The Havana Game Read online

  Ignoring the question, Amighetti turned to Rahmberg. “Was Brydon a regular gambler?”

  “I didn’t know a lot about Ken’s life away from work. But he never talked about it.”

  “I’m surprised that he would go to a casino,” said Ava.

  Amighetti turned to her. “Why?”

  “Well, he was a mathematician. He’d know the odds favored the house.”

  “The floor supervisor said he was playing blackjack between nine and nine-thirty. He won eighteen dollars.”

  “So as a mathematician, he knew to quit while he was ahead,” said Hardin.

  Rahmberg’s face had turned sad again. “I hate to think the poor guy was killed for eighteen bucks.”

  “Did he wear expensive jewelry?” asked Amighetti.

  “Can’t see Ken wearing anything you could call jewelry. He did wear a wristwatch. I never noticed what brand, but it wasn’t a gold Rolex.”

  Amighetti turned to a fresh page in his notebook. “What was Brydon’s job, Mr. Rahmberg?”

  “Stan, don’t answer,” Hardin said. “Detective, you’ve given us no reason to think that Brydon’s murder had anything to do with his work at the NSA. This is a routine crime. The mugger was lurking in the parking lot, hoping to waylay some gambler who’d won big. He just chose the wrong victim. It’s sad, but that’s all there is to it.”

  “Muggings in the parking lot of the Calle 57 Casino are not as routine as you seem to think, Admiral,” said Amighetti.

  “The casino’s in downtown Baltimore, you said.”

  “Yeah, but the parking lot is fenced, lighted, and patrolled. Aside from patrons getting in occasional drunken brawls, there’s no crime there.”

  “So this was an unusually brazen mugger.”

  “He’s unusual, all right. When somebody gets hurt in a mugging, it’s generally because he resisted. Mr. Brydon didn’t get a chance to. He was stabbed in the back.” Amighetti looked at each of them in turn. “That’s why I’m looking into the possibility that he was targeted.”

  Hardin glanced at her watch. “I have another meeting to get to. Let’s wrap this up. Stan, what was Brydon’s security clearance level?”

  “He was a Four.”

  “All right. That settles it. He wasn’t cleared for sensitive material. Detective, many of the lower-level people at NSA might as well be working for an insurance company. Including Brydon. You’ll have to take your investigation elsewhere. You won’t find any answers here.”

  “Maybe if you’d allow me a few more questions—”

  But Hardin was already on her feet. She walked to the door and opened it. The waiting Marine spun smartly on his heel to face her and snapped to attention. She seemed to enjoy that more than anything that had happened during the meeting, except perhaps reaming out Ava.

  “Sergeant, escort Detective Amighetti to his car.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Crawling along with Baltimore’s rush-hour traffic, Ava had a good view of the Calle 57 Casino Hotel as she approached. It was a slim skyscraper in blue reflective glass, with giant LED screens that flashed ads for loose slots and cheap drinks, intermixed with Caribbean scenes. She’d read somewhere that Calle 57 was a street in Havana, and the images were of ’50s American cars cruising the Malecón, sailboats off Morro Castle, fishermen with Hemingway beards standing beside marlin they’d caught.

  There had been a lot of controversy about those screens in the columns of the Baltimore Sun. People complained that they upstaged every other building in the skyline and distracted drivers on the interstate.

  At the end of the working day, Ava had headed straight for Baltimore. She was still trying to work out a sound justification for this decision. She hoped she wasn’t going to check out the casino just because Admiral Hardin annoyed her.

  There was something else. She felt that she owed it to Ken Brydon. They’d never gotten to know each other very well. He flirted with her at first, but when he found out that Thomas Laker was her boyfriend that ended right away. Nobody in the lower levels of NSA knew what Laker actually did, but he had a formidable reputation. So Brydon was just a work buddy, but he was witty and irreverent, and the prospect of bumping into him was enough to brighten a dreary day.

  She’d worried about him sometimes. Never that he’d be killed, only that he’d be fired. The NSA was a high-pressure bureaucracy with no tolerance for mischief, and employees who sat at computers all day doing jobs they were too smart for could easily get in trouble.

  She didn’t know what Ken did, exactly, but she knew it bored and frustrated him. He was an imaginative programmer who could have been making a lot more money in the private sector. Occasionally she would see him sitting alone with his laptop in the employee lounge, his tousled blond head propped on one hand as the fingers of the other hand tickled the keyboard. She would hope that he wasn’t trying out passwords, poking and prodding at firewalls.

  It was dark by the time she turned into the casino’s parking lot, which was as Detective Amighetti had described it. Lamps atop tall stanchions cast a bright, even light. The surrounding fence was eight feet high. As she walked to the casino entrance, she was passed by two golf carts driven by uniformed guards.

  In the casino, she didn’t know what she was looking for. So she just wandered. Artificial palm trees sprouted from the floor. Exuberant fountains splashed into broad pools. Stuffed giant parrots gripped overhead perches. Other parrots, smaller but real, groomed themselves in cages. Murals depicted beaches and jungle-covered hills.

  She passed bars where bands were playing pachanga and customers were sipping daiquiris and mojitos. The waitresses were dressed in short frocks in vibrant hues with Carmen Miranda headgear. The waiters wore white guayaberas and black pants.

  The gamblers didn’t seem to be giving the decor much thought. Pallid, paunchy, dressed in the drab, bulky clothes appropriate to late winter in the North, they had their eyes fixed on the cards or the wheel or the little windows in the slot machines. They might as well have been in a concrete basement. She wondered what it would take to make them look up.

  Only a couple of minutes later, her question was answered.

  Gazes lifted, heads turned, faces broke into excited grins. She turned to see customers backing out of the way while taking pictures with their phones as a celebrity and his entourage swept past. Living in Washington, you got to be a good judge of entourages, and this was an impressive one. But she didn’t recognize the celebrity in the lead.

  He was a man of about forty, short and broad-shouldered, with gleaming black hair and liquid brown eyes. He was wearing an elegant cashmere topcoat. On his right was a face she’d seen on television when Laker was watching sports. A pro golfer or maybe a race car driver. On his left was a tall, skinny woman whose hip-pumping walk indicated she was a fashion model. Her eyelashes were so thick she seemed to be squinting, possibly from the glare bouncing off the gems in her necklace and bracelets.

  But it was the man directly behind the celebrity who riveted her. Everybody else was smiling and chatting in the usual entourage fashion, but this man was watching the crowd. His eyes were scanning the casino customers, alert for unfriendly faces or sudden moves. His gaze passed over her like a shadow. She felt chilled.

  He had a long, deeply lined face and a tall, lean body. His head was bald on top, but he wore his hair long at the sides, covering his ears. It looked odd, but she was willing to bet that no one ever made jokes about it. Not to his face, anyway.

  An aide had run ahead of the group, cardkey in hand. He unlocked an elevator. The doors slid open. He stood back and held them as the entourage trooped in.

  “Going to the helipad on the roof. ’Copter’s waiting to take them to D.C.”

  Startled, she looked at the man beside her. It was Detective Amighetti.

  “Who is that?” she asked.

  “El patrón. Rodrigo Morales. Owner of the Calle 57 casino chain. And other properties.”

  “Oh. Who’s the man wit
h him?”

  “Obviously you don’t follow golf.”

  “I mean the one behind him. Is he a bodyguard?”

  Amighetti seemed pleased by the question. “Acting as one at the moment. But he has a long and distinguished past. Arturo Carlucci, formerly of the New Jersey Mob. Once their top enforcer. The reason for that goofy haircut is to cover the top half of his left ear.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it isn’t there. But he left wet work behind long ago, when the capos discovered his diplomatic and managerial skills. He rose high enough to be swept up in a RICO prosecution. Did five years. Released early for good behavior. Appeared to go straight. Got a legit job from Morales. Personal security.”

  “Appeared to go straight?”

  “I mentioned the diplomatic skills. Unsubstantiated rumor is, he’s the Mob’s ambassador to the court of Morales.”

  The entourage was boarding the elevator. Carlucci’s cold eyes swept the room one last time before he stepped in. Ava glanced at Amighetti. His coarse swept-back hair again reminded her of the quills of a porcupine as he gazed impassively at Carlucci.

  She said, “You didn’t mention at the meeting this morning that the casino’s owner is mobbed up.”

  “I can’t prove anything of the kind. Nobody can. Even if he was, what would it have to do with Brydon? A guy like Carlucci would never mug somebody for eighteen bucks. What are you doing here, Ms. North?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Admiral Fancypants didn’t send you to check out the scene of the crime?”

  “The Admiral has no further interest in what happened to Ken Brydon.”

  “Why should she? A low-level employee is the innocent victim of a mugging. But you’re not satisfied with that?”

  “No. I liked Ken. I feel bad about what happened to him. But I’m not completely sure he was innocent.”

  Her answer seemed to satisfy the detective. He said, “I’ll tell you what I’m doing here. Trying to tie up a loose end. You’ll remember, the floor supervisor said Brydon quit playing blackjack and cashed in his chips about nine-forty.”

  “Yes.”

  “So how come he didn’t go out to his car until two hours later? Presumably he was somewhere else in this building. What was he doing?”

  “I don’t know. Having a drink or dinner, maybe? It must be easy to find out. Don’t they have surveillance cameras all over casinos?”

  “Sure. We’re probably on a screen somewhere right now.” He gave her a look to see if this discomfited her. It did.

  Amighetti went on, “I’ve been going back and forth with the head of security, guy responsible for the cameras. He said there’s an awful lot of videotape and it would take a long time to review it and is this really necessary?”

  “He’s dragging his feet? Is that suspicious?”

  “I’m sure there is an awful lot of videotape. Maybe he’s just lazy.” Amighetti’s gaze was roaming around the big room. Was he looking for the camera that was aimed at them? Ava was certainly thinking about it. He glanced at his watch. “You want to take a little walk with me, Ms. North?”

  “Where?”

  “Out of here.”

  Shoving his hands in the pockets of his battered parka, he headed for the exit. Ava followed at a slower pace, allowing a gap to open and other people to pass between them. It probably wouldn’t matter if the casino got her on video leaving with Detective Amighetti. On the other hand, maybe it would.

  They went out through the main entrance, which was bustling with taxis and airport vans, disgorging arriving hotel guests. Amighetti crossed the street, and she followed. Away from the lights of the casino, the block was dark and quiet. All the shops were closed, with steel gates over their windows. A cold wind drove litter past their feet. It was only half a mile to Harbor-place, Baltimore’s tourist area, but this was a desolate block.

  Amighetti zipped up his coat as she caught up with him. “We’ll go around the corner, make sure we’re out of camera range. Suellyn’s kinda hinky about that.”

  “Suellyn?”

  “Friend of mine who works in the casino, as a blackjack dealer.”

  “I wouldn’t have picked you as a blackjack player.”

  “We met under other circumstances.”

  Ava took a guess. “You arrested her?”

  “Not for anything serious. And it was a long time ago. Still, if the casino found out she has a criminal record, they’d fire her.”

  “But they’re not going to find out from you. And to show her gratitude, Suellyn gives you information from time to time.”

  “This time it’s about Brydon. She said I’d be very interested. You’re pretty quick on the uptake, Ms. North. Considering we’re far from your usual muhloo.” It was Amighetti’s way of saying milieu. “You’re one of the Norths, aren’t you?”

  Before Ava could reply, a woman came around the corner and headed for them. The tails of her thin raincoat, inadequate to the weather, flapped around her legs, bare to the mid-thigh under sheer pantyhose. The pile of blond hair atop her head was so stiff with hairspray that the wind had no effect on it. The corners of her bright pink lips turned down as she looked Ava over.

  “Who’s she?”

  “Friend of Ken’s,” said Amighetti. “She’ll tell you her name, if you want to know.”

  Suellyn shook her head. Again the pile of blond hair was undisturbed. “I’m supposed to be on a smoke break, so let’s get to it. That Brydon guy was in the casino before Saturday.”

  “He was a regular?”

  “No. Just once before. A week earlier.”

  “So why am I supposed to find this interesting?”

  “He won big at blackjack. Like, ten thousand dollars.”

  “Ten thousand dollars.” Amighetti gave Ava a sideways look. “What did you say about Brydon? You didn’t think he’d gamble because he was a math whiz and wouldn’t like the odds?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  Amighetti turned back to Suellyn. “Was he at your table?”

  “No. Not at any of the regular tables. That’s the part that’s weird.”

  “Go on.”

  Suellyn looked over her shoulder, up the street. There was nobody there, but even so she bent forward and lowered her voice. “They opened a table. Brydon was the first to sit down at it. The dealer was a guy I’d never seen before. Not long after Brydon left, one of the regulars took over for him, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “You’re saying, he was brought in to deal winning cards to Brydon? Why would the casino arrange for Brydon to win?”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “I’d just like them to arrange something similar for me.”

  “Look, I don’t know what was going on for sure. But it was not normal. When somebody’s on a lucky streak, the casino likes to make a big deal of it. Make all the customers think it can happen to them, too. The floor supervisor or some other big shot comes over to shake the guy’s hand. The PR department takes his picture. And of course the winner’s all smiles.”

  “Brydon wasn’t.”

  “He looked nervous. Like he couldn’t wait to cash his chips in and get out.” She looked over her shoulder again. “Look, I got to get back. Don’t come in the casino again tonight, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Suellyn moved away with a clatter of high heels and disappeared around the corner.

  “What do you think, Ms. North?”

  “I don’t know what it means. But obviously it’s important. You’ll have to get hold of the video of Ken’s earlier visit.”

  “Like I said, the casino is being uncooperative. I’d probably have to get a court order. Which means producing Suellyn, which I don’t want to do. And even then I might not win. Ruy Morales has a lot of pull in this city.” Amighetti hunched his shoulders. “How about we get out of this wind, Ms. North? I know a place for coffee.”

  They walked to the next corner. This street was wid
er, with more traffic. A McDonald’s stood on the corner. They went in and ordered coffee. Amighetti said it was his treat. A few minutes later they were seated in a booth.

  “If you had to take a guess,” Amighetti said, “what would you say is going on here? Why would the casino arrange for Ken to win?”

  “It was a payment.”

  “Yeah. What did Ken have to sell? It would pretty much have to be information from his office, wouldn’t it?”

  “You heard what Admiral Hardin said. His security clearance was low. He didn’t have access to secrets.”

  Amighetti patted his coarse pelt of hair. “I’m not talking about state secrets. Kind of thing the fate of nations turns on. The NSA collects all kinds of information, right? Maybe Brydon stumbled on something that could help Ruy Morales’s resort chain make money.”

  “It would still be illegal. Ten thousand wouldn’t be enough, for the jail time Ken was risking.”

  “Maybe that was just a down payment. Ken told somebody in the Morales organization what he had. Or could get. They made the deal, and Ken got his first payment. The next week he was back, with the goods. He did some penny-ante gambling for a while, passing the time before his meeting with the persons unknown. Only instead of getting paid, he was killed. How come?”

  “I can’t think of an explanation.”

  “No? But you’re pretty smart. Think again.” He sat back and took a sip of coffee. He seemed to be in no hurry.

  “Maybe Ken’s information wasn’t as useful as he thought.”

  “They wouldn’t kill him for that.”

  “No. Well, I guess it’s possible they told Ken, now that he’d broken the law, they owned him. He’d have to keep producing information. And he tried to walk out.”

  “That’s a possibility. There’s another one.”

  “You’ll have to tell me.”

  “Ken’s information was much, much hotter than he realized. Morales’s people couldn’t risk leaving him alive.”

  She took a swallow of coffee and set the cup down, with a loud clunk that told her how nervous she had suddenly become. “We’re just spinning theories, Detective.”