Luke Murphy - Dead Man's Hand

After the long and exhausting frustration of leading double murder investigations that were the most important in the homicide history of Las Vegas and with pressure from the mayor on down and absolutely no hard evidence until tonight, Dale felt it all come to a climax.

But that was short lived.

Linda had gotten killed because his bosses protected Sanders—no other reason. Dale’s one regret was that they couldn’t have arrested Sanders sooner, which could have prevented her death.

What stopped him? Not only the perfect murders, which were part of the nature of his work, but in this context, most importantly—the interference by the mayor and sergeant, for political reasons. That was the real tragedy. Politics had kept the real murderer free until he could kill his fourth victim.

Politics should never have been part of Dale’s investigations, but they were, and that was what he really lamented.

He would never know really if Linda had helped Sanders kill Grant because the only person alive connected to it all was Sanders himself. Even if he admitted that Linda was behind it, would it be the truth or just some last-ditch effort to save himself from the chair? Did she deserve to die?

With Watters following them, Dale and Jimmy took Sanders to the booking counter and transferred custody to two officers. They watched until Sanders disappeared from view down the hallway toward the holding cells.

“He better get used to those living arrangements.”

Dale turned to find the mayor and District Attorney Robert Flannery standing behind them, wide smiles on their faces.

“We came as soon as we heard,” the mayor said. “Good work.”

Flannery spoke. “We have enough on Sanders. His band of lawyers and every legal technique in the book can’t save him now. Assuming he pleads down, we’ll put him away for two consecutive life sentences, without parole. Sanders will never see the outside of a prison again.”

“Not in this lifetime.” The mayor smiled again. “Let’s go, Robert. We have a press conference tomorrow to plan for.”

Dale, Jimmy and Watters looked at each other.

Unable to find words, Dale gestured toward his desk and led the way. He grabbed an empty chair for Watters and sat down. “I’m exhausted.”

“I feel the same way,” Jimmy said.

“I’m sure it’ll hit me soon too, but right now I’m still feeling the rush of seeing you capture and arrest Sanders,” Watters added.

“Want a drink?”

“In a second,” Dale replied. He removed the chunk of Skoal from his mouth and dropped it into an empty coffee cup next to his computer. He rinsed using old water from a cup that had been on his desk for days.

Watters and Jimmy, still exhilarated by the arrest, joined a group of officers who were enjoying the victory. The precinct was filled with laughter, storytelling and cheering.

Dale opened up his desk drawer, pulled out the overstuffed file marked “Casino Case” and opened it up. He spread everything across his bare desk—photos, reports and even handwritten notes.

Piece by piece, he went over what he had. With a single exception, it was still all circumstantial.

For Linda Grant’s murder, they already had all the proof they needed.

Had they sacrificed Linda so that they could arrest Sanders? Dale knew that there was no real answer to that question and that the either/or aspects would haunt him the rest of his life, as he kept second-guessing the decision he had made. And he would never know if Linda had been an accomplice with Sanders in Grant’s murder, or just his lover who hadn’t known of Sanders’ plan to kill her husband. Not knowing if she was innocent or guilty would make the question that would always haunt him even more painful.

He’d seen the bandages on Sanders’ wrist. There was no doubt in Dale’s mind that when the test came back from the lab in a few days, the skin found underneath the nails of the call girl in Pitt’s office would match a DNA sample taken from Sanders.

The other three murders?

How did Sanders murder Grant and Pitt? Baxter saying that Sanders had hired him to kill Watters was hearsay. And they hadn’t had the time to try to get Baxter to confess to the cop killing.

Convicting one killer for only two of the five murders and being forced to release the other killer to the military made Dale’s brief sense of victory seem hollow. Despite the most massive manhunts in the city’s history, both led by Dale, this was what it had come down to.

Two out of five was an incredible batting average, but for a homicide detective who’d dedicated his professional life to protecting all of the city’s residents, it was a major defeat, or at least it felt like one.

But this was Nevada. One of thirty-four states that still practiced the death penalty—lethal injection determined by a jury. There was always the chance that Sanders, being as arrogant as he was, would think his fame and fortune could buy a verdict. He might decide to plead not guilty. Even murder by hire in the state of Nevada was punishable by death. But Dale doubted it would come to that. Not with the evidence they had.

Baxter, a hired gun, had suffered his own punishment. The ex-Marine had indeed avoided the legal system, but Watters had made sure that the family members of the deceased attained a certain amount of revenge for their loved ones.

Only indirect punishment.

Dale felt like a failure. He might get promoted for bringing Sanders down, but he hadn’t solved the crime, not really. He could only accept the praise if he personally felt he’d earned it. By his own standards, he had not.

He thought about the victims—slimy like Pitt and promising like Craig. He had failed them. What could he say to their family and friends? That’s he’d tried, failed and was sorry?

Was that worth neglecting his own family?

If he hung around any longer he’d bring everyone down—so Dale went home.

Chapter 43

Calvin had persuaded Rachel into moving into his tiny apartment for the time being. But even though the police had brought in a team that left it spotless, they’d always know that a cop had died there.

When he heard the front door chime at exactly 4:00 p.m., he smiled. He expected the punctuality.

He opened the door wide and spread his arms, wrapping his visitor in a massive, affectionate bear hug, though careful not to tear his stitches.

With his large right arm wrapped around the man’s shoulders, Calvin pulled his visitor into the small living room and got him seated. Dragging an armchair close to the man, Calvin sat down, leaned forward and said, “It’s really great to see you, Dale. It doesn’t matter why you’re here. I’m glad you are.”

“I feel selfish asking to speak to you alone when you’ve had so little time with Rachel.”

“She understands. You know how we both feel about you. She’s meeting friends at a coffee shop.”

The detective leaned back in his chair and began to relax. It looked like it had been a while. “Thank you. You really love her, don’t you?”

Calvin smiled, feeling flushed. “I do. Her strength and determination make me want to be a better man. You said you needed to talk about something urgent, but you didn’t say what it was. Is there a break in one of the other murder cases? New evidence? Something I can help with?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you on the phone. It’s going to be hard enough to do it here in person. The answers to your questions are no, no and yes. What I want to talk to you about has nothing to do with the investigations. It’s only about me, personally and yes, I think you can help me.” Dale shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Before I get to that, Mike Armstrong called the station this morning and confirmed your alibi for the night Pitt and the prostitute were killed. That, along with Rachel’s admission you were with her when Grant was murdered, was persuasive enough that even the chief admitted you are no longer a suspect in those cases.”