“Bit of a change from yesterday?” asked Sue.
“Someone really tore the place up.” Indeed, the house had been thoroughly ransacked—furniture upended, drawers dumped, books pulled off shelves, cupboards emptied.
“What were they looking for?” asked Sue.
“Did you read my notes from yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see the line on Vincent Fox’s book?”
“Yes,” said Sue. “You noted the book’s title, something about Al Capone.”
“I scanned it last night. According to his daughter, it’s all fiction, but Fox presents his story as fact. Here’s the condensed version: Fox writes that he was once Al Capone’s driver and that Capone hid millions of dollars in gold coins up here during the 1920s and ’30s. He hints at the locations, but says with the passage of time things look different and, also, his memory is starting to fade so….”
“You think the trashing of his place….”
“Yes, and maybe even his disappearance, is connected to the book.” Ray carefully studied the interior. “It’s gone.”
“What’s that?”
“His computer, a desktop model. It was there, to the right of the printer.”
“So if we go with the theory that this break-in is connected to his book….”
“Exactly,” responded Ray. “Someone was looking for more information on the buried treasure. Maps, diaries, whatever. If what his daughter says is true about the story being total fiction, it must have been a frustrating search because there isn’t anything here. He wrote the book on the computer, so a quick glance at the directory would probably show file names related to the book. Maybe the perp was hoping there would be other material stored on the drive, so taking it would make sense.”
“New ring tone?” said Sue.
Ray nodded as he reached for his phone. He listened, looking at Sue. After thanking the caller, he switched off the phone.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“That was central. They just had a call from one of the security people at the casino. One of their employees noticed the piece on Vincent Fox on the early news and remembered seeing him at the casino over the last few days. When he got to work he checked a recently archived video. He’s got Fox and several people that he was with on tape. And, get this, Fox had a big win on Friday. Six thousand bucks on the slots!
“So, maybe, after all, it was just someone after the money he won?”
“How does that explain the computer?”
“A useful and somewhat easy item to turn into cash?”
Ray gave the small room another thorough look. “I’m not seeing anything else. Why don’t you finish up here, Sue? I’ll run up to the casino. Let’s plan on meeting in the late afternoon. Anything else?”
“The new ringtone,” said Sue. “I taught you how to download them and now you seem addicted.”
“A cheaper obsession than playing the slots,” he responded.
8
Ray waved his way past the greeter and headed toward Bear River Casino’s security department. Passing through the central room in the building, he paused to take in the rows and rows of slots, the noise and confusion generated by flashing lights and the jingle-jangle of whirling cylinders and techno beat. The air was redolent with cigarette smoke. Occasionally there was a loud orgasmic cacophony celebrating a jackpot. He looked at his watch. It was only a few minutes after 10 a.m. and the place was already bustling. Most of the players appeared to be retirees.
A stainless keypad was mounted under the doorknob of the steel security office door and a Non-Smoking Area sign attached at eye level. Ray knocked, and, after a long moment, the door swung open. Donald Sterling, a former Chicago detective he had met during a prior case, stretched out his hand.
Sterling escorted Ray through a maze of surveillance tech screens monitoring different parts of the casino. “Like I told one of your dispatchers,” he said, pointing at a display away from the main action, “I saw Fox’s picture on early news this morning. I knew I’d seen him in the last few days. He’s a regular, not a daily like some of our guests, but at least once a week. And given that weird costume, he’s hard to miss.” Sterling chuckled. “Nice old guy, though. I’ve talked to him a few times over the years. Once he found out I had been a Chicago cop, I got a lot of Capone stories.” Sterling pointed at the screen, “Here he is coming in on Friday morning. He’s with a man and woman, the people I usually see him with. There used to be four or five in his group, but these seem to be the only ones left. And look at that old boy on the right, he’s carrying his oxygen bottle. Not long for the world. And that woman…”
“What about her?”
“A real character. She’s the driver—a scary thought. She’s got this big old Town Car, white, with suicide doors. When did they stop making those? I’m sure you’ve seen that vehicle around.”
“Mildred Hall,” said Ray. “She’s in her early 90s and keeps passing her driver’s test. ”
“She’s a character.”
“She used to teach math and physics at the high school. I don’t think she retired until she was about 75.”
“That explains a lot,” said Sterling. “We used to keep her under surveillance.”
“Mildred Hall?”
“Uh huh,” responded Sterling. “She was a regular for a while, three or four times a week. Always played blackjack and always won. Not a lot, but she’d get 50 or 100 bucks ahead and cash out. Obviously, she was counting or had some system. Some of the suits in the front office got excited, thought she should be banned.”
“But she wasn’t.”
“Nope. Like you said, she’s well known in town. They worried about bad PR. And then, the problem just went away. She stopped playing. My guess is that she wanted to see if she could beat the system, and once she did there wasn’t a challenge. But she still brings in her group of buddies. Seems to like the company. Only now there’s just the two: Fox and Tommy Fuller.” Sterling pointed to the screen again. “Fuller’s the guy with the World War II hat. If you talk to him for more than two minutes, you’ll learn that he was in the Battle of the Bulge. Nice old guy, but not long for the world. And a walking menace. I’m surprised all these smokers with their oxygen tanks haven’t blown the place up.”
Sterling let the video run briefly, then said, “I’ve collected other video with the three musketeers. All from Friday. Do you want to see it all, or do you just want a summary?”
“A summary would be fine,” Ray said, nodding.
“So, they come in around 10 a.m., play the slots until about 11:30, have lunch, and go back to the slots for half an hour or so. Then Fox hits a big jackpot.”
“How much?”
“Six grand. All the lights, bells, and whistles. The racket gives hope to the other folks in the place. Keeps them playing. Right after that, Fox cashes out and leaves. You’re not supposed to do that,” Sterling said in a mocking tone. “You’re supposed to stay around and reinvest in the company.”
“Anyone else with them, anyone tailing them?”
“I’ve got exit and parking lot video,” Sterling said, tapping the top of the monitor. “You’re welcome to view it yourself, but I didn’t see anything unusual; just the three of them leaving, going to the car, and, oh, so slowly, driving away.” He shook his head sadly. “Man, I hope nothing bad’s happened to Fox, but I don’t like the sound of it. My wife says all police officers are pessimists. I guess maybe that’s true. Can I buy you lunch, Ray? We’ve got a great new executive chef. He trained at the CIA, then studied in Paris, then went to Vegas and made a name for himself. I’m always amazed at what money can buy.”
Ray joined in the joke and took a long moment to decide, considering Sue’s comments on having a life. “I’d love to,” he said, finally, “but you know how it is. Can’t take the time right now.”