Luke Murphy - Dead Man's Hand

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.

With 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 back down, sat back in his seat and steepled his fingers.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen.” Flannery scowled and opened the file back up. “But everything that you have brought me is tangential. The casino chip—circumstantial. 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 had 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.” The 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 have 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 was 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?

Chapter 31

Calvin knew that it was risky, but he had to make the call. He needed an ally.

“Mr. Grant’s office.”

“Shawn Grant, please.”

“Whom may I ask is calling?”

To convince that he was legit, he had to use his real name. Because of his special phone, he knew that it was safe.

“Tell Mr. Grant that Calvin Watters would like to speak with him.”

Shawn Grant had just sat down at his desk when his secretary rang. As the new president and chairman of the board for the Greek, he had not wanted to be disturbed. He pressed the intercom button.

“Yes, Maureen?”

“Sir, a Mr. Watters is on line one.”

Shawn froze, goose bumps springing on his arms. He only knew of one Mr. Watters—the man at the top of LVMPD’s list of murder suspects for his father’s investigation.

“Thank you, Maureen, patch him through.” Shawn picked up the receiver. “This is Shawn Grant.”

“Thank you for taking my call, Mr. Grant. This is Calvin Watters.”

“How do I know you are really who you say you are?”

The caller gave a list of the collections he had made for Pitt and said, “I know you can’t check them out right away, but you’ll have to agree that only Pitt, who is dead, would also know them. If I were an imposter, I would know you wouldn’t trust me after you discovered a mistake.”

Shawn decided to hear him out. What did he have to lose? “That is a good start, Mr. Watters. Okay, you have me interested. Why call me?”

“First, I had nothing to do with your father’s murder, or any of the other three murders.”

“So you say.”

“You have to trust me. I have a solid alibi for the night he was murdered, but I don’t want to involve that person if I don’t need to. I’d rather prove it by finding your father’s real killer.”

“And why should I trust the man who allegedly killed my father?”

“The same reason I’m trusting you right now. We both want to know the truth behind your father’s murder and the rest of the unsolved ones. I have already started to investigate and I have some leads. If we work together, maybe we can uncover the truth.”

Now Shawn was very interested. “So what do you want from me?”

“The way I see it, we both want something out of this arrangement. We both want to find your father’s killer and I want to prove my innocence. Let’s share information.”

Shawn hesitated, contemplating the pros and cons of the proposal. He didn’t know Calvin Watters and wasn’t sure how far he could trust him. The man was accused of killing Shawn’s father. He would have to tread in slow motion. But he knew he needed help in nailing Sanders. His father had always told Shawn that he was a natural-born deal maker.

“Fine. Let’s trade information. If that goes well, then we can continue, but if not, then we stop immediately.”

“Fair enough.”

“What do you want to know about my dad?”

“What was your relationship like?”

He thought about his answer. “I loved him and he was my best friend. That is why we worked together for so long. He’d been showing me the ropes for the last fifteen years and preparing me my whole life to take over the family business. Nothing would have made my father prouder. It was perfect, until she came along.”

“Who?”

“His wife.” Again Shawn calculated his every word. “She’s a greedy, money-hungry whore. The only reason she married my father was for his money.”

“I knew that you and your father were close and I’m sorry for your loss. What I don’t see is why your father married Linda?”

Shawn snorted. “Look at her. After being divorced for almost fifteen years from my mom, dad met Linda when we upgraded the casino entertainment. Linda was one of the dancers in the night show. He should have known and I tried to tell him. He told me that he had fallen in love the moment he saw her and they married right after that.”

“Okay, but she’s not the first beautiful woman who went after your dad, I expect. Did he want children with her?”

“Please. Linda would never do that to her body. It’s her most prized possession. And my dad was too old to raise another child. But it was his choice to get married again and we never let her come between us. At least he finally saw through her.”

“How is that?”

Shawn smiled. “He made her sign a prenup. In case of a divorce, she was only entitled to six percent of my father’s estate and was automatically cut out of the will. She wasn’t happy about that.”