Luke Murphy - Dead Man's Hand

“So then anyone could sneak in here without being noticed?”

“If they have the special key and parking pass.”

“How did this Winston Coburn III elude you guys after?”

“Don’t know for sure, but we found the security wires to the back exit disconnected. Someone had snuck out. Could’ve been him.”

“Any video feed in the upstairs offices or this ‘privileged’ basement elevator?” Dale made air-quotes with his fingers.

“Afraid not. Our clients like their privacy.”

“Of course they do.”

“Has anyone been in Grant’s office since our guys left this morning?” Jimmy asked.

“No, sir.”

Dale smiled. “Unless they had the special key and parking pass you didn’t know about.” When the guards didn’t respond, he said, “Thanks, guys.”

The detectives took the elevator to the top floor, where their colleagues were already busy.

With no furniture in the first room, Dale understood that Grant had wanted privacy and had no need for a secretary. Without a secretary, witnesses would be hard to come by.

Jimmy whistled. “This is huge!”

“Yeah,” Dale agreed. “A lot of expensive and wasted space.”

The detectives moved their toolkits into the office, where they would focus their search. Without saying a word, they each pulled on a pair of latex gloves, set the large metal cases on the floor and opened them. They removed their contents and began.

Starting with the double front doors and doorknobs, they moved on to a complete sweep of the entire office, dusting for prints and vacuuming for hair and fibers.

While Jimmy was dusting, Dale searched Grant’s personal belongings. Grant’s desk was meticulously organized—papers stacked in a neat pile, drawers conveniently tidied—and the computer had been recently wiped. Linda Grant smiled at Dale from the wedding photo on Grant’s desk and he couldn’t help but smirk.

Jimmy stood by the filing cabinet with all four drawers pulled open. “These books are in perfect order. Everything is up to date and thorough.”

“Does it look like Grant owed money?”

Jimmy shook his head.

Dale scanned the numerous books from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, but since Grant’s computer was password protected, they would have to take it back to the precinct and have it hacked.

He explored the contents of the desk drawers. Using a pair of stainless steel tweezers, he lifted a blue poker chip from the drawer. “Look at this, Jimmy. Property of the Golden Horseshoe Hotel and Casino. That’s one of Sanders’ casinos.”

Jimmy took the tweezers. “Why would a $10,000 poker chip from Sanders’ casino be here?”

Dale shrugged and dropped the chip into a plastic ziplock bag. He knew that plastic held fingerprints better than paper.

As he attempted to close the drawer, something obstructed its sliding movement. He got onto his knees.

“Now what are you doing?” Jimmy asked.

“The drawer won’t close.” He reached underneath the desk and felt the obstruction. “Something is here. Give me your flashlight.”

Jimmy handed Dale the tiny penlight and he squirmed underneath the desk. He flashed the beam across the carpeted floor and then in the direction of the inside of the desk. “Something is taped to the side of the drawer.”

“What is it?”

He tore off the strip of tape and a silver key dangled from it. “It’s a key,” he announced, getting up and then handing it to Jimmy. “I also noticed something else when I was down there.” Dale shone the light at the finely sculptured carpet. “Notice anything?”

“You mean the expensive, perfectly maintained carpet?”

Dale returned to his knees and pointed the light at the carpet. “Now do you see?”

“Why don’t you just tell me?”

“See the indentations in the rug? Someone moved this chair recently. I didn’t touch it and Grant’s been dead for almost twenty-four hours. That means that since his death, someone other than Grant has been in here. We know that a Winston Coburn III did come up here this morning, but since Grant was already dead and not here, Coburn must have left.”

He paused for a moment. “We also know that the caller said the name Coburn was an alias used by Calvin Watters. We’ll find out easy by calling the Atlantic City PD whether there is such a casino owner. If not, that leaves Watters as a potential suspect at least for potential theft and maybe for murder. Did he move the chair, or did someone else sneak in here after he left? We’ve got a lot of checking to do.”

Dale asked the question that had bugged him. “If Coburn is an alias for Calvin Watters, why would he come to Grant’s office after the man had been killed?”

“With Grant dead, Watters could freely search the office for whatever he was looking for,” Jimmy responded.

But Dale had already formed his own opinion. “Maybe he didn’t know the man was dead. What do you make of the key?”

“It’s for a safe deposit box at Sun West Bank.”

“Tina’s bank? Do you think your wife can get us in?”

Jimmy shrugged. “What about the safe?”

He followed Jimmy’s finger. He had missed the false wall behind the desk chair where a safe had been hidden. “We’ll have to come back for that with Mark and have him open it.”

He was quiet and still for a long while.

“What are you thinking, partner?”

“We know a person was in the office and tried to find something. But we’re not sure if they found it. We just need to find out how many visitors there were and if one of them was looking for something besides the meeting with Grant, which may or may not have been real, depending on whether there is a Winston Coburn III.”

Jimmy replied, “That’s a bit complex.”

“Well, you better hold on to something, because it’s just beginning.”

Dale sat at his desk reviewing Grant’s bio while the database searched for a match to any of the fingerprints lifted from Grant’s private office.

Grant owned and operated the second largest and most profitable casino in Las Vegas, was sixty-three years old and married to his second wife. He had no criminal record and a clean bill of health. The man was a millionaire many times over and his wallet had been full of hundred-dollar bills, which means this wasn’t a petty theft gone bad. Grant didn’t owe anyone money and had no real rival except for Ace Sanders. Sanders and Linda were currently the only suspects. Other than Dale’s suspicions and the tread marks, they had no leads.

He could see a clear motive for Linda, but none for Sanders. Sure, the rumored affair with Grant’s wife, but Sanders didn’t seem to gain anything by killing Grant. Shawn Grant was ready to step up and run the Greek. And the word was that he was as tough and uncompromising as his father.

He rubbed his eyes and shut the file.

Jimmy waved a piece of paper in the air. “We’ve got him!” he said with a grin.

Dale pursed his lips. “What do we have?”

“We found three definite sets of prints. Of course Grant’s, but the system also identified Calvin Watters. Watters’ prints were on the doorknobs, the telephone in Grant’s office and the emergency exit alarm. We were able to match them because Watters was arrested a couple of times, more than three years ago, before he became Donald Pitt’s number one collector. That seems to confirm what the caller said about Watters using an alias to get into the building. Also, I called the ACPD.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“They have no record of any Winston Coburn III, II, or I and certainly not as the owner of any casinos there.” Jimmy tossed two papers on Dale’s desk.

“What about the other set?” Dale asked.

“The fingerprint we pulled off the poker chip belongs to Ace Sanders. His fingerprints were also in the office on the table next to the guest chair and the doorknob.”