Dead Man's Hand (18 page)

Chapter 1
6

From a highly touted NFL prospect to a Vegas murder suspect
.

Calvin was
on edge
, his nerves strung tight
when he got home, but he saw no sign that the cops had already been by. At least that was good.

He went to his small desk and booted up his computer.
It was only a laptop. He kept his
real
computer system at the safe house.

That was the other thing that had kept him sane for three years. Daily knee rehab and weights
,
and
daily online study of what his computer could do. Calvin had never been a computer nerd, but in the last three years he
’
d learned enough to do most of what the stereotypical flannel-shirted overweight geek could do.
Establishing and keeping his computer system state of the art had been his only major expense since arriving in
Las
Vegas. He saved the rest of his earnings for use in his new life whenever it began.

He
had created a psychological profile database of a wide range of people in Vegas, particularly clients, so he could break them down in his collecting work.

At the back of his mind he
’
d always thought his gift with computers would be his ticket
to
his new life. He could show most prospective employers what he
’
d managed to compile about people and how efficiently he
’
d used
the information
. Marketing firms, security businesses—both could use him.

Now the computer would have to substitute for friends.
Although he knew a lot of people on the streets, he only had a handful of true friends who would even consider touching him right now.

Who could he call?

He hadn
’
t spoken to his brother in years, not since he had taken the job with Pi
tt. His own brother would simply
tell Calvin to turn himself in
—
if he were innocent, he
’
d be okay. He was not a naïve cop, but he was straight as an arrow.

The only time Calvin had seen his father since he was little was when Calvin
’
s name had been mentioned in
Sports Illustrated
as a possible Heisman Trophy candidate and a sure top draft choice. His money
-
hungry father surfaced. Calvin told him to get lost again.

He had three options. One, he could turn himself into authorities. Not promising. Two, he could flee the city, never to return. That meant dumping Rachel,
who
m
he loved. H
e hated his life in Vegas—but he like
d the town itself. Three, he
could find out who had tried to frame him and
who
the real murderer
was
.

He grabbed a black duffel bag and filled it with clothing. Except for cash for immediate expenses, he had all his savings locked and stored inside his fortified computer room. The $20,000 he
’
d gotten from Pitt this morning
—that would come
with him now.

With a fresh dip in his mouth, Dale followed the directions his partner had laid out. Jimmy wanted to get home to his family and
he
didn
’
t blame him.

He
decided
to surprise Pitt at his office and catch him off guard.
A personal visit from a homicide detective made an impact, even on street scum like Pitt.
He wasn
’
t even sure that Pitt would still be there. If he was, it would have nothing to do with business.

He
found the offic
e, which was off a crappy alley
way.
Neither hinted at
the sizeable cash flow Pitt generated.

He walked in
and
approached the front desk
.
No one
around
. Dale yelled,
“
Donald Pitt. I
’
m Detective Dayton, Homicide. I need to talk to you.
”
He heard nothing, but headed to the back.

Pitt was
seat at a table
with someone, eating a late dinner.
A rancid odor filled the air.

The man sitting beside Pitt looked huge, even sitting down.

“
Wow, a real
-
life detective,
”
the bookie said, mouth full of food.
Pitt chuckled arrogantly and t
he goon with him joined in.
Pitt started to stand
.

Dale
extended
his
hand.
“
Please, don
’
t get up. I won
’
t keep you long.
”

Part of the detective would have liked to grab the bookie by the collar and slam him against the wall. But the steroid
freak next to him kept Dale at bay.

Pitt must have seen Dale eyeing the other man in the room.

“
This is my associate, Randall.
”

Randall had a thick neck
and
wide jaw
.
H
is muscle shirt showed massive welts on his swollen deltoids. He also had a zipper of stitches down the side of his face.

Dale looked at Randall and then back at Pitt.
“
I was wondering if we could talk business.
”

With a quick nod
from his boss, the bodyguard took the hint
.
Randall dropped two meaty hands on the desk and lifted from the chair, his triceps look
ing
like horseshoes when flexed. H
e stood and stared at Dale, his eyes shining with anger, playing
the role to perfectio
n, then turned and left
.

“
What do you want, Detective Dayton? As you can see, we
’
re very busy around here.
”

Dale
glanced
at the empty fast
-
food wrappers on the desk
and
smirked
.
“
Have you seen Calvin Watters today?
”

Pitt
picked
at
some
food in his teeth before responding.
“
Maybe.
”

He
was the classic liar.

“
Do I really look that stupid to you?
”

“
Save the bullshit
.
He ain
’
t here and I ain
’
t seen him.
”
His
smarmy grin broadened.

Dale
moistened his finger and turned to a fresh page in his notebook.
“
When was the last time you did?
”

Pitt thought about his answer for only a few seconds.
“
Well, I seen him early this mornin
’
when I sent him on a job, but he didn
’
t return. I ain
’
t seen or heard from him since.
”

“
Where was this job?
”

“
I sent him over to Doug Grant
’
s personal office. Doug owed me some money and I sent Calvin to collect. But the bastard never came back. He probably took the loot and disappeared
.
Never should have trusted him for a job that big.
”

Dale
laughed at the thought of Pitt calling Grant by his first name, like they were acquaintances.

Did Pitt
mak
e the anonymous call? If
he
’
d
set up Watters for murder, then he
’
d have a cover st
ory already prepared to
innocently
explain
his collector
’
s presence at the office. Now
he k
new that Pitt
’
s cover
story was
“
just a collection
.
”

Dale
would
n
’
t mention the call just yet.
He
wanted to see how this played out.
“
Did Grant have a gambling problem?
”

“
I
’
m not saying that.
”

“
How much did he owe you?
”

“
I
’
m sorry,
D
etective, that information is confidential.
”

“
I can get a search warrant and go through your papers if that
’
s what it takes.
”

“
Do what you have to do.
”

Dale
frowned.
“
Do you have a recent photo of Watters?
”

The bookie opened up a desk drawer and took out the picture. He handed it
over.

How
convenien
t that
Pitt had a current photo of Watters to give him.
Dale
studied it.
He
recognized the man in the image,
but he actually
recall
ed
Calvin in his USC days.
“
Handsome fella.
”

“
We like our collectors to
be
intimidating. I had Calvin start developing that new, scary look when he began working for me.
”

“
I
’
m gonna keep this.
”

“
Sure, help yourself.
”

Dale reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his business card.
“
Here
’
s my card. If you hear from Watters, let me know.
”

Pitt took the card, though he didn
’
t
seem
to
o
eager to do so.
“
Don
’
t worry, you
’
ll be the first one I call
,
Detective Dayton, sir.
”
He
gave Dale a toothy grin.

As Dale turned to leave,
the bookie stopped him.

“
Detective.
”
Pitt extended his hand.
“
Here
’
s my business card. If you find Calvin, get my money back.
”

Dale read the
inscription
on Pitt
’
s card
and laughed to himself
.

“
Donald Pitt and Associates
,
”
h
e
said.
“
Is that the associate
I just met
?
”

Chapter 1
7

He hadn
’
t stayed long at the apartment. Since the cops hadn
’
t yet b
een there, they would be soon
.

Calvin knew he had one major vulnerability. Even though he tried to keep his relationship with Rachel a secret, people had seen them together.
If Calvi
n
’
s guess was right
and
Pitt had set him up, then Rachel was
exposed
because Pitt knew
of
her. But Calvin didn
’
t think that Pitt was smart enough to organize this elaborate setup and was probably working with a partner. If that was the case, then Pitt would surely give this information to whoever was pulling the strings. Th
e
y
’
d
go after her, even torture Rachel for information. Yet
she
didn
’
t know anything. The murder had occurred more than twenty hours ago
,
so there
’
d been plenty of time for the bastard to already be on Rachel
’
s trail. He had to find her.

He had to watch the cops and watch his enemy, who at this point knew everythin
g about him while Calvin
knew nothing about his enemy.

He had double pursuers.

He made a quick stop at a side
-
street convenience store, found a phone booth
and
made
two calls. First, he called a taxi service he
’
d never used before. He dialed again.

“
Wanda, it
’
s Calvin. I need you to give Rachel a message.
”
He left the message with Rachel
’
s roommate and hung up.

He ran into the store and picked out only the necessities for the first few days. Tomorrow, he
’
d buy enough to last more than a month if he ended up having to stay in his workshop in a state of siege.

Outside the store, the tax
icab was waiting. He
exhaled when t
he driver showed no signs of recognition. As the vehicle pulled out, Calvin scanned for police or a tail.

As the cab wove its way throug
h the busy Vegas streets, he
continued to gl
ance out the back window. He
had the driver switch lanes the whole way.

He stopped by a clothing store: one suit, street clothes, sports
wear.
He dropped $3,500, but it was a necessity.

One more stop with the meter ticking.

“
Wait here.
”

He
was thankful that the restaurant was open twenty-four hours. He slipped in the back of the almost
empty waffle house. All that he wanted to do now was get Rachel safely to the workshop
and
keep her under constant guard.

He
checked his watch. She was late. He hoped that Wanda had been able to deliver the message. As his concern began to mount, he saw Rache
l outside the restaurant. He
picked up the phone receiver
, using it as a prop to hide from her,
and turned his back to the door, watching Rachel out of the corner of his eye. H
e had
specifically warned her not to identify him.

She stepped inside the restaurant carrying two large
,
overstuffed knapsacks, made her way to the back
and
passed by him
. She turned
and entered the bathroom. He
looked around a moment
and
then followed her.

Before she could speak, he
put his finger to her lips. He checked the stalls and
locked the entrance. When he
turned around, Rachel jumped into his arms.

“
I missed you so much,
”
she said, smothering
him
with kisses.

“
Easy, Rachel, I missed you too
. But w
e don
’
t have time to talk here.
”

“
Okay
.
”
S
he stepped back.

Just then there were two hard and two soft knocks. Wanda. He unhooked the door.

The
waitress stuck her head inside.
“
All clear, Calvin. Rachel wasn
’
t followed.
”

“
Thanks.
”

Calvin and Rachel
slipped out the back. His
taxi driver hadn
’
t deserted him.

They got in the back and didn
’
t say a word to each other
. Once in the workshop, h
e
’
d tell her everything.

Calvin had the driver drop them two blocks away.
“
Pick me up here in an hour.
”
He
tipped the driver twenty dollars.

He
and Rachel
dipped in and out of backyards and made several circles
before arriving at the workshop. He dropped the bags on the concrete floor and
scoped
the old building.

He
had Rachel shave off
his l
ong dreadlocks and shaggy facial hair. After
she had r
emoved
enough
with the electric razor,
she
used a disposable
one
t
o finish.

When the transformation was complete, he looked much as he had in college
. But even wi
th a bit of hair loss
,
Calvin was still too recognizable. He
’
d need to give the next step some thought.

“
What do you think?
”

Rachel ran her hand along his now
-
smooth scalp.
“
I like it,
”
she said, wiping
off the
last of the shaving cream.

“
Now it
’
s your turn.
”
He
helped her dye her hair black and gave her the short version of the situation now. With the hair change, Rachel looked like a different person. He missed her real looks already, but they also cut her long hair
into
a bob.

The
cab was waiting and the driver
did a
double take
at the new looks but said nothing.

They headed
toward
Cruiser
’
s Bar.

After stopping at a convenience store for a new tin of chew, Dale ran over his interview with Pitt.
Why had
the bookie given
up Watters just like that
? If Watters
really was
the bookie
’
s number
-
one employee, then why was Pitt so eager to help?

Dale
had been expecting lies and deceit but had gotten the complete opposite. It had been too easy, just like Watter
s
’
fingerprints in Grant
’
s office
.
T
hat had him on edge.

He
parked in his space at the precinct
. When he
stepped into the damp, air
-
conditioned lobby
, he felt a chill
.
He
wasn
’
t sure if it was from this case or the weather. He walked
past the few others working after-hours and straight
to his desk.

After
boot
ing
up his computer
,
he ran
Watters
’
name through the Nevada Crime Index (NCI) database and at the national FBI level (NCIC).

Had Watters known Grant or
had he
been in any direct contact with the casino owner prior to his death?
Because of fingerprints, Dale knew that Watters was in Grant
’
s office the morning after Grant was murdered, sent there by his boss. But why the phony disguise and fake name?

When the computer beeped, he
searched the
website of the
USC Trojans
.
He
researched
team lists from five years back and clicked on Calvin Watter
s
’
name.

Even though the disguise had been elaborate, t
he pictures on the
USC
site made it obvious that the visitor to Grant
’
s private office could have been Watters. By now, Watters could be anywhere—Canada, Mexico
or even
off the American continent.
If he was guilty i
t
wa
s highly unlikely
, but
a remote possibility
,
that he was still in Vegas.

Dale ripped off the sheet and left the office. He threw the two color pictures onto the front desk counter and ordered a city
-
wide APB. All he could do was
get the photo across the state, to the FBI
and
to Canadian and Mexican police. No Interpol stuff—not yet.

He went back to his office to study the crime scene photos again. As he sat back down and removed the magnifying glass from his desk, he was interrupted.

“
Excuse me, Detective Dayton?
”

“
What is it, Craig?
”

“
I have a copy of the phone records.
”
The young man
, the relative rookie he
’
d taken onto the case,
held up a stack of computer printer paper.

The detective waved him into the office.
“
Just set them on my desk.
”

The phone
records
dated to three months back
,
with
the local
calls separated from the
long
-
distance calls
. Craig had spent hours on this.
Short on time, Dale
skimmed over the copies
.

On first glance, most of Sanders
’
calls could be accounted for—other casinos, strip clubs, 900 numbers
. Dale recognized these
from their 702 area code. But there was one
unusual call, a 504 area code. H
e
couldn
’
t place it off-hand. He would have to look it up.

He moved Sander
s
’
reports to the side
and sh
uffled the pages to Calvin Watters
’
phone records
. Watters
had called L
.
A
.
once—his brother?—and that was it. He made few calls of any kind.

From their home, work and cell
phones, Doug, Linda
and
Shawn Grant had only made a handful of calls out of state. Three
of the seven
calls were to Atlantic City, where Dale assumed calls had been placed to rival casino owners.
Two calls
were
to Boston and another two
were made to Memphis
,
where Linda Grant had been born and raised and still had family.

Then he saw the obvious. One call was made from Grant
’
s private office after his time of death—to Pitt.
The scheduled appointment guest list from Grant
’
s office complex indicated that Watter
s
’
assumed alias was the only name on the list.

Interesting.

“
I believe I
’
ve seen that number before. That lyin
’
son of a bitch!
”