by Luke Murphy
“What now?” Calvin asked, his eyes shifting between detectives.
“I thought I would have an opportunity to interrogate Baxter. All we can do now is focus on the first three murders. Here’s what we have.” Dale scratched the stubble on his chin. “Baxter’s confession is more evidence against Sanders, but it’s only hearsay, not admissible in court.”
“Fuck the court. We need to—”
Dale grasped Calvin by the arm. “If you’re going to work with Jimmy and me, you have to think like a cop, not a bone breaker.”
Calvin nodded, but he didn’t like it. “Sorry, go ahead.”
“Baxter’s direct confession advances the investigation in understanding the person we’re pursuing. Sanders could have done the other murders himself or used another hired hand. Willing to pay to have you killed is only one mental and psychological step away from personally committing homicide. We now know that Sanders fits the profile of the very rare and small number of people who are capable of deliberately committing murder, when the vast majority could never cross that line, even in life or death self-defense.”
“What’s his next move?”
The detective smiled. “Once Sanders discovers his hit man has failed, he’ll worry about what Baxter might say to us. And then what you might say to us. So he has to act fast. But with Sanders’ range of contacts, we have to factor in the possibility that he’s already learned about Baxter’s arrest. That should shake him even more.”
“If he knows that, then in all likelihood he knows I’m in custody too,” Calvin said.
“That’s what we’re thinking.”
Jimmy cut in. “He’s got to be sweating. We’re not sure he won’t try to get you even while you’re in the hospital. At this point, we’re not sure what Sanders is capable of.”
Calvin added. “I have direct confirmation from Shawn Grant that Sanders and Linda Grant were having an affair. He’ll want to squelch that.”
“But will they pick up their affair? We’re still not allowed to touch Sanders and the order is stronger than ever,” Jimmy said.
They continued walking, this time in silence. Each detective cradled an arm to help Calvin move with less discomfort.
They were almost back at Calvin’s room when Dale said, “Our only hope is that Sanders’ rush to action will force him to make a mistake. We’re still not allowed to touch Sanders, but I have an idea.” Dale looked Calvin in the eye. “Do you think you feel ready to leave?”
He didn’t need to think about it. “Hell, yeah.”
“We’ll talk with the doctor and make sure it’s okay.”
They entered the room and Jimmy said. “I’ll go see the doc. If we get the green light, I’ll sign the release forms.”
Calvin saw his blood-stained shirt hanging from the back of a chair. A new, clean one was folded and piled on a pair of pants on the seat.
“Rachel picked them out,” Dale said.
The nurse came in to change Calvin’s bandages. With his arm in a sling, all movement was awkward, so Dale had to help him get his shirt over his head and pulled down.
Calvin said, “I want to stay on this case.”
“What do you mean?”
“Since the ‘Baxter’ problem has been eliminated, I assumed I would be expendable.”
“Calvin, you’ve already been an essential part of this case. You’re the reason we have Baxter and we have confirmation that Sanders is behind these murders. I realize your vested interest in this case.”
Calvin just smiled.
Jimmy returned with the forms. “Everything is taken care of.” He handed Calvin a piece of paper. “This is your prescription. They said they also added Tylenol 3, a brief, self-limited course of Tylenol and codeine. We’re good to go.”
“Good, because I know exactly what we’re going to do,” Dale said.
Chapter 40
Ace sat at his desk, staring down at the hand he had dealt himself. He surveyed the other three hands and then turned back to his own, the five cards that lay in front of him, face up.
He poured a generous portion of Evan Williams twenty-three-year-old bourbon and drank it in one swallow. Then he poured himself another.
He knew what it meant. Two pairs, black aces and black eights—the dead man’s hand.
His pulse quickened and his breathing slowed. A twitching vein behind his ear pulsated. A deep-seated fear crept into his soul.
Legend had it that on August 2, 1876, in Saloon Number Ten at Deadwood, South Dakota, Wild Bill Hickok had this exact same hand when he was gunned down—murdered in cold blood. Although there were no confirmed accounts of what Hickok’s fifth card was, Ace dreaded the hand. It was cursed.
Four days ago everything had been under control. After hiring Scott, Ace thought the Watters situation was handled. But as one attempt after another failed, he was only exposed to more risk.
From his informant on the Las Vegas police, he learned early this morning that Scott had been arrested. The cops would be questioning him and that made Ace sweat.
He had spent the day pondering his next move, making sure that the time was right. He had no choice now. With the dark of night, he decided to make his move.
The situation couldn’t be worse. Watters was still alive and his hit man was in police custody. Now Ace had to clean up this mess too. He was working hard to get another top hit man to Vegas but that would take time he didn’t have.
Even though he never used his name, paid with cash transfers and had left no paper trail, he knew that someone as experienced as Scott would find it out anyway. The assassin was supposed to be the best and had come from a reliable source. That’s why Ace agreed to pay part of his outrageous fee upfront.
He picked up his secure line.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. I need to see you now.”
“Okay,” the voice answered back.
“Are the cops still outside your house?”
There was a momentary silence. Then the caller came back on the line. “Yes.”
“Okay. Don’t say a word. Just listen.”
He made his plan very clear, going into fine detail. He wasn’t sure the line was truly secure, so he had to make the conversation as unrevealing as possible.
“Don’t be late.”
He hung up and stared at the cards on the desk. He swallowed, closed his eyes, shook his head and got up.
He left his office lights on and turned up the stereo. He radioed down and told his pit and slot managers that he had serious work to take care of and didn’t want to be interrupted for the remainder of the night. He then slipped out the back way of his office and snuck down the back stairs to the employee staff room.
The minute he walked in, the three employees who had been taking their break jumped up from the table and walked out without making eye contact.
Once they were gone, he lifted a set of keys from an employee’s jacket and left the casino through a back entrance, avoiding the cameras.
He marched through the back alley, putting on strong skin-colored surgical gloves. His fingerprints would never be found in the car he’d be driving…or later.
Standing in the employee parking lot, he pushed the disarm button on the key chain until he saw a car in the far corner of the lot light up. After securing the lot, he climbed behind the wheel and sped away. He wasn’t worried, just being careful as always. Ace knew his call to the mayor had abolished any ideas the cops might have about following him.
He gripped the steering wheel. It maddened him all over again that Watters was still a problem when he should have been dead days ago.
Having already sold her share of her late husband’s casino to Ace, Linda just had to wait a few more days while the bank’s substantial check cleared and was deposited into her account.
But she had been promised more than just money. Even if she couldn’t trust her lover, she was going to give it a brief try. She had been promised love too. Even if he had experienced a change of
heart, Linda had enough money to escape Vegas by herself and start over in another part of the world.
She took the stairs, stumbling, to the mansion’s wine cellar to return an empty bottle and choose another. She had also been told to use the wine cellar to make all of her “private” calls.
She shut the door and used the phone he’d given her, dialing the familiar number.
“What is it?”
Just the sound of his voice gave her chills. “Ace just called. He wants to meet me.”
“Good, that means he’s worried.”
“I don’t think I should go. You know Ace, he’s capable of anything.”
“Linda, you have to go. This is the plan we’ve been working on. We’re so close, baby. It’s almost over and then we can be together forever.”
“Are you sure?”
“Linda, listen to me. This is it. You need to go meet Ace. This is important to me…to us. Keep him happy. Give him what he wants.”
She smiled. “I’ll be thinking of you like always. I miss you.”
“I miss you too. But we can’t be seen together. Soon.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“That’s my girl.”
Chapter 41
“Well, that was a fuckin’ waste of time!” Watters jammed himself into the narrow booth, looking more than a little uncomfortable.
It was late on a Sunday night and they were at a small diner, having just concluded their six-hour shift staking out Linda Grant.
“I agree,” Jimmy said
Although Linda had been quiet, Dale didn’t feel the new 24/7 schedule on Linda was a total waste. “Sure, nothing happened today. Linda won’t yell to the world that she was a part of a master plan to kill her husband. But the night’s not over yet.”
“Do you really think, with the buzz she put on at dinner, she’ll be leaving the house again tonight?”
Dale shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I’d like to see Rachel soon,” Watters said.
“We can make that happen. We can—” Dale was cut off by the vibration from his cell phone, which had a familiar caller ID. “It’s the department.” He flipped open the phone. “Dayton.”
“Detective, it’s Mitch. Linda Grant just received a phone call.”
“From who?”
“Unknown.”
“What do you mean unknown?”
“The caller used a voice distorter and scrambler, untraceable.”
Dale remembered the 911 call on Wednesday with the same security measures. Whoever set up Watters was calling Linda.
“Thanks, Mitch.”
He hung up and made another call. “Charlie, it’s Dale. Anything?”
“No. The limo dropped her off a while ago and left. Lights are off. Guess she went to bed.”
“No—check that she’s really at home. She just got a scrambled call.”
“What?”
“Get in there! And keep your cell phone on so I can track what’s going on.”
Through the phone he could hear movement and a car door slam. He heard the faint sound of heavy panting and a knock on a door.
The cop came back on the line. “No answer, Dale.”
“Break it down!”
“Don’t I need ‘probable cause’ to go in?”
“The suspicious call is enough.”
He heard them crash through the door and running up stairs, then, “Shit.”
He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. He called the department. “Mitch, it’s me again. We lost Linda. Please tell me the GPS is operational?”
He could hear computer keys clicking over the phone.
“It was confirmed that the limo had been parked for the night, but the GPS is indicating that it’s moving again.”
Dale hung up. “Linda’s on the move.”
They threw some cash on the table and sprinted from the diner. Dale jumped in the passenger side. “You drive.”
With Watters in the back, Jimmy peeled out of the parking lot while Dale stayed on the line with Mitch, who was relaying Linda’s coordinates.
“We’re getting closer.”
“Call for back up,” Jimmy said.
With the cell phone still pressed to his ear, Dale grabbed the car radio and had dispatch locate four cars to join the tail. He gave them the exact location and made sure they followed his direct orders.
“She’s stopped, Jimmy.” Dale gave the coordinates. “Pull over here.”
Jimmy slowed the car and killed the lights. “There’s Duncan and Smith.”
Dale saw two undercover cars parked on a side street. In the rearview mirror, he saw two more cars pull up. “Everyone’s in position.”
Linda’s limo was parked beside a pump of a deserted roadside gas station. The lights were off inside the building and the only light came from the low-watt bulb of the corner streetlight.
“What’s she doing out here?” Watters asked.
“I don’t know. But I see a set of headlights.”
They watched as an unfamiliar car pulled up beside the limo.
Dale picked up the car radio. “Nancy, I need a plate check.”
“Go ahead.”
“Nevada tags—zero, nine, six, four, apple, brandy.”
He continued to watch the scene as the dispatch operator located the information.
“The car is registered to a Mr. Gene Lockhart.”
“He’s a pit boss at the Golden Horseshoe,” Watters interrupted.
Dale eyed Watters in the rearview mirror. “You know him?”
Watters nodded. “He’s not a killer, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Sanders might have asked him to pick up Linda,” Jimmy said.
Dale shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“What are you thinking?” Jimmy asked.
“I hadn’t expected Sanders to do anything in his Ferrari, known all over Vegas. Linda wouldn’t meet a total stranger in a deserted area at night.”
“You think that it’s Sanders?”
Dale didn’t respond.
The limo door opened and Linda stepped out. She approached the idling 2004 Toyota Corolla, opened the door and climbed inside.
When the passenger door opened, the interior light didn’t go on, but Dale didn’t need confirmation. “She’s going with Sanders. Let’s move,” he said into the two-way radio.
The bumper-lock surveillance was all they could do for now.
“Keep a safe distance, Jimmy.” Dale spoke into the radio. “Stand down, everyone and stay back. Follow my lead.”
“Whose car?” Linda asked.
“A friend’s,” Ace replied, checking his rearview mirror before pulling out.
“Kind of paranoid, having my driver pick me up two blocks from my house.”
Ace ignored her remark. “Your hit man failed.” He sneered. “Where did you find him anyway?”
Linda smiled. “I’m not just another pretty face. I have my connections too.”
She winked, reached over the middle compartment and slipped her hand in his lap. She fumbled for his zipper and pulled it down.
“Are you drunk?”
“I had a couple of cocktails with dinner.” She slid her hand inside his pants.
“Not yet.” He pulled it out.
Linda pouted and folded her arms across her chest.
He had to keep his mind clear. Some overzealous officer might pull him over for something as minor as a broken taillight. He kept discreetly checking for a tail in a way that wouldn’t make Linda suspicious of his actions.
“Where are we going?” Linda asked.
“It’s a surprise. Just sit back and relax. We’ll be there soon.”
“What’s with you tonight? And what’s with the gloves?”
Ace noted the iciness in her voice. He didn’t reply. They were nearing the spot and he tightened his grip on the wheel. His breath quickened and his heartbeat amplified. The irony was almost too much.
He fel
t a charge go up the back of his neck.
When the Toyota pulled over and stopped in a hidden rest area, so did Jimmy. “So what’s our next move? We can’t see or hear inside that car.”
“I’m not sure. Fuck! I was hoping Sanders would take her to a motel, where we could set up some sort of surveillance. We’re blind and deaf out here. Does this place look familiar?” Dale asked.
Jimmy’s eyes grew wide. “Holy shit!”
“Exactly. He’s going to do Linda where he offed Grant.”
“We need to stop this.”
Dale picked up the radio. “Everyone stand down.” Each unit was parked a good distance from the suspect’s car and couldn’t be seen.
A dark cloud floated away, clearing the sky for a full moon. He started to tense.
“Should we move in?”
“And do what, Jimmy? How do we explain it? We’re not supposed to be anywhere near Sanders. We don’t have anything yet.”
The passenger door of the Toyota opened and Linda stepped out. Then the driver’s door inched its way open and a man followed.
Even the full moon wasn’t enough to identify him. The man walked around the front of the car to the passenger’s side of the vehicle and positioned himself behind Linda, always staying hidden.
All they could do was wait.
The unidentified man slipped his left arm around Linda’s waist, little by little working its way under her breasts as he buried his face in her hair. They remained in that position for seconds, swaying their hips together in gentle, sexual rhythm—small circular motion. Linda’s facial expression was one of orgasmic pleasure.
“Guess we’re in for a show,” Jimmy announced, leaning back in his seat.
But something wasn’t right. At first glance, Linda seemed to enjoy it, but to Dale, it looked like she then clawed at the arm in panic, trying to tear from its grip. She was fighting to breathe. “That’s not consensual. Everyone move in!”
Dale thought of Grant and Pitt and was the first one out of the car, gun pointed, sprinting toward Linda. But even Dale’s quickness and the blinding headlight rays could not stop the killer, who was already in full motion.
