Manitou Canyon (19 page)

C
HAPTE
R
35

T
hey entered Aurora just ahead of dark. The houses were lit from within by dull, artificial light. It was suppertime and the streets felt empty. Daniel drove down Oak, the main street of town. Rose sat in front on the passenger side, Stephen in back. They'd talked little on their drive from Crow Point. Like the others, Rose was deep into her own thoughts. She was thinking about the terrible time only a few years earlier, when her sister had gone missing in the mountains of Wyoming. She was recalling how hard they'd all prayed for her safe return, prayed in vain. She was afraid all their desperate prayers might once again prove useless.

“We'll drop you off at home, Rose,” Daniel said.

“I'd rather come along, if you don't mind.”

Daniel thought about it and glanced at Stephen, who just shrugged.

“All right,” he said.

“What if Krystal's not at her apartment?” Stephen asked, speaking of the cheating dealer.

“We track her down,” Daniel said. “It's a small town.”

“Pull over!” Stephen called out suddenly.

“What is it?” Daniel said.

“Just pull over.”

They were in the center of town, amid the shops and enterprises of the three-block business district. Daniel pulled to the curb.

“There,” Stephen said, pointing across the street toward Johnny's Pinewood Broiler.

The restaurant was an iconic locale in Aurora. Johnny Papp's barbecued ribs were famous, and the Friday night all-you-can-eat fish fry was a huge favorite with the O'Connor clan. Three people were visible at a table in the window: a man, a woman, and a much younger woman.

“Ben Trudeau,” Daniel said.

“The casino manager?” Rose asked.

“That's him,” Stephen said. “And he's with Marlee and Stella Daychild.”

Marlee Daychild was a name Rose knew: Stephen's ex-­girlfriend. And Stella was her mother. Stephen and Marlee had been through a lot together. But in the way of young love, the fire had cooled eventually, and they'd both moved on. A mutual and amiable decision, Rose understood.

“What are they talking about?” Stephen said.

“Why don't you ask?” Daniel suggested.

“Just walk right up and butt in on their conversation. Right.”

“I was thinking maybe you could wait here and, when they're finished, talk to Marlee and Stella. Rose and I could go ahead and locate Krystal.”

“I like that,” Stephen said. He got out of the truck and turned back. “If you have trouble finding her, call my cell and we'll hook back up. Otherwise, I'll meet you back at the house.”

He stepped away, and Daniel and Rose drove off, heading up Oak Street.

The Pines was a recent addition to the housing market in Aurora. It was a two-story apartment complex with a faux-log finish that was meant, Rose figured, to give it the flavor of a Northwoods lodge. She thought it tacky, but not in the extreme. Although it was much too late in the season for anything to be blooming, there were flower beds along the whole front, and she decided that in summer the place wouldn't look half bad.

Daniel parked the truck in the lot, then he and Rose walked to the building entrance. Daniel scanned the names under the buttons that could buzz each apartment.

K
.
GORE
. He pointed toward the name and poked the button for apartment number 12.

A woman answered, “Who is it?”

“Miss Gore?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Daniel English. I wonder if I could talk with you for a moment.”

After a pause she asked, “What about?”

“There's been some trouble at the casino.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I'd prefer to explain that when we talk.”

“Who are you with?” Her voice was sharp now, and carried an edge of fearfulness.

“The Minnesota Gaming Commission.”

He glanced at Rose and gave a quick smile.

For too long, there was no response from the intercom, and Rose was concerned that they might have frightened the woman into silence.

“I'll buzz you up,” Krystal Gore finally said.

Inside, it was like any other modern, lackluster apartment building. Rose and Daniel walked down a carpeted hallway to the door with a brass-colored 12 attached above the peephole.

Daniel knocked and said, “Miss Gore?”

When the door opened, a slender blonde stood before them, though Rose could see that it was not her natural color. Her face was pale white, a light powdering over a foundation that tried to cover a landscape of acne scars. Her eyes were a remarkable green, almost neon. Colored contact lenses, Rose thought. Her lips were outlined in mauve and were shiny with gloss. Her fingernails were polished in a matching color.

“English?” she asked.

“Yes.”

The woman's unnaturally green eyes shifted to Rose.

“I'm Rose Thorne.”

“Are you with the gaming commission?”

Rose's mind didn't run to lies, so she simply said, “No,” and hoped it wouldn't matter.

“What's this about?” the woman asked.

“May we come in and talk?” Daniel said.

“You got a badge or something?”

And son of a gun, Daniel reached into his back pocket and brought out a badged ID wallet, which he flipped open and flashed at the woman, who did little more than give it a glance. He closed it quickly, and back into his pocket it went.

Krystal Gore stepped aside to let them pass.

The apartment was a little messy, but not horribly so. It was suffused with an aroma familiar to Rose from all her years raising children: macaroni and cheese. A jumble of wooden blocks lay near one wall, and atop them, looking stiff and uncomfortable, sat a couple of Barbie dolls. The furniture appeared to be new but cheap, the kind, Rose thought, that might come from a rental outlet. The television was on but muted, tuned to the home shopping channel. The item front and center on the screen at the moment was a zircon necklace.

“May we sit down?” Daniel asked.

The woman waved, wordless permission. Rose and Daniel took the sofa. The cushion under Rose felt as if it had been cut from marble, and she was no more comfortable sitting there than the dolls probably were on their blocks. Krystal Gore took one of the armchairs.

“So, what's going on?” she asked.

“We're investigating allegations that some of the gaming at the Chippewa Grand Casino is being manipulated,” Daniel said. “Your name has come up in that regard.”

“Me?” The woman's right hand went to her breast in a dramatic show of surprise.

“We have video evidence,” Daniel said.

“Bullshit,” the woman shot back.

“Let's talk about one case specifically,” Daniel went on, calmly but firmly. “Does the name Trevor Harris ring a bell?”

The woman's green eyes searched the room and lingered on the ceiling. Her brow furrowed and she finally said, “No.”

“Slender, fair-haired, natty dresser, early twenties.”

She shook her head.

“I find that interesting. Because the video we have shows that time and time again Harris wins when he plays at your table. Wins big.”

“Now wait a minute—”

“No, Miss Gore, you wait a minute. When this investigation concludes, you're looking at the very real possibility of serving prison time. But . . .” Daniel paused. “We're certain that you're acting on the instructions of someone higher up. Ben Trudeau. If you help us nail him, we may be persuaded to ignore your part in the scheme.”

“There's no scheme,” the woman said. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You're not from around here, Miss Gore.”

“No.”

“New York, right?”

“What of it?”

“I understand you left your former job to come here so you could be closer to family. Correct?”

“I need a smoke,” the woman said. She stood abruptly and went to her purse, which lay on the kitchen counter. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and stood with her arms crossed, sending smoke from her nostrils.

“Where exactly is your family?”

“You're so smart, you tell me.”

“The truth is you have no family here. You were brought to Aurora to do exactly what you're doing. Make sure that Trevor Harris wins at your table. You're pretty good at that. But you've been caught at it before. At the casino in New York where you used to work.”

Which surprised Rose. How could Daniel possibly know? Then she realized he'd simply made an educated guess. The mind of a cop.

Krystal Gore stood with smoke trailing up from her as if her face were smoldering. She glared at them, her eyes like green fire. Rose figured she was lost to them, walled off by anger and probably by fear.

Then Daniel said very quietly, “We can help you. We can help you get out from under them.”

“Mommy?”

The voice was slight, timid, a child's, and came from the hallway, where neither Rose nor Daniel could see.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing up?”

A little face peeked around the corner, then a whole child followed. She was dark-haired, pink-cheeked, tiny, maybe three. She wore footie Winnie-the-Pooh pajamas, and she was hiding something behind her back.

“I have some visitors, Libby. Go back to bed.”

“Can't,” Libby said.

“Why not?”

The little girl smiled slyly. “Drink of water.”

“All right,” her mother said. “A drink of water, then back to bed.”

She ran the tap for a bit, then filled a small plastic tumbler. The whole while, Libby eyed Rose and Daniel, but not with fear.

“My name is Rose,” Rose said.

“I'm Libby,” the little girl said.

“This is Daniel,” Rose said.

“Are you married?”

“Yes, dear,” Rose said.

“I'm married,” Libby said.

“Oh?” Rose gave her a big, pleased smile. “Who to?”

“Him.” She brought out what she'd been hiding behind her back, a stuffed unicorn.

“You married a unicorn,” Rose said with delight. “A very handsome unicorn.”

Krystal brought the water to her daughter. The little girl dropped her unicorn, took the tumbler in both hands, and sipped.

“All of it,” her mother said. “And quick now.”

Libby drank the water down and handed the tumbler back.

Krystal Gore said to her guests, “Wait here, all right?”

“We're going nowhere,” Daniel told her.

Little Libby picked up her unicorn and disappeared with her mother back down the hallway.

Rose could hear the soft murmur of the mother's voice. Although the woman was probably involved in whatever it was that had made Cork disappear, Rose couldn't find it in her heart to think the worst of her. She hoped the truth, when they knew it, would set them all free from what seemed like a destructive net of intrigue.

Krystal returned. Her cigarette lay in the ashtray on the kitchen counter. She picked it up, then crushed it out. “I'm trying to quit,” she said. “For Libby's sake.”

Although it was Daniel who'd done most of the talking until then, it was Rose who spoke now. “What's going on, Krystal?” She asked it gently, as she might of a hurt child. “How did you become involved in all this?”

The woman bit her lower lip, bit hard. Then she bent her head and began to cry. “They told me they wouldn't prosecute. They told me they would protect me.”

“Who's they?” Rose asked.

“Ross Arden.”

Daniel tilted his head, as if to hear better. “Ross Arden?”

“The manager of the Lake Pokegema Casino. Where I used to work in New York.”

“Is he Indian?” Daniel asked.

“Seneca.”

“And Ben Trudeau? He told you the same thing? That he'd protect you if you helped Trevor Harris win?”

“Yes.”

“How did it happen?” Rose asked.

Krystal wiped at her tears and shook her head hopelessly. “I was behind. Behind in everything. The rent, my car payment, Libby's
day care, you name it. I was so stressed, I wasn't doing my job well. Ross called me into his office and asked what was wrong. He seemed so interested, you know, so caring. I broke down and told him everything. He said he could help. I thought—” She rolled her eyes. “I thought he was going to give me a raise or something. Maybe a promotion. Instead, he asked me to help a customer win. It's not so hard, you know. He told me he would protect me. And that if I did it, he'd make sure all my back bills got paid.”

She tried to take a deep breath, but with all her sobbing, it came in little gasps.

“So I did it,” she went on. “I thought when it was finished, that would be it, you know? But then Ross told me he had video of me cheating and if I didn't help him some more, he would see to it that I went to jail. He said, ‘Know what happens to little girls whose mothers are in jail? The little girls go into foster care. And do you know what happens to them in foster care? They get abused in every way imaginable.' He said that to me, the son of a bitch. Then he sent me out here.”

Daniel asked, “Did they tell you why they wanted these men to win?”

She shook her head and wiped at her tears. “I didn't take anything for myself. Honest to God I didn't. I just did what they told me to.”

“Blackmail,” Daniel said.

“Yes.” She leaped on that. “I didn't have a choice.”

“Would you be willing to make a statement to that effect?”

“If I did, what would happen?”

“If it helps us put these people behind bars, I'll do everything I can to make sure you're dealt with fairly.”

“No jail?”

“I can't promise that. But I'll do everything I can for you and Libby.”

Rose saw the woman's shoulders slump and knew exactly what she was thinking: the other men had made promises, too. Why should she believe him?