“Of a person winning a jackpot? I don’t know, a million to one?”
“Try seventeen million to one. The same as a person getting struck by lightning
Valentine found himself nodding. If he was going to police the games, he needed to understand how they worked, no different than working vice or narcotics.
“Got it.”
“Mind if I ask you a question? You got fixated on something on the surveillance tape I showed you earlier. What was it?”
“I saw a john picking up a hooker inside the casino,” Valentine said.
“Is that unusual?”
“He hid something from her. Something about his body language didn’t feel right. We’ve had three women killed on the island in the past month, and every cop is on the lookout. I’ve always had this ability to dissect a crowd, and pick out the scum bag.”
“Grift sense.”
“Is that what it’s called?”
Higgins nodded. “It’s an old hustler’s expression. You have the ability to pick out what’s wrong in a situation. It should help you police Resorts’ casino.”
Valentine wasn’t so sure. He’d been on the job for a week, and hadn’t nabbed a single thief. “Would you mind if I called you if I had any questions?”
“Not at all.” Higgins took out a business card, and wrote a number on the back. “That’s my home number. Call me anytime. Good luck.”
His rental had come up. They shook hands, and Higgins got into his car, and drove out of the crowded valet area. Valentine took out his wallet and stuck the card into the billfold. Something told him be talking to Higgins often, and he didn’t want to lose the gaming agent’s number.
Chapter 6
Lying in bed that night, Valentine used a deck of playing cards to show Lois some of the cheating techniques Bill Higgins had tipped that afternoon. They were like magic tricks, and his wife lay beside him, mesmerized. She wore no clothes, and his heart did the funny thing it always did when she was naked.
He didn’t think there was a more beautiful woman in Atlantic City. Her skin was as fine as porcelain, her soft green eyes as enchanting as emeralds. As a teenager, she’d won every beauty pageant she’d entered — Miss Ventnor, Miss Steel Pier, Miss Mermaid, Miss Atlantic County — while being pursued by every hot-blooded guy on the island. They’d met over a Bunsen burner in an eleventh-grade biology class, and he’d never gotten over the fact that she’d chosen to spend her life with him.
“You learned all that in one day,” she said.
He nodded and put the cards away. He could tell Lois liked his new job. He was learning things, and he wasn’t getting shot at. And, he was home at night at a decent hour. Like every other woman in Atlantic City, the recent killings had put a healthy dose of fear into her. He turned off the light and they lay in the dark, sharing the silence.
“Are the police any closer to catching this killer?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know. I don’t hear about that stuff anymore. The casino is its own little world.”
“You sound resentful.”
“I think I could catch this guy, if Banko would give me a chance.”
“Did you ask him?”
“About a dozen times. He keeps telling me no.”
“Do they have any leads?”
His wife knew him too well. Valentine had talked to the lead investigator on the case and asked the same question. So far, the police had hit a stone wall.
“Not yet. They think someone local is responsible.”
“Why do they think that? Couldn’t a tourist be behind it?”
“Tourists stay around the casino. The killings are taking place around the island. The fact that there haven’t been any witnesses means the killer is probably someone we all know. We’re seeing him, but we’re not making the connection.”
“Oh.”
They fell silent and watched a gibbous moon cut a sphere through the window. Valentine started to drift off when a noise snapped him awake. The music coming out of their son’s bedroom had gone up several decibels, and he got out of bed to investigate.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
He tapped lightly on his son’s bedroom door, then entered. The lights were on, and Gerry lay in bed with a copy of The Catcher in the Rye propped on his chest. The room’s walls were covered in posters of rock bands, and his son’s clothes were scattered across the floor along with the other items that made up a thirteen year old’s world.
“You having a Beatles’s reunion in here?”
“It’s the Bee Gees, Pop.”
