“The ex-cop?” Jimmy paused. “Not liked very well in the department. Had a reputation of being a rat. Quit the force a while back. I heard he opened a private investigation operation across town. Another ambulance chaser. That same guy? Why?”
“A receipt from Nick Trump and Associates. What would Grant need a PI for?”
He put the receipt to the side and continued sorting through the papers.
“This is interesting,” Jimmy said, holding up a photocopied piece of paper. “The prenup.”
They weren’t lawyers, but both detectives got the gist. Linda had to be married to Grant for the real payoff.
The will was next.
“Look at the date,” Jimmy said. “That was right after Grant’s marriage to Linda.”
Now they knew that Linda would get a good share there—but that Shawn also had a reason to benefit.
“You think he killed his own father?” Jimmy asked.
“As I said, he has the motive. I’m not counting anyone out.”
He opened his cell phone and placed an urgent call. “Hey, Duncan, it’s Dale. Have you talked to Grant’s son and daughter yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Listen…” Dale asked them to see what Shawn knew about the will and those arrangements—judge his reaction. Then he hung up.
Nothing else held their interest, so they took the money and the documents with them and let themselves out.
They got into the car. When Jimmy was seated, Dale said, “Tomorrow morning, early as possible, we’ve got to go to the bank and open that safe deposit box.”
“I’ll call Tina to set it up.”
“No, Jimmy. By the book. We’ll have to get one more warrant today. We are really pressing—but the mayor will help us out if need be, on the quiet.”
Chapter 16
From a highly touted NFL prospect to a Vegas murder suspect.
Calvin was on edge, his nerves strung tight when he got home, but he saw no sign that the cops had already been by. At least that was good.
He went to his small desk and booted up his computer. It was only a laptop. He kept his
That was the other thing that had kept him sane for three years. Daily knee rehab and weights, and daily online study of what his computer could do. Calvin had never been a computer nerd, but in the last three years he’d learned enough to do most of what the stereotypical flannel-shirted overweight geek could do. Establishing and keeping his computer system state of the art had been his only major expense since arriving in Las Vegas. He saved the rest of his earnings for use in his new life whenever it began.
He had created a psychological profile database of a wide range of people in Vegas, particularly clients, so he could break them down in his collecting work.
At the back of his mind he’d always thought his gift with computers would be his ticket to his new life. He could show most prospective employers what he’d managed to compile about people and how efficiently he’d used the information. Marketing firms, security businesses—both could use him.
Now the computer would have to substitute for friends. Although he knew a lot of people on the streets, he only had a handful of true friends who would even consider touching him right now.
Who could he call?
He hadn’t spoken to his brother in years, not since he had taken the job with Pitt. His own brother would simply tell Calvin to turn himself in—if he were innocent, he’d be okay. He was not a naive cop, but he was straight as an arrow.
The only time Calvin had seen his father since he was little was when Calvin’s name had been mentioned in
He had three options. One, he could turn himself into authorities. Not promising. Two, he could flee the city, never to return. That meant dumping Rachel, whom he loved. He hated his life in Vegas—but he liked the town itself. Three, he could find out who had tried to frame him and who the real murderer was.
He grabbed a black duffel bag and filled it with clothing. Except for cash for immediate expenses, he had all his savings locked and stored inside his fortified computer room. The $20,000 he’d gotten from Pitt this morning— that would come with him now.
With a fresh dip in his mouth, Dale followed the directions his partner had laid out. Jimmy wanted to get home to his family and he didn’t blame him.
He decided to surprise Pitt at his office and catch him off guard. A personal visit from a homicide detective made an impact, even on street scum like Pitt. He wasn’t even sure that Pitt would still be there. If he was, it would have nothing to do with business.
He found the office, which was off a crappy alleyway. Neither hinted at the sizeable cash flow Pitt generated.
He walked in and approached the front desk. No one around. Dale yelled, “Donald Pitt. I’m Detective Dayton, Homicide. I need to talk to you.” He heard nothing, but headed to the back.
Pitt was seat at a table with someone, eating a late dinner. A rancid odor filled the air.
The man sitting beside Pitt looked huge, even sitting down.
“Wow, a real-life detective,” the bookie said, mouth full of food. Pitt chuckled arrogantly and the goon with him joined in. Pitt started to stand.
Dale extended his hand. “Please, don’t get up. I won’t keep you long.”
Part of the detective would have liked to grab the bookie by the collar and slam him against the wall. But the steroid freak next to him kept Dale at bay.
Pitt must have seen Dale eyeing the other man in the room.
“This is my associate, Randall.”
Randall had a thick neck and wide jaw. His muscle shirt showed massive welts on his swollen deltoids. He also had a zipper of stitches down the side of his face.
Dale looked at Randall and then back at Pitt. “I was wondering if we could talk business.”
With a quick nod from his boss, the bodyguard took the hint. Randall dropped two meaty hands on the desk and lifted from the chair, his triceps looking like horseshoes when flexed. He stood and stared at Dale, his eyes shining with anger, playing the role to perfection, then turned and left.
“What do you want, Detective Dayton? As you can see, we’re very busy around here.”
Dale glanced at the empty fast-food wrappers on the desk and smirked. “Have you seen Calvin Watters today?”
Pitt picked at some food in his teeth before responding. “Maybe.”
He was the classic liar.
“Do I really look that stupid to you?”
“Save the bullshit. He ain’t here and I ain’t seen him.” His smarmy grin broadened.
Dale moistened his finger and turned to a fresh page in his notebook. “When was the last time you did?”
Pitt thought about his answer for only a few seconds. “Well, I seen him early this mornin’ when I sent him on a job, but he didn’t return. I ain’t seen or heard from him since.”
“Where was this job?”
“I sent him over to Doug Grant’s personal office. Doug owed me some money and I sent Calvin to collect. But the bastard never came back. He probably took the loot and disappeared. Never should have trusted him for a job that big.”
Dale laughed at the thought of Pitt calling Grant by his first name, like they were acquaintances.
