by Luke Murphy
He explored the contents of the desk drawers. Using a pair of stainless steel tweezers, he lifted a blue poker chip from the drawer. “Look at this, Jimmy. Property of the Golden Horseshoe Hotel and Casino. That’s one of Sanders’ casinos.”
Jimmy took the tweezers. “Why would a $10,000 poker chip from Sanders’ casino be here?”
Dale shrugged and dropped the chip into a plastic ziplock bag. He knew that plastic held fingerprints better than paper.
As he attempted to close the drawer, something obstructed its sliding movement. He got onto his knees.
“Now what are you doing?” Jimmy asked.
“The drawer won’t close.” He reached underneath the desk and felt the obstruction. “Something is here. Give me your flashlight.”
Jimmy handed Dale the tiny penlight and he squirmed underneath the desk. He flashed the beam across the carpeted floor and then in the direction of the inside of the desk. “Something is taped to the side of the drawer.”
“What is it?”
He tore off the strip of tape and a silver key dangled from it. “It’s a key,” he announced, getting up and then handing it to Jimmy. “I also noticed something else when I was down there.” Dale shone the light at the finely sculptured carpet. “Notice anything?”
“You mean the expensive, perfectly maintained carpet?”
Dale returned to his knees and pointed the light at the carpet. “Now do you see?”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“See the indentations in the rug? Someone moved this chair recently. I didn’t touch it and Grant’s been dead for almost twenty-four hours. That means that since his death, someone other than Grant has been in here. We know that a Winston Coburn III did come up here this morning, but since Grant was already dead and not here, Coburn must have left.”
He paused for a moment. “We also know that the caller said the name Coburn was an alias used by Calvin Watters. We’ll find out easy by calling the Atlantic City PD whether there is such a casino owner. If not, that leaves Watters as a potential suspect at least for potential theft and maybe for murder. Did he move the chair, or did someone else sneak in here after he left? We’ve got a lot of checking to do.”
Dale asked the question that had bugged him. “If Coburn is an alias for Calvin Watters, why would he come to Grant’s office after the man had been killed?”
“With Grant dead, Watters could freely search the office for whatever he was looking for,” Jimmy responded.
But Dale had already formed his own opinion. “Maybe he didn’t know the man was dead. What do you make of the key?”
“It’s for a safe deposit box at Sun West Bank.”
“Tina’s bank? Do you think your wife can get us in?”
Jimmy shrugged. “What about the safe?”
He followed Jimmy’s finger. He had missed the false wall behind the desk chair where a safe had been hidden. “We’ll have to come back for that with Mark and have him open it.”
He was quiet and still for a long while.
“What are you thinking, partner?”
“We know a person was in the office and tried to find something. But we’re not sure if they found it. We just need to find out how many visitors there were and if one of them was looking for something besides the meeting with Grant, which may or may not have been real, depending on whether there is a Winston Coburn III.”
Jimmy replied, “That’s a bit complex.”
“Well, you better hold on to something, because it’s just beginning.”
Dale sat at his desk reviewing Grant’s bio while the database searched for a match to any of the fingerprints lifted from Grant’s private office.
Grant owned and operated the second largest and most profitable casino in Las Vegas, was sixty-three years old and married to his second wife. He had no criminal record and a clean bill of health. The man was a millionaire many times over and his wallet had been full of hundred-dollar bills, which means this wasn’t a petty theft gone bad. Grant didn’t owe anyone money and had no real rival except for Ace Sanders. Sanders and Linda were currently the only suspects. Other than Dale’s suspicions and the tread marks, they had no leads.
He could see a clear motive for Linda, but none for Sanders. Sure, the rumored affair with Grant’s wife, but Sanders didn’t seem to gain anything by killing Grant. Shawn Grant was ready to step up and run the Greek. And the word was that he was as tough and uncompromising as his father.
He rubbed his eyes and shut the file.
Jimmy waved a piece of paper in the air. “We’ve got him!” he said with a grin.
Dale pursed his lips. “What do we have?”
“We found three definite sets of prints. Of course Grant’s, but the system also identified Calvin Watters. Watters’ prints were on the doorknobs, the telephone in Grant’s office and the emergency exit alarm. We were able to match them because Watters was arrested a couple of times, more than three years ago, before he became Donald Pitt’s number one collector. That seems to confirm what the caller said about Watters using an alias to get into the building. Also, I called the ACPD.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“They have no record of any Winston Coburn III, II, or I and certainly not as the owner of any casinos there.” Jimmy tossed two papers on Dale’s desk.
“What about the other set?” Dale asked.
“The fingerprint we pulled off the poker chip belongs to Ace Sanders. His fingerprints were also in the office on the table next to the guest chair and the doorknob.”
“Sanders’ fingerprints are on file?” He was surprised.
“His fingerprints were required for municipal records when he bought his first casino, a small one called the Midas, years ago.” Jimmy said
At last there was a direct link between Sanders and Grant. If his fingerprints were fresh enough to be lifted, then he’d visited Grant not too long ago.
This opened the case up. In Dale’s mind, Sanders was now on the radar screen as an official suspect for Grant’s murder. That made three. Watters and Sanders now joined Linda Grant.
Jimmy’s voice rose in an excited pitch. “Who cares about Sanders? We have Watters. We have his fingerprints at Grant’s office and let’s face it, Calvin Watters is as lethal as they come.”
“Think about it, Jimmy. Watters’ fingerprints in Grant’s office are just too easy. If he’s committed what’s currently the perfect murder, why would he be so sloppy about leaving his fingerprints in Grant’s office? The real killer would have worn gloves.”
“Sanders didn’t.”
“No. But he had the justification of meeting with Grant as a rival casino owner.” He was about to continue when an officer called from across the room.
“Detectives, Grant’s car was just found parked at the deserted strip mall off the 592. We searched and dusted the front, back and trunk. The only prints pulled belonged to Grant and there wasn’t a trace of evidence inside or out.” The cop emphasized his last sentence as if he couldn’t believe it.
Dale could believe it though. With each passing second, this murderer seemed more efficient.
“The 592?” He turned to Jimmy. “That’s pretty far from where his body was found.” He faced the officer again. “What about the tread marks at the murder site? Do they match the tires on Grant’s car?”
“Forensics thinks they’ll match.”
“Let me know as soon as you get a final report.”
The officer nodded and left.
“What do you wanna do?” Jimmy asked.
“Run Watters’ social to get an address. How does he look in the arrest files?”
“About the same as when he was a football star, but that was almost four years ago. Not at all like the man that the security guards described to us or what we saw on the video.”
“He’s the only suspect we can move on now. So let’s act on the basis that the man who was arrested after he destroyed his football career is the same man who came to see
Grant this morning. Get an address. I need to make a call.”
When Jimmy left, Dale checked the team list and dialed an outside line.
“Elliot,” the voice answered.
“It’s Dale. What have you and Harper found out?”
“Not much, sir.” His voice sounded frustrated. “Grant had a number of acquaintances but no one very close. The few good friends he did have don’t know of any enemies, except for Sanders. His name keeps coming up. Grant was well liked and respected. The friends that we talked to all have solid alibis.”
“What happened when you called his attorney?”
“We had a brief discussion with him. Grant had made an appointment to see him this morning, but the attorney wouldn’t say what the purpose of the meeting was.”
“Stop what you’re doing. I need you to stake out a possible suspect.”
As if on cue, Jimmy came into the office and dropped a paper on Dale’s desk.
He read the address over the phone. He told the officers to proceed as if Watters was armed and to check in on a regular basis.
Dale hung up. “Let’s go.” He jumped up and grabbed the coat from the back of his chair. “We’re going back to the office complex to check that safe. Call Mark and tell him we’ll pick him up on the way. And let’s keep Watters’ name out of the papers. We don’t want to scare him off. He’s our only fresh lead.”
“Lead? Dale, he’s our killer.”
Dale smiled at Jimmy. “Now who’s jumping to conclusions?”
Chapter 14
Late in the evening, Calvin took his car downtown for a bite to eat. He hadn’t felt this good, this free, in a long time. The prospect of starting a new life had put a jump in his stride. He parked at the curb, dropped coins in the meter and crossed the street to where a blind African American street vendor sat on a stool.
“Hey, Jarvis!”
The man smiled around his toothpick. “Hey, Calvin, how’s my football star?”
“Not shining,” he replied with a grin.
“Calvin, you been sayin’ that same thing for the past two years. Somethin’ good must be gonna happen to you soon.”
“Actually, Jarvis, my old friend. Things are starting to look up.”
Jarvis took out the toothpick from pearly white teeth. “That’s what I like to hear. You’re a good friend, Calvin.”
“You’re easy to talk to, Jarvis, and always the first with rational advice. You also know a lot of people and came through for me when I needed you. What’s with the new facial hair?”
The man rubbed the tuft of hair under his lower lip and above his chin. “Are you mocking my soul patch?”
Calvin chuckled. “I’ll miss you, Jarvis.”
“You leavin’ us, Calvin?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Well, good luck, my friend.”
Calvin grabbed a USA Today and tucked it under his arm. He pulled two singles from his pocket and stuffed them inside the blind man’s pocket. “Keep the change, old man.”
“Much obliged.”
He entered Ed’s Diner.
“Hey, Calvin!” The cook and owner nodded to Calvin from the back.
“Evenin’, Ed.”
He ordered a cheeseburger with the works. Skipping the front page of the paper, he went straight to the sports section. He sipped at his coffee, enjoying the quiet.
He saw a picture of Toby Jenkins, his former roommate at college, on the front sports page. Jenkins had been Calvin’s USC teammate and his backup. The only time Jenkins had seen the field was when the Trojans had a big lead and wanted to rest Calvin. Jenkins, half the player that Calvin had been, had just signed a three-year contract for twenty-four million.
If Calvin had done what was best for his team, he would have been the one to sign that contract.
He was thumbing through the rest of the section when he heard the news on the TV. He glanced up. “Can you turn that up, Doris?”
He approached the counter.
The newscaster did a stand-up on the edge of a wooded area. “Doug Grant, owner and operator of the Greek Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, was brutally killed and left for dead in the backwoods of Las Vegas late last night. Local police will not offer any details now and say this is an ongoing investigation they cannot compromise.”
Next came a short clip of the mayor, praising Grant as a model citizen and pledging that the killer would be brought to justice.
Calvin returned to his booth in a trance. Maybe the police were already at his apartment. He had opened the doors, used the phone and searched the papers on Grant’s desk. His prints were all over the office. He’d be the primary suspect—tailor-made as a violent killer and an African American one to boot.
The waitress dropped his meal in front of him.
“I’ve lost my appetite, Doris.”
The waitress laughed. “Yeah, right. Calvin Watters will not inhale his food in three minutes.”
“Just bring me the bill, please.”
Her smile disappeared. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
He dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table and walked out like a zombie.
The sky had darkened. He pulled the hood over his head, jammed his hands into his pockets and hurried toward his car. He’d taken only ten steps when he was stopped by a voice at his back.
“Hey, Calvin, wait up.”
He saw Ed jogging down the sidewalk toward him.
“What’s up?” Calvin asked.
Ed handed him a twenty. “This one’s on the house.”
A freebie from Ed wasn’t rare. It was inconceivable. “What gives, Ed?”
Ed took him by the arm and led him around the corner to an open space between two buildings. Glancing around, he whispered, “Listen, I know your story and I think you’re a good guy. So I have to tell you this.”
Calvin was silent. Ed did not say much and he never wasted words.
“I have a friend who works down at the police station. He overheard two homicide detectives talking and your name came up. You know that casino owner who was murdered?”
Calvin nodded and said nothing.
“Your fingerprints were found at his office.”
“Hey…” His mouth went dry. “I didn’t kill anyone!”
Ed nodded. “But they know you were there. This is where, in the movies, the pal says, ‘Go to the cops. That’s your best choice.’ But I know the Vegas cops. So all I can say is that I’ll help you if I can.”
“Thanks.”
The restaurant owner left him standing in the alley alone.
Things had heated up. He’d gone from free to hunted in ten minutes. He was now on the run, but he didn’t know in which direction and he hadn’t anticipated or prepared for it at all.
Book Two: The House Always Wins
Chapter 15
During the car ride to Grant’s private office, Dale read Watters’ bio.
His mother was deceased, his father unknown and his brother was a detective with the LAPD. Now that was interesting. Dale didn’t automatically love every cop family, but it showed the Watters brothers were not both thugs.
There was little about his past before college, when he’d been clean. Since leaving college, he’d spent some local jail time before Pitt discovered him. That was over three years ago. Since that time, he’d been clean as a whistle, on paper anyway.
Jimmy knew from the street that Calvin was considered terrifying. But he couldn’t be dumb to have stayed so low profile.
Dale looked at his partner. “Big fucker isn’t he?”
Mark McAllister was waiting on the side of the road when the detectives pulled up.
Dale turned to Jimmy. “This guy? He’s the ‘Vegas safe cracker’? He looks more like an aging hippie. What’s his story?”
“The department found him on the streets. He was just a kid in his twenties who had become a successful criminal and was looking at hard time. The cops spent so much time tracking him, they made him an offer. Go to
prison, or join the team. McAllister took the deal. He is one of the best at what he does.”
McAllister had a bald dome but a long ponytail. He jumped into the patrol car and seemed spaced out, a little bored.
The office was already unlocked and had been stripped clean, so they showed McAllister where the safe was hidden. It took him only seconds to get inside.
On top of a stack of papers, banded together and stacked in a pyramid, was $100,000 in cash. Dale removed the money along with a sheaf of papers and spread the papers across Grant’s empty desktop.
“Make sure you mark that money before we get into trouble,” Jimmy warned.
“You do it. I hate all this paperwork.”
Jimmy took the money and started filling out the papers.
Dale again found it hard to believe the amount of money that Grant had been worth. He lived a Spartan life. If the casino owner had owed Pitt funds, he would not be someone who had trouble paying the debt. All his records were in order.
“Hey, Jimmy.” Dale looked up from the small pile of documents in the safe. “Have you heard of Nick Trump?”
“The ex-cop?” Jimmy paused. “Not liked very well in the department. Had a reputation of being a rat. Quit the force a while back. I heard he opened a private investigation operation across town. Another ambulance chaser. That same guy? Why?”
“A receipt from Nick Trump and Associates. What would Grant need a PI for?”
He put the receipt to the side and continued sorting through the papers.
“This is interesting,” Jimmy said, holding up a photocopied piece of paper. “The prenup.”
They weren’t lawyers, but both detectives got the gist. Linda had to be married to Grant for the real payoff.
The will was next.
“Look at the date,” Jimmy said. “That was right after Grant’s marriage to Linda.”
Now they knew that Linda would get a good share there—but that Shawn also had a reason to benefit.
“You think he killed his own father?” Jimmy asked.
“As I said, he has the motive. I’m not counting anyone out.”
