John Miller - Smoke and Mirrors

“Was Styer following Leigh or Beals? Is that how he spotted Leigh? Maybe the killer, your Styer maybe, got the tag number on the Gardners’ truck or something and that was why he targeted them. Jesus, what the hell is this about?” Brad said, shaking his head as if to clear it.

“It was definitely a leer from Styer,” Winter said. “Only he knows what this is all about. He’s screwing with my head. But he’s also giving us something to work with.”

“Knowing it would confuse you? Us?”

“It’s just part of the game,” Winter said, sighing.

“Which part?” Brad asked.

“His favorite part. The smoke and mirrors.”

After viewing enough of the other DVDs to make sure they were worthless to their immediate investigation, Brad had returned to his office to count the cash they’d found in Beals’s safe.

They hadn’t found anything in Beals’s house to explain the money in his wall safe. His computer, located in a drawer in the bedroom, contained nothing out of the ordinary. There were no password-protected files. They had his financial information and bank records, and copies of his IRS filings for the past five years. The computer tech said that Beals visited sites for dating, several for gun lovers and shooting aficionados, several militia groups in the western United States, and hard-core bondage pornography.

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.”