by Mark Young
Both officers nodded. Officers shuttled everyone back to the station in two trips behind their bulky shields, each officer peering through a bullet-proof glass — encased in each shield — to find their way to safety.
Lafata stood in the lobby. Travis scowled at him as they passed. “Maybe you’d better find out where Baptiste is hiding, agent. This could be his handiwork.”
The agent shrugged and followed them back to Frank’s office.
Chapter 23
Dispatch must have broadcast about a sniper on the loose. NPTP officers and other law enforcement agencies came screaming back in their units, wailing sirens coming from all directions. Travis hastily told Frank what happened, giving him the direction and the approximate distance of the shooter. The chief got on the radio and directed a search.
They listened to spurts of conversation between units on the radio as officers searched the hillside. No evidence. No shooter.
Lafata remained silent during most of the conversations. Finally, he chipped in. “That shot must have carried quite a ways. Either the shooter tried to kill one of you — meaning he’s a lousy shot — or he intentionally missed.” Lafata glancing at Jessie and Travis.
Travis glanced toward Frank, ignoring Lafata. “Where’s Baptiste? Is he good enough to make that shot?”
Frank glanced at Lafata and then back at Travis. “He might be able to make it. He’s done a lot of hunting around these parts. I don’t have a clue where he might be right now.” He called dispatch asking for Baptiste’s location. Frank waited several minutes without talking, apparently waiting until someone must have come back on the line. Finally, he lowered the phone.
“He called in and said he’d be taking the rest of the day off. No one knows where he went. They tried to reach his house — no answer. They paged him and tried his cell phone. No response.”
Lafata shifted his attention toward Frank. “Why are you checking on Baptiste? We cleared him. Besides, what’s his motive to take a shot at these two?”
Travis squared off with Lafata. “You gave him a motive, you idiot. You let him know I was the one who told you about the problem between him and Jessie. He knew Jessie must have confided in me. If he is the shooter, Baptiste might have been shooting at either one of us thanks to your big mouth.”
Lafata flinched. “We cleared Baptiste because he had an iron-clad alibi on Tommy’s murder. Why would he be stupid enough to turn around and take a shot at one of you? Doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe he’s a nut job and you gave him enough reason to want us dead.” Travis braced himself, hoping Lafata might make the first move. “You set us up and then let him go.”
“Get out of my face, Travis. This is still a federal investigation. And as the case agent, I have the authority to kick you off it.”
“What case, Lafata? So far, you haven’t turned up one shred of information that might help solve Tommy’s murder.”
“Shut up, you two!” Frank’s raised voice silenced the two men. “Right now, all I want to do is to focus on who just tried to kill my daughter and Travis. We need to focus on what happened outside.”
The FBI agent stepped back. “With your permission, I’ll have my people process the car. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find the projectile that was fired. In the meantime, we need to comb the area where the shot was fired. See what turns up.”
“Thanks.” Turning to his daughter, Frank said, “Why don’t you go out and let Francis set you up with a cup of coffee while we get things set up here. In the meantime, Lafata,” he said, glancing at the agent, “I’d like to finish telling you what we found from Axtell’s trailer.”
A look of disappointment crossed Jessie’s face as she turned to leave. “Travis, I’ll see you in a little bit?” She gave him a fleeting glance before walking out.
He gave her a nod and turned toward Frank.
Frank leaned forward. “Everything get ironed out?”
Travis shrugged. “We got interrupted.” He walked around the desk to look over Frank’s shoulder, seeing the chief had pulled up data from Pete Axtell’s thumb drive. “
“Here’s the recording Travis and I found interesting.” Frank clicked on the video file. Once it opened, he activated the play button. They watched Axtell and the other man talking.
Lafata seemed fascinated by the recorded conversation. “Can you zoom in on his face?” He leaned closer. “Yeah. Right there.” He wrote down the time lapse of the frame. “Give me the thumb drive. I’ll have our people run that face through our data base. We can start with known organized crime subjects and branch out from there.”
Frank copied the file to his computer and handed the original file to Lafata.
The agent straightened. “I’ll contact our office in San Diego and have them monitor the arson investigation. Once there’s a positive ID, I’ll get back to you. Now, I better get things rolling on the car.”
He wheeled around and left the room, leaving Travis and Frank alone. Travis saw Frank squinting back.
“What?”
“I don’t think that sniper was aiming at Jessie. I’m betting he was trying to get your attention. Are you bringing any baggage to this case from your past? Anyone dying to get even?”
“Absolutely not.”
Even as he answered, Travis played back his career in his mind. Old cases, disgruntled suspects. Anything that might have followed him here. A lot of possibilities. But nothing specific came to mind. Just ancient history he’d rather not dredge up. A few faces loomed, but they were either dead or in prison with no hope of ever getting out. “Just ancient history, Frank. No one I know with a motive to kill me today.”
There was a hard edge on Frank’s face. “If there is someone out there targeting you, you’ve just put my girl in danger. No one wants to kill Jessie. That just leaves you.”
Chapter 24
Clearwater River, Idaho
Slot machines jingled with falling coins and glittered with flashing lights. Steve Robinette made his way across the carpeted casino floor. Once upon a time these one-armed bandits — with their clanging bells, tinkling coins, followed by the excited yelps from paying suckers — and all the other games of chance in this place gave him an adrenaline rush.
The thrill was gone.
Robinette straightened his tie as his image flashed in the mirror next to a bank of elevators. His dark, slicked-back hair and brown eyes contrasted smartly with his Italian-made suit.
A Rolex watch warned he was running out of time.
He repeatedly pressed the button to the top floor after inserting a pass key. The elevator door finally opened. He started to enter before seeing an elderly couple tottering out. He waited until they emerged and then stepped inside. Sedate music replaced casino excitement as the doors quietly closed, leaving him alone inside the lift. A moment later, the same doors rolled open and he hurried down a hallway softened by plush carpeting, finally reaching the door to his penthouse. Only a limited number of pass keys allowed people to this floor.
Robinette’s cavernous office was larger than his master bedroom at home. From the corner windows, he could see the glistening Clearwater River although he rarely took the time to enjoy this view. Business seemed to demand every moment of his day.
On his desk was a copy of the Lewiston Tribune with a page one story of Tommy White Eagle’s murder. Newspaper reports kept harping on the word ‘unsolved’ throughout the article. Of course it is unsolved, he thought. Cops would have someone in custody if the case was solved. He read where authorities wanted anyone with knowledge about the case to give them a call.
Right. Like he was going to tell them what he knew.
He glanced at the headlines again, Tommy’s memory still fresh in Robinette’s mind. He’d watched with pride as Tommy rose in the legal profession. He felt a commonality with the younger man although their birthdays were separated by a decade. He felt almost like an older brother. They both excelled in the academic world; he at the University of Califo
rnia’s School of Business, leaving with a MBA; and Tommy, a Berkeley Law School graduate. Tommy graduated with top honors. Robinette imagined many law firms vied for Tommy’s attention, but he’d returned to his roots just like Robinette. Tommy jumped at the chance to work at the casino.
And now, Tommy wound up in the morgue, and his good friend turned up missing.
Pete Axtell.
That was another problem. He’d hired Axtell upon Tommy’s recommendation — a decision coming back to plague him. Rumors started floating through the gambling community about Axtell’s association with one particular man. Shane Foster. One of Robinette’s security officers described Foster as “a leech who enjoyed sucking financial blood out of gullible customers.” He knew Axtell — with access to the casino’s financial records — downloaded information on Whitewater customers and handed it over to those “leeches.”
He must try to keep this information quiet.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his chin. Robinette worried how it might affect the casino if this information got out. He knew he might lose his job. And there were other things investigators might learn if they started turning over financial rocks at Whitewater.
Information that would cost Robinette more than his job.
Lately, he’d begun fending off telephone inquiries from investigators from the National Indian Gaming Commission. The calls were about casino customers complaining of identification theft and fraudulent use of credit information. He desperately wanted to talk to Axtell face-to-face, but the man simply vanished. No one on the reservation knew where he might be hiding.
An inner-office phone line jingled on his desk. He picked it up.
“Mr. Robinette, an agent from the FBI is at my desk. Agent Lafata. He’d like a word with you.” Julie, his office assistant, sounded nervous.
“Give me a second, then send him in.” Sweat now ran down his armpits as he lowered the phone. Drumming his fingers on the desk, he glanced around the room looking at nothing in particular. He’d heard of the bureau’s Indian Country Crimes Unit and the agent’s name was vaguely familiar. He rose as the office door opened.
Lafata strode in and showed his credentials, briefcase in hand. Robinette motioned toward a chair near the desk. As Lafata settled in, he peered across at Robinette. The agent flashed a smile like a shark moving in for its next kill.
“I have a few questions about one of your employees. Just take a few minutes.” Lafata withdrew a notebook. “You have a Pete Axtell working here at the casino?”
Robinette leaned back in his chair, his shirt damp with perspiration. “Yeah. But he’s turned up missing. Do you know where he is?”
The agent squinted at the notebook and slowly raised his eyes, staring at Robinette with the look of a predator. “We believe he might be dead. Murdered, actually.”
Robinette felt his throat constrict, pain shoot through his chest. He gripped the desk top. “Murdered? How? Where?”
Lafata shook his head. “Sorry. That’s under investigation. We’re still trying to verify the identification of the murdered victim. To determine if it is Axtell.”
Clasping his hands together, Robinette perched on the edge of his seat, leaning heavily on the desk top. “That’s horrible. How can I help?”
“What was his job here at the casino?”
“He worked in our finance department as a bookkeeper, records keeper. He also maintained financial information on our customers and industry suppliers.”
“How’d you characterize his work?”
“You mean what kind of employee? Excellent worker. Hard working, paid attention to details. No complaints from my end.”
Lafata reached down and pulled his briefcase onto his lap. Robinette heard the latches spring open and saw Lafata reach inside. The agent withdrew a sheet of paper from a file and slowly pushed it across the desk toward Robinette. “Have you ever seen this guy here?”
Robinette leaned forward and glanced down. It was a grainy photo of a man who seemed unaware of the camera. Surveillance photo? It was not off the casino’s security cameras. He would have been warned if the FBI poked around in casino files. He looked closer.
He recognized the face.
He’d seen this face posted on an alert from EagleIntel, an intelligence data base sponsored by the National Indian Gaming Association. His security chief regularly briefed him on all criminal intelligence information that might affect the casino.
And he knew the face from somewhere else. His hands felt clammy as he struggled for composure. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen this guy before.”
“Can’t say or won’t say?”
“I’ve never seen that guy here. I don’t know his name.” He lowered his eyes for a split second and then met Lafata’s gaze. “Sorry. I wish I could be more helpful. Is this guy connected to gaming operations somehow?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“Sorry. I can’t help you.” He started to rise.
Lafata remained seated. “I need whatever information you have on Axtell from his personnel file. And I need the names of those he works with here. I want to interview each of them.”
Robinette slowly sat down. “You think Axtell’s murder is somehow connected to this casino?”
“Dunno. But I’d say this kind of place — with the amount of dinero changing hands — warrants a close look. After all, love of money is the root of all evil, right?”
Robinette shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that. We run a clean game here at Whitewater.”
Lafata finally stood. “Well, I intend to find out. Now, about that information?”
The casino manager pressed a button connecting him to his assistant. “See Agent Lafata gets all the information he needs from our files. He’ll be out in a moment.”
Robinette watched the FBI agent stride from the room. He took out a handkerchief and tried to dry his hands. He saw trouble walking out of his office.
He must keep a lid on everything. His life depended upon it.
Chapter 25
Jessie could not sit still. “Someone wants to kill us? It just doesn’t make sense.”
Travis watched Jessie pacing his front porch. Frank left a half hour ago, after asking them to sit tight until they heard from him. He called the Idaho County Sheriff’s Office to request extra patrol during the night.
Her pacing even made Sam edgy. The dog watched her for a moment and then cocked his head at Travis as if to ask if everything was all right.
“I don’t have a clue, Jessie. We’ll take another stab at it tomorrow.” He stroked Sam’s head, trying to calm the animal.
They heard an eastbound car on Highway 12 across the river. A van with a family of kids chugged by with camping equipment piled high.
Travis glanced at the backpack lying next to him. Before Frank left, he took Jessie aside for a private chat. Travis used that distraction to slip into the cabin and quietly opened his safe secreted behind a panel in the wall. He removed a rifle and a shotgun, both Remingtons, and placed both weapons just inside the front door. He grabbed a semi-auto handgun, closed the safe and put the panel back in place. He slipped the handgun into a backpack near the front door. He then rejoined Frank and Jessie on the front porch.
After Frank left, Travis motioned toward the cabin. “Why don’t you come inside, Jessie.” He worried about the target she offered out on the porch. An adequate marksman could easily pick her off from across the highway. Sam raised his head in expectation. Jessie smiled at the dog. “Just what does he have in mind, Sam? Should I trust him?”
Sam barked as if to answer.
She stroked the dog’s head. “Man’s best friend. Maybe I should ask someone else.” Jessie passed through the doorway and saw the guns. “Boys and their toys. Who am I staying with … Rambo?”
Travis followed her inside and shut the door. “Just in case we need some protection.”
He strode toward the kitchen “Can you cook?”
�
�About as good as you kayak.”
“While I try to figure what to make for dinner, why don’t you set the table. You can do that, right?”
Jessie grinned and began collecting the silverware. She edged behind him and he heard her pause. “Tell me how we’re going to find Tommy’s killer, Travis? All we have so far are a lot of unanswered questions. And the shooter today … what’s that about?”
“I’m not a fortune teller, Jessie. We take one day at a time, one piece of information at a time. We’re not even sure whether the shooter today had anything to do with your brother’s death. I want to keep an open mind.”
“You have more enemies that we know about?” She glanced at him from across the kitchen.
“Your dad asked me the same question. I told him — and I’m telling you — no one comes to mind.”
He turned toward the stove, hearing her close a drawer and walk toward the table. As she came into view, he saw her forehead wrinkled with worry.
Travis reached for a frying pan. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you know if your brother was involved in anything that was … shady? Illegal?”
Her troubled look turned to anger. “You saying my brother might be a crook?”
“You tell me. I need to know if there is anything about his life that might have caused —”
“— He’s not a criminal, Travis. I won’t have you talk that way about him.”
He turned and leaned against the counter. “Look, I need to find answers to all the questions that are spilling out of my head. I need to know the truth. All of it.”
“He was a good man. An honest man. He was someone I’m proud to call my brother. Does that answer your question?”
He nodded and turned toward the stove. “Just tell me about Tommy — his work, his life, and anyone he hung around with. Everything. I believe something in his life led to his death. And the fact his friend may have been murdered raises all kinds of questions. Help me find the truth, Jessie.”
