The Biggest Little Crime In The World (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 3)

by Brent Kroetch

  “This is Lydia Riley, Mr. Larsen. I’ll be lead on this case. What can I do for you?” She listened for several long moments, nodded, then appeared to realize the caller would fail to see the gesture. “Yes, I can do all that. And I also promise you, we’ll just sit around and chat until you get here.” Again she waited, again she shrugged her answer, this time with a shake of the head. “No, no more questions, no problem. We’ve already told him and your investigator that your client is not under arrest, nor are we currently planning to make one in the foreseeable future.” More squawks emerged from the phone and this time, when done, she nodded. “Yeah, okay, we’ll see you soon.”

  She cut the connection, handed the phone back to Ham and remarked, “I’m kind of looking forward to this. His legend precedes him.”

  “He’s a character,” Ham admitted. “Just don’t get on the wrong side of him. Then he’s not so pleasant.” At the flash of angry red that tinged her cheeks, he held up a calming hand. “What I mean by that is don’t lie. If you’re straight with him, even if he doesn’t like the answers, he’ll treat you fairly. If you fake the truth or the evidence, he’ll make your life more than miserable.”

  “I can live with that,” she shrugged.

  Karl nodded agreement. “I’ve never cooked the books and I know Lydia hasn’t either. So no worries there.”

  They settled in to wait, the silence engulfing the room. Ham, used to such practices, smiled inwardly and contented himself with the restful break. Until he noticed Derek begin to sweat and fidget, sure marks of a guilty man uncomfortable on the hot seat. A guilty man about to blurt out a confession.

  A room and a heart full of lies.

  To ward him off, Ham stood, stretched, stifled a yawn and leaned across the table to his new client. “You need to go to the bathroom? Is that what you said?”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Karl objected. “What are you trying to pull here?”

  “Why, not a thing,” Ham grinned. “Just trying to make the boy comfortable, give him a chance to stretch his legs. And yes, to use the bathroom if he needs to before Gary gets here.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “Which should be almost any time now.”

  Derek looked up, a grateful flash of thanks in his eyes. “Yeah, I could use both.”

  “Let’s go, then,” Ham offered. “I, too, could stand to get the blood circulating. Been sitting too long. Which is why I could also use a bathroom myself.”

  Kyle stood, obviously intending to escort them. “Thanks but no. If we’re going to have an escort, let’s make it Lydia here.” At Karl’s suspicious look, Ham grinned. “She can’t follow us into the bathroom, can she? If you escorted us and decided to make it a gang toity,” he said as his grin turned more evil, “I think Gary would lose that notoriously short temper of his.”

  “Meaning you want to talk to him privately.” Ham’s stony silence provided all the response necessary. “Alright then, Lydia, show our guests where the facilities are, if you will.”

  She led them from the interview room, through the bullpen and on toward a set of doors on either side, one marked for men, the other for women. As they walked, Ham rested a calming hand on Derek’s shoulder and kept it there until they reached destination.

  “I’ll wait here, gentlemen.” She grinned wickedly as she added, “If you need help, give me a shout.”

  Ham, not needing the facilities, turned away as Derek approached the urinal, the man’s need for use of it less obvious than the palpable shaking of his knees. “What’s the problem, Derek? Why so scared?”

  A long pause preceded the answer. “If I talk, he’s going to kill me. Either he will or one of his heavies. God,” he cried, “why the hell did I ever get involved in this? Fucking why?” he moaned.

  Ham offered no response until he sensed that the manager had finished his duty, if in fact he’d ever begun. Only then did he turn toward Derek and shake his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but let me say two things here. Number one, I want you to calm down and get ahold of yourself. We won’t talk about this, not right now. It’ll have to wait until Gary gets here. Then he can handle it. And number two, and maybe more importantly at the moment, nobody is going to get anywhere near you, I can absolutely promise that. I will stick you so deep even your shadow won’t be able to find you.”

  Derek, still ashen, eyes still wide with fright, steadied himself at the sink, washed up and splashed water on his face. He wiped dry and turned to face Ham, eye to eye. “I’m okay now. Just a panic attack. It’s passed.”

  Karl barged in just in time to overhear that last statement, Ham guessed. Well, let him, Ham thought. No worries there. “What’s up? I thought you were waiting on us in the interview room?” Glancing around, he noted his partner’s absence. “Where’s Lydia?”

  “All questions have the same answer. Your friend and attorney is here, waiting in the interview room. Lydia’s gone to meet him, I’m here to so inform you and that’s all there is. Ready?”

  Ham turned to Derek, pressed a finger to his lips for silence and followed the detective back across the squad rooms to where Gary waited. As soon as Karl opened the door and stood aside for Ham and his charge to enter, the attorney stood, grinned broadly and announced, “If they’re all as nice as Lydia, we’ll get along fine. Have a seat, Derek. You, Ham, go with these detectives. I want to speak with my client.”

  Understanding the process, Ham followed the officers from the room and accepted their offer of a chair nearby. A chair where he sat, stared at the enigmatic Lydia and pretended otherwise for the next ten or so minutes until Gary opened the door and waved them back in.

  Each stood and began to stroll to the interview room when Karl’s cell chimed a greeting. He answered with a clipped, “Yeah,” and proceeded to listen for several long moments. “Are you sure? You’re absolutely positive?” After another short pause, he continued. “Send me everything you’ve got and send it right now. Yeah, okay, thanks. If I can do anything for you just say the word, you got it.”

  He snapped the phone back into its clip. “Okay, people, things are heating up. We got a hit from the feed. We know the shooter. Now we got to find him.”

  7

  WITH NOSTRILS WIDE FLARED

  “That can wait a bit, the shooter will still be there ten minutes from now,” Gary told the lieutenant. “First things first, and that’s to release my client. I want him released to the custody of Drew Thornton. Ham can handle that part.”

  “What’s going on?” Ham asked. “Why Drew? Why in her custody?”

  “Because,” Gary informed them, looking at each in turn for emphasis, “Derek did indeed make a false police report.” He held up his hand to forestall comment. “Forget it, he’ll never be convicted, not even with a confession, so don’t bother to think of charging.”

  “You might want to explain yourself,” Lydia suggested.

  “And quickly,” Karl added with an auspicious glance at his watch. “I’m less interested in some security flunky than I am in the shooter. Not to mention that I’d catch hell from everybody from the mayor on down if this perp should choose to pop someone else while I’m in here twiddling the thumbs up my ass.”

  Gary grinned, flashing acquiescence. “Nice image. Anyway, his boss found the evidence of the dupe, confronted Derek and he folded. Confessed what he’d done, with whom and for how much. The boss told him he could either keep the money and make the call, or he could return the money, not make the call and be dead by the end of the day. His choice.”

  “Why the hell would he do that?” Lydia wondered. “What’s in it for the boss?”

  “Ever hear of Barton Bianchi?” Her eyes flew wide and Gary nodded confirmation. “He’s the boss. He owns the security firm that runs the feeds. And guess who his boss is? The one behind him and his shops across the state?”

  “Let me guess. Liam Waterson.”

  “Ta-da. Not a bad guess. In fact very close. But it’s actually one of Liam’s men, name of P
reston Talbot. That’s what it says on paper. There’s no doubt in my mind it’s a Waterson family enterprise, though.”

  “How did you find this out, Gary?” Ham inquired. “That was mighty fast work. Don’t tell me Derek told you all this. I don’t think for a second they’d let him in on that kind of incriminating evidence.”

  “Hell, no, the kid would stroke out, which is why I didn’t tell him anything. And to answer your question, I knew as soon as I heard the name of his boss.”

  “Another scumbag defense attorney,” Karl mumbled. Louder, he demanded, “Is he, too, a client of yours? Because, if so, you may as well know we’re going to drag his ass in here and pound on him three ways from tomorrow.”

  Gary’s eyes deadened, a sign, Ham knew, of the attorney at his lethal worst. “There’s nothing wrong with my hearing, Neely. Take care on the scumbag thing. But no, Preston Talbot is not a client. On the contrary, I’ve taken him to task a few times. Needless to say, our families don’t spend Christmas together.”

  Ham now understood the need to release Derek into Drew’s custody. She sat as the protector of not just Russ but his bandmates, too, as well as acting as the overseer of the off duty cops operating as security. Derek would just be one more body to guard. And he’d be well and damn sure guarded at that.

  Without awaiting official approval, Ham got Drew on the phone and, after assuring himself that Russ was still alive and the others well shielded, he filled her in on Gary’s assessment. “I’m going to bring him over but I’ll have to hurry back.” Suddenly, the thought hit. “I’ve got a better idea. I’ll have Jesse drive him. That way I can stay here and maybe keep on top of what the locals are doing.”

  He rang off and punched up Jesse’s cell. As soon as the cabbie answered Ham explained his need. “I want you to take him to the hospital and deliver him directly to Drew Thornton. Nobody else. If she’s not available, for whatever reason at all, you stay there with Derek until she is, got me? Good. As soon as you get here, tell the desk sergeant to come and get Lieutenant Neely, that’s he’s in interview room three.”

  While they waited, Karl pulled up the feed on his laptop, along with the report on facial recognition. “Is that how you got this done so fast?” Ham inquired. “Uploaded from that?”

  Without looking up, Neely nodded. “Yeah, while you were dicking around in the bar, waiting for me to get gone, I uploaded, sent and requested immediate reply. Fortunately, they were aware of our little problem on Virginia Street and they wasted no time breaking some speed records.”

  Gary glanced at Derek, assured himself that a whisper would keep the edgy manager out of range of his comments. To Ham, he explained, “I’m not needed here. I’m going to go with our client over to the hospital, check on Drew and Russ and keep a sharp eye on a very nervous Derek. I’m not so sure but what fear might cause him to do something stupid, if you know what I mean.”

  “Like take it on the lam, maybe defect to the other side?”

  “Yeah, like that. It’s got to be at least tempting. Like going to confession, admitting your sins and begging forgiveness.”

  “Good idea. I’ll call if I need anything. Otherwise, you can call me if anything comes up.”

  They spent less than five minutes fidgeting, waiting to move, before a uniformed officer knocked and stuck his head in the doorway. “A fellow here to see you, Lieutenant. A Jesse Spencer, says he’s expected.”

  “That he is,” Karl agreed. “Thanks, we’ll be right out.”

  The lieutenant closed his laptop, secured the content and rose, signaling Ham, Gary and Derek to follow. In short order, they gathered at the desk, found Jesse lounging against a wall and traded off their package. “Take good care of him,” Ham instructed, pointing at Derek. “He’s an important ally. And remember, nobody but Drew.”

  He watched Jesse escort Gary and Derek from the station, then turned to follow an already departed Karl back to the work room, catching him just before the lieutenant passed on in. Fearing the worst, that the cop intended to close Ham out of the loop, he demanded, “I’d like to see the feed and the facial recognition results, Neely. I think I’m entitled.”

  “You do, huh? And why is that?”

  “Let’s face it, if it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have any of this. Your Sergeant Pendleton sure as hell didn’t get you here.”

  “That is a fact and a half,” Lydia announced as she stepped into view. “Which is why, while you two were playing usher, I called his ass in here. He was on the street but should be here soon.”

  “I’m going to be very curious to hear what he’s got to say about seeing nothing on the feed in the first place.”

  “Me, too, McCalister,” Karl nodded. “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but it sure as hell looks bad. And that’s saying the least. Saying the most, well…” He shrugged and let the implication linger in the now still air.

  “No need to wait for him to get here,” Lydia stated. “Show us the results from state lab analysis.”

  “Sure.” Karl punched up and opened the file, enlarged the print and the face attached to the report. “There he is. One Preston Talbot.” Looking at Ham, he asked, “Know him? He’s out of your stomping grounds and rumored to be one of the boys.”

  “Meaning crime?”

  “Meaning crime.”

  Ham responded by pulling up his old precinct from his phone’s contact list. At confirmation that he’d reached the department, he asked for and was transferred to Lieutenant Jarrod Grayson. “Hey, Jarrod, it’s Ham. I need another favor, one relating to my earlier call. I want you to get me everything you can on one of your locals, a guy by the name of Preston Talbot. He’s listed as forty-seven, shows a residence…What? Oh.” Ham pulled a pen from his pocket, along with notepad, and nodded into the phone. “Yeah, go ahead.” He scribbled furiously for several long minutes then thanked his contact, hung up and offered a deep sigh to the cops across the table.

  “The loop is beginning close. They’ve got quite a file on our Mr. Preston Talbot. He’s head of security for Liam Waterson’s casino interests, meaning he floats. He also reportedly breaks knees and whatever else it takes to protect his boss’ interests,” he mumbled as he sent the text to Drew: Preston Talbot, Las Vegas, mobbed u, is our shooter.

  Before Karl or Lydia could comment, Larry Pendleton arrived. He stuck his head in and announced, “I’m here. What’s so damn important you had to pull me off the most important and highest profile case of my career?” Though he smiled his way through the question, the tone belied any attempt at humor. The man was some kind of pissed, Ham guessed.

  “Come on in,” Lydia invited. “Have a seat. We want to talk to you about that investigation.”

  Ham recognized the approach and inwardly grinned admiration. Her words encouraged cooperation, commands delivered in a tone of kinship, the very antithesis of threat. Lydia apparently possessed the talent.

  Pendleton fell for it without qualm. He plopped down in the indicated chair and grinned an easy smile of camaraderie. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

  “For starters,” Karl snapped, “we’d like to know if you’ve met Derek Fister. Know who he is?”

  The man was quick, Ham had to give him that. Only a flicker of recognition touched his eyes, and that quickly extinguished. “Derek Fister, Derek Fister. Nope,” he shrugged, “can’t say as I do. Why?”

  “How about Barton Mellows Associates?”

  Pendleton appeared as though trying to remember. “That rings a bell but I can’t quite place it.”

  “They’re one of the security firms that run feeds for local businesses, record transactions around their premises. Ring a bell now?”

  “Right,” Larry nodded, snapping fingers in emphasis. “They’re on my list to check out today.”

  “How many are on your list?” Lydia asked, again sugary sweet and non-intimidating. “When do you think you can finish up?”

  Larry shrugged, just a cop doing his duty. “Hopefully b
efore my shift ends. I want to be thorough and there are six of them in the city that carry feeds for local business outlets. The casinos and larger businesses all do their own but there are a bunch of smaller firms that use the security services. I’ve been culling them one by one.”

  “How many have you completed?” she pushed.

  “I’m happy to report I’m half way through.”

  “And you haven’t seen anything of interest,” Karl accused.

  “What is this, Lieutenant? It’ll all be in my report. But to answer your rather accusatory question, no, I have yet to see anything relevant to our investigation. And,” he emphasized, “before you lecture me on the importance of this, of the consequences for the department, I’m aware of it. That’s the reason I’m taking my time and being so thorough.”

  Ham leaned back, arms crossed against his chest, and offered his iciest stare to the uniformed man across the table. Only then did Pendleton acknowledge his existence. “What the hell is he doing here?” he demanded. “He’s no city cop, what’s he doing in an interview room?”

  “I’m here because they asked me to be,” Ham replied mildly. “Mostly to listen, and mostly as an ear that picks up easy lies. And I’ve got to say, my ear’s beginning to hurt.”

  Pendleton stood abruptly, nearly knocking the chair to the floor. “I don’t have to listen to some civilian asshole insult me. I’m out of here.”

  Karl stood just as abruptly, his shoulders squared, jaw set and firm. ‘Not yet, Sergeant. We’ve got something we want to show you. Now sit back down.” When the cop failed to comply, Neely leaned in, face to face, and growled, “Friend or no, I must insist. I could sit you down, if you’d like.”

  Larry paled, blinked confusion or fear, Ham was not sure which, before he obeyed. He plopped back down with a sigh of resignation and shrugged feigned indifference. “Whatever,” he grumbled. “But you’re wasting my time and, friend or no, I’m going to file a formal complaint against both of you. And given your playmate there,” he said, pointing to Ham, “I’m guessing your asses will end up on the wrong side of a sling.”