“So now you’re saying he’s not the killer.”
“Does he have a motive?”
“Well, maybe he didn’t like those guys for some reason. He did tell me he was pissed off about the Internet players coming into the game and ruining it.”
“Is he the only one who’s pissed about that?”
Jimmy hesitated, then said, “No.”
“You need something more personal,” Vic said. “Or you need a witness who saw him near one of the scenes.”
“So far the only person I know of,” Jimmy said, “who’s been anywhere near one of the scenes is you.”
“Good point,” Vic said. “And why didn’t he kill me?”
“You didn’t see him.”
“A killer would err on the safe side,” Vic said. “I should be dead.”
“Then how do you explain it?”
“I can’t,” Vic said. “Not yet.”
They both turned and looked at Francisco again.
“If he’s tryin’ to win a bet about the wheelchair,” Vic said, “and he needs it bad, why would you want to ruin that for him if he’s your friend?”
“I wouldn’t,” Jimmy said, “but if he’s a killer . . .”
“He’s your friend,” Vic said. “Do you really think he’s capable of killin’ someone the way these boys have been killed? I mean, we’re talkin’ some real anger here. Do you know anyone else who fits the profile—strong and angry—and not tryin’ to win a bet about a wheelchair? Somebody with a real personal ax to grind?”
Jimmy thought a moment, then said, “You know, I think I do.”
FORTY
They left the Mandalay Bay and went back to the Bellagio. On the way Jimmy told Vic about Lenny Krieger, the wannabe posse member who was also a bodybuilder. Mike Sexton had told Jimmy that Krieger had been wanting to get in for a long time, but the posse—meaning Tim Bennett—would never accept him.
“Big, powerful,” Vic said, “and angry. It fits except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Why wouldn’t the cops be all over this guy?”
“Maybe they don’t know about his motive,” Jimmy said. “Maybe they interviewed him and he didn’t say anything about constantly being rejected by the posse.”
“Somebody else should have mentioned it,” Vic said, “One of the posse members.”
“How would we know if they had?”
“Well,” Vic said, “we have two left who we could ask, don’t we?”
“And you know what room they’re in.”
Vic smiled. “Exactly.”
Vic took Jimmy up to the room where they had stashed the two remaining posse members, tended by a couple of off-duty Bellagio security men.
“It’s hokey,” Vic said, “but we set up a knock.”
He executed the secret knock—two quick, three slow—and the door was opened by a big, bald, powerful-looking black man in tan pants and a black T-shirt.
“Yo,” he said to Vic. “These dudes were just askin’ us to order room service.”
Vic looked at Jimmy, who said, “Yeah, sure, no problem.”
“But we’ve got to talk to them first,” Vic added.
“You’re the boss,” the guy said.
“Actually,” Vic said, indicating Jimmy, “he’s the boss. Jimmy Spain, Calvin Vincent.” He jerked his head at a white guy across the room, also big but in a different way. He was thick and apparently didn’t spend as much time in the gym as Calvin. “That’s Sam Holloway.”
Sam just nodded.
Seated on the sofa were the two posse members, Pete Belton and Mike Flanagan. They had video game controllers in their hands and were immersed in a game.
“Poker?” Vic asked Calvin.
“Grand Theft Auto.”
“I got next,” Sam said.
“We have to talk, guys,” Vic announced. “Shut that thing off.”
“In a minute, dude,” Belton said. “I almost got ’im.”
“You guys wanna help catch a killer,” Vic asked, “or play fuckin’ video games? Your call, considerin’ you’re next on his list.”
That got their attention. Flanagan pressed the pause button, and they put the controllers down.
“Tell us about Lenny Krieger,” Vic said.
“What about him?” Belton asked.
“Why wouldn’t you let him in the posse?” Jimmy asked.
“He was fuckin’ weird, man,” Flanagan said. “All those muscles.”
“And he’s a ’roid junkie,” Belton said. “Tim didn’t want him around. He thought he might flip out someday—you know?—’roid rage.”
“’Roid rage at a poker table?” Jimmy asked.
“Actually,” Vic said. “there’s no tellin’ when somethin’ like that will hit. Adds to his motive, in my book. Somebody on steroids probably doesn’t even need a motive.”
“Motive?” Belton asked. “You think Lenny killed Tim and the others?”
“No way, man,” Flanagan said.
“Why not?” Vic asked.
“He doesn’t have the balls,” Belton said. “Tim always said Lenny had a needle dick and tiny balls, and it showed at the poker table.”
“So Tim had a more legitimate reason for keeping Lenny out of the posse?” Jimmy asked.
“Yeah, man,” Belton said. “The dude can’t play.”
“No balls,” Flanagan said.
“Well,” Vic said, “there’s always the steroids. They could’ve given him the balls.”
“One time, maybe,” Jimmy said. “I think he’d freak out after that, not end up doing it again and again. These murders are premeditated.”
“You may be right.” Vic addressed the two young men again. “Either one of you talk to the police about Lenny Krieger?”
“I didn’t,” Belton said. “You?”
“Not me,” Flanagan said.
“Did they even ask you who might have a motive for these killings?” Vic asked.
“Yeah,” Belton said, “they asked. I said I dunno.”
“You?” Vic asked Flanagan.
“Same thing. I don’t know who’d want to kill Tim and Jesse and the others. It’s crazy, man. No way is there someone out there wants to kill me.”
“Me, neither,” Belton said.
“We’re gonna keep you here a little while longer,” Vic said, “just to make sure.”
“Are we, like, under arrest or somethin’?” Belton asked.
“No,” Vic said, “not at all. In fact, you’re free to go if you want.”
The two young men exchanged glances, then Belton asked, “You gonna feed us?”
“You can call room service anytime,” Jimmy said. “Order anything you want.”
“Anything?” Flanagan asked.
“That’s right.”
They looked at each other again, and then Belton said, “Okay, we’ll stay.”
“Say,” Flanagan said to Jimmy, “ain’t you on the final table tonight?”
“That’s right.”
“Dude, you’re gonna have to concentrate.”
“Don’t I know it,” Jimmy said. “Thanks.”
“Let ’em order what they want,” Vic told the security guys.
“Yeah, okay,” Calvin said.
He walked Vic and Jimmy to the door as the two posse members continued their game under the watchful eye of Sam.
“Are we stayin’ here overnight?” Calvin asked at the door.
Vic looked at Jimmy, who said, “If it’s okay. It’ll probably only be for one night.”
“Okay,” the black man said. “As long as we know. Uh, can we order room service, too?”
“Sure,” Jimmy said, “anything you want.”
“Thanks.”
As they walked to the elevator Vic said, “I don’t know what to tell you, kid. Maybe you should go to the detective in charge with this stuff about Lenny Krieger, but that wheelchair stuff?” Vic shook his head. “You might want to think about that.”
“I will, Vic,” Jimmy said. “And I want to really thank you and Margaret for your help.”
“Hey. You’re payin’ our way. You and her damn penny and nickel slots. We got time to hit the lunch buffet?”
FORTY-ONE
Jimmy did not have time to hit the lunch buffet, but he sent Vic on his way. The Philly cop could not be with him when he talked with the Vegas cops. He and Vic still did not want Detective Cooper to know that Vic was helping him play detective. That would get both of them in trouble.
What Jimmy had to figure out was how to ask Cooper about Lenny Krieger without letting him know that Jimmy was indeed playing detective.
But the first step was to locate Cooper. Jimmy felt the detective had to be somewhere in the hotel. He had pretty much covered the casino and was ready to call on Mike Sexton for help when he spotted Detective Cooper standing at the front desk.
As he approached he could hear Cooper saying “. . . sure the maid has been in the room?”
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said. “They say the beds were not slept in last night.”
Jimmy knew what Cooper was talking about and wanted to turn around and walk the other way. He was too late, though. The detective saw him coming and turned to meet him.
“Mr. Spain,” the black detective said. “Just the man I was about to look for.”
“Detective Cooper,” Jimmy said. “What a coincidence. I was looking for you, too.”
“I’m afraid we may have two more dead poker players on our hands,” Cooper said, “but we don’t know for sure. We have no bodies—dead or alive.”
“Detective—”
“We also can’t determine whether they’ve left town or not. We can cover airports and bus depots, but if they got in a car and drove—”
“Detective—”
“We probably will never know. Have you seen either Mike Flanagan or Pete Belton?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Jimmy said. He looked around the busy lobby. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
“Why can’t we talk here?”
“Because,” Jimmy admitted, “what I have to tell you might make you lose your temper and embarrass both of us.”
Cooper stared at Jimmy, opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I still have use of one of the offices in the back. Follow me.”
Jimmy did, down the familiar hall and into the office where they’d spoken before.
“Sit,” Cooper said. The detective remained standing, arms folded, glowering at Jimmy.
“Let me tell you something before we start,” Cooper said. “I’ve been straight with you, I’ve treated you right, I’ve even tried to protect you from that idiot Devine.”
At the mention of Devine’s name Jimmy touched the cut on his chin gotten during their last meeting.
Cooper showed Jimmy a long index finger. “Don’t tell me you’re going to make me sorry and give Devine a chance to say I told you so.”
Cooper took a deep breath, then said, “Now go ahead. What do you want to say?”
“I, uh, know where the other two posse members are,” Jimmy said.
Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”
“In a room in the hotel.”
“Which room?”
“Just a room that’s not, uh, registered to anyone.”
“And they’re alive?”
“Alive and well.”
Cooper was silent, and Jimmy thought that the man might well make a good poker payer someday. He could not read his expression.
“Why would they— How did they—” Cooper stopped and started again. “I should haul you in for obstructing.”
“Because I kept two young men alive all night?”
“What did you do—sit up with them?”
“Not me,” Jimmy said. “A couple of off-duty security guys from the hotel.”
“And why would they do that?”
“They’re being paid.”
“By who?”
“The WPT.”
“And what about you?” Cooper asked. “Are you just being a Good Samaritan?”
“I’m also working for the WPT—sort of.”
“‘Sort of’? What’s that mean?”
“It means I’m not being paid.”
“Then why do it?”
Jimmy shrugged. “They asked.”
Cooper frowned. “You were also coming to the rescue, weren’t you? Getting on your white horse to save the ladies? Both of whom lied about being with you?”
Jimmy hesitated, then said, “Both?”
“Oh, that’s right,” Cooper said. “You backed Miss Landri-gan’s story, didn’t you?”
Jimmy wondered if the detective was trying to get him to recant and why.
“What does that matter now?”
“You’re right,” Cooper said. “It doesn’t matter.” The black man grabbed a chair and sat down. His shoulders slumped. He suddenly looked very weary. “This case is tough. So many suspects and half of them got the wind up after that first day. Plus I get saddled with a moron for a part—” He stopped suddenly, aware that he was talking too much.
“Never mind,” he said. “You’ve got to tell me what room those two boys are in.”
“They’re still being guarded—”
“Don’t worry,” Cooper said. “I won’t tell anyone else where they are. I just want to talk to them.”
Reluctantly Jimmy gave the detective the room number, then added, “There’s a secret knock.”
“You’re kidding.”
When he realized Jimmy wasn’t kidding he learned the secret knock.
“Anything else I should know?” he asked.
“Well . . .”
“Oh, that’s right,” Cooper said. “You were looking for me. What’s on your mind?”
“I heard something and I didn’t know if you had heard it, too.”
“About what?”
“A guy named Leonard Krieger. Lenny, they call him.”
“Muscle-bound, geeky kind of guy?” Cooper asked.
“That’s him,” Jimmy said. “Seems he’s been wanting to be in the posse for a while, and they kept rejecting him.”
“We know that,” Cooper said. “Christ, do you think we haven’t been doing anything, Jimmy?”
“I’m just trying to help,” Jimmy said. “You know about the steroids?”
“You just have to look at the guy to know he’s on steroids,” Cooper said. “You know, on the one hand I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but on the other . . . we’re not idiots.”
“I know that.”
“I hope you do. I—” He was interrupted by his cell phone. He dug it out, flipped it open, and said, “Cooper.”
He listened for a moment and then said, “I’m on my way. Don’t do anything.”
He flipped the phone closed and looked at Jimmy.
“They found Krieger,” he said. “He’s in the lobby, where that fancy glass ceiling is.”
“They arrested him?”
“Not exactly,” Cooper said. “Seems he’s gone a little nuts and has taken a hostage. You might want to come along.”
“Why? I thought—”
“The hostage? It’s your friend, the girl—”
“Sabine?” Jimmy asked, getting to his feet.
“No, the young girl,” Cooper said, opening the door. “Katherine Landrigan. He’s threatening to break her neck.”
FORTY-TWO
Lenny Krieger had taken Kat Landrigan hostage right beneath the ceiling called Fiori di Como, fashioned by famed glass artist Dale Chihuly.
She’d had the misfortune to be walking through the lobby when Detective Devine and two uniformed Vegas cops spotted Krieger. Devine had shouted at Krieger, who had panicked when he saw the two uniforms drawing their guns. He grabbed the nearest person to use as a hostage—Kat.
By the time Cooper and Jimmy arrived, the lobby had been cleared and there were several mor
e uniforms with guns surrounding Krieger, who was holding Kat’s head cradled in his arms, a hold that would make snapping her neck easy.
“Jimmy—” she shouted when she saw him, but Krieger cut her off with a slight yank on her neck that brought her feet off the ground.
“Lenny, take it easy!” Cooper called out. “Don’t hurt her.”
“I’ll break her neck, man!” Krieger screamed. “I swear.”
His eyes were wild; the veins in his neck and arms were swollen. In fact, in his tight T-shirt he looked as if every muscle in his torso was going to explode.
“What happened?” Cooper demanded of Devine.
“What?” Devine said, defensive. “I called out for him to stop and he grabbed the girl.”
“Was she with him?” Cooper asked.
“No, she was just passin’ by.”
“Did you tell him he was under arrest for murder?” Cooper asked.
Devine hesitated, then said, “I might have.”
Cooper looked at Jimmy. “I don’t know exactly what sets off ’roid rage, but that might have spooked him.”
“Ya think?” Jimmy asked. “You’ve got to make him let her go.”
“I wanna get out of here!” Krieger shouted.
“Put your gun away,” Cooper said to Devine.
“What?”
“Everybody put your guns away,” Cooper said, this time to all the cops. His voice echoed in the otherwise empty lobby.
Slowly, each of the cops obeyed and lowered his weapon. Some of the cops had been one false move on Krieger’s part away from pulling the trigger.
“Lenny,” Cooper said, “I want to talk to you, that’s all.”
“You wanna arrest me!” Krieger shouted. “I’m gettin’ out of here and I’m takin’ this girl with me.”
Kat’s eyes were as wide and crazy as Krieger’s, but with fear. He kept picking her up off the ground and setting her down again, alternately choking her, then letting her breathe. Her face was mottled; her nostrils flared when she tried to take in air.
“Lenny,” Cooper said calmly. “Let the girl go. We can talk.”
“I’m walkin’ outta here!”
“No, you’re not,” Cooper said. “No way.”
The Picasso Flop Page 20
