Dead Man's Hand

by Luke Murphy

  Without so much as a handshake, Calvin strode out of the office. He was free. Finally.

  Now I can start my new life.

  And whatever was wrong with the Grant situation, it was Pitt’s problem now.

  Chapter 10

  Dale was used to working with Jimmy. He and his partner had developed a pattern for their searches. They walked about three feet apart, searching the ground for clues.

  “You’ve been on the force four years longer than me,” Dale said.

  “Yeah. Thirty-one years, why?”

  “You ever see a case of this magnitude?”

  “Never.”

  He smiled. “How long we been partners?”

  “Nine years.”

  Dale grunted. Nine years was more than most marriages lasted. “I remember when we were first paired together,” he said.

  “Yeah, everyone called us the odd couple, like Lemmon and Mathau.”

  “Yeah, the black-white thing wasn’t said back then, but everyone was thinking it. All I heard about was how Jimmy Mason was experienced, conservative, a real by-the-book man.”

  “Yeah.” Jimmy smiled. “And all I heard was that Dale Dayton was a cowboy—instincts and no rules.”

  “I guess I’ll have to be more like you on this investigation.” He nodded toward the supervisors huddled at the scene.

  “They said we would never make it. Even our age difference would come between us.”

  “But it didn’t. I trust you with my life.”

  “What, you gettin’ all sentimental on me, Dayton?”

  “Just sayin’, partner. I can’t figure it out.”

  “What?”

  “You have four years on me on the force and yet I’m the lead for all of the major cases.”

  “You think it’s a color thing?” Jimmy smiled wide. “You think, just maybe?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have time to listen to your whining about persecution right now. For most senior officers, taking a back seat would cause some problems. But not you.”

  Jimmy stopped walking and turned toward Dale. “Dale, I’m not okay with racism, but I know you do the lead drill better than I would and it has nothing to do with the color of my skin. But as you know, I am tougher and smarter than you.”

  “Fuck you very much, Jimmy.”

  “Okay, enough sentimental bullshit. What do you think?”

  He knew the stats. The list of possible motives for any murder was profit, jealousy, revenge, concealment of a crime, or the killer was a homicidal maniac.

  “Could be a crime of passion,” Dale stated. “A passion for near decapitation.”

  He thought sex was probably involved somehow, but he had no idea how yet.

  “Wife?” Jimmy inquired.

  “Think about it. Who benefits the most from Grant’s death? Linda Grant is now a wealthy woman.”

  “She was already a wealthy woman,” Jimmy stated.

  “Come on, that was her husband’s money. But now she has no one to share it with. It’s all hers.”

  “You think Linda Grant did this?”

  “I don’t think Linda committed the murder, or any woman for that matter. Sure, she could have lured her husband out here, but she’s much too small and weak to slice his head nearly off. But could be hired work.”

  “We better tell her first that she’s a widow and gauge from there.” Jimmy wore a big smile.

  “What are you so excited about?”

  “Meeting Linda Grant.”

  “Your wife know you’re a perv?”

  Jimmy smiled again. “Of course, but she likes it. How do you think we’ve made it through twenty-five happily married years? I just always appreciate a beautiful woman.”

  The search was going nowhere. Dale snapped off his gloves, the rubber smacking loudly. He dialed the police station.

  “Henry, it’s Dale.”

  “You in the field?”

  “Yeah. I need you to find a judge. Tell him that I need two search warrants sworn out ASAP on probable cause. Doug Grant’s home and casino, the Greek.”

  “The casino owner?”

  “Yeah, the same one.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Don’t worry about what he did, just do it. Have them ready by the time I get back. Wait. Rephrase that. Get me one unspecified search warrant for Doug Grant.”

  Dale hung up without saying goodbye. The search would have to be fast, deep and wide.

  “Unspecified?” Jimmy asked.

  Dale shrugged. “Who knows what Grant owns?”

  As he was walking away, Jimmy put his hand on Dale’s shoulder. “Dale, be careful whose toes you step on with this one.”

  After almost two hours of thorough searching, all they had were the tire tread marks.

  “Let’s go see the widow.”

  As he and Jimmy turned to leave, Dale felt a sharp tug on his coat sleeve. The detectives turned to face their sergeant standing beside the mayor.

  “Dayton, Mason, we need to talk.”

  Dale spit into his cup.

  “Jesus Christ, Dayton, you know I hate that shit!” He turned to the man beside him. “You know Mayor Casey. He wants a few words with you boys before you get going. I’m heading back now. I’ll meet you at the precinct.”

  The men shook hands as the sergeant left. This was the first time that Dale had been this close to Paul Casey. Casey was tall and slender, a bit cocky. Dale couldn’t believe he was standing in this heat in a pin-striped double-breasted suit, with not a drop of sweat on him.

  “What do you think?” the mayor asked.

  “It’s still too soon in the case to tell, sir. There is little evidence to go on right now.”

  “Detectives, I don’t want to slow you down. I just wanted you to know that this case takes precedence. This case should be treated with your utmost professionalism and speed. I am depending on you gentlemen to bring me swift justice. Doug Grant was a friend of mine and I don’t have to tell you the impact that he and his family have had on this city. I would consider it a personal favor if you brought down the son of a bitch who did this. The city would be in your debt.”

  It might have been Casey’s shifty eyes or trite words but something didn’t feel right.

  “We’ll get him,” Dale said.

  “That’s all I wanted to hear. Get to work, gentlemen.” The mayor marched off.

  Something wasn’t kosher about the whole deal.

  Jimmy’s face showed he agreed.

  “Wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Dale hopped out as Jimmy pulled up to the police station. As he entered the precinct, the attendant at the front desk shrugged at him. “They just found the judge at the club, rubbing elbows with Vegas’s elite. The papers should be here soon.”

  He thought about running outside to tell Jimmy it would take a while, but then he heard his name called. Detective Joe Hartford rushed toward him.

  “Dale, I’m glad I caught you.”

  “What’s up, Joe?”

  “The sergeant said you’re working the Grant case?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I think you should hear this.”

  Dale looked back outside toward Jimmy, but he followed Hartford across the lobby and into the tech room.

  “We recorded this 911 call earlier this morning. Didn’t think much of it at the time. Thought it was just some prank.”

  The lab tech started the recording.

  Dale scratched his salt and pepper crew cut as he listened.

  When it was done, Hartford said, “After we got the call, we phoned over to the building lobby, but there was no answer. We had to call a second time, a few minutes later, before a security guard responded. We told him the situation and stayed on the line as they tried to locate Grant. There was no answer at his office, and when they finally got upstairs, no one was there. That Coburn character, or Calvin Watters, was nowhere to be found.”

  “They didn’t lock down the building?”
>
  Hartford shrugged. “Amateurs. We sent a couple of patrol cars to the private office, but by the time they got there, there was nothing to see.”

  “So Grant has a private office in addition to his house and casino offices?”

  Hartford nodded.

  Dale was relieved that he had asked for an unspecified search warrant that would include all of Grant’s offices. It could have taken a day for more than one.

  Dale was thinking about how some of the anonymous caller’s information had been correct, but some wrong. The rest he could check out himself.

  The caller was wrong about the time of death. Grant had already been dead for almost twelve hours when the call had been placed. Was the caller aware of the time of Grant’s murder and just trying to confuse the cops? Was the caller attempting to set Calvin Watters up? Was Watters really in the building? He knew who Calvin Watters was and what his involvement meant.

  The caller was also wrong about the murder site—the woods, not the office. Could the caller have been aware of a plot to assassinate Grant, but been too slow to respond and didn’t know the exact details? How much did the caller know and what might he by lying about?

  “No chance of a trace or identification, Joe?”

  “Not a chance. The phone had a good scrambler.”

  “Why would a Samaritan use a scrambler?”

  “There are all sorts of whack jobs out there. Maybe that’s his usual phone. The techs are busy analyzing the recording for background noises, but that’s a long shot.”

  “Thanks, Joe. Give me a full written report and leave it on my desk.”

  “Sure thing.”

  He headed back to the front desk, but the papers still weren’t there. Henry shook his head so Dale turned and headed across the lobby to the sergeant’s office.

  “What is it, Dayton?” The sergeant kept his eyes on his paperwork.

  “I want to put a surveillance team on Linda Grant.”

  “I suppose you want phone taps too?” He didn’t wait for Dale to respond. “Do it. I’ll get the warrant for it.”

  Dale nodded and then asked for another favor. After a brief moment to think it over, the sergeant replied.

  “Okay, you got it. But be careful. Linda Grant is a pretty powerful person herself in this community.”

  Dale would track Linda with a GPS mounted secretly on the rear bumper of her car. He rushed back to his desk to get her phone records pulled and the lines tapped.

  The search warrants had arrived when he made it back to the front desk. Without further discussion, he hurried outside. When he jumped into the car, Jimmy gave him a doubtful grin.

  “Back in a minute, huh?”

  Dale was looking forward to questioning Linda Grant for different reasons than his partner who, a married-man of twenty-five years with a sex-drive of a teenager, probably took a little adolescent delight in talking to someone everyone knew was a knockout.

  A forest of trees hid the Grant house and a wrought-iron gate secured it. Jimmy said their names into the speakerphone and as the gate swung open, a patrol car followed the detectives’ cruiser inside. A gardener, tending a flowerbed, glanced up as they passed by. The front lawn resembled a putting green.

  The house was a castle—a six-thousand-square-foot Tudor-style mansion with five bedrooms, marble mantels, antique moldings and a gym.

  The house had been on an edition of Las Vegas Celebrity Mansions as one of the top-ten visited houses in the city.

  Dale was expecting a maid but Linda Grant opened the door. She lived up to her pictures—a beautiful woman with a super-model body, at least twenty-five years younger than her late husband. She wore a formfitting, high-waistline dress in a lavender floral print and black ankle-wraparound heels. She had a simple tassel necklace. Her brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. She threw the detectives an amiable smile.

  “Good morning, Detectives.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Grant.”

  “Ma’am.” Jimmy nodded.

  As they stepped inside, Dale thought her eyes were dark and unreadable. She seemed much more composed for someone who was facing a surprise police visit.

  “How can I help you, officers?”

  “I’m Detective Dayton. This is my partner, Detective Mason.” They both showed their badges. “We have some news about your husband.”

  “Doug didn’t come home last night. He often spends the night at the casino.”

  “We know, ma’am. That’s why we’re here.”

  Now she seemed a little worried. “Please come in.”

  They stepped into a grand oak-paneled entrance hall. She led them past a front room filled with oil paintings and Persian carpets and into a cozy back room, where the warm sun shone through walls of windows. They all sat down around a glass coffee table.

  “Mrs. Grant, your husband’s body was discovered this morning in the woods just off highway 515. He’d been murdered.”

  Linda brought her hand to her mouth and her body started to tremble.

  Jimmy pulled a handkerchief from his coat. “Here.”

  She received the offer and dabbed her eyes and sculpted nose.

  Dale continued. “He was killed quickly and didn’t suffer.”

  “He didn’t come home last night,” she admitted between sniffles. “I just assumed that he’d slept at the office.” She wept louder.

  “Get her a drink, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy headed toward a wet bar in the corner of the room. Dale watched Linda. She kept her eyes on her lap and twisted a gaudy-sized diamond on her ring finger.

  After pouring three fingers of expensive scotch, Jimmy returned with the glass. Linda sipped it.

  Dale went on. “Mrs. Grant, everyone with your husband’s prominence has enemies. Can you think of who might have wanted to harm him?”

  She shook her head.

  “Please, Mrs. Grant. Anything you can tell us would help.”

  “You’re right, we all have enemies, but I can’t think of anyone who would have killed him!” Linda said shaking her head. “He was the kindest, gentlest man I have ever known. Just about everyone he knew loved him.”

  “What would he be doing in the woods?”

  “I don’t know. Doug hadn’t mentioned any new real estate plans. He often looked at property to expand, but he hadn’t said.”

  “I know this is a tough question, Mrs. Grant, but one I have to get out of the way. Where were you last night between the hours of ten and twelve?”

  Linda held the tissue to her nose and stared at the detective. “Well, I was home, where I always am.” Her hand dropped and her eyes were fixed with rage. “Wait a minute, Detective.” She jumped to her feet and raised her voice. “Are you insinuating that I had something to do with my husband’s murder? Do you think that I could do that?”

  Jimmy stood up and spoke in a calm voice. “Easy, Mrs. Grant. We’re not saying that. Please, sit down. We have to ask these questions.”

  Linda sat back down and Dale studied her. At least part of what he saw was an act. He was sure of it.

  “Was anyone here with you, Mrs. Grant?”

  “Just the servants doing their regular prep for the following day. We’re preparing a wonderful birthday party for my stepson, Shawn, next week, so my helpers have been working overtime and did last night, not finishing until after midnight. I was supervising, so all three can confirm that I was here during those hours. They sleep in the other wing.” She pointed to the far side of the house.

  That would be easy enough to verify.

  “Dale, can I speak with you in the other room?” Jimmy asked.

  Dale nodded. “Excuse us, Mrs. Grant.”

  When Linda was out of earshot, Jimmy whispered, “Dale, this isn’t an interrogation. We’re just here to make next of kin notification, not start a war. If we piss her off, she has the connections to make our lives miserable.”

  “I know, Jimmy, but we don’t get a second chance to watch her first reaction or hear her side. Y
ou know that. So let’s see what we can see—don’t be a wimp.”

  “Dale, stop jumping to conclusions. We need to do real investigating, not chase theories.”

  “I know, you’re right. But let’s at least look around.”

  “Is the warrant good for that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay then, but let’s be respectful and professional.”

  They returned to find that Linda had moved from the couch and was standing by the window. She gazed into the backyard at the Grecian-style, in-ground swimming pool. A separate spa was nestled into a large deck that allowed an expansive view of the grounds.

  “Mrs. Grant, we need to search the house for anything that could help us identify your husband’s killer. There might be something significant here.”

  She turned and hesitated, “Detectives, I don’t think that would be appropriate. I―”

  Dale showed her the search warrant. Linda grabbed the paper and read.

  “I think I’ll call my attorney now.”

  Chapter 11

  “Rudy, Danny, please escort Mrs. Grant outside.” Dale acknowledged his officers.

  “I’m not going anywhere!” Linda snapped.

  “Please, Mrs. Grant. It would be a lot easier on everyone if you just cooperated. We might discover something vital to help catch your husband’s killer.”

  “Fine.” Linda grabbed the phone and started dialing as she was led outside.

  Without hesitation, the detectives went in separate directions, searching each room before Dale discovered a small business office. “Down here, Jimmy.”

  Grant’s home workplace was twice the size of the lieutenant’s office at the precinct. A large white bookcase filled with hardbacks covered the back wall. A dustless, new-edition laptop sat on top of a small, gleaming desk. The room smelled of fresh varnish. The desk was cluttered with equipment needed for any businessman to work at home. A beige filing cabinet had been pushed into the corner and a print copy of Rembrandt’s “The Abduction of Europa” hung on the wall behind the desk.

  Dale looked down at the two-inch-thick carpet, which was stain-free and dustless. “Does this room look recently cleaned to you, Jimmy?”