reduced to tufts forming a border around the skin that remained.
“Somebody shot her, Alphonse. Maybe somebody that can shoot from as far away as you say you can. Where were you this morning between six and seven?”
“What?!” Alphonse looked down at the picture, lowered his head, and vomited into his lap.
Brad put the picture back into the folder and rolled his eyes at Winter.
Winter shook his head slowly.
“I ain’t do that!” Alphonse managed to yell, flecks of bile on his chin. “Lord is my witness, it wasn’t me did it. I was sleepin’ in my car up by Bugger’s place. I ain’t never capped nobody. I wouldn’t shoot that girl! I liked her.”
“I know, Alphonse,” Brad said, standing. “You wouldn’t know which end of a gun the bullet comes out of. Get out of my building before I lock you up for littering.”
Back in the office, Winter said, “Tell me about Leigh Gardner.”
“Leigh’s family’s been in the cotton-farming business here since the county was cleared from cypress swamps. Her grandfather and her father grew their land holdings into the three thousand acres you saw, probably another three in woodland, and some other scattered acreage she leases to other planters. Leigh is strictly a cotton and soybean farmer. She learned from her father, studied agriculture at Mississippi State and she knows her business. Her old man was a tough-as-nails businessman and an old-school planter. She runs the place the same way.”
“Husband?”
“Divorced. She married a jerk named Jacob Gardner whose law practice consisted of spending her money. She kicked him out five years ago. He went over to Oxford and set up a private practice, and got in trouble year after that for misappropriating his clients’ funds. Leigh paid back the stolen money to keep him out of jail for the kids’ sakes. He was disbarred anyway. He comes around periodically when he needs something and I’ve heard Leigh gives him an allowance so he doesn’t starve. He used to be able to charm the pants off a nun. Now, not so much.”
“I think you should investigate him,” Winter said.
“What for? The killer was a pro.”
“Doesn’t take a professional killer to hire one.”
“He wouldn’t have any reason to have Sherry killed.”
“Maybe Sherry wasn’t the target.”
“Who would be?” Brad asked.
“If anything happened to Leigh Gardner, who would benefit?” Winter asked.
“The kids. Leigh wouldn’t leave Jacob a ten-dollar bill.”
“Maybe not. But who do you suppose would be their guardian if Leigh Gardner was dead?”
Brad sat up. “The killer shot her babysitter. Leigh wasn’t even in the area. What are you thinking?”
“Maybe the killer didn’t know that.”
18
Alexa Keen opened her apartment door and had to put down her bag of groceries to answer the telephone. It was rare that her phone rang unless it was someone from the Bureau.
“Yes?” she said.
“Alexa?” a familiar voice asked.
“Sean,” Alexa said. “Hello.”
“How are you, Lex?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
The silence lasted too long. She put down her shoulder bag, made heavy by the Glock. “Sean, is everything all right?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Where are the kids?” she asked.
“In the next room. We’re at the Peabody. We’ve been trying to decide on places to visit, but it’s really cold and the kids are ready to go home.”
“Winter told me you were going back to North Carolina.”
“Then you’ve talked to him today?”
“He told me about Faith Ann’s deer. I guess she’s excited.”
“And did he mention the other thing?”
“What other thing?”
“The toothpick.”
“Yes, he told me about it,” Alexa said.
“The DNA results are on their way to the lab for a comparison. If it’s Styer’s, I’m not sure Winter is up to dealing with him. Lex, he’ll kill Winter without thinking.”
“Styer?” Alexa heard her voice crack. “Paulus Styer?”
“He didn’t tell you he’s comparing the DNA to the sample he has for Styer?”
“He left that part out,” Alexa said, apprehension and dread mushrooming inside her. Paulus Styer was one frightening son of a bitch, and she’d thought he was gone for good.
“Because he knew you’d go ballistic on him.”
“I’m sorry to pour this out on you. It’s just that there’s nobody else Winter will listen to. If I told Hank Trammel, you couldn’t stop the old buzzard from going there with a tank. And he can barely walk.”
“Sean, I’m gonna go down,” Alexa said suddenly. “I have some time off coming to me, and if Styer is involved, I want to be there.”
“That isn’t why I called. I just wanted to talk to somebody who knows Winter and understands the situation. I shouldn’t have called you. You don’t need to go there.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course you should have called me. I love that old dog too.”
“I know you do.” Sean’s voice sounded uncharacteristically faint.
“I’m not in the middle of anything at the moment, except writing a procedural manual nobody is going to read. I’ll just go down there for a couple of days and watch his back. I won’t tell him I know Styer may be involved. He can tell me that when I get there.”
“I should argue with you, but I won’t. Be careful. He’ll kill you, too.”
“No, Sean, he won’t.”
After some small talk, Alexa hung up. She dialed her travel agent’s number from memory and made a reservation for the next flight to Memphis.
19
Twenty-nine-year-old Jack Beals, a security officer for the Roundtable, had tailed the kid in the yellow V-neck sweater straight to the Gold Key Motel, a few miles from the casino. The gambler’s name was David Scotoni, a single twenty-three-year-old resident of Reno, Nevada, whose ID checked out as legit. Turned out that the reason a man who lived in a town filled with casinos would fly across the country to gamble was predictable-he was known in Reno as a card counter.
Counting cards wasn’t illegal, but it gave the player an unfair advantage and was grounds for a casino to invite you to leave and put your mug in the black book system shared by casinos across the country. Scotoni had cashed out his chips to the tune of thirty-five thousand. That was about to be collected and returned to the casino.
