Luke Murphy - Dead Man's Hand

“I have ten from this side, all angles,” the crime scene photographer said. “I also got a sketch 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 left.

Dale rolled Grant onto his back. He let his breath out when he saw the man’s face. Gray eyes stared blankly back at him, the thin face pale and gaunt. Even with slight bruising, there 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 clearly 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 inserting a fresh wad of Copenhagen snuff between his lip and gums, he moved out of the way as two uniformed men moved in with a gurney. They 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 blotches 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 farther into the ground.” He slipped the pen back behind his ear. “We know where the footsteps ended. Let’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 given up on his round-the-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. With the mayor 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 personally, 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-how 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.”

“Money always is your first priority.” He watched the man, suspicion growing with every minute. “I told you, Don. You’re gonna have to find someone else to get it. We agreed that my last job was collecting from Grant. I went there. When I left without finding Grant or the money, I’d finished the job. It’s over now. I’m walking outta here.”

“Not without giving me back that $10,000 I paid you in advance yesterday.”

“I consider that final payment for the work I did today. You don’t like it, try to collect from me.” He widened his stance.

With a groan, Pitt sat back in his chair. “I’m too tired to fight with you. Keep the money. Just go.”

Without so much as a handshake, Calvin strode out of the office. He was free. Finally.

Now I can start my new life.

And whatever was wrong with the Grant situation, it was Pitt’s problem now.

Chapter 10

Dale was used to working with Jimmy. He and his partner had developed a pattern for their searches. They walked about three feet apart, searching the ground for clues.

“You’ve been on the force four years longer than me,” Dale said.

“Yeah. Thirty-one years, why?”

“You ever see a case of this magnitude?”

“Never.”

He smiled. “How long we been partners?”

“Nine years.”

Dale grunted. Nine years was more than most marriages lasted. “I remember when we were first paired together,” he said.

“Yeah, everyone called us the odd couple, like Lemmon and Mathau.”

“Yeah, the black-white thing wasn’t said back then, but everyone was thinking it. All I heard about was how Jimmy Mason was experienced, conservative, a real by-the-book man.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy smiled. “And all I heard was that Dale Dayton was a cowboy—instincts and no rules.”

“I guess I’ll have to be more like you on this investigation.” He nodded toward the supervisors huddled at the scene.

“They said we would never make it. Even our age difference would come between us.”

“But it didn’t. I trust you with my life.”

“What, you gettin’ all sentimental on me, Dayton?”

“Just sayin’, partner. I can’t figure it out.”

“What?”

“You have four years on me on the force and yet I’m the lead for all of the major cases.”

“You think it’s a color thing?” Jimmy smiled wide. “You think, just maybe?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have time to listen to your whining about persecution right now. For most senior officers, taking a back seat would cause some problems. But not you.”

Jimmy stopped walking and turned toward Dale. “Dale, I’m not okay with racism, but I know you do the lead drill better than I would and it has nothing to do with the color of my skin. But as you know, I am tougher and smarter than you.”