John Miller - Smoke and Mirrors

“Your man Pablo, the one who was to help with the land acquisition, made a snafu,” Pierce said.

“What sort of snafu?”

“It appears he killed the wrong person. The local authorities have gotten involved and now they suspect the murder is connected to the land acquisition. The sheriff and a deputy are investigating. The deputy is new, and evidently has been involved with several violent situations. He has killed several people. His name is Winter Massey.”

“Finch!” Kurt yelled, keeping his eyes fixed on Pierce.

Pierce jumped involuntarily at the sudden bark, spilling the Gardner files onto the carpet, but not daring to pick them back up.

“Finch!”

Finch moved into the room, gun in hand, with amazing speed. He stopped behind Pierce like a malevolent shadow. Pierce could see Finch in the mirror across the room, and that the gun was being aimed at the back of his head.

“Sir?” Finch said.

“You swept these rooms?”

“Yes.”

“This idiot has taken a very simple assignment and turned it into toxic waste.” Klein’s ability to mask his fury was slipping. He grabbed a heavy ashtray from the coffee table and for a second, Pierce was sure he was going to throw it at him. Instead he put it down again, took out a cigarette case and a gold Dunhill lighter from the pocket of his robe, and lit a cigarette.

“Sir,” Pierce said. “I didn’t have any part in the mistake. I’m sure-”

“Shut up!” Kurt snapped. “Why is this Winter Massey person here? Steffan, do you have any idea who he is talking about?”

“I’ve never met him, but I know him by his reputation. He was a United States marshal. From the little I do know about him, he is a formidable individual. He’s killed some very capable people.”

Pierce nodded and looked at his hands, which were tightly gripping his knees. “He’s retired. I don’t have any idea how he ended up in this, but he is here and he is involved.”

Kurt said, “We may have some repairs to make. I will talk to Pablo and see how he explains the snafu. Then, together, we will all figure out the best path to take. Have you spoken with him?”

“No,” Pierce said. “I’ve never met him. As instructed, I gave him someone local who could be trusted, to assist him as requested, but I am pretty sure he killed him. Jack Beals, the man Albert assigned to work with him, was the only one who ever met him.”

“Maybe this Massey killed your Beals?” Kurt relaxed, sat back against the back of the sofa, and took a long drag from the cigarette before expelling a cloud of thin white smoke.

“This will all work out,” Pierce said.

“I hope so,” Kurt said. “Steffan, you will handle it. Use that man…Tug, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Tug Murphy.”

“Where did you get this Murphy?”

“He came to me highly recommended by friends of mine in Boston. He can be absolutely trusted.”

Finch nodded. “I checked him out. He has a solid background with the Irish mob. Follows orders and knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

“What does Albert White know?”

“A little. I asked him for someone we could trust totally for a special job, and he recommended Beals immediately. He said he had used him for delicate matters in the past. Beals was an ex-deputy sheriff. Local, but he had a history with White. Beals’s father was a contractor for the Dixie mob.”

“What does White know about our prior discussions?” Kurt asked.

“As far as he knows, I am acting alone, doing what I think needs to be done for the project,” Pierce said.

“Where do you stand at this moment with Mrs. Gardner?”

Pierce said, “I have a two-and-a-half-million-dollar offer before her. I am hoping she accepts it. That would make the other thing unnecessary and expedite groundbreaking. The sheriff and Massey are snooping around, and Massey threatened me, but there is no proof of anything they can use against us. They won’t keep her from selling. In fact, it would be best to openly buy from her since they are nosing around.”

“I agree,” Kurt said, inhaling smoke from his cigarette. “We negotiate. But if we don’t succeed in negotiating by Sunday, we go with the relatives. If we get behind schedule on the project, it will cost me hundreds of thousands of dollars a day. You should remember that you talked me into this investment. You made me assurances on start and completion dates, and I have based everything on your timetable.”

“Which was given to me by the construction companies, based on other things.”

“I don’t care about their dates or contingencies or problems. You gave me dates. You made the decision on how to handle the Gardner situation, and I said okay, do it. I am in this here and now because of you. If we succeed, you will be running the finest resort in this country. On the other hand, people who fail me, do so only once.”

Mulvane wanted to scream. He looked at his image in the mirror and saw that he was smiling like an idiot. How it was that a man so close to ruin could be smiling was something he couldn’t fathom. But try as he might, he couldn’t change his expression.

Winter had just hung up his phone when Brad came into the Gardners’ kitchen. “We’ve got a body.”

Winter jumped into the car as Brad was starting the engine. He reversed fast, spun the wheel, jammed the vehicle into drive, and punched down on the accelerator. “I think it may be the missing cutout. Chief of police called me a few minutes ago from the scene. Couple of kids found a dead man in a house being renovated near my place.”

Winter said, “The more pandemonium Styer creates, the better it suits him.”

The house was three blocks from Brad’s home, which would have made bringing the cutout to it a simple matter for Styer. Police cars, a sheriff’s department cruiser and an EMS bus were parked outside, and the neighboring properties held a growing audience of townspeople.

Two teenage boys sat on the front steps with William Barnett’s friend Woody Seiders. One of them, a redhead, looked at Winter and Brad with unfocused blue eyes. His thin trembling fingers clenched around his knees like roots.

“Hello,” Woody said. “Your father’s inside playing coroner.”

“Alan?” Brad said. “Are you all right, son?”

The redhead tried to smile.

“Sheriff Barnett. It’s really horrible,” the dark-haired boy said. “There’s a dead guy in the bathtub.”

“You found him, Buddy?” Brad asked.

“I didn’t look in,” Buddy said. “Alan opened the bathroom door, started screaming, and we both ran like hell. He said the guy was all cut up. I’m glad I didn’t look.”

“Whose house is this?” Brad asked.

“My dad’s,” Alan said softly. “We’re fixing it up to rent.”

Brad patted the boy’s back sympathetically, then led Winter through the front door into a room crowded with uniformed cops, Roy Bishop, and several EMS personnel. Winter smiled when he saw Dr. Barnett come into the living room from down the hallway. “Hey, Bradley, Deputy Massey,” he said.

“Daddy, what are you doing here?”

“I’m filling in because Phil had to take a body to Jackson.”

“Where’s Chief Boddington?”

“He’s back there making calls. You should see this.” He crooked his finger and Winter and Brad followed him to the closed door.

Speaking in a low voice, Dr. Barnett said, “Before you go in there, I want to tell you I haven’t seen anything like this since medical school. Brad, the man in that bathroom suffered. Someone skinned him alive, and used bleach as he went. He finally died from blood loss when the killer cut his femoral artery.”

“Any red toothpicks?” Winter asked, knowing there would be.