John Miller - Smoke and Mirrors

“He only likes my luck,” she said. “Who was the VIP in the limo?”

“That was Klein, the owner,” Winter said.

Alexa asked, “Mulvane was the carrottop fancy pants with fat Albert?”

“By the way, Winter changed your plan,” Brad told her.

“I’m not surprised,” she said. “I wasn’t in love with it.”

Back at the sheriff’s office, Alexa went on the Internet to research the Klein family and its businesses.

“Kurt Klein is the head of a family-owned industrial manufacturing conglomerate with roots that go back two hundred years,” Alexa said. “RRI is a very small piece of their holdings. Most of the RRI properties are large self-contained resorts located in Europe, the Caribbean, Las Vegas, and around the world. The Klein corporation isn’t publicly traded so there are no published financial figures. Maybe Klein isn’t aware of what is going on. If we assume he knows about the land and the murder, why would he be here before it was resolved?”

“If he isn’t aware, it could give us some leverage. Sometimes people are insulated, and they just say they want something to happen and other people make sure it does,” Winter said.

Alexa said, “And sometimes men with a great deal of money and influence aren’t what they seem, but what they choose to project. We just don’t know enough about Klein. I suspect the CIA would have a better idea about him than the FBI. I doubt Klein’s family businesses could have survived World War Two without some unpleasant alliances.”

“You think Leigh is in any danger now that you told Mulvane we were aware of the implied threat? He’d be crazy to let anything happen to her, right?”

Winter shrugged. “You’d think so.”

“I can have more of my people cover her,” Brad said.

“I can stay with her. Nobody knows me,” Alexa said. “I could just be a friend of hers visiting for support during a difficult time.”

“A larger official presence couldn’t hurt,” Winter told Brad.

Raymond Gee had bought the three-bedroom house as an investment, and he made his son, Alan, work on it like a slave all that summer, only paying him twenty bucks a day for ten hours or more of hard labor. All that was left was to sand and paint the Sheetrock, which would take another couple of weeks. The central heating was hooked up, as was the plumbing. Raymond Gee owned seven rental houses and was always telling his son that by the time he retired, the houses would be paid for and the rent checks they generated, after legitimate expenses, would pay him more than he made as a salesman at Gates Tires in Batesville.

Since Alan had a key, he and his best friend, Buddy Graham, had been hanging out in the house’s basement. They would smoke cigarettes, drink a beer or two, and party with Amy Buckley when she could sneak out and come there with them. While she was only fourteen to their sixteen, she was built like an eighteen-year-old, and she loved to get high. In exchange for a few hits on a pipe and their sworn promises not to ever tell anybody, she would take off her shirt and let the boys look at her breasts as long as they didn’t touch them. She enjoyed watching them masturbate to the sight of her boobs. Although this had only happened twice in two months, they were getting worried. The house would soon be ready to rent and, once it was, they’d be without a clubhouse for their tit-peeking jerk-off sessions.

The boys knew that the neighbors were accustomed to Alan working inside the house, and since he parked his Ford Fiesta there all the time, they paid no particular attention to when the young boy’s car arrived or left the property. They were smart enough not to let other kids hang out or party in the house, as it would certainly have resulted in Raymond finding out and putting an end to the clubhouse, not to mention Amy’s intoxicating generosity.

When Alan put his key into the lock and turned it, there was no resistance.

“Damn, it isn’t locked,” Alan said, locking and unlocking the dead bolt twice, testing it. “If I forgot, and any tools got ripped off, my dad’s going to freak out.”

“Maybe your dad was here and he didn’t lock it. Sounds like there’s water running,” Buddy said. “Is the shower on?”

“Maybe a pipe busted,” Alan said. “Shit!” Alan rushed to the bathroom door. “My dad’s gonna freak out.”

When Alan opened the door and saw what was in the bathtub, he screamed, slammed the door, and ran from the house, Buddy hot on his heels.

After picking up her bag from Brad’s house, Alexa trailed Brad’s truck out to the Gardner plantation. They passed a cruiser parked on the road going in. As they were pulling up, Jacob darted from the house and stopped beside his car, fumbling with the keys. He froze when Brad and Winter climbed from the truck and Alexa got out of her car.

“Come inside,” Brad told him. “We need to talk.”

“I have to go pick up Cynthia at my mother’s house in Memphis,” Jacob said, his hands visibly shaking. “So she can make the funeral. So the harassment will have to wait a couple of hours.” One side of his shirttail was out and his eyes looked feverish.

“When did you last talk to your daughter?” Alexa asked.

“Lady, if it’s any of your business, just a few minutes ago,” he snapped.

“Now is the only other time you are going to get,” Brad said. “You leave here now and you’re on your own.”

“What are you talking about?” Jacob asked him.

“This is Alexa Keen with the FBI,” Brad said, indicating Alexa. “She may be the only thing standing between you and Mulvane.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jacob said.

“Your call,” Alexa said. “But you should know that Mulvane knows that Leigh told us everything. I expect that puts you in a bad place.”

“Mulvane never said that he was involved in anything like that. I never told Leigh that. And, anyway, if that is true, you think you can protect me from him? Like it’s just him we’re talking about. None of you know what you’re messing with. There is a billion dollars in play here.”

“Be that as it may, we’re the only shot you have, Mr. Gardner,” Alexa told him.

“So am I under arrest?” Jacob asked.

“No,” Alexa said.

Brad added, “But you know he killed Sherry for a lot less, and how good his hired killer is. He knows you’re a threat.”

Jacob took off his coat and threw it into the car. He looked at each of them, seemed to weigh a thought-it was easy to imagine what it was-then jumped into his Cadillac and roared off down the driveway. When it turned onto the farm road, the heavy car fishtailed, squealing the tires.

“He’ll be back,” Alexa said.

“I don’t know,” Brad said. “He isn’t exactly known for intelligent moves.”

“We need him,” Winter said, flatly.

As they were heading to the porch, Hamp ran out of the house, his face bright red.

“What’s the matter, Hamp?” Brad asked, grabbing him.

“Daddy!” Hamp yelled, stamping his foot. “He hit Mama!”

Brad left Hamp and ran into the house. Leigh was in the den seated on the raised stone hearth. She was trembling. There was a red spot below her left eye, and she had a split lip. Estelle came in and handed Leigh a plastic bag filled with ice to hold against her cheek.

“Damn his hide,” Brad snarled, his arm around Leigh’s shoulders. “What happened?”

Leigh turned her eyes to Hamp. “I’m fine,” she replied.

“I heard him hit her from the kitchen,” Estelle volunteered.

“Estelle, take Hampton to the kitchen,” Leigh said firmly.

“Arrest him, Brad,” Hamp hissed. “Lock that asshole up.”