Luke Murphy - Dead Man's Hand

Dale sat down at his desk. “What do we know so far?”

“We found a knapsack and a briefcase on the roof of the old Hadley Grocer building down the street from Watters’ hideout, jammed underneath the fire-exit staircase. Inside the knapsack we found a camouflaged rain poncho and a tarp. The briefcase contained pieces of a 7.62 x 51mm M40 and a tripod.”

“Marine standard-issue sniper rifle.”

Jimmy nodded and continued. “We circulated Baxter’s picture and got a possible hit. Baxter had checked into a penthouse suite at the Bellagio on Monday night.”

After a moment’s thought, Dale said, “That’s over $500 a night. Who’s paying the bill?”

Jimmy shrugged. “The hotel manager said the bill was paid for seven nights, in cash. The bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in. No fingerprints. We found a suitcase with some clothes and toiletries and a duffel bag full of weapons in the vent.” Jimmy read from a sheet. “A Browning 9 x 19mm Hi-Power, a Taurus Millennium series PT145, a Walther P99 semi-automatic, the list goes on. Ballistics ran them all, but they came up empty on our murders and couldn’t connect them to any murders across the country. They also sent the data to ATF, to run through their National Integrated Ballistic Information Network. Again, no match.”

“We caught a good one.”

“This is interesting but leads nowhere,” Jimmy said. “The team found ember remains in the sink. Baxter burned a sheaf of papers and ran it down the drain. We took out the pipes, but we couldn’t recover any kind of evidence.” He held up a sheaf of papers. “I just printed out Baxter’s bio, a textbook on becoming a champion killer.”

They divvied up the package and both men read without interruption.

Dale stared at Baxter’s Marine Corps boot camp ID photo—chiseled jaw, gleam in his eye—ready to make a difference. Baxter was an ex-Marine of the 2nd MEB, 2nd Battalion, 3rd Marines.

Baxter did two tours and was highly decorated, including two Purple Hearts. He had taken out fifty-three people in one two-hour exploit. Not long after he received a dishonorable discharge under a special warrant that was unexplained and classified.

Jimmy whistled. “Wow! Carlos Hathcock, the most legendary sniper in Marine and American military history, has ninety-three confirmed kills is his whole service time.”

“Yeah, but who knows how many they really have? The distances and circumstances make it extremely difficult to confirm. It also says here that Baxter received an early psychological discharge.” Dale looked at Jimmy. “I have a hard time believing that someone with Baxter’s sniper record and numerous combat medals and decorations would be dishonorably discharged from the Corps.”

It was Jimmy’s turn. “Look at this. The military has an outstanding, special, high-priority warrant out against Baxter.”

“Listen to this quote from one of Baxter’s commanding officers. ‘In training camp, Derek Baxter showed a rare gift for sharp shooting and I sent him to our Marine Sniper-Scout School, the finest of its kind in the world, where only six of every hundred who enter graduate. Derek graduated at the top of his class and joined one of the military’s most elite groups. His subsequent performance as a sniper was among the best I’ve ever seen.’ End quote.”

“I wonder what happened.”

Jimmy smiled. “The advantages of being a psychopath. No emotion about other people.”

Dale knew that the right thing would be to call the military and tell them they had Derek Baxter in custody.

At the end of reading, one thing was clear. Baxter was a military asset, but also an obvious sociopath.

Dale’s cell phone rang.

“Dayton.”

“We’ve got a problem, sir.”

He listened for a moment, the smile fading from his face. He hung up.

“Fuck!”

The uniform who’d been guarding Baxter’s room met Dale and Jimmy at the hospital entrance door.

“I tried to keep them out, Detectives, but they pushed their way through with their credentials. There was nothing I could do.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid.”

They took the elevator to the third floor. Dale and Jimmy strode across the lobby and passed the nurse’s station. Dale tried the doorknob to the room, but it had been locked from the inside. He jiggled it hard but it wouldn’t budge.

“Jimmy, find someone to open this, will you?”

As Jimmy turned to leave, the door was opened just enough for a large head with a blond crew cut to appear. The man had a square jaw and pronounced cords in his thick neck. “The Colonel will see you guys in a minute.”

Dale reached for the knob. “Wait—”

The man shut the door and Dale, raising his eyebrows, turned to Jimmy.

He answered with a shrug.

Less than a minute later, true to his word, the door opened and a man in a green military uniform walked out with a Marine swagger. A pair of tough-looking Army men followed him and stopped outside the door. The leader continued toward Dale and Jimmy, his chest displaying numerous medals and ribbons.

“Gentlemen, I’m Marine Colonel John Hughes.” The man didn’t extend his arm, his hands intertwined behind his back.

Dale thought Hughes resembled a cartoon character with deeply recessed eyes, a prominent nose and a narrow chin. His scholar accent didn’t go unnoticed.

“Detective Dayton, Vegas Police. This is my partner, Detective Mason.”

Hughes gave the detectives an antagonistic nod. “Detectives, I’m Derek Baxter’s defense attorney and I’ll be organizing his court-martial.”

“So what is it Baxter did that resulted in that special high-priority warrant?”

Hughes’s impassive face never changed. “That’s confidential information, Detective. I’ll be taking him back to base now.” He turned to leave.

“Wait a minute, Colonel.” Dale knew the military warrant took legal precedence over Baxter’s police custody, but he still didn’t like it. He played his highest card right away. “I don’t think you comprehend the gravity of the situation. You’re not taking him anywhere. Baxter is wanted for questioning in the murder of a police officer.”

The colonel didn’t flinch. “I’m sorry for your loss, Detective, but this is a matter of national security. Baxter is wanted back on base. The military prefers to handle these situations internally.”

“Listen, he killed my officer and there’s no way you’re taking him.” Dale moved closer to the colonel.

“We’ll see about that, Detective.” In one swift motion, the colonel pulled out a cell phone. He turned his back, made a call and held a short conversation. When he had hung up, he turned back around to face Dale.

“So?” Dale asked.

The colonel only smiled.

As if on cue, Dale’s cell phone rang. He answered without taking his eyes off the colonel.

“Dayton.”

“Let it go.” He heard his sergeant’s voice.

“Yeah. But…”

“I said, let it go.”

“Yeah. Okay, Sarge.” Dale slammed the phone shut and addressed the colonel. “Okay, you seem to have some pull in my department. But we have some questions for your client, questions that are imperative to our investigation.”

“He will not be answering questions from your department. I have your answers.”

Dale licked his lips. “So what can you tell me?”

“He was hired by a man named Ace Sanders to kill Calvin Watters. He was paid half upfront and the other half was to be paid on completion of his mission. Of course, that never happened. His employer never used his name, but my client, being a thorough Marine, conducted his research and knew who he was working for.”

Before Dale could ask another question, the Colonel continued. “He is no longer in your custody. The Marines will take over from here.”