Dead Man's Hand

by Luke Murphy

  He thought it was also someone Grant and Pitt had known and trusted.

  While waiting for McAllister to arrive, he skimmed Pitt’s files. He searched through papers, drawers, filing cabinets and any other document container in the front and back offices.

  Nothing with Grant’s name.

  If Grant didn’t owe Pitt money, then why send Watters to the suite? Could the Pitt-Grant deal, if real, have been a cash job with no paperwork involved? And what about the anonymous phone call? Had the caller been trying to frame Watters, or was he reporting what he thought was accurate information? Pitt had admitted sending his employee to Grant’s suite that morning, but only for collection. Presumably, that meant that neither Pitt nor Watters had known that Grant was already dead.

  Mark McAllister walked through the crime scene and over to Dale. “Have you found the safe yet?”

  “No. We’re leaving that up to you while we do our own work. Okay, do your magic.”

  It took McAllister two minutes to find the safe and less than three minutes to have it unlocked. Without a word, the safe breaker left.

  Together, Dale and Jimmy opened the safe and found more than thirty thousand dollars in cash. Underneath the stack of bills, Dale found and carefully removed a stack of papers.

  “What is it?” Jimmy asked over Dale’s shoulder.

  “Not sure yet, but I’m glad we got them before the killer did. I’m too tired to think straight now, so I’ll go through them in the office tomorrow morning.”

  The whole office would be bagged, brought back to the precinct and sifted. But Dale was sure it would yield little or nothing.

  He had three perfect murders.

  But if you looked hard enough, even “perfect” killers once in a while made mistakes.

  Chapter 20

  On the bed of his expensive hotel room, he sat cross-legged, naked except for a pair of latex gloves. He stared at the wall and awaited instructions. He had dropped the room temperature, which was now as cold as a meat freezer. Just the way that he liked it. It kept him alert.

  The man didn’t sleep much. Sleep was for the weak. Every time he closed his eyes he opened himself to a series of vivid flashbacks—POW camps and torture.

  He had only been in Vegas for a little over an hour and already he couldn’t wait to leave. He just didn’t like the town.

  He heard footsteps in the hallway and then a knock on the door. Someone slid a manila envelope under it. From the sounds of the footsteps leaving he could tell it was a man.

  The name Mr. Scott was printed on the outside of the envelope.

  He split open the compact folder and removed its contents. He picked up a black and white photograph and an excited chill climbed his naked skin.

  He threw the information on the bed when the phone rang.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you get the package?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Stay in touch.”

  He hung up without saying goodbye. He would be checking out and on his way soon enough.

  It was late by the time Calvin returned from Pitt’s office, picked up Rachel and crossed the city to their hideout. Rachel, exhausted, excused herself and went to bed. When she left, Calvin went to his computer room to update his database.

  He hacked into the LVMPD and learned that Detective Dale Dayton had been assigned twelve officers. With Dayton and his partner, there were now fourteen detectives on Calvin’s trail.

  He had to be the prime suspect.

  His search on Dayton told him that the detective was thorough and methodical, with a high success rate. If Calvin could find nothing on his own about the real killer, maybe Dayton could.

  There was nothing yet on Pitt or the woman in his office. The murders happened too late to report.

  But his DNA was on the scene. That was certain.

  He needed to update and expand his database about the victims and possible suspects.

  It was almost three when Calvin shut down his computer.

  Chapter 21

  Dale got to the office after eight. He hadn’t slept much the last three nights. For almost twenty-four hours now the new homicide investigation had consumed his life. His mind felt sluggish, but he had a team of thirteen people to run.

  As he walked to his desk on Thursday morning, he went over in his mind what he thought to be true: Pitt had something or knew something. He might have known who was behind the Grant killing or had been involved and his murder had been a cover-up. Either way, Dale blew it. He hadn’t gotten the information out of the bookie.

  He found his team huddled around Jimmy, probably telling a tall tale. They quieted down when they saw Dale. Had they been talking about him?

  “Craig, fill this up.” Dale held his mug out to his youngest and most inexperienced officer. Dale smirked when he saw the cup. The mug, which read “#1Dad”, had been a gift from his wife after Sammie birth.

  The kid moved on command, bringing back the mug filled to the brim with steaming coffee.

  “All right, folks,” Dale started. “What did we find out? Parker?”

  The young officer stepped forward. “Pete and I interviewed Grant’s first wife and his son and daughter. They were all cooperative. Grant and the ex were having no problems and Grant had been making all his payments on time. She said she still can’t believe what’s happened.”

  Officer Duncan took over. “We took your advice and paid particular attention to the son. We hit the whole family with the description of the will right away. Shawn, Melanie and the former Mrs. Grant all said they knew about the terms of the will. Grant had told them about the changes he made after his second marriage.”

  “By all reports, Shawn and his sister, Melanie, loved their father very much,” Parker added.

  “Shawn, of course, has been running the Greek with his father for fifteen years,” Duncan said, “and told us he was in no hurry to have his father retire and turn full operational control over to him. The mother said Shawn had taken the divorce harder than the girl, but he had always loved his father. He didn’t like or trust Linda then and doesn’t now. He even thinks she’s capable of having been involved in his father’s killing.”

  Dale’s brow rose, but he said nothing.

  “Shawn despises Sanders, as his father did,” Duncan said, “and started hating him more when he kept pressuring his father to sell the Greek. Shawn said he could see how much that was wearing down his dad. He was hesitant at first, but then he mentioned the rumors that most of us have heard that Sanders was having an affair with Linda Grant. Of course, he didn’t have proof. He, as well as the women, thinks Sanders may also have been involved in his father’s murder.”

  As Dale listened, he realized Shawn probably didn’t know he was a suspect. He gained too much from his father’s death.

  “Shawn Grant’s alibi checked out?”

  Duncan nodded. “He was at the casino the night his father was murdered. Melanie is attending med school at Harvard and was seen by many people. All three family members have solid alibis.”

  Dale nodded. “But any of them, including Linda, could still have hired a killer.” He steepled his fingers. “You’re next, Ramirez.”

  The Puerto Rican woman stepped forward. “Smith and I talked with Grant’s employees, who had nothing but good things to say about their boss. All of the employees were sad to hear what had happened. We ran background checks on each employee. Not one casino employee has a criminal record. The alibis are being checked, but it doesn’t seem like an inside job.” She added an endnote. “There was one thing though. The Greek Casino employees knew that Sanders was bidding to purchase Grant’s casino. The employees were very happy that Grant wouldn’t budge. They didn’t want to work for Sanders.”

  He turned back around. “Lucas.”

  Derek Lucas sat on the edge of the desk and read his notes with his partner standing behind him. “Lawrence and I hit every competing casino. We have no proof, but no one appeared to be a perfect slasher.
Any of them could have paid a killer, of course, and they do seem to hate one another. But nobody slipped up and said something especially bad about Grant. In fact, everyone respected him even though no one liked the competition.

  Dale addressed his team. “Right. So now go back and look at who they might have hired—local muscle and out-of-town talent. Check Linda Grant too.”

  Dale signaled to Lucas to continue.

  “Have you ever met Ace Sanders?” Lucas asked.

  Dale knew it wasn’t really a question, but a dramatic way to set up what Lucas was going to say next.

  “He’s a piece of work. We weren’t able to interview Sanders himself. He wasn’t in his office at the Golden Horseshoe or the Midas yesterday afternoon. So we walked around the casinos and spoke with some of his employees. They’re terrified of him. A few admitted that at the time of the Grant murder, they were busy working and couldn’t know whether Sanders was really in his office or not. When we went to the Midas, his other casino, same story. He wasn’t there and no one was talking.”

  Dale wasn’t surprised. Sanders was cautious and smart. He thought Sanders looked good for this, maybe too good.

  “Harper and Elliot?”

  The team that had been staking out Calvin Watters’ apartment had nothing to report. Watters hadn’t returned to his home and Dale suspected that he never would.

  Watters was the only suspect who had disappeared. That didn’t look good.

  “Why don’t you two go home and catch up on some sleep. I’ll call you when I have another assignment. Great job, guys.”

  Harper and Elliot nodded, their eyes droopy, and left the group.

  Before continuing to his next team, Dale turned to his partner. “Jimmy, find Watters.”

  Jimmy went off to work the phones.

  Dale went on. “Officer Morris?”

  “We searched and dusted Grant’s casino office and I mean we checked everything. Sorry, Dale, but we found nothing. Everything is locked up in evidence with the stuff from Pitt’s office.”

  Dale was about to hand out new assignments when he heard his name being barked out from across the room.

  “Dayton!” The sergeant stuck his round bald head out the office door. “Get your scrawny ass in here!”

  “Oh, yeah,” Craig spoke up. “The sarge wants to see you.”

  Dale saw the sergeant through a cloud of cigarette smoke in his glass-partitioned office. Even though smoking in public spaces was banned, the sergeant didn’t look worried about a complaint. He had just returned to work a week ago from a heart attack. His red face, and by the way that he was pacing about, told Dale that he was on the road to another one. The sergeant had started chain-smoking again and was showing no effort to hide it.

  “Okay, people.” Dale acknowledged his group. “I know it seems like we have nothing, but we knocked off most of the obvious. Now the real work starts. Good work with your first assignments. I’ll be back.”

  “Sure thing, Terminator,” Ramirez said.

  Dale walked into his sergeant’s office as the boss held the door for him. After he had entered and took a seat, the sergeant slammed the door.

  “Dayton, why the hell hasn’t Calvin Watters been picked up yet?” He spit as he barked out the words.

  “Well, Sarge, we haven’t been able to track him down.”

  The sergeant was smoking, nail chewing and almost ready to explode.

  “It seems that Watters has friends on the street willing to protect him. For all we know, he may have already left town. He could be anywhere on the map. What are you doing about it?”

  Dale updated his boss on everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours—a citywide APB on Watters, as well as photos sent out to local, state and federal officials with nothing in return.

  “Just get it done, Dayton.” The sergeant said.

  “Yes, sir. But he may not be our guy.”

  The sergeant eyed his detective. “What do you mean? I talked to Jimmy and he said that we have all we need on this guy.”

  Dale thought about turning and leaving, but instead told him about the prenup, the will and his interview with Pitt. He explained why he thought Ace Sanders, Linda Grant, or Shawn Grant could be involved. He had already questioned Sanders’ employees under caution, careful not to make waves.

  The sergeant nodded as Dale spoke and then said, “I don’t want theories or conspiracies. I like Watters as our guy. The mayor—that little puke—has been breathing down my neck on this one. Grant was an important man.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t ‘yes sir’ me, just do it! I want this guy’s ugly mug on every channel and newspaper in the U.S. The more we broaden the investigation and get the word out to local, state and federal law enforcement authorities and the public, the greater the possibility of good information coming in. Let’s smoke him out.”

  Dale was not against searching for tips, but most cases were solved when someone directly involved ratted out a partner in crime. A national publicity campaign would not catch this killer. Dale counted on Jimmy’s snitches coming through.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He blew air from his cheeks when he left the office. His partner was waiting with a wide grin.

  Dale slumped into his seat. “Please tell me that you have some good news. Any luck at all?”

  “Yeah, lots of luck, only it’s the bad kind. Sorry, buddy. I used every link. Nothing. My contacts said that Watters was private and cautious. He’s been seen at Cruiser’s Bar from time to time, but no one knows where he conducted his business and no one dares cross him anyway. He could be out of the country by now.”

  “Great. Send someone over to Cruiser’s Bar just in case.”

  As a public service to a fellow cop, Dale called Joshua Watters at the LAPD.

  “Detective Watters, this is Detective Dayton, LVMPD.”

  “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “I’m calling about your brother.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard. Have you brought him in?”

  “I don’t like to admit it, but we hoped you had some idea of how we might find him.”

  “Under different circumstances I would laugh at a group of detectives who can’t find a tall African American built like a truck in a town your size. But Calvin is not dumb and I’m not surprised you haven’t flushed him. Sorry, Detective. My brother and I haven’t seen or spoken to each other in years. Not since he took that job with Pitt.”

  “Well, I believe your brother is innocent. I think he’s been set up.”

  “Really?”

  Dale heard the shock in the LAPD detective’s voice.

  “Yes, I do. If you talk to Calvin, tell him that. Tell him to contact me.”

  “That changes things. I’ll see if I can help you find him. Not that I wouldn’t have done my job anyway, brother or not. But now I’m going to get creative. But I believe TV is to blame.”

  “What do you mean?” Dale asked.

  “Detective, we both know that in real life, the police treat a suspect who comes forward with respect and assume that only an innocent man would voluntarily turn himself in. TV cop shows indicate that cops try to twist a suspect’s story. My brother is probably thinking that.”

  “Anything you got will help.”

  “Calvin is a survivor, detective. He doesn’t trust too many people. He was only thirteen when our mother died of pancreatic cancer. We didn’t have a father. Calvin bounced around the foster care system, moving from house to house, parents to parents. I was more fortunate. I was twenty-one and already enrolled in the Academy. Even though I was legally an adult, I was in no way capable of taking care of Calvin. I did the best I could, but I wasn’t the brother I should have been. Calvin used football as his salvation and a way out. As a boy, he overcame all of these obstacles to succeed when most men would have quit. So I’ll do anything I can to help my brother now.”

  “No leads?”

  “It won’t be easy, detective D
ayton. Calvin is a U.S. military history buff. He would read up on it any chance he got. I know that he used this knowledge in football to break down team defenses. He showed a special interest in past wars, studying line of defenses, as well as actions taken on the offensive. He had learned every possible tactic used by the military and how the armed forces involved made their decisions. But I’ll do my best to help.”

  “Thanks, Detective Watters. Call me anytime,” Dale said over the lump in his throat.

  Chapter 22

  “Jimmy, I’m going downstairs to retrieve the stuff from Pitt’s office. We can review it now while I decide in which direction we want the team to run.”

  Dale skipped down the concrete stairs and into the basement evidence room. “Mornin’, Joseph. I need the Pitt stuff.”

  “You got it, Dale.”

  The swarthy officer jumped off his stool, dropped the logbook on the counter in front of Dale and walked to the back of the cage. Dale could hear lockers being opened and closed as he signed in. The man returned with two large-sized garbage bags.

  Dale eyed him. “That’s it?”

  The man shrugged. “That’s all that was signed in last night.”

  Dale grabbed the bags and sprinted up the steps. He threw them on his desk. “How many bags did we confiscate from Pitt’s office?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “I didn’t stay all night, but there were at least four when I left.”

  Dale sizzled with rage and felt a shiver form. Goose bumps sprung on his arms. He marched into his sergeant’s office without knocking. “What the fuck is going on here?”

  The sergeant was on the phone. A cigar drooped from his lips. “I gotta go,” he said into the phone and hung up.

  “Excuse me, Dayton? Do you know who I was on the phone with?”

  “I don’t give a fuck right now. What happened to the Pitt evidence?”

  “What Pitt evidence?” His boss seemed genuinely puzzled.