Wild Card

“The exhibit was called Summer of Love,” she said. “We worked out of a tent on the Boardwalk. Besides me modeling clothes, there were performers keeping the crowd entertained. A singer, a juggler, and another variety act. All guys. Their dressing room was next to mine. One of the guys gave me the creeps. He kept staring at me like I was something he wanted to eat. I remember thinking that this was the kind of guy my mother told me to be afraid of.”

“Do you remember his name?” Banko asked.

“It was something strange.”

“What did he look like?”

“A few inches taller than me, not handsome, kind of shy.”

“How old was he?”

“My age, I think.”

“You remember his face?”

“Not really.”

“Which one of the acts was he?” Banko asked.

“I didn’t see any of them perform. Too busy getting dressed and undressed.”

“What happened to make you quit?”

She took a deep breath. “I worked for ten hours the first day, and was exhausted. After the show was over, I went to my dressing room, and discovered that my underwear had been violated. I didn’t know which one of them did it, so I quit.”

“But you thought it was him.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“Could he have stolen the outfits you were wearing?”

“They were hanging in my dressing room. He must have.”

“Did he ever have contact with you again?”

She strained to remember. “Yes, he called me at home.”

“When was this?”

“A few months later. He told me his parents were out of town, asked me to come to his house. I said no, I already had a boyfriend.”

“Were you seeing Tony then?”

“Yes. We’d been going steady for a while.”

Banko glanced at Valentine. There was an apology in his eyes, and Valentine acknowledged it with a slight nod. Then Banko brought his wife up from her trance.

Valentine extended his hand to his wife. “It’s time to go home,” he said.

“Did I tell you anything helpful?” Lois asked.

The color had returned to his wife’s face, and she looked just as beautiful as the day he’d met her. “Yes. You did good,” he said.

She rose from her chair, and Banko walked them to the door. “I’d like a word with your husband, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Lois said.

She stepped into the waiting room, and Banko shut the door, and put his hand on Valentine’s shoulder. “I guess we know now why the killer contacted you the other day. I’m sorry I’ve been so harsh with you, but I didn’t have much choice.”

“I understand,” Valentine said.

“No hard feelings?”

“No, sir.”

His superior lowered his arm. “I’m calling the FBI, and bringing them back in. I’m also assigning several extra detectives to work this case. Knowing this guy was an entertainer should make him easy to track down. Oh, and one other thing.”

Valentine waited expectantly.

“I’m lifting your suspension, effective immediately. However, what I said before still applies. I want you to stay away from this investigation. This killer has designs on your wife. You can’t be chasing him down.”

“But —”

“Another word and I’ll suspend you again,” Banko said.

Valentine clamped his mouth shut.

“I’m assigning two detectives to guard your wife until this sicko is caught. I want you back at the casino immediately.”

“What’s going on at the casino?”

“Bill Higgins called last night. A gang of blackjack cheats that stole a million bucks in Las Vegas are now in Atlantic City. Bill said you drew a bead on them.”

Valentine remembered the tape Bill had sent him, and the suspicious woman with the Coke bottle. “That’s right,” he said.

“Bill took the red eye out of Las Vegas last night, and is flying in this morning. I want you to help him nail these people. Think you’re up to it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Welcome back.”

He shook his superior’s hand, and saw him smile. It had been years since he’d seen Banko do that, and he left the office feeling better than he had in a long time.

Chapter 51

“Here we go,” Bill Higgins said a few hours later.

They were standing before the wall of video monitors in Resorts’ surveillance control room. A block of twelve cameras were isolated on a blackjack table with a five thousand dollar limit. Higgins hadn’t slept on the plane and looked like death warmed over.

Valentine studied the blurry images on the monitors. At the blackjack table sat the same two players from the tape Higgins had sent him. Both were in their mid-thirties with sandy brown hair and easy smiles. Cameras were recording them from every conceivable angle. So far, everything looked clean.

“You’re sure they’re cheating,” Valentine asked.

“Trust me,” Higgins said. “It’s a scam.”

Valentine wasn’t convinced the two players could be cheating. They were playing carelessly while flirting with four stewardesses playing at the adjacent table, which had a five hundred dollar limit. Everything looked on the square.

Then, after a few minutes, he saw something he didn’t like. The stewardesses had locked up their table, and were playing all seven hands. That wasn’t normal.

“I smell a rat.”

“You think the stewardesses are involved?” Higgins asked.