Luke Murphy - Dead Man's Hand

“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 wasn’t sure how that would be possible.”

“What about your father?”

He grunted. “What father? He left before I was born—just another 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 get 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 life, 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 30

There hadn’t been much on the phone taps. 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 was for the most part about numbers and there was no mention of Sanders.

Early 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 for 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. If 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 the Greek was legit. They investigated it thoroughly and found no illegal 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-class 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, all 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 where his impatient boss waited.

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

Dale shook his head.

“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’ participation 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 Sanders. 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.”