Luke Murphy - Dead Man's Hand

Money was always a motive in Vegas.

“As for my father’s other enemies,” Shawn added, without being asked, “as a collector, I know you understand who I mean.” Shawn considered how much to say. How much could he trust Watters?

“Ace Sanders?” Watters asked.

Shawn’s voice grew cold. “The hatred between them is well known. It’s not often that Casino owners get along, but the heated feelings between those two were extreme. It was more than just business. It was personal. And now the bitch just made him my partner. I detest the man! I despise Linda, but I hate Sanders more. I’m going to try to get more information on him.”

“Wait a minute, you said other enemies. Do you consider Linda an enemy?”

“What do you think, Mr. Watters? First she cheats on my dad with Sanders and then she sells him his casino.”

“You knew about the affair?”

“I had my suspicions. Now I’m sure of it!”

“How are you so sure?”

“My dad told me.”

“He knew too?”

“He had heard the rumors, so he hired a private investigator to follow Linda. The PI confirmed the affair and had the photos and documentation to prove it.” Shawn knew the cops already had the pictures.

“What did your dad do?”

“He confronted Linda. Of course, she denied everything and claimed the photos were manufactured composites. What an idiot. My dad had expected the denial, but when Linda lied, despite all the evidence, he was amazed. Did she think he was a total fool? She used sex even at that point, but she must have been stupid not to see that he didn’t buy the repentant loving wife.”

“Why didn’t your father just divorce her?”

“He tried.” Shawn told Watters about his father’s plans to file for divorce the morning after the night he was killed. He was also going to change his will but never had the chance to do it. Linda would have gotten nothing.

“Okay, so what do you have for me?” Shawn asked.

Watters explained the Pitt-Sanders business deals and gave his version of what he found at Pitt’s murder scene. This interested Shawn and he wanted to find this so-called evidence.

If anything was discovered by either man, they would talk on a secure line. Otherwise, they each had plans about getting Sanders. They’d just have to try not to duplicate their efforts.

Calvin hung up, satisfied that the primary murder suspect had called the victim’s son and offered and received help. He sensed that Shawn was thinking the same thing. Why had Grant agreed to join him without so much as a concerned argument? Calvin couldn’t really relax his guard. Was Shawn laying a trap to get him out in the open for the cops?

He made another call. His mind kept picturing the news report of the bomb underneath his car. Was it Sanders tying up loose ends?

If anyone had seen anything at his apartment, it would be his neighbor.

Tim Whitney, an out-of-work actor, spent many days locked up in his tiny apartment awaiting a call from his agent. They had first met when he approached Calvin because he’d been studying a part as a street thug. Whitney was the only member of the complex who didn’t have a problem with Calvin’s occupation. Almost at once they hit it off and he was home enough to keep an eye on Calvin’s apartment.

“Hello?”

“Tim, it’s Calvin.”

“Hey, I’ve been worried sick about you, man.”

“How are you?”

“Don’t worry about me. What about you?”

“I’ve been better.”

“What’s going on with the police?”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

Whitney blew out his breath. “What are we going to do about this?”

“This isn’t one of your movies. We are not going to do anything. I just called to ask you a couple of questions.”

“What do you need, big man?”

“Have you seen anyone suspicious around there in the last couple of days?”

“Yeah, I saw him.” Whitney’s voice lowered.

“Who did you see?”

“A guy underneath your car.”

The bomb. It had to have been the killer. “Did you tell the cops?”

Tim sighed. “I couldn’t. I didn’t know if the guy was working for you or what.”

“What exactly do you remember?”

“Well, I saw him snooping around your apartment and thought that maybe he was a friend. He had a black canvas bag and went inside. When he came back out, he had changed into grease-stained coveralls, so I thought maybe he was your mechanic. He walked around your car, unlatched and lifted the hood. He studied the engine and parts, then checked both sides of the engine block. He pulled on various wires. After a few minutes, he slammed the hood down and shook his head. Then he crawled underneath the car.”

“How long was he under the car?”

“Four or five minutes tops. Then he left.”

Although he didn’t know much about bomb detonation, Calvin thought four to five minutes to skillfully install a bomb under a car seemed professional.

“Do you remember what this guy looked like?”

“I watched from my window and tried to stay hidden, so I couldn’t get a close-up of his face. But he was lean, all muscle and sinew, with long black hair. At one point, I thought that he had stared right at me. Like he knew that I was watching him.”

“Any distinguishing features?” Calvin couldn’t place the man, who would have stood out among Pitt’s associates.

“Nothing I could see. He just looked like a normal guy. Until I saw him squirming underneath the car.”

Calvin thanked Tim and hung up.

He called Mike and gave him the vague description. Mike said he might have enough to go on but Calvin knew he was pretending.

“Do you still have those vests I got you?” Mike asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good, because you’re gonna need them now.”

Chapter 32

“Wakie, wakie, James.” Scott sat with the serenity of a corpse, allowing his captive time to collect his thoughts.

He had stripped Pierce naked and sat him in the middle of the room straddling a chair, legs spread, his hands tied over his head, the rope secured to a ceiling beam and his ankles duct-taped to the chair legs. Duct tape also covered Pierce’s mouth.

After his last conversation with Sanders, Scott knew that his time was running out. His reputation was on the line. He wasn’t worried about Sanders’ threat on his life, but if he failed again, he would not only be fired, but his two failures would be spread worldwide, damaging his perfect record.

“Sorry about the chloroform, James.” He knew Pierce’s head would be throbbing, not to mention Pierce’s increased anxiety once he realized his predicament. “I didn’t think I’d need it after you chugged those first two whisky sours at lunch. You made it easy for me. I can’t blame you though. Most people are less alert to danger at work than they are at home. I’ve been reading over your file.”

Scott held up a sheaf of papers. “Degenerates like you are creatures of habit. You just can’t control yourself. Once I found your place of work, all I had to do was wait. I followed you for a couple of days and just my luck—you followed the same routine every day. You couldn’t wait for lunchtime to get on the phone with your bookie and hit the nearest pub. I guess Watters’ last message didn’t get through.”

Scott saw that the mention of Calvin Watters’ name had sparked his prisoner. He watched the man’s eyes wander around the vacated, gutted building to a crumpled body in the corner.

“Don’t worry about him, James. His blood-brain barrier has been crossed by a shit load of heroin.” He held up a syringe and tension band. Like a trained registered nurse, Scott pressed the plunger and liquid dripped from the needle. “He won’t be bothering us.” Scott looked around the room. “It’s a shame they’ll be demolishing this building in a few days. I was introduced to the site by a local friend. Pity really, it’s the perfect location for my work.”