Revenge (A Travis Mays Novel)

by Mark Young

  Steve smiled. “That would go a long way in helping me justify allowing you to search his desk. Thanks for understanding. You get the warrant and I’ll personally help in the search.”

  Travis saw a hint of smugness in Steve’s expression.

  Frank shrugged. “Okay, Steve. We’ll see if that can be arranged.”

  “You do that. Now, you guys can find your own way out, I trust. Let me know when you’ve got the warrant.” He turned and strode past Chuck’s desk, nodding at the young man. Chuck nodded back and the two of them started talking, occasionally looking toward Frank and Travis.

  Frank started to leave, then turned toward Robinette. “Steve, I almost forget. I’ve got some photos here. Could you take a quick look to see if you recognize anybody?”

  The casino manager wheeled around. “Sure. Anything to help.”

  Robinette walked back to join them. Travis watched Frank hand him the photo line-up containing Shane Foster’s photo. For a brief moment, Travis thought he saw Robinette’s eyes flash with recognition.

  Robinette closed the file and handed it back. “Sorry. Doesn’t do anything for me, Frank. Isn’t that the same face that FBI agent just showed me?” He gave them a blank look.

  “Oh, yeah? Lafata showed you that one?” The chief took the file back. “Thanks, anyway. Sorry to bother you.” They watched Robinette walk away.

  Frank leaned closer to Travis, whispering. “Lafata’s right. Robinette’s hiding something. He knows Foster and he knows we’re hard-pressed to get paper for this desk. Come on, we’ve got one more stop to make.”

  They filed past Chuck’s desk. The young man busied himself with something in his desk drawer, never looking up as they passed. Frank leaned over the desk. “See you later, Chuck. Thanks for your help.”

  Chuck gave them a bewildered look.

  As they approached the elevators, Frank veered to the left and took another hallway deeper into the building. They stopped in front of a door marked Security. Frank entered without knocking. Travis followed. Inside, they came into a room the size of a bank vault. Everything seemed closed in and stifling. On three walls, close-circuit screens flashed a plethora of casino activity from every conceivable angle. Travis saw shots of sections of the main gambling floor, as well as doorways, hallways and elevators. Two men sat at a u-shaped console, looking from screen to screen. By rotating switches and push-button controls, each man could zoom in or out on any of the gamblers. One of the men glanced back. “Hey, Frank. How’s tricks?”

  “Not bad. Not bad.” Frank walked toward the man. “I thought Dizzy worked this shift?”

  “Nah. He traded. Wanted to do something special with the old lady. I traded shifts with him.”

  Frank backed away. “He’s out with his wife? That doesn’t sound like Dizzy.”

  The man grinned. “You’re right. Dizzy taking time off work for that just doesn’t sound like him. But what are you going to do? He had the time coming.”

  Okay,” Frank said, laughing. “ I’ll let you get back to work. Anything interesting happening out there on the floor?”

  “Nothing that’d interest you, Frank. Just a lot of people losing their money.”

  “Makes for good business, right?”

  “Not for me, Frank. I get paid either way. Robinette and his crowd are the ones raking it in. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, take care. Catch you later.”

  Steve Robinette chewed on his lower lip as he watched Frank and Travis emerging from the security office. He picked up a phone and punched a series of numbers. He eyed another security screen and saw a guard pick up the phone. It was the same guard Robinette saw Frank talking to a moment ago.

  “Did I see Frank White Eagle and his sidekick leaving your office?”

  “Yeah,” the guard said, looking up at the camera he knew linked Robinette’s office. “They’re asking about Dizzy. Frank thought he was on duty.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “Dizzy and I traded shifts.”

  “That all?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Robinette. That’s all he wanted to know.”

  Robinette hung up and reached for a control panel on his desk. Using these controls, he selected the connection to a camera located nearest to the front entrance of the casino. The color monitor came into focus just as Frank and Travis exited the front door and began walking toward the parking lot. He turned to his computer and scrolled down to personnel files. A moment later he found the phone number for Ted Nimmons. Everyone at work called Ted by his nickname, Dizzy. He dialed Dizzy’s home phone. No answer. A message machine clicked on and advised the caller to leave a message.

  Robinette heard Dizzy’s message machine signal that the recording had been activated. Robinette started to leave a message and then quickly hung up without saying a word. Instead, he picked up his cell phone and pressed a number on speed dial and waited until the call connected.

  A man answered.

  “Robinette here. Got another job for you.” He laid his plan out. “Let me know what you find out.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

  First, the FBI shows up asking about Pete Axtell. Then Jessie White Eagle shows up at his house to interrogate Jean. Then Frank White Eagle shows up at the casino asking about Pete Axtell. He knew they were all chasing their tails unless they started asking the right questions.

  He’d make sure they never got that far.

  Money carries with it a big stick, and he intended to use that stick to his advantage.

  Chapter 32

  Clearwater River, Idaho

  The black ribbon of Highway 12 snaked along the river’s northern edge as Frank drove past Kooskia a few miles. “See that area across the Clearwater?” he said, glancing over at Travis. The police chief drove with one hand and gestured with the other.

  Travis saw a historic landmark sign whiz past. “Yeah. Saw the sign.”

  “No, not the sign. I’m pointing to that area across the river.”

  Travis looked to the south and nodded.

  “That’s where Looking Glass’ village sat over a hundred years ago.”

  Travis surveyed the land beyond the river, a tangle of brush, trees and rising mountains. His thoughts were focused on Dizzy and what the casino security officer might reveal. He wasn’t up for a history lesson, but he knew Frank had other plans.

  “Our people called him Allalimya Takanin. White men named his father Looking Glass for a mirror the chief carried around with him. Allalimya took that name as his own when his father died. Looking Glass’ people respected him for his leadership as a warrior and buffalo hunter.”

  “So what happened to the village?”

  “Most of it was destroyed,” Frank said, looking ahead. “Another example of the cavalry shooting themselves in the foot. Before the war of 1877 broke out, Looking Glass urged other chiefs not to take up arms against the white man. Some listened. Other didn’t. And war broke out.”

  “So Looking Glass joined them?”

  “Not at first. He and his people tried to sit it out. To stay away from the conflict, but white men wouldn’t leave them alone. Their village stood in that area we just passed, near Clear Creek. Some cavalry and citizen volunteers showed up one day just after hostilities broke out. One thing led to another and they opened up on the Looking Glass’ camp — men, women and children. Chaos broke out. Looking Glass and his people fled to the mountains to hide. Several Nez Perce members were killed, including a woman and her child. They drowned in the Clearwater trying to get away. Most fled into the mountains and the white men — angry the Indians escaped — stole more than seven hundred horses. That one stupid act forced Looking Glass into the war.”

  He waited a moment for Frank to continue. The man remained quiet, gazing across the river once again. “Interesting,” Travis said, not sure what to say.

  Frank grimaced at him. “You’re missing my point.”

  “I got it. Men make stupid mistakes?”

  “I
t’s more than that,” Frank said, frowning. “One must not let emotions motivate them to take action. Fear, anger, hatred, vengeance — all these feelings lead to tragic mistakes.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “Learn from this. That we must be diligent in our investigation not to allow our feelings to get in the way. I must deal with the fact my son is dead. Murdered. I must learn to put these feelings behind me and try to move ahead with objectivity. Otherwise, like the cavalry, I’ll make unnecessary enemies.”

  Travis shrugged, glancing at the river below.

  “What about you, Travis?”

  “What about me?”

  “Something in your past seems to be troubling you. Will it jeopardize what we have to do here?”

  “Look. I don’t have the emotional baggage you’re bringing to this case, Frank. My son wasn’t killed.”

  He saw Frank wince. “Look, I’m sorry —”

  “— forget it.” Frank said. The police chief looked ahead for a moment. “I have to say this. I don’t think you’re being honest … with yourself.”

  “You don’t know anything about me, Frank. Just leave it alone, okay?”

  Frank shrugged, returning his attention to driving.

  They traveled in silence until they came to where the three rivers merged. Frank slowed down as the highway began to parallel the Lochsa River.

  Travis saw Frank searching the river’s edge as he drove. “Is Dizzy his real name?”

  Frank smiled. “Nah. His given name is Ted Nimmons. But he’s always played around with the trumpet. We just started calling him Dizzy — you know, for Dizzy Gillespie, the jazz player — and the name just stuck.”

  “So tell me again why you think Dizzy might be on the river and not spending time with his wife?”

  “It’s trout season. Dizzy would no more spend time with his wife right now than he’d volunteer to have a root canal.”

  “So when the security guard said Dizzy took time off to be with his wife, you just naturally knew he was fishing?”

  “Exactly. This time of year, he might as well be married to the river. He lives for it all year — this and steelhead in the fall.”

  “Must be a great marriage.”

  Frank laughed. “Actually, Dizzy loves his wife. And his wife knows he loves fishing. She even comes out with him from time to time. Ah! There he is.”

  Travis saw a man thigh-deep in water, flicking his line across the water. Frank pulled off the road and grabbed a file from the dash. “Let’s see if this drive was worth the time.”

  They clambered down the bank toward the river, Travis two steps behind the older man. As they got close, Frank cupped his hands. “Dizzy, come here and take a load off?”

  Dizzy looked up at them with a scowl. “Man, it’s my day off, Frank. See me at the office.” He sounded like James Earl Jones’ twin, his voice deep and resounding.

  “Come on, this is important.”

  Travis watched as the man cast a wistful look across the water before wading ashore. The waders fit him like a male swimmer in a gigantic Speedo swim suit. Nothing underneath was left to the imagination. Dizzy looked like he’d never passed on a meal.

  Frank waited for Dizzy to step on dry land. “It’s about Tommy. If it wasn’t important, I’d never have bothered you here.”

  Dizzy face relaxed a little.

  “This here’s Travis Mays.” Frank said, jabbing a thumb in his direction. “He’s helping out on this case.” Frank did not offer any further information. Dizzy did not seem to need more.

  The fisherman lowered his rod and reel, carefully setting them on the ground. “You dropped by the casino?”

  “Yep. Just came from there.”

  Dizzy laughed. “What are you gonna do? I had to go fishing, so I told a little white lie.”

  Frank slapped him on the shoulder. “Your secret’s safe with us, pal.”

  Travis watched Dizzy reach for a cooler he’d left on shore. The man reached inside and withdrew a diet soda, popped the tab and took a long drink. He sat down on a flat-topped boulder. “What you got that’s so important?”

  “It’s about Tommy’s murder and Pete Axtell’s disappearance.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry about Tommy, man. He was a good kid. How can I help?”

  Frank withdrew the six-pack of photos. “I want you to take a look at these guys and tell me if you recognize anyone.”

  He handed the file to Dizzy. The man squinted and thrust a finger at one photograph. “Bingo. I know this guy.”

  Travis peered over Dizzy’s shoulder and saw him pointing at Shane Foster’s photo.

  The security guard handed the file back to Frank. “I remember this guy. We got a security alert on him several months ago, and I saw him floating around the casino recently. Name’s Shane Foster.”

  “He was at the Whitewater?”

  “You got that right. Told Robinette about this guy. He said to keep my eye on him.”

  Frank took the file back. “Robinette knew about him?”

  “You bet. I thought it was strange he didn’t want us to run this guy off. I mean, that alert went to all the casinos as someone to keep away from the games.”

  After withdrawing a pen, Frank handed the photo file back to Dizzy. “I need you to date and sign below the photo.”

  Dizzy started to comply and then stopped. “This going to get me in trouble, Frank?”

  “I’ll keep your name out of it, Dizzy. If it goes any further, I’ll let you know.”

  “That look of yours spells trouble.” Dizzy studied Frank’s face for a moment then returned his attention to the file. “Okay, here’s my John Henry.” He dated and signed beneath the photo, handing it back to Frank. “Any word on Axtell?”

  Frank quickly glanced at Travis, then back at Dizzy. “To be honest, I think he might be dead.” He gave a quick sketch of their trip to San Diego and the arson fire. “We’re waiting for confirmation. Keep that under your hat, okay?”

  Dizzy’s eyes narrowed. “Man, this sounds serious. First Tommy, and then Pete.” He turned to face the river for a moment. “You know, before Pete left I heard rumors that he was running with a shady crowd and throwing a few bucks around. I knew he and Tommy were close. So you think there’s a connection between what happened to Tommy and Axtell?”

  A crow’s harsh cry above caused all three men to glance up. The bird, perched on a branch, gawking at them with piercing black eyes. It squawked at them once more as if scolding the men for trespassing.

  Frank glanced back at Dizzy. “Don’t know yet. We got a long way to go. Thanks for your help.”

  Dizzy reached down and picked up his rod and reel. “Any time, Frank. And I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. I’ll let you know what I pick up.” He rose and started toward the water. “Now, get out of here. I need some quality time with the river.” He waded out into the water and began working downstream.

  Clutching the file, Frank began to climb the rocks. “Come on, Travis. Let’s see what else we can find out, now that we know Robinette is a liar.”

  Chapter 33

  Santa Rosa, California

  Timothy Heard laced his running shoes, then stretched his calf muscles while pushing against an unyielding pine tree. For the next hour he’d put away his police uniform — complete with brand new lieutenant’s bars — and the stress that went with the job. Time to shed a few pounds.

  Two women, gasping for breath and drenched from their run, trudged down the path that led to the edge of the roadway. He smiled as they passed, retracing the same steps taken by the women into the woods. A midday sun showered down warmth from a cloudless blue sky. A coastal breeze gently nudged tall grasses on either side of the pathway.

  He began a slow gait, until coming to a larger fire trail into the mountains. Once there, he picked up speed. Even out here, he could not keep his mind off the job. After his stint as a sergeant in special investigations, he’d been promoted and sent back to patrol as one of the watch
commanders. These changes in duty challenged him, and he missed the adrenaline from supervising task force operations. His investigative unit had been attached to the U.S. Attorney’s Strike Force office in San Francisco, hunting down major drug traffickers and other organized criminals who dared settle in northern California. Now, he sat through budget meetings, staff briefings, and citizen complaints.

  All this became boring except one frantic call that came into dispatch several days ago. A frantic call from a woman who just found her husband shot to death on their porch. Heard knew the murdered victim. Patrol officers found the body of Assistant United States Attorney Steve Kirkpatrick, gunned down in his home up on the top of Fountain Grove. The killing stunned Heard because he’d worked with the prosecutor on the case. The one that caused so much trouble.

  Once again, memories began to rob him of the joy of jogging. No matter how hard he pushed himself, his mind refused to forget that one hideous case he’d worked on with Kirkpatrick. In a matter of hours, they’d lost a valuable witness and a brilliant investigator.

  Michelle Scarsbourgh and Travis Mays.

  In his twenty-five years on the job, sending Michelle back in that night — over Travis’ strenuous objections — became the hardest choice of his career. It almost cost him everything. He’d survived — the subsequent investigation and Monday morning quarterbacking by the brass — and he’d gone on to make quite a reputation for himself thanks to Kirkpatrick’s quick thinking.

  One black mark on his otherwise spotless career.

  Kirkpatrick’s death unnerved Heard. He knew the AUSA prosecuted hundreds of bad guys, any one of whom might wish the man dead. Could the killer be one of the bad guys he and Kirkpatrick once locked behind bars?

  And Travis? The man just slipped from sight. Angrily, Travis turned his badge over to Heard and strode out of the department. The latest words from the officers was that Travis might be somewhere in Washington or Idaho. Heard never followed up on these rumors. Maybe he just didn’t want to know where Travis wound up. Better to forget and move on.

  Still, it was a shame. Travis was a natural. Good instincts. Able to crawl into the minds of the targets he hunted. One of the best detectives to ever serve in the unit.