Dead Man's Hand (11 page)

Earlier, Ace had an informant get him all the information he needed on the LVMPD, because once the Grant homicide investigation began, he
’
d be following it with interest. He could have dialed the Homicide Division directly, but he wanted to play the concerned, frightened,
innocent
citizen, one who only knew to call 911 in case of an emergency.

He waited ten minutes after Watters had entered the building before picking up his untraceable cell phone and dialing the three digits.

“
Hello, 911 emergency.
”

“
I need to speak
to
someone
right away,
”
he said.
“
A murder is about to occur and the police need to stop it.
”

Ace could tell by the sound of the police officer
’
s voice that the man was concerned, but the officer remained composed.
“
Would you repeat that, please?
”

He did.

“
I
’
m going to transfer you to Homicide. Please hold.
”

The call was picked up in ten seconds.
“
Detective Hartford, Homicide. You
’
re claiming someone
’
s about to be murdered. Who? And where?
”

Ace grinned.
“
I have reason to believe that Doug Grant is going to be murdered.
”

“
Doug Grant, the casino owner? When and by whom?
”

Hartford sounded shocked. That was the reaction Ace wanted. It would make the detective more likely to act than stop to think about the credibility of the call.

“
Just listen,
”
he
said, forcing his voice to sound scared.
“
I
’
m risking my life by making this call. If people involved find out I
’
ve reported this information to the police, I
’
ll be the next dead man.
”
He didn
’
t wait for a response.
“
I have solid information that a man named Calvin Watters is going to murder Doug Grant in his private office in the next few minutes. You need to get patrol cars over there right away.
”

He
gave Hartford the address even though he knew he didn
’
t need to.

“
Watters entered the building three minutes ago. He made an appointment with Grant for nine thirty this morning under false pretenses. He
’
s using the alias Winston Coburn
III
and he
’
ll have a phony business card to show the guards at the front desk. He
’
s wearing a Panama hat, black sunglasses and a long tan coat.
By now, he m
ay already be on the elevator.
If you don
’
t get officers there in time to stop Grant
’
s murder, I
’
ll let it be known anonymously that you received this call and because of your delay, you
’
re to blame for Grant
’
s death.
”

“
Okay. But you have to tell me your—
”

Ace hung up. Then he drove away, smiling.

Grant
’
s suite was the only one on the penthouse floor.
When Calvin strode out of the elevator, he
approached the
double front doors and knocked
.

N
o one answered
.

He tried the doorknob and found the door
unlocked.

Hmmm…
I guess Grant really did step out
.

He
pushed the doors
open and walked in.
“
Hello? Grant?
”

Silence.

Since Grant had left the doors unlocked, Calvin could only surmise the man had planned to return
soon. Besides,
Pitt
always had good information as to where the target would be.

Maybe Grant left the money for me to pick up, to avoid meeting me.

He
passed through a
secretary
’
s room, which connected to a larger
carpeted office
with a b
athroom
off to one side. Grant
’
s office. The aroma of expensive leather and the scent of pipe tobacco filled the air.

This was the first time that Calvin
’
s boss had ever been wrong about where a prospect
would be. Also, from what he
had seen, Grant hadn
’
t left the money in a package to be picked up. He would have put it near the front door or somewhere else where Calvin could easily spot it.

He jumped w
hen the phone rang,
then
ignored it
as he
made a beeline toward
the mahogany desk
. He studied the papers on top—memos, documents,
bills, the usual stuff
. There was also
a framed picture of Grant and his wife from their wedding day.
Nothing with Calvin
’
s or Pitt
’
s name.

He
searched
around again and
saw no indication of the money. The last thing he wanted was to be caught snooping around in Grant
’
s office.

The phone continued to ring.

Obviously
,
no one is here. Hang up already.

No Grant
, n
o money. This last job
was getting more
suspicious
by the minute
.
And Calvin
’
s
finely tuned sense of danger from his y
ears on the streets was buzzing
.

Something
’
s off here.

Ri
f
fl
ing
through the papers on Grant
’
s desk, he heard police sirens in the distance
. He jerked upright
.
They wer
e getting closer.

The phone finally stopped ringing but t
he sirens grew louder.

Proper procedure he
’
d been taught was to call immediately when a job failed
and await instructions. As badly as
he wanted to get out of there
, he still had the reputation he
’
d built
.

“
Calm down, Calvin,
”
he told himself.
“
This is your last job. Do it right and you
’
re done.
”

Using Grant
’
s desk phone,
he
dialed an outside line.
“
Grant
’
s not here and neither is the money.
”

“
What do you mean he
’
s not there?
”
Pit
t
sounded worried
.

“
I
’
ll tell you again. Grant
’
s not in his office. You were wrong.
”

“
H
e has to be there!
”

“
Nope.
I
’
m leaving.
And
I
’
ve just finished my last job. You
’
re going to have to get someone else to try
to
collect. I
’
m coming back to give you this stupid disguise and pick up
a
few things.
”

“
No
, w
ait!
”
There was a slight pause.
“
Grant
may show up
any—
”

Calvin hung up
. S
irens
shrilled outside as though
they were maybe a block away.
He peered out the window. Sure enough, four police cars were pulling up to the curb, lights flashing. The sirens were cut off in mid-wail
.

Okay, this is all too weird. I
’
m getting out of here
.
Fuck this.

He headed
to
the elevator
, but hesitated.
Were the cops heading up or taking care of business in the lobby?
If he took the eleva
tor down to the first floor, s
ome of the officers might
be heading up
in the elevator
, while a couple would take the stairs.
He made it a general policy to be invisible to cops as much as he could.
Whatever was going in this building, he didn
’
t want to be a part of.

“
Shit!
”
he muttered.

It would take too long to climb down twenty-five flights of stairs. And it would kill his knee, not to mention that he
’
d eventually be greeted by the officers.

There was only one thing to do. He
’
d take the elevator to the third floor. The officers going up the stairs should be well past that point. He
’
d then get off the elevator and take the back stairs down three flights. He could manage that much
.

When he reached the t
hird floor, he got
off
the elevator
and
searched
for the exit sign. Sunlight filtered in through windows at both ends of the hall
as
he found the emergency exit
and
started sprinting down the steps, taking two at a time.

At
the bottom floor, his breathing had
quickened slightly,
his shirt was
damp with sweat and
his knee throbbed
.
Cops
would be
in the lobby, so h
e went straight to the emergency exit at the back of the building.

Damn.

The door
was wired to set off an alarm if opened from the inside.
He
took
less than
a minute to disconnect the wires from the alarm
,
then
ran down the back alley without
look
ing
back.

Chapter
9

When Dale Dayton arrived at the
murder
site,
nosy
spectators
were being ringed back by the police
, while others drove past, stirring up dust clouds of dry Nevada air
. Dozens of police cruisers, along with the emergency medical teams, had responded to the emergency call.

He accel
erated past the road block
and
pulled up to the curb
,
grabbing
h
is Styrofoam spit cup and exiting
the car.
As he badged his
way past the cops at the front, he
noticed four road flares placed
around fresh
tread marks
on the gravel at the side of the road.

He found a junior officer standing nearby and said,
“
Make sure this area is secured.
”

The officer said,
“
Yeah,
thanks.
I know how to do my job.
”
Then he walked away.

Dale
scanned the crowd of
bystanders
herded behind
yellow police tape. News traveled fast in Vegas
. A
ngry and scared citizens
,
as well as the meddlesome media
,
were always drawn to the scene of a crime
.

A familiar group awaited
him.
Suits.

The lieutenant, Dale
’
s sergeant
,
the Clark County
sheriff
and the
m
ayor
huddled
behind a strand of
tape
. It was rare when the
l
ieutenant
made an appearance at a crime scene
. A
nd
Dale had
never
seen the
m
ayor
at one. But this time, the
victim was Doug
Grant.
High profile cases wake up all the supervisors.
They would want to talk to him as the lead detective.

Dale frowned.
Gotta avoid them if I want
to get real police work done.

He followed the recently trampled tracks into the woods
and weaved through the thick brush to
where Jimmy was waiting
, scribbling in a notepad
.
Slipping a pair of latex gloves over his hands
, h
e
knelt down next to the body
.

“
He
’
s been identified tw
ice
,
”
Jimmy said
.
“
The deceased is
Doug
las
Grant.
”

“
Anything else?
”

“
Chargers lost last night
,
”
Jimmy added with a sarcastic grin.

Dale
gave a brief nod
, ignoring his partner
’
s
poor attempt at humor
.
He put his cup on the ground.
“
Let
’
s have a look-see
, shall we? Larry,
did you
get a picture
?
I wanna roll him over.
”

“
I have
ten from this side, all angles,
”
the crime scene photographer said.
“
I also got a
s
ketch
of the crime scene and some overalls. I
’
ll go get
a couple of angle shots
of the roadside tread marks
that we can keep on record
for any comparisons. Also, I
’
ll have
Eddie craft some molds of the marks.
”

Larry
l
eft
.

Dale roll
ed
Grant onto his
back.
He
let his breath out when he saw
the man
’
s face. G
ray
eyes
stared blankly
back
at
him,
the
thin face
pale and gaunt. Even with slight bruising, the
re was no mistaking Doug
Grant
.

He
glanced at Jimmy.
“
Time of death established?
”

“
Between ten o
’
clock and midnight last night.
”

He
studied the gaping
slash in the victim
’
s
throat. Smooth edges and sides
, plus
depth of cut, indicated a very sharp knife
pulled hard and fast by a righty
.

Vicious.

He
lifted Grant
’
s hands
and
analyzed the wrinkled palms.
“
No defensive hand wounds. Grant knew his killer or got jumped. Who the hell would jump him out here?
”

He
scanned the surrounding area, mentally cataloging everything in view.

He looked up at
Jimmy
.
“
Who called it in?
”

“
Woman jogger.
”

Jimmy nudged his head in the direction of
an ebony-toned woman in her early twenties
. She
was cle
arly shaken and sat on the tailgate of the ambulance while an
EMT
watched her
.
Wearing a tight body suit, she had the physique of a seasoned runner.

“
Not bad, huh?
”

Dale ignored his partner
’
s remark.
“
Take him away, guys.
”

He had served twelve years, but this was the most prominent murder
case
he
’
d been assigned to.
He was used to killings in Vegas for drugs or money. This
one
seemed
very personal.

Jimmy
studied him, scrunched his eyes and frowned.
“
Didn
’
t you wear
that suit yesterday?
You slept in it, right?
”

“
Fuck off.
”

Jimmy chuckled.
“
I told you that you were too old to have a kid.
”

“
I
’
m forty-six. That
’
s not too old.
”

“
It doesn
’
t seem like such a good idea now, does it? Trying to placate Betty.
”

Dale didn
’
t respond.
It had been two days since
Betty
’
s
announcement
and
he
hadn
’
t told anyone,
not
even his partner, that his wife
had left him.

After in
serting
a fresh wad of Copenhagen snuff between his lip and gums,
he
moved
out of the way as two uniformed men moved in w
ith a gurney. The
y
secured
the body on the stretcher and
hauled it
away.

Dale walked around the crime scene, ignoring everyone in his path.

Jimmy turned to a young, uniformed patrolman.
“
Watch this.
”

As if on cue, Dale
said,
“
The murder happened here.
”

“
What makes you say that?
”
Jimmy asked.

He
pulled out the pen that had been resting behind his ear, using it as a pointer.
“
The clumps of blood and the spatter.
”
He
indicated the b
l
otches of red on the ground.
“
There is no trace of blood anywhere else. No indication of a body being dragged. Grant walked out here on his own volition.
”

“
He could have been carried?
”

“
No chance. If he were carried, the extra weight would
’
ve forced the footprints f
a
rther into the gr
ound
.
”
He slippe
d the pen back behind his
ear.
“
We know where the footsteps ended.
L
et
’
s find out where they
began.
”

He picked up his cup and spit into it.

Dale was glad he had a case like this to take his
mind off his personal life
.
He thought of Betty. She
had
give
n
up
on
his
round-th
e-clock work routine.

Right now, that
’
s all he had to keep him sane.

With Doug Grant a victim, Dale would be conducting a homicide investigation bigger than any he
’
d experienced before
.
W
ith the
m
ayor and the sergeant
watching
,
he
’
d have to run it by the book.

He was looking forward to the challenge but not the supervision. There would be pressure on the department and that meant his boss would be looking for quick answers. He
’
d have to prioritize this case over his other assignments.

Dale had never met Grant persona
lly, but as so many others had,
he
’
d heard many stories about him and his father and son over the years.

He turned to his partner.
“
Let
’
s get to work.
”

Calvin was sweating when he made it back to Pitt
’
s office. He mopped his face and neck with his
T
-shirt
.

Dixie smirked.
“
Hey
,
a
black Elton John.
”

He
whipped off the
sunglasses
and hat
and
shrugged out of the coat. With a nod
,
he said,
“
You can have these
.
”

The office door was open, so Calvin quietly stepped inside. Pitt was sitting in his chair, facing away from the door. He leaned back in the chair and interlocked his fingers behind his head.

“
Hey,
”
Calvin said.

Startled, Pitt unclasped his hands and spun the chair around. His eyes flared when he saw Calvin leaning against the doorway, but he
said nothing.
.

Staring,
he
clambered to his feet.
“
H-h
ow could
you…how could
Grant not have been there?
”

It was obvious he
’
d
wanted
to say something else.

“
Why are you so surprised?
”
Calvin asked.

“
He was supposed to be there.
”
Pitt
sat back down
, a faraway
look
in his eyes.
“
I want my money.
”