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever met an FBI agent before. Nice to meet you. Do I call you Agent Keen?”

  “I answer to Alexa.”

  “Coffee,” Brad said, placing a cup before Leigh.

  She frowned, lifted the mug, and sipped gingerly. “Not bad brew, Brad. For a man.” Her fingers were shaking as she set the cup down.

  “I’m glad you think I can do something,” Brad said. “Is everything all right?”

  “Well, Sherry is dead, so no.”

  “Sorry,” Brad said, nodding.

  Leigh looked down and back up at Brad. “That and Cyn didn’t come home last night. I’m sure she’s fine. This isn’t unusual for my daughter. She does as she pleases. She went to Memphis yesterday and I wanted to go along. I should have insisted, but I had a lot on my mind. I got a text message from her late last night saying she’d run into a friend from school. She was supposed to be staying at her grandmother’s, but I just got Adelle’s machine. I’ve been trying to call her this morning and she sent a text, she always does when she knows I’m angry. It said, ‘Get over it. GOD!’ She’s fine…” Her words trailed off.

  Brad patted her shoulder but she drew back. “Can I do anything?”

  “No. She’ll come home dragging her tail and I’ll yell at her. She’s just like her father in some ways.”

  Winter saw the look of concern on Alexa’s face.

  “This thing with Sherry. It’s got all of us crazy. It’s Cyn’s way of trying to hold on to normalcy and dealing with grief. Except for my father, nobody close to her has ever died,” Leigh went on.

  “I can start running her down,” Brad said. “Get the Memphis PD to locate her.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll deal with it,” Leigh said, straightening. “You know as well as I do that this is just like her. There’s something I wanted to tell you.”

  Brad nodded.

  She picked up her coffee but didn’t drink from the cup. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about me being the target, and all I could think of is that if I had been killed, my children would not be able to continue my operation. And since their father has proved beyond any shadow of a doubt that he couldn’t boil water in hell on their behalf, they would have to sell the land to ensure their futures. Jacob would not receive anything if I died, and I can’t imagine he could have hired a professional killer.”

  “Okay,” Brad said. “But he would be their guardian.”

  “I have made arrangements for my attorney to handle my estate, and to handle my children’s financial interests if I die.”

  “Jacob would fight that, and he is their father,” Brad said.

  “This is very personal,” she said crisply, finally taking a sip. “If Jacob fights my will, my attorney has certain papers that prove he is as crooked as a wisteria trunk.” She patted the side of her cheek and frowned.

  “That’s fairly common knowledge,” Brad said.

  “Anyway, although I certainly don’t believe Jacob hired a hit man, I may have some idea why someone shot Sherry. A few years ago I once again paid off a collection of Jacob’s debts, and I made him sign over some land he inherited from his father. I paid him three times what it was worth because it was the only collateral he had. Six hundred and thirty-six acres of bottomland that isn’t good for a damn thing except duck hunting, which is what Jacob’s father and then Jacob used it for. I made him a loan secured with that property and when he didn’t repay me or make any attempt to do so, I foreclosed on it, figuring I’d leave it to the children, since it was the only way to ensure he would leave any legacy, even if I paid for it.”

  She took another sip of her coffee. “A few months ago Jacob mentioned that he wanted to buy it back from me. I told him to go piss up a
pole. Since then, he has become more and more insistent, whining that it was his sole inheritance from his father, and he wanted it back. His father actually left him a small fortune that he went through in a matter of months. When I pressed him, he said he wanted to duck hunt on it and I said he could shoot ducks there until there wasn’t one left on the face of the earth, but I’d never sell it to him under any circumstances.”

  “You don’t think it’s sentimental?” Winter asked.

  “Jacob is as sentimental as a hungry possum. I told him that he’d had ample opportunity to pay me off, and didn’t, and if his children wanted to sell it to him after I was gone, fine. But I said as long as I had air in my lungs, I was keeping it.”

  “And he dropped it?” Brad asked.

  “No. He didn’t. Last night he told me that some corporation was interested in buying it for four hundred thousand with a plan to turn it into a duck-hunting club along with the land around it, saying I could use the profit to make things right with Sherry’s family.”

  “So,” Winter said, “do you think it’s possible Jacob hired someone to kill you?”

  A look of concern crossed her features. “It’s more likely the potential buyer would. Mr. Massey, did you know Tunica before the gambling joints came here?”

  “I know it was the poorest county in the state.”

  “It’s the richest now,” Brad added.

  Leigh continued, “Which made it the poorest county in the country. You know what’s happened around here since those casinos came in? We’ve gotten the absolute dregs of humanity, political corruption, crooked cops and highway patrolmen. The last sheriff and deputies were caught protecting drug dealers—and there’s been all sorts of rumors about people not getting the money they won and being threatened by employees of the casinos when they made waves. In exchange we get cheap license plates, new schools, low taxes, paved roads, and a fancy golf course for visitors. It’s been a deal with the devil.”

  “Do you think mobsters are interested in your land?” Winter asked.

  “That land is worth zip.”

  “Is it near the other casinos?” Winter asked.

  “Not at all,” she said. “Way south of them. The improvements they’ve made for the casinos have caused even more flooding down there than there was before. But Jacob Gardner would sell the gold out of our children’s teeth and blow the money before their gums quit bleeding.”

  “I’ll check it out,” Brad said. “Where is Jacob now?”

  “He stayed at my house last night. He’ll sleep until sometime this afternoon.”

  “More coffee, Leigh?” Brad asked.

  “Can’t do it. I have to stay busy, and I’ve got plenty of work to do.” Leigh stood and started for the front of the house. “By the way, some press people have been on the road this morning filming the house. And one of your prowl cars is obviously tailing me.”

  Brad shook his head. “I meant to tell you. We thought it was a good idea to have deputies watching you and the kids until we get this solved. I’m sorry for any inconvenience, but it’s something Winter and I felt was necessary.”

  “You decided to have me followed without telling me,” Leigh said, frowning.

  “You can’t be too careful. I think it’s absolutely necessary, since we have no idea who we’re dealing with,” Alexa lied.

  “Then you can tell them to follow closer, because I’m afraid if they miss a light and run through it someone might be killed,” Leigh said.

  “Not much I can do about the press,” Brad said. “As long as they don’t trespass.”

  “‘Not much I can do’ seems to be your mantra,” she said. “Finish your Wheaties. I’ll show myself out.”

  After Leigh left, Brad said, “Cyn’s always doing this.”

  “But with everything that’s happened…” Alexa said.

  “Cyn is…well, she more or less has to be the center of attention,” Brad said. “I’ll put through a description of her car, and make sure the Memphis police get it. Leigh is right. She’s done this ‘meeting a friend’ thing since she was fifteen or so.”

  Winter could see that Brad was troubled, and offered the only reassurance he could think of. “Well, she did send that text message, at least.”

  34

  ALEXA VOLUNTEERED TO GO TO THE COURTHOUSE to check the records on the parcels surrounding Leigh’s land while Brad and Winter drove out to Six Oaks to interview Jacob Gardner.

  Estelle opened the door and looked out, smiling broadly. “Brad Barnett again! I remember back to a time when every time I opened this door you was standing right where you standing now.”

  “Any word from Cynthia?” Brad asked Estelle.

  “Lordy. That child! All the advantages she has and she shows her butt like she do. She is unresponsible and always has been. I told her a million times that proper young girls don’t chase after boys like she do, but do she listen? No.” Estelle shook her head sadly. “People gone think she a loose woman who don’t have a heart, the way she torture her mama. Miss Leigh ain’t home.”

  “We’re here to see Jacob.”

  “Come on in. He’s layin’ up in the guest room bed like he the king of the world. He wakes up, he gone commence to ringing that little bell.” Estelle stepped aside. “Like having a invalid in the house.”

  “Thanks, Estelle. I know the way,” Brad said, stepping into the entrance, Winter shadowing him up the wide stairway.

  Without knocking, Brad opened the door to the guest bedroom. The interior was made cave dark by thick curtains. As Brad flipped on the light, Winter was treated to the sight of Jacob Gardner lying on his back with his mouth open, the bed linen twisted around his feet like a binding. His comb-over stuck straight up, flying from his head like a flag. On the nightstand sat an almost empty bottle of Glen Salen and a glass partly filled with light brown water.

  “Rise and shine, Jacob!” Brad hollered.

  Like a doll, Jacob’s eyes rolled open, and he stared up at the ceiling for a solid three count. He then sat bolt upright and looked at Brad and then Winter before gathering the sheets to cover himself. He tamped down his brown hair and blinked rapidly.

  “What the hell are you doing barging in here?” Jacob asked.

  “Investigating a murder,” Brad said.

  “In my room?” Jacob said.

  “At the moment, yes,” Brad replied, opening the curtains to let in daylight. He sat in a chair beside the bed and indicated that Winter should take the fabric-covered chaise lounge. “We need to ask you some questions.”

  “How about you do it after I get showered and dressed?”

  “How about we do it now,” Brad countered. “That way you can go back to sleep when we leave.”

  “Christ,” Jacob said, lying back down and rubbing his eyes. “My head is killing me.”

  “If it does, I guess I’ll have three deaths to investigate.”

  “So ask your questions,” Jacob said, looking over at Winter.

  “Sherry was killed accidentally,” Brad said.

  “Damned poachers,” Jacob said. “Shooting wild. Jesus, it’s terrible. How the hell are you going to catch the bastard?”

  “No, the shooter was a professional killer. I have reason to believe that Leigh was his actual target, and Sherry looked enough like her in the hooded coat for him to assume she was Leigh. He obviously didn’t know Leigh was out of town.”

  “How the hell can you know that? You caught the bastard?”

  “Not yet,” Brad said. “But we’re closing in on him.”

  “It sounds like wishful thinking,” Jacob said. “Why do you think anybody would try to kill my wife?”

  “Ex-wife,” Brad corrected.

  Jacob rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “What would be the motive?”

  “Money.”

  “In case you don’t know it, only the kids would gain from her death. Maybe they’re behind it. I’d look close at Hamp. He’d kill to have the money to buy a genuine beaver fur top hat.”
/>
  “Nonetheless, I can’t rule you out,” Brad said.

  Jacob looked at Brad like he was an idiot. “Me? And how would I profit from Leigh’s death? Leigh has it fixed so if she dies, I’m left twisting in the wind. Not that I don’t deserve it. I’ve made some mistakes. My life is an open book, Barnett. Her death would be a lose/lose situation for me. And when Sherry was shot I was in bed in Memphis with a former Miss Tennessee, whose number I will happily furnish.” He grinned.

  “The bottomland Leigh bought from you comes to mind as a motive.”

  Jacob frowned, but his eyes reflected the fires of concern. “She owns it outright, in case she didn’t tell you that when she told you about it.”

  “Why do you want it?”

  “It’s been in my family since eighteen ninety.”

  “It’s still in your family.”

  “Well, not exactly. I mean, yes, it is. But a man who doesn’t own land is a second-class citizen. And in case it has escaped your astute powers of deduction, if I wanted to piss in a pot, I’d have to borrow one from my ex-wife. And odds are my bladder would explode while I was waiting for her to mull it over.”

  “I can’t figure out how a man without means can afford to buy worthless land for hundreds of thousands over value. Leigh would expect hard cash,” Brad pressed.

  “I can use the land as collateral,” Jacob said quickly.

  “No offense, but based on your track record, you’d probably lose it to the bank or whoever loaned you the money. I understand a corporation wanted it for a duck club,” Brad said.

  “She did tell you about it. Well, one has expressed interest, and mentioned a figure,” Jacob said. “And maybe I could sell to said corporation for even more than I offered her. Did you think of that?”

  Brad said angrily, “You should tell one story and stick to it so you won’t have to try to keep the lies straight.”