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

by Brent Kroetch

  And now and still he continued down that road of incompetence. He had taken Derek’s word that he’d been on duty during the shooting, had accepted his act of innocence without question.

  Nice job, McCalister. Why not just take your gun and finish Russ yourself?

  Then a small niggling thought, one that had been bumping up against his conscious for the past few moments, burst into full, sunlit view. What, just what if, the target had not been Liam Waterson, as he and everybody else assumed. What if the intended target was Russ. What a perfect cover getting Liam would provide. A perfect deflection and distraction. Who would bother looking for someone who’d hit a musician when the hit on a crime boss was the forefront of the news?

  Mentally, he slapped himself upside the head, with a vigor intended to force concentration and rationality. The thought of Russ as the target so bordered on absurd as to bring a flush of shame to his face.

  Quit reaching. Let it come.

  Therein lay the problem with inaction, he thought. A meandering mind that led to nothing but confusion. Time to act.

  But not before Preston himself acted to break the stalemate. “Jesse works both sides of the street,” he announced into the silence of the parlor. “An informer for us, an informant for the police, both Vegas and FBI. I’ll say this, he’s never given us bad information, which leads me to think he keeps it straight rather than playing one off against the other for fun and profit.”

  “I find that so hard to believe,” Ham argued. “I know something of his background, his work and arrests, well actually ‘arrest’, there was only the one, at least at that time. Why didn’t we know about this? His background and all?”

  “As you can imagine,” Preston answered, “he’s deep cover, on both sides. We know it because of our sources, sources that I will leave to your imagination.”

  “Did he have something to do with Derek’s disappearance?” Jennifer asked her godfather.

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m doubtful but I’ll have my men look into it anyway, on a just in case basis. Not to the detriment of other avenues. But it will be done. Don’t worry.”

  “And if you find something, such as he did, or that there’s a connection to the hit, given that he is the connection, as you put it, what then?” Karl demanded. “Will you turn him over to us?”

  Talbot graced the lieutenant with an indulgent smile, as one might offer a favored child. “I make you no promises except this: we will go after him if it’s his work. It won’t be easy. He can take out any forty of our guys on a whim. Same as he could do with the cops.”

  “That’s his reputation?”

  “No, Mr. Neely, not a reputation. A fact.”

  Before Ham could ask Preston to expand on that curious statement, his cell announced the call. He noted the incoming number and took it immediately. “What’s up, Drew? How’s Russ?”

  “Never mind that right now. Is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “Don’t screw with me, Ham. This is not a good time.”

  He heard the steel in her voice, recognized the danger therein but still he had no clue. “Drew, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to screw with you, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Your cabbie, your close friend, Jesse Spencer, is it true he’s been arrested?”

  “What?” Ham demanded. “What are you talking about? Where’d you hear that, for god’s sake in heaven? It’s nothing I’ve heard.”

  “Well, find out. Fast. I want to know, and I want to know right freaking goddam now.”

  “Hang on a second.” To Karl, “Have you been screwing me around? If you have, get ready to kiss your ass a fond farewell.”

  Karl’s eyes reflected confusion and maybe a touch of fear to boot. “What are you going on about? What the hell, what the crap, are you foaming at the mouth for?”

  “Drew tells me that Jesse Spencer has been arrested. When were you going to share that little bombshell with the rest of us, hmm?”

  The bewilderment coloring Karl’s every feature almost convinced Ham of the man’s innocence as he professed full ignorance. But he remembered believing Derek’s claim to be on duty.

  “Ham, I wouldn’t bust you up like that. For heaven’s sake, we’re fellow cops, or at least fellow current and ex-cop. I just wouldn’t do that. I didn’t know. I had no idea. If he’s been picked up, it’s a complete surprise to me and I wouldn’t have any idea why. He sure wasn’t on our radar when I left the station.”

  Into the phone he stated, “Drew let me call you back. This may take a few minutes.” To Karl, he declared, “Those are all fine and nice words, Neely. Now convince me of your sincerity. Call your captain, find out what the hell is going on. Get me all the details.” When Neely paused Ham punched up a number on his cell. “Hey, Eric, Ham here. Call Governor Barbara Stephens again. Tell her Lieutenant Karl Neely of the Reno PD is refusing your cooperation again, even though directly ordered to do so.” He smiled with satisfaction at the sight of Neely frantically waving his arms. “Hang on a second, Eric.”

  To Karl he inquired, sweet of voice, sarcasm buried deep, “Yes, Lieutenant, what is it? Do you wish to add something for Mr. Eric Miller to consider?”

  “I’ll make the call.”

  “On speaker.”

  Only after the confirmation nod did Ham end the call with Eric, advising him to disregard, that the problem had found a solution and that he’d get back to him soon. With news, he suspected.

  Karl powered his two-way and got an almost immediate response. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

  “Who’s the captain on duty?”

  “Captain Hanson. Do you want to be passed through?”

  Neely nodded, finally seemed aware of the requirement for words and gave his affirmative response.

  “Captain Hanson.”

  “Hey, Saul, it’s Neely. Listen, I hear we’ve picked up a Jesse Spencer. Can you confirm that for me?”

  “That’s confirmed. He was picked up about a half hour ago on suspicion of auto theft. He’s in booking now. Why?”

  Karl appealed to Ham, the question in his eyes. “Should I tell him?” he mouthed.

  Ham held out his hand, an explicit demand for the radio. Once Neely turned it over to him, he spoke up. “Captain, this is Ham McCalister.”

  “Ah, yeah, Mr. McCalister, I remember. Eric Miller, Governor Stephens, all that which I would like to call crap but dare not under the circumstances. What are you doing on this radio? I take it you’re with my lieutenant.”

  “Yes, Captain, I am that. And I’m on the radio because I want all the details of Jesse’s arrest. Like what car was it, who reported it stolen, the name of the arresting officer, where and exactly when he was taken, and any and all bail and arraignment procedures planned.”

  A lingering pause met the demands before the captain ventured, “I take it, Mr. McCalister, that you have some personal interest in this case. May I ask what that interest might be? Unless, of course,” he added dryly, “you want to skip all this and go straight to calling the governor.”

  Ham took the slap with humor and a soft sigh. “I pull in the big guns when I have to, Captain. I think in this case we can initiate a mutually agreeable partnership of ideas. As for my interest, Jesse is in my employ. Just as I am in Eric Miller’s employ,” he added for wry emphasis.

  An emphasis apparently not lost on Hanson. “Touché. Now that we’ve got our dance out of the way, and I’ve got the file in front of me, here’s the situation. Your employee was stopped on North Virginia Street for speeding. Strange, though.”

  “Strange? Why strange?”

  “He was stopped for going thirty-six in a thirty-five mile an hour zone. None of our officers I can think of would even bother with a stop like that.”

  “Who was the arresting officer?”

  “Sergeant Pendleton, Larry Pendleton.”

  The hammer between Ham’s eyes left him seeing stars. And enormous balls of red flami
ng rage. After a couple of breaths to calm the ire, he revealed what he thought might be news to the captain, news that would not be welcome concerning one of his own. “Here’s something to toss around in your thoughts. Pendleton is deeply involved in those shootings today.”

  Ham swore he heard Hanson bolt upright in his chair, even heard the eyes fly wide. “Wait a minute, this is all wrong. He’s restricted to desk duty, I’m absolutely sure of it. I remember the notification coming across my desk, signed by Lieutenant Karl Neely, if I recall correctly. Hang on a sec, let me see if I can find it.”

  Over the sound of rustling papers, Ham told him to forget it. “I was there when it happened. It’s Neely’s signature alright.” At the mention of his name, Karl looked up, the question written on his face. A question which Ham answered into the phone. “In fact, he’s nodding confirmation as we speak. So tell me, what the hell is he doing make a traffic stop at all, let alone one for a one mile an hour violation?”

  Hanson anticipated Ham’s next question. “And you no doubt want to know how it happened that your employee was the victim of the arrest.”

  “I no doubt do,” Ham confirmed.

  “Well, so do I. Give me the number where I can reach you and I’ll call you back.”

  “I’ve heard that kind of promise before, Captain, and I’m not in the mood to fall for it again. Why don’t you just tell me now?”

  “I’d love to,” he replied, “but the fact is, I don’t have the information in front of me. But I promise you I will track it down, and that I will get it done in the next ten minutes or I will find out whose about to be unemployed ass is responsible for not giving me what I want. Either way, you will hear from me within the next eleven minutes.”

  Ham grinned into the phone. This was a man Ham himself would prefer not to cross were he one of the captain’s charges. And he doubted the actual charges would be any more willing. “Okay, Hanson, you got a deal.” He read off his cell number, had just severed the connection, when it again exploded into life. Since it announced Drew on the line he immediately picked up.

  Without waiting for her to greet him, he launched in. “I don’t have the information we want yet, just that he was stopped by Sergeant Larry Pendleton for a one mile per hour speeding violation, and that the car was reported stolen. By whom and when I have yet to discover. Captain Hanson is working it, I should hear more in about ten minutes.”

  A long pause greeted the end of his recitation, long enough that he became alarmed. He began to demand a response when he heard the sigh. The kind of which, from her, he had long since become familiar. Something good, and a welcome change from the upshots of the day. “What happened? Is it Russ?”

  “It is indeed,” she confirmed. “He’s awake, drinking a ginger ale and looking his old self. Even the color is back.”

  “My god,” Ham screamed, “that’s freaking great news.” Then it hit. “Okay, spill it.”

  In a voice swimming in innocence, she replied, “Spill what? I don’t have a clue what you mean.”

  “I’ll wait,” he responded. “Meanwhile, I may have to put you on hold or call you back if Hanson should phone.”

  “Okay, well shoot, you’re not much fun, you know that? Anyway, Eric is going to stay here at the hospital, Duncan will head off to get some sleep, and I’m going to come join you, wherever that might be.” With a feigned snarl, she added, “Because Russ, now that he’s feeling better and again thinks he’s the big husband who can order the little woman around, tells me to find the son of a bitch that ruined his planned honeymoon. Like he was gonna get any, anyway.”

  Ham assumed that she handed the phone to her husband because he could not imagine anybody so capable as to snatch it from her hands. “Hey, Ham, Russ here. Don’t listen to the little woman,” he said to the accompanying sound of a slap. “The truth is she’s going bonkers babysitting me while you’re out getting all the action, having all the fun of the hunt. Besides, me and Eric can use some guy time. We married men don’t get a lot of that, what with the old ladies bugging us to take out the garbage and all the other horrors of domesticity.”

  Ham could swear he heard several more than one slap upside the head. Whether he did or not, the squeals were real. “Gotcha, and got your back. Put her back on and I’ll get her out of your long hair.” Just a little dig back at the still long-haired legend, he grinned to himself. Drew could repay the favor at a later time.

  Before she came on the line, Ham directed a question to Talbot. “How long are you going to be here?”

  “Understanding your side of the conversation, I’m assuming you want to meet up with your partner. A most formidable lady, I must say. In every sense of that word.” Ham glared, gave a curt nod, failed to abash the grinning Preston. “How long will it take her to get here? Because we’re going places and we’re going to be moving fast.”

  Ham relayed the question, listened a moment and replied, “She thinks probably about a half hour. She’ll call for a cab, which they tell her can usually arrive within about fifteen to twenty minutes. So half an hour, forty-five minutes at the most.

  Preston grinned, a crocodile exposing its teeth, and punched a number into his cell. Seconds later, he made connection. “Hello, Saul, it’s Preston. I wonder if you’d mind very much sending a squad car out to the hospital to pick up Drew Thornton and have her delivered here at Jennifer’s house.” Seconds later he smiled satisfaction. “Wonderful, my friend, thank you. And you’ll have them go with all due speed? Again, thank you, Saul. Yes, I’ll see you soon. Very soon.”

  “Saul?” Ham accused, eyes wide. “That wouldn’t be Captain Saul Hanson, the one I just spoke with, would it?”

  When Preston spoke his tone was mild. “Why yes, Mr. McCalister. That would indeed be the one.”

  “Well, why the hell didn’t you say something when I was speaking to him? Or when Karl was, for that matter. What game is this?”

  Preston pointed to Ham’s cell, still on and at his ear. “You first might want to tell your partner what to expect.”

  Ham’s cheeks flashed red, an admission that he’d actually forgotten he was on the phone. He related the circumstance to Drew, told her to hurry to the entrance, as they were going to hustle to get there. “Any kind of flashing light, that’ll be them.” The beep from his phone informed him another call was directed his way, this from local police. “Drew, let me call you right back. I got the Reno cops on incoming.” Without awaiting a reply, he rushed to the other call. On a guess he tried, “Captain Hanson?”

  “Saul Hanson, yes. I’ve tracked down the dope on Spencer’s bust. A call came in from an employee at Barton Mellows reporting a stolen automobile. The license plate and the make and model were that of Jesse Spencer’s vehicle. Pendleton had just heard it over the radio when he caught sight of the car and pulled it over on the pretext of speeding. When I asked him why the spurious charge, he claimed he was uncertain as to the details, that he feared he may not have heard entirely correctly, and that the stop was just a way to get the license and ID of the driver while he checked the vehicle again with headquarters.”

  Ham grunted displeasure and plowed ahead, little interested in the minutia just imparted. “Did you bother to ask the big one? What he was doing on the street at all, what with is suspension of arrest powers?”

  “I did,” the captain confirmed. “He said nobody ever told him his powers of arrest had been suspended, so naturally when he heard the broadcast and saw the vehicle in question, he did what he was trained to do, what any cop would do.”

  “Did you ask him what any cop on suspension would do?” Ham snapped. Then, “Never mind, I’m just a little more than pissed at your entire department at this point. Something stinks in Reno and to high heaven, I swear to God. And based on the smell I’m sensing, I’m wondering how many showers you yourself have lately skipped.” Ham felt the burn through the line, the heat in the cell that he held. But he cared not one damn whit.

  The fiery silence lasted sev
eral long seconds before Hanson’s voice frosted the heat to ice. “I’m not accustomed to charges the likes of which you intimate. However, because I have some sympathy for your situation I’m half inclined to let it go. But only half. You understand me?”

  Ham wasted no time in drawing his own line. “You’re wasting your time with idle threats, Saul. And neither you nor I have time to waste. So why don’t you just tell me what it is your hiding, hmm?”

  Deafening silence met that statement until at last a roar of laughter exploded in his ear. Along with a wistful wish. “Lord knows, I sure could have used someone like you on my team,” the captain chortled. “Brash, arrogant, and always right. What a combination. As for your question/accusation, what I’m hiding is that Sergeant Pendleton is and has been under investigation by internal affairs for the past several months. They’re looking into his associations with, how shall I put this, oh hell, let’s just call it ‘unsavory characters’.”

  With a glance across the table, Ham inquired, “You mean like with your buddy Preston Talbot?” Ham grinned to himself as Talbot’s eyes narrowed and his lips clamped shut. Until he remembered that this man might indeed be a lot more dangerous than he, that he might not be an enemy Ham would like to cultivate.

  With a nod of apology and shrug of the shoulders, he continued. “That was probably uncalled for and I apologize. Sometimes I let my temper get out in front of my mouth. But my question still stands. What kind of unsavory characters are you talking about?”

  “Not gambling, if that’s where your mind is stuck, so forget about Preston and his pals. No,” he sighed, sorrow worrying his words, “I’m afraid we’re looking at cartels.”

  “Oh, my good god,” Ham breathed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “More serious than death,” Hanson assured him. “Which is why the accusation of him tampering with the security feed, which I do not accept for a second, was heaven sent. It provided the perfect excuse to sideline him for a bit while we dig into it.”

  Ham glanced across to Neely. Not bothering to mute his end of the conversation, he asked, “Karl, Saul says he thinks Pendleton didn’t see the tapes, that he’s not involved. Is that your opinion, too?” At Karl’s grin, Ham nodded understanding. “So Neely’s suspension,” he spoke into the cell, “was an intentional ruse, designed to throw him off the investigative scent, is that it?”