A Chip and a Chair (Seven of Spades, #5)(52)
“What do you think I’m doing here?” Levi snapped. “What could possibly drag me out to another department’s jurisdiction in the middle of a terrorist crisis?”
Dominic remained silent.
Levi took an audibly deep breath, then said, “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“Apology accepted. I’m guessing the Seven of Spades has returned from hiatus?”
“Yes. It’s bad. Can you please come get me?” Levi paused. “I . . . I’m in a lot of pain.”
Dominic knew how difficult it must have been for Levi to admit that, and any remaining irritation dissipated. “Of course. Give me the address, and I’ll leave right now.”
He explained the situation to Natasha, who was as understanding as always, before taking off on the borrowed bike again. He was going to have to write their neighbor a check for all the mileage he was putting on this thing. Or more accurately, Levi would have to write the guy a check, which was kind of an uncomfortable thought.
The approach of nightfall had created a strange dichotomy in the city: the streets were still choked with hundreds of cars trying to flee, but the sidewalks were deserted. During the drive from UNLV to North Las Vegas, he didn’t see a single person outside who wasn’t in a vehicle. Smart, because the cops’ concerns about looting and rioting hadn’t been idle. Darkness made scared, angry people both bolder and more stupid.
The empty sidewalks made the bustling activity around the crime scene seem more ominous than usual. A smallish, two-story suburban house, it was surrounded by flashing lights, yellow tape, and grim-faced personnel from various government agencies. Masses of reporters-part of the horde that had descended on Las Vegas after the explosion and assassinations-thronged the perimeter and spilled into the neighbors’ yards.
Levi wasn’t waiting outside, but given the media presence, that wasn’t surprising. Dominic parked the bike down the street and skirted the reporters as best he could on the walk to the tape, intending to ask someone to find Levi and bring him out.
The cop maintaining the crime scene log was the same one who’d been at the burial site in the desert. “Mr. Russo,” she said, smiling. “Consulting again?”
“Yep,” he said without missing a beat.
She signed him in and gave him gloves and booties. He mounted the porch and walked through the open front door, entering a tiny vestibule with a flight of stairs straight ahead and an archway to the left.
The stench of blood and death was overpowering. He grimaced, giving himself a few seconds to adjust before he walked deeper into the house.
He’d only taken a few steps when he stopped short, his jaw dropping. The house’s small size and open floor plan made it possible for him to view the entire main living area at once, and unbelievable wasn’t a strong enough word for what he was seeing.
In the living room, four bodies were slumped on the couch and armchairs, their heads lolling above their slashed throats. Two of them were still holding Xbox controllers; a third had his hand loosely wrapped around a beer bottle, which had tipped over and spilled onto the carpet.
The fourth was Roger Carson, a bag of chips tucked between his leg and his chair. Each victim had a seven of spades card in their laps.
Beyond that was a narrow galley-style kitchen. Maggie Spencer lay with her chest and cheek on the breakfast bar as if she’d fallen asleep on her stool, except the blood from her slit throat had soaked her half-eaten sandwich, and a playing card was carefully propped up against the crusts. Another dead man was crumpled on the kitchen floor, the card dropped near his body. Three more corpses were sprawled in chairs at the dining table. Although Dominic couldn’t see their cards from this distance, he was sure they were there.
This whole house was a graveyard.
Yet there wasn’t a single sign of struggle or resistance anywhere, which should have been impossible. No way the Seven of Spades could have drugged this many people with ketamine at once.
Levi was standing with his back to Dominic, his arms crossed, staring at a spray-painted wall between the living room and kitchen. He didn’t turn around as Dominic approached, but the slight relaxation of his shoulders was proof that he knew who was behind him.
“How?” was all Dominic asked.
Levi shrugged. “From what we can tell, the Seven of Spades sealed the house’s vents and pumped it full of carbon monoxide until everyone inside passed out. Then they just walked through the house and slit everyone’s throat one by one.”
Christ. Dominic had the sense he wasn’t seeing the full extent of the carnage, either. “How many altogether?”
“Fifteen. There are more in the bedrooms.”
They’d found fewer bodies buried in the desert. The Seven of Spades had murdered more people here in one fell swoop than in the first several years of their evolution. That was a pretty decisive response to the threat in Utopia’s video.
“Damn,” said Dominic. “Challenge accepted, I guess.”
“Yeah. I can’t tell if this message is for Utopia or me.” Levi nodded to the words spray-painted on the wall:
YOUR MOVE
“Why not both? The Seven of Spades has always been efficient.”
Levi finally turned toward him, eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t even bother you, does it?”
Dominic knew that tone; he’d have to step carefully. “I find it incredibly disturbing that a human being could casually slaughter this many people at once. But I don’t care that these particular people are dead, no.”