“You think Linda Grant did this?”
“I don’t think Linda committed the murder, or any woman for that matter. Sure, she could have lured her husband out here, but she’s much too small and weak to slice his head nearly off. But could be hired work.”
“We better tell her first that she’s a widow and gauge from there.” Jimmy wore a big smile.
“What are you so excited about?”
“Meeting Linda Grant.”
“Your wife know you’re a perv?”
Jimmy smiled again. “Of course, but she likes it. How do you think we’ve made it through twenty-five happily married years? I just always appreciate a beautiful woman.”
The search was going nowhere. Dale snapped off his gloves, the rubber smacking loudly. He dialed the police station.
“Henry, it’s Dale.”
“You in the field?”
“Yeah. I need you to find a judge. Tell him that I need two search warrants sworn out ASAP on probable cause. Doug Grant’s home and casino, the Greek.”
“The casino owner?”
“Yeah, the same one.”
“What did he do?”
“Don’t worry about what he did, just do it. Have them ready by the time I get back. Wait. Rephrase that. Get me one unspecified search warrant for Doug Grant.”
Dale hung up without saying goodbye. The search would have to be fast, deep and wide.
“Unspecified?” Jimmy asked.
Dale shrugged. “Who knows what Grant owns?”
As he was walking away, Jimmy put his hand on Dale’s shoulder. “Dale, be careful whose toes you step on with this one.”
After almost two hours of thorough searching, all they had were the tire tread marks.
“Let’s go see the widow.”
As he and Jimmy turned to leave, Dale felt a sharp tug on his coat sleeve. The detectives turned to face their sergeant standing beside the mayor.
“Dayton, Mason, we need to talk.”
Dale spit into his cup.
“Jesus Christ, Dayton, you know I hate that shit!” He turned to the man beside him. “You know Mayor Casey. He wants a few words with you boys before you get going. I’m heading back now. I’ll meet you at the precinct.”
The men shook hands as the sergeant left. This was the first time that Dale had been this close to Paul Casey. Casey was tall and slender, a bit cocky. Dale couldn’t believe he was standing in this heat in a pin-striped double-breasted suit, with not a drop of sweat on him.
“What do you think?” the mayor asked.
“It’s still too soon in the case to tell, sir. There is little evidence to go on right now.”
“Detectives, I don’t want to slow you down. I just wanted you to know that this case takes precedence. This case should be treated with your utmost professionalism and speed. I am depending on you gentlemen to bring me swift justice. Doug Grant was a friend of mine and I don’t have to tell you the impact that he and his family have had on this city. I would consider it a personal favor if you brought down the son of a bitch who did this. The city would be in your debt.”
It might have been Casey’s shifty eyes or trite words but something didn’t feel right.
“We’ll get him,” Dale said.
“That’s all I wanted to hear. Get to work, gentlemen.” The mayor marched off.
Something wasn’t kosher about the whole deal.
Jimmy’s face showed he agreed.
“Wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.”
Dale hopped out as Jimmy pulled up to the police station. As he entered the precinct, the attendant at the front desk shrugged at him. “They just found the judge at the club, rubbing elbows with Vegas’s elite. The papers should be here soon.”
He thought about running outside to tell Jimmy it would take a while, but then he heard his name called. Detective Joe Hartford rushed toward him.
“Dale, I’m glad I caught you.”
“What’s up, Joe?”
“The sergeant said you’re working the Grant case?”
“That’s right.”
“I think you should hear this.”
Dale looked back outside toward Jimmy, but he followed Hartford across the lobby and into the tech room.
“We recorded this 911 call earlier this morning. Didn’t think much of it at the time. Thought it was just some prank.”
The lab tech started the recording.
Dale scratched his salt and pepper crew cut as he listened.
When it was done, Hartford said, “After we got the call, we phoned over to the building lobby, but there was no answer. We had to call a second time, a few minutes later, before a security guard responded. We told him the situation and stayed on the line as they tried to locate Grant. There was no answer at his office, and when they finally got upstairs, no one was there. That Coburn character, or Calvin Watters, was nowhere to be found.”
“They didn’t lock down the building?”
Hartford shrugged. “Amateurs. We sent a couple of patrol cars to the private office, but by the time they got there, there was nothing to see.”
“So Grant has a private office in addition to his house and casino offices?”
Hartford nodded.
Dale was relieved that he had asked for an unspecified search warrant that would include all of Grant’s offices. It could have taken a day for more than one.
Dale was thinking about how some of the anonymous caller’s information had been correct, but some wrong. The rest he could check out himself.
The caller was wrong about the time of death. Grant had already been dead for almost twelve hours when the call had been placed. Was the caller aware of the time of Grant’s murder and just trying to confuse the cops? Was the caller attempting to set Calvin Watters up? Was Watters really in the building? He knew who Calvin Watters was and what his involvement meant.
The caller was also wrong about the murder site—the woods, not the office. Could the caller have been aware of a plot to assassinate Grant, but been too slow to respond and didn’t know the exact details? How much did the caller know and what might he by lying about?
“No chance of a trace or identification, Joe?”
“Not a chance. The phone had a good scrambler.”
“Why would a Samaritan use a scrambler?”
“There are all sorts of whack jobs out there. Maybe that’s his usual phone. The techs are busy analyzing the recording for background noises, but that’s a long shot.”
“Thanks, Joe. Give me a full written report and leave it on my desk.”
“Sure thing.”
He headed back to the front desk, but the papers still weren’t there. Henry shook his head so Dale turned and headed across the lobby to the sergeant’s office.
“What is it, Dayton?” The sergeant kept his eyes on his paperwork.
“I want to put a surveillance team on Linda Grant.”
“I suppose you want phone taps too?” He didn’t wait for Dale to respond. “Do it. I’ll get the warrant for it.”
