The Freeport Robbery Page 9

  “And you’re sure Philips’s locker is full of evidence?”

  “Why else would he go to so much trouble to hide it?”

  She set her coffee cup on a room service tray. “I hope you’re right. I’ve got to take care of some business. You look like death. Why don’t you get cleaned up, take a nap? I’ll be back later. Don’t go out. Philips’s guys are probably already looking for you.”

  Ron and Nicole took up positions in the lobby of the Great Circle Hotel where they could watch the elevators, front desk, hallways to the casino, and the entertainment venues. Ron sat in a furniture grouping near the elevators with a newspaper and a paper cup of coffee, giving the appearance of a non-gambling hotel guest who was perhaps waiting for his wife to finish her spa treatment. Nicole sat across the lobby near the entrance to a bar, her smartphone in her hand, acting as if she were playing a game or writing a long text to someone back home. They sat most of the afternoon before they saw Denison come out of the elevators. Instead of a suit, he was wearing jeans, a black golf shirt, and a white linen sports coat, but it was definitely him. On his left hand was a wedding band, and on his right hand was a large topaz ring. He walked hurriedly out the main doors. Ron folded his newspaper and set it on the side table, dropped his coffee cup into a trash can, and followed.

  Denison was on the sidewalk on the right side of the circle drive. Ron got out his phone, took a picture of the Indian on horseback sculpture, walked around on the right side of the drive, took another picture, and then joined the group of Chinese tourists out at the front of the drive for one last picture. In the meantime, Nicole had come out, slipped on a pair of movie-star sunglasses, put her phone to her ear as if she were taking a call, and started down the sidewalk after Denison. Denison was now about a half block ahead of her and a block ahead of Ron.

  The day was hot and bright, and the low, brown mountains shimmered like an illusion in the distance. Faint noises from the airport and the waterpark carried on the breeze. Denison had his head down, as if he were on a city street somewhere with something important on his mind. Two Native American women in nurses’ uniforms passed him on their way toward the business district. Without looking up, he turned up the sidewalk to the Nohamay Alternative Medicine Hospital, climbed the steps, and disappeared through the front door.

  Nicole motioned with her hand as if she were hailing a cab, and then started after him. Ron ran to catch up. He was on the sidewalk coming up to the steps as she went through the front doors with her sunglasses in her hand. A moment later, Ron was standing beside her. “Where did he go?”

  “I think he was in the left elevator, so he got off on the second floor.”

  Ron looked at the department listing. “Second floor is the Alternative Therapy Hospice Center. What’s Denison’s wife’s name?”

  Nicole Googled him on her smartphone. “Stacey Wert-Denison.”

  Ron went up to the information counter. “Could you give me Stacey Wert-Denison’s room number?”

  “Wert-Denison? Room two thirty-six.”

  Ron walked Nicole to the door. “He can’t see you here. Go back to the hotel lobby and wait for him. I’ll snoop around here.”

  Ron didn’t want to end up in a face-to-face with Denison when the elevator doors opened, so he walked up to the second floor. He looked through the safety glass window in the fire door before walking out onto the second-floor lobby. Directly opposite the elevator was the nurses’ station. Three women were busy inputting information onto screens. A sign indicated that room 236 was to the right. Ron moved steadily down the brightly painted hall, as if he knew exactly where he was going. When he came to room 236, he looked through the window in the door. Denison was sitting in a chair by the bed, but Ron couldn’t see the person in the bed from his vantage point. He continued down the hall to the stairwell at the end and went back down to the first floor. He found an open chair in the lobby near the information counter, grabbed up an old copy of Family Handyman and sat down.

  Two hours later, Denison came out of the elevator wiping his nose on his handkerchief. He went out the door with the same distracted look on his face that he had when he came in. Ron tossed down the magazine, took the elevator up to the second floor, and walked straight down to Stacey Wert-Denison’s room. He pulled her chart from the wall rack by the door. He flipped through the pages. She had end-stage pancreatic cancer. She was on a treatment plan of herbs and medicines he’d never heard of, but it seemed as if nothing was helping. Ron slid the chart back into the rack and started for the stairwell at the end of the hall. He pulled out his phone.

  “Nicki?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s on his way. The wife is dying of cancer. This is the last gasp, magical thinking attempt to save her.”

  “This is a tough play.”

  “Yeah, it’s more girl next door than femme fatale.”

  “Okay. At least my outfit fits the part.”

  “It’s just like every other play. We use what we know. He’s depressed, already grieving; he’s a hands-on, fix-the-world kind of guy. He’s naturally looking for something to work on to ease his mind.”

  “I need to be his next project.”

  “Okay. What’s your role?”

  “Wronged woman. Floundering divorcee. Cheating husband left me. Don’t know how to get control of my life. I’m drawn to casinos even though I’m a recovering gambling addict.”

  “You’re the champ. He should be coming through the door any minute.”

  “Wish me luck.”

  Ron hurried out the front of the hospital, put on his sunglasses, and trotted down the front steps. He wanted to get back to the casino hotel in time to shadow Nicole when she made her play. Across the boulevard, engine noise broke the silence as an airplane rose up off the runway. Ron began jogging down the sidewalk. There were only a few people out—moms and dads with youngsters mainly. The adults without children were either in the casino or in their rooms, getting ready to go out for dinner. He slowed to a walk and caught his breath as he reached the circle drive to the casino hotel. He took off his sunglasses as he went through the lobby doors. Nicole was sitting in the same area as before, near the bar, her legs crossed, and her handbag in her lap. She touched her fingers to her lips, got up, and went down the hallway to the casino metal detectors. Ron looked around in the lobby for a few moments as if he were expecting to find someone, and then followed her.

  Nicole drifted back through the casino. About half the slot machines were empty and there were only two customers at the first bar. The first three blackjack tables weren’t even open yet, but Denison was standing at the fourth table. The blonde dealer, who seemed to be the bubbly, cheerleader type, wore a long-sleeved white blouse and fringed red vest. A pendant on a gold chain hung between her ample breasts. Nicole stepped up to Denison’s right side just as he won the hand. “I see you’ve played this game before.”

  He turned and looked at her as if he were trying to place her, gave up and looked back at the dealer. The dealer looked at Nicole expectantly. She shook her head and held up her hands so that the surveillance cameras could see. Denison looked back at her. “You’re not playing?”

  “I’m barred from playing here.”

  He nodded to the dealer. She dealt him a card face down, and then dealt one to herself. He lifted the edge of his card. Seven of hearts. “Strange place to be if you can’t play.”

  “You’re right. I should know better. I just can’t stay away.”

  The dealer dealt him a five of spades face up, and herself a ten of diamonds. He gave Nicole a searching glance before he turned back to his cards.

  “Hit me.”

  The dealer dealt him a four of diamonds. “I’ll stay.”

  The dealer nodded. She turned over a nine of clubs. “Nineteen.”

  Denison turned over his cards.

  “Sixteen,” the dealer said. She took his bet and his cards.

  A redheaded waitress sidled up to his left side. “Drink
, sir?”

  Denison looked at Nicole. “You allowed to drink?”

  She tilted her head and looked at him quizzically.

  “Just trying to understand your parameters.”

  “Rum and Diet Coke, please.”

  “And I’ll have a Jameson on the rocks.”

  The waitress disappeared. The dealer dealt. Denison looked at his card. “You here on vacation?”

  “Just casting about, I guess.”

  “What do you do? You work here in the city?”

  “I’m in between jobs, you know, trying to find my way, I guess. I’ve been living in Dallas.”

  “But you’re not from there. Your accent—”

  “No, I grew up in Iowa.”

  Their drinks came. “What about you?” she said.

  “I mainly live in Palo Alto.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m James Denison, by the way.”

  “Tracy Benet.” She shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “I probably seem a little nosey,” he said. “Neither of us are kids. You seem to be starting over.”

  “That easy to tell, huh?”

  Denison lost the hand and placed another bet.

  “Hope I’m not distracting you from your game.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not really paying that much attention. Just trying to relax.”

  “I thought paying attention to the game was how you relaxed.”

  “Different for different people, I guess.” The dealer gave him another card. He stayed. He won the hand and placed another bet. He took a drink. He looked at Nicole very carefully. “You’re not married.”

  She covered her left hand with her right. Her eyes teared up.

  “I’m sorry. Guess that’s a touchy subject.” He took another card. “The only reason I ask is I was wondering if you would have dinner with me.”

  “What about your wife?”

  “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m only talking about dinner and some friendly chitchat in an expensive restaurant. I’m paying. I’m just looking for the company of someone who doesn’t want anything from me. I thought maybe you were in a similar circumstance.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Well, when you put it that way.” She drank from her drink. “Yes, I could use that kind of company.”

  He lost that hand and pocketed his remaining chips. As they walked out of the casino, she tipped her head toward Ron. She was beginning to feel the confidence that meant success.

  Rickover woke up, yawned, and glanced at the alarm-clock radio. Eight p.m. He’d fallen asleep at five. He got out of bed, but he wasn’t ready to put on his dirty clothes, so he went to the closet and put on the hotel bathrobe that hung at one end of the row of Mosley’s pants suits. Then he went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth with her toothbrush. He wondered where she was. Philips’s men didn’t know her, and she’d pulled the Carters into the game. What did she need to do that she couldn’t do from here? Fortunately, he didn’t need her to keep his plan moving. He picked up the hotel phone and chose an outside line. “Mr. Philips? It’s Aaron. I’ve got your money.”

  “Where are you calling from? I’m not speaking to you anymore. Deal with my guys.”

  “I can’t deal with your guys. They kidnapped me and tried to shake me down. I want to pay you and get your handshake that we’re good.”

  Philips laughed. “And why should we be good? You tried to cheat me.”

  “Did I? That painting came out of a museum. We both know it. Why would I question the provenance of a painting hanging in a museum?” He walked over to the window and looked out on the desert. The moon sat just above the mountains, creating shadows along the near side. “The only thing I’m guilty of is trusting the judgment of the museum’s experts. I gave the painting to you. You had it examined. How do you know your expert is smarter than the museum’s? But did I bitch about it when you said you wanted your money back? No. I value our relationship.”

  “You’ve been dragging your feet.”

  “I’ve got your money now. I want to give it to you. I want the opportunity to do more work together.”

  “Stay put. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Philips hung up. Rickover turned from the window and set the phone in its cradle. This was the hard part. The waiting. All the pieces of the puzzle were in place. Grace would arrest Philips when he was taking Denison’s money. The chain of events would tie Philips to the casket in the vault at the freeport. It would be no stretch at all to get a warrant for Philips’s locker based on a conspiracy charge. A federal judge wouldn’t even blink. And the evidence in Philips’s locker would send him to prison. Rickover smiled to himself. The number of cases that would be solved or pled out based on the contents of Philips’s locker—this was a career-making, once-in-a-lifetime case.

  Rickover looked at his wrinkled clothes lying out on the unused bed. He wasn’t going to put them back on. When Grace came back, he’d call down to the front desk to replace the keycard Ron had taken and then send Grace to his room to get some clothes. He wanted to look rested and ready when Philips came to town.

  Nicole and James Denison lay intertwined under the covers in the king-size bed in the bedroom of his hotel suite. Their clothes lay scattered in a trail that led from the living room sofa to the bed. They still had their underwear on. Nicole was taking it easy, letting him think that he was in charge, acting with the submissiveness of a woman used to abuse. She held his head in her hands as she kissed him, pressing her body against his, and felt his erection against her leg. He had his arms around her, holding her as tightly as the last piece of flotsam from the wreckage of his life as his lips and tongue and every breath moved in rhythm with hers. She reached down and felt the edge of the waistband of his boxer shorts. He jerked away from her and sat up on the edge of the bed, panting, hunched over, covering his erection with his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t do this,” he said. “My wife has cancer. She’s being treated at the hospital here. What we’re doing—what I’m doing—is so wrong. I’m betraying her just when she needs me the most to be strong for her.”

  Nicole sat back on her heels behind him. The next few sentences were very important. “I know you’re not the kind of guy who cheats and lies,” she said slowly. “I know that’s not you. How long have you been married?”

  “Thirty-three years.”

  “I bet you two had some great times together. I bet most places you go, most of the things you do, remind you of her.”

  He started to cry.

  She continued. “And now everything is broken, and it’s all become too hard.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “When you go to see her, does she know you’re there?”

  He shook his head.

  She patted his back. “You’re doing everything you can for her. You’ve got to keep yourself strong if you’re going to continue to support her. You’ll be no use to her if you fall apart. You have to do whatever you need to stay strong so you’ll be ready to focus all your attention on her when she wakes up.”

  He turned his head toward her. “I can’t.”

  “Shush,” she whispered. “Lie down. Nothing is happening here. Lie down and let me hold you.”

  She pulled him gently back to the middle of the bed, kissed his forehead, and drew him down onto the bed. She wiped the tears from his face with the bed sheet. She put her arm around his shoulder, held his face against her breasts, and stroked his hair as if he were a small child.

  “Relax,” she said, “right now, in this minute, everything is okay. Leave the past in the past. Let tomorrow take care of tomorrow.” She could feel the tension going out of him. “Shush.” She smiled to herself. Denison didn’t stand a chance. There was no player in him at all. And he was so sweet. And good-looking. Fucking him couldn’t even be called work. But how was it that he was buying stolen art? That didn’t fit his profile at all. “Shush,” she said. His breathing became slow and even, but she kept whispering and stroking his hair.

/>   “So you’ve been in touch with Philips?” Mosley was leaning against the desk in her hotel room with her arms crossed in front of her. Rickover, still in the hotel robe, was sitting on the unmade bed with his back against the headboard. A new room-service tray, stacked with fresh dirty dishes, sat on the unused bed.

  “Yeah. I think I’ve got the hook in him.”

  “So when does he get here?”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  “So you still need to stay put.”

  “Speaking of which, can you go get me some clothes from my room?”

  “If nobody’s got it staked out, I’ll bring them when I come back tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I’ve got to keep my cover up until we bust Philips.”

  “I thought we’d have some R and R while we were waiting for him to get here.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed beside him, put her hand on his thigh, and kissed him. “There’ll be plenty of time to celebrate after the bust. You’re single now, so we don’t have to sneak around. It’s just that right now I’ve got a few too many balls in the air. Bringing agents into Nohamay City without the city administrator finding out is a logistical nightmare. I need to be on my game if I’m going to have my people in place at the right time. So we catch Philips first, and then we party.”

  “It’s just so boring here.”

  “I know it’s a drag. Watch the pay-per-view if you like. I’ll go get your new room key, and I’ll bring your clothes in the morning.”

  Mosley left the hotel and walked the five blocks back to Clare’s condo. The night sky seemed huge, much bigger than it did in the city. She shook her head to let the cool night breeze run through her hair. Aaron sounded as if he actually believed that Philips was going to fly into the city. His confidence was delusional. The best Aaron could hope for was not being blamed for the theft of the casket. His plan had never been very solid, and now it was about to blow back in his face, and he couldn’t see it at all.