Dead Man's Hand (30 page)

He
nodded.

Rachel moved toward him, turned his chair around and sat down on his lap.

“
Why are you up
?
”
he asked.
“
It
’
s three o
’
clock in the morning.
”

“
I couldn
’
t sleep
.
”

“
Me neither.
”

“
Is that your mom
?
”
S
he
reach
ed
for a famed photograph on his desk.
“
She
’
s beautiful.
”

“
Yeah, that
’
s her.
”

“
Why do you never talk about yourself, Calvin
?
I don
’
t know anything about your family or your childhood.
We always talk about me.
”

“
There
’
s not much to say.
I
’
m more interested in you.
”
He smiled.

“
I
’
d like to know.
”

“
It
’
s not much of a story—just another ghetto kid from the streets
who
had a tough upbringing. Just another sappy story
made for Oprah
.
I
’
m tired of being just a statistic, another cliché.
”
He smiled
again
.
His childhood had always been a closed book and he wanted to leave it that way. Rachel didn
’
t need to hear about it.

Rachel smiled
too
.
“
Maybe
we could make a movie.
”

His grin broadened
.
“
Yeah and Denzel could play me.
”

She took him by the hand and led him into an adjoining room they were using as their bedroom.
They sat down on the cot.

“
Tell me about your mother.
”

He
swallowed and took a deep breath.
“
I was young when she died of cancer. What I do remember of my mother was her voice, how she could soothe me with a whisper. She loved to sing and she would often lullaby me to sleep before leaving for work.
She had soft hands and a gentle touch. When she was around, I thought I was invincible. I made a promise to her to someday graduate from college. At that point, I w
asn
’
t sure how that would be
possible.
”

“
What about your father?
”

He grunted.
“
What fath
er? He left before I was born—j
ust an
other deadbeat dad with illegitimate
children all over the city.
He showed up a few years ago after seeing my picture on the cover of
Sports Illustrated
. I was a Heisman finalist and possible first overall draft pick. I told him to get lost.
”

“
So who took care of you?
”
She rubbed his arm gently.

“
Mom and Josh.
”

“
What
’
s your brother like?
”

“
Pretty successful. My mother would be really proud of him. Josh has made a life for himself. He
’
s the
‘
good
’
son, the success story.
”

Rachel moved in behind Calvin as they both sat on the cot. She spread her legs and moved in close, wrapping her
legs and
arms around him and pressing her face against his back.
He could feel her warm breath.

“
Your mother would be proud of you too, Calvin.
”

He stood up, feeling uncomfortable
,
and swiped away a tear.
“
When she died, Josh was already at the Police Academy and I was shipped to an orphanage.
It was a rough go, but I survived
.
”

“
You didn
’
t have anyone?
”
Her face showed lines of worry.

“
Sure, there were
foster
families who took me in. I was grateful. Some were good people, others not
so much
. But no one kept me around long enough to ge
t used to me. It was probably better that way
.
”

“
That
’
s not true, Calvin. You
’
re a good person.
”

He nodded but didn
’
t say anything.

Rachel got off the bed and went to him.
“
Look how far you
’
ve come.
”

He grinned.
“
Yeah, look at me—trapped in a shithole, a maniac stalking me and the LVMPD wanting me for murder. What a life!
”

“
You know what I mean.
”
She scowled.
“
How did you become a USC legend?
”

“
Father MacIntosh.
”

“
A priest?
”
She looked surprised.

Calvin smiled and nodded.
“
I can
’
t remember how we met. But I do remember Father Mac taking me in and spending time with me at the local YMCA. That
’
s when I found weights. I was always tall, but Father Mac helped me gain
twenty
pounds of muscle my senior year
. He taught me about football and hired a tutor for me
. When I graduated high school and was offered a football scholarship to USC, I
’
d never seen him prouder.
”
His smiled faded
.
“
He died that summer before I had even stepped into my first college classroom.
”
He looked at Rachel and swallowed.
“
It seems like everyone in my lif
e, the people who really love me, die. You better get away, Rachel. Quick.
”

“
I
’
m not going anywhere, Calvin. I love you and we
’
re in this together
.
”
She took him by the hand and led him to the cot. She smiled.
“
Let me show you
just
how much.
”

Book Four: All Bets are Down

Chapter 3
0

There hadn
’
t been much on
the phone tap
s. Linda Grant had made one call to her mother to argue family matters
and
then had a lengthy conversation with her attorney to discuss the sale of her share of the casino. The talk w
as for the most part
about
numbers and there was no mention of Sanders.

E
arly on Friday
morning, Dale
’
s investigative squad of the homicide division gathered around the detective
’
s desk. The conversation was minimal.

They had exhausted every possible clue and lead and had come up empty. Dale was out of answers and options. He had a lot of motive for Sanders and Linda Grant and a stack of circumstantial evidence, but nothing solid that would stand up in court. That made this current impasse even more frustrating.

The
only ghost of a lead was
that Pitt
’
s killer had been
searching f
or something in the office and hadn
’
t had time to find it.
Perhaps he
’
d found it, however
,
and
taken it with him.

For Watters, he didn
’
t have motive that made sense for Grant
’
s killing
.
I
f Watters hadn
’
t killed Grant, then he had no apparent reason to kill Pitt. All he knew for sure about Watters was that he
’
d been in Grant
’
s office, but with no body and nothing missing.

Dale was running Craig
’
s murder as a separate investigation.
In every case there was a sacred bond between victim and cop and with Craig, it was even more than that.

He still suspected that two different killers were involved, but
he
couldn
’
t be sure about that either. Even though Grant
’
s death was his major case, finding the killer of his fellow officer was a personal crusade.

If he had nothing more, he could only keep the team doing busy work for a few more hours before they
’
d be pulled for other things, probably all put on catching Watters.

Jimmy sat down on the edge of Dale
’
s desk. He read from his notepad.
“
I just got off the phone with a member from the Investigations Unit of the Nevada Gaming Commissions
. She said the
deal Sanders signed for
t
he Greek was legit. They investigated
it
thoroughly and
found no illeg
al evidence to deny the agreement
.
”

Dale slapped his partner on the shoulder and got up. His bones felt like they
’
d aged since the investigation had started.
On his way to the
break room
for a cup of coffee, he
was pulled aside by one of his officers.

“
Hey, Dale. Dean and I went to Cruiser
’
s Bar last night and questioned the employees and a few patrons. Nobody gave us anything. They
like Watters much more than they did us.
”

“
Thanks, Carl.
”
Another dead end. Watters wouldn
’
t show his face.

He
got back to his office and saw his partner waiting. He sat back in his seat, took a sip of the strong coffee and immediately felt
better, but only a little.

Jimmy frowned.
“
I found out that a first
-
cla
ss assassin flew
in on a red
-
eye Monday.
”

Dale sat up.
“
Got a description?
”

“
That
’
s
why he
’
s top shelf. Never uses the same ID twice. No meetings—all email and cash payment at drop points.
”

“
Great.
”
Dale
thought of
at least
three people who could hire the mystery
man
to kill Watters.

At least he
now knew that there was a
hit man
in Vegas and he was probably after Watters. But Dale had no idea what the killer looked like or who he was working for. There were too many suspects in this case with legitimate money to afford a high-priced
hit man
.

“
Jimmy, find me anything on Sanders.
With the sergeant restricting access, a
ll we can do is go
‘
under
’
the law, not break it, but utilize what
’
s down there.
”

Dale got up.
Time to update the sergeant—with nothing.
He
entered the office wher
e his impatient boss waited
.

“
Any word on Watters?
”
T
he sergeant still
had a hard-on for
Watters
for all four murders.

Dale shook his h
ead.

“
Maybe we should change our strategy.
”

That was the opening that Dale had been waiting for.
“
That
’
s
what I was thinking. I need Watters
’
partici
pation to help nail Sanders.
”

“
I
’
m listening.
”

Dale was taken off guard, but
he
didn
’
t hesitate. He told his sergeant his new findings: the casino sale
and
how everything supported his original suspicions. He also told about his suspicions of Sanders hiring an assassin
. The sergeant listened
, reviewing the mountain of circumstantial evidence they had against Sa
nders. To Dale, the sergeant seemed to
put aside their
differences and deliberate
.

When Dale stopped, the sergeant spoke.
“
Take it upstairs to Flannery. See what he says about Sanders. If he says it
’
s a go,
make the move.
”

Dale grabbed Jimmy
’
s arm and said,
“
We
’
re going upstairs to the DA.
”

Robert
Flannery
sat at his desk and read over the case file, shaking his head and mumbling.
He was a fashion plate who could be mistaken for a trainer at the gym, even
though
he had a Harvard Law degree.

Wi
th his feet resting
on the top of his desk, Flannery chewed the end of a pencil.
A 55-inch Panasonic TC-PVT50 television and DVD player were set up in the corner
.
A
blackboard behind Flannery
’
s head showed a pyramid of circled names, with arrows and lines to connect them.

Dale and Jimmy waited anxiously,
fidgeting
in annoyance
in the
high
-back wooden chairs.

When the DA had finished, he slammed the folder shut and tossed it on his desk. He
picked up his
cardboard coffee cup—a
caramel latte,
Dale guessed from the scent which
made the whole office smell like Starbucks
—
and
sipped at it
like a kid with a hot chocolate
. Flannery
set it ba
ck down,
sat
back in his seat and steepled
his finge
rs
.

“
I
’
m sorry, gentlemen.
”
Flannery scowled
and
opened the file back up.
“
But everything that you have brought me is
tangential
. The casino chip
—
cir
cumstantial. The photographs—
sure
,
they fucked, but did they kill?
The documents
—
circumstantial. Even the sale
of the casino is a tangent
.
What holds it together? Where
’
s the crime?
”

Dale had already known that everything the DA said was true, but
he
h
ad been hoping that Flannery
himself might
propose a scenario
, because he brought a different and expert perspective
. At
least point to what they needed to make a case.

Flannery
closed the file and handed it to Dale.
“
This is Ace Sanders we
’
re talking about
.
”

“
So what do we do about this?
”

“
Is this your first day on the
job? I need a weapon, a witness
,
or a fact that connects killer and victim.
”

“
We
’
re working on it.
”

Flannery
looked disgusted,
rose
and
slipped into a
jacket
that looked
as though
it had just been removed from the press
.
“
I have a meeting to get to. Good luck, gentlemen.
”

Dale and Jimmy let themselves out and
at their own pace,
took the
stairs back to the office
. When they pushed through the door, Dale heard his name being called.
“
Dale, phone call. Line one.
”

He
sat at his desk and
picked up the phone.

“
Detective Dayton, this is Senior Special Agent Stanley Marks from FBI Headquarters in Washington.
”
Th
e man spoke at an auctioneer
’
s
pace
.
“
I wanted to update you on your request in the search for one Calvin Watters.
”

Dale sat up.
“
Yes.
”

“
Although we don
’
t have a direct line on him,
we see no signs that Watters has
left Vegas.
”

The words stunned Dale. Why would Watters, a number
-
one murder suspect, be hanging around the city? But Dale realized that
as good
as the FBI
’
s resources were
,
Watters could ha
ve slipped under their radar. Watters
had the connections, smarts
and
money to do it.

“
Thank you, Agent Marks.
”

Watters
was still in town, but Dale felt the chances of
finding him were even smaller.

Why would a giant, tattooed black man, who
wa
s well known throughout the city, state and region as either a notorious bill collector, a former football star, or both, take the risk of staying in the city where he allegedly killed a man
and was wanted by the law
?