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.
77
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.
Dr. Barnett nodded. “Stuck in his right eye. I left it there. You want to look in there, Winter?”
“No.”
A thin man dressed in a blue uniform came out of a bedroom, snapping his cell phone closed.
“Bradley,” he said, grimacing. “You see the shit in there?”
“Nope,” Brad said. “No reason unless you want me to.”
“Yeah. Well, I’m wondering if the bastard that did this might be the same asshole that killed Jack Beals. Or the dead guy might be the one who killed Beals and somebody’s paid him back. I’m wondering if that fellow who was in that motel room might know who did it. Hell, maybe he did it. Was both knife work, wasn’t it?”
“Cut throat. He’s gone back home to Nevada. A couple hours ago one of my guys put him on a plane. He’s been under surveillance by my people since we found Beals,” Brad said. “He didn’t see who killed Beals. He didn’t do it.”
“Doc, could this have been done before Beals died? Maybe Beals did this one too?”
“No,” Dr. Barnett said. “This one was killed a few hours ago.”
“I’m wondering if all these murders are part of some kind of organized crime war that’s spilled out down here. I’m calling in the MBI to deal with this. I sure as hell don’t have this kind of shit going on around here very often, so I need some help.”
“I think that’s a smart move,” Brad said.
“The dead guy have identification?” Winter asked.
“A wallet. I bagged it,” Boddington said, studying Winter for the first time.
“Massey,” Winter said.
“He’s my newest deputy,” Brad told the chief.
Boddington nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“Once you run the ID, maybe you’ll get a hit and some answers,” Winter said.
“Call me if I can help,” Brad said.
As they were getting into Brad’s truck, he asked, “Styer does this kind of shit all the time? Goes from one gruesome murder to the next like a wild dog?”
