straight to his desk.
After booting up his computer, he ran Watters’ name through the Nevada Crime Index (NCI) database and at the national FBI level (NCIC).
Had Watters known Grant or had he been in any direct contact with the casino owner prior to his death? Because of fingerprints, Dale knew that Watters was in Grant’s office the morning after Grant was murdered, sent there by his boss. But why the phony disguise and fake name?
When the computer beeped, he searched the website of the USC Trojans. He researched team lists from five years back and clicked on Calvin Watters’ name.
Even though the disguise had been elaborate, the pictures on the USC site made it obvious that the visitor to Grant’s private office could have been Watters. By now, Watters could be anywhere—Canada, Mexico or even off the American continent. If he was guilty it was highly unlikely, but a remote possibility, that he was still in Vegas.
Dale ripped off the sheet and left the office. He threw the two color pictures onto the front desk counter and ordered a city-wide APB. All he could do was get the photo across the state, to the FBI and to Canadian and Mexican police. No Interpol stuff—not yet.
He went back to his office to study the crime scene photos again. As he sat back down and removed the magnifying glass from his desk, he was interrupted.
“Excuse me, Detective Dayton?”
“What is it, Craig?”
“I have a copy of the phone records.” The young man, the relative rookie he’d taken onto the case, held up a stack of computer printer paper.
The detective waved him into the office. “Just set them on my desk.”
The phone records dated to three months back, with the local calls separated from the long-distance calls. Craig had spent hours on this. Short on time, Dale skimmed over the copies.
On first glance, most of Sanders’ calls could be accounted for—other casinos, strip clubs, 900 numbers. Dale recognized these from their 702 area code. But there was one unusual call, a 504 area code. He couldn’t place it off-hand. He would have to look it up.
He moved Sanders’ reports to the side and shuffled the pages to Calvin Watters’ phone records. Watters had called L.A. once—his brother?—and that was it. He made few calls of any kind.
From their home, work and cell phones, Doug, Linda and Shawn Grant had only made a handful of calls out of state. Three of the seven calls were to Atlantic City, where Dale assumed calls had been placed to rival casino owners. Two calls were to Boston and another two were made to Memphis, where Linda Grant had been born and raised and still had family.
Then he saw the obvious. One call was made from Grant’s private office after his time of death—to Pitt. The scheduled appointment guest list from Grant’s office complex indicated that Watters’ assumed alias was the only name on the list.
“I believe I’ve seen that number before. That lyin’ son of a bitch!”
He checked the clock at the bottom of the computer screen. Go home to an empty house or follow a lead while it was hot?
Not much of a decision.
He grabbed the stack of papers and left his office.
“Tommy, I need you to cross-reference every single phone number in here.”
The man looked at the enormous stack of papers and then looked up at Dale.
Before he could speak, Dale did. “I know, I know. Just think of it as overtime.”
Chapter 18
Calvin could now only deal with people he trusted—or who were too afraid of him to contact the cops. He needed to make vital decisions about whom he could rely on and who might backstab him by turning him in.
Cruiser’s Bar was a local watering hole for bikers and prostitutes. Those who would recognize him there were not likely to help the police.
“Keep the cab running,” he told the driver.
“It’s your dollar.”
Calvin and Rachel walked past the Harleys and beat-up pickup trucks to the door. Inside, he approached the sticky bar. The sounds of chatter, ‘80s rock music and pool balls clicking together engulfed him. A biker covered in tattoos wiped his hands and walked over.
“What, Mack?”
As the bartender got closer, his eyes widened. “Calvin.” He chuckled. “Is that you?”
“Hey, Bernie. I need to talk to Mike.”
“Man! I didn’t recognized you.” The man snorted with delight.
“Yeah, this is a new look for me.”
“I’ll let Mike know you’re here. Hold on.” The bulky bartender entered a back room.
Calvin surveyed the bar. No one seemed suspicious or new. Rachel stayed close to him. No one seemed to notice them and no one cared.
The bartender came back with a grin. “He’ll see you now. Man, will he get a kick out of you.”
Calvin, leading Rachel, walked to the back room.
Mike squeezed out of a wooden chair behind his desk and limped over.
“Hey, Calvin.”
If his new appearance surprised the bar owner, he didn’t show it.
“Hey, Mike.” Calvin shook his hand.
“Rachel.” The man nodded toward the silent woman. “Please, have a seat.”
Calvin and Rachel sat and waited for Mike to do the same.
“I saw the Chargers signed Jenkins. Wasn’t he your backup at USC?”
“Don’t remind me.”
Mike snorted. “The world works in mysterious ways. What can I do for you?”
“I’m in some trouble.”
Mike picked up a note pad, flipped to a fresh page and grabbed a pen. He sat back and listened. When Calvin was through, Mike spoke up. “I thought you went back to your college look for a reason. Man, does that take me back. You didn’t know your man back then, did you, Rachel?”
She shook her head.
“He was something. King of the campus.”
Calvin shifted in his seat as Mike continued.
“I remember the day my nephew, my sister’s only kid, called me here, excitement in his voice. He told me how the great Calvin Watters came and sat at his table in the library with his nerdy computer friends. Andy said they were as nervous as hell. Boy, were they some surprised when you started talking shop with them. What most people didn’t know, Rachel, not even his college teammates, is that our boy Calvin here used to hang around with the computer geeks in the library at USC. He asked them to show him some computer stuff, even skipped a football keg party one night to hang out in their dorm room. Andy was fixated on him. The party, booze, drugs, sorority girls, that just wasn’t Calvin’s style.”
Rachel smiled at Calvin as he said, “I think we heard enough, Mike.”
“No,” Rachel cut in. “Tell me more about Calvin. He never talks about his college days.”
Mike ignored Calvin’s protests and continued. “All Calvin thought about was the NFL.”
Calvin cut him off. “How is Andy?”
“Doin’ great. Stuck around California working for some big computer company out there. I still help him out when I can. But don’t change the subject. You were a big part of Andy’s life back then. You protected him and kept him out of trouble. He was never the kind to make friends easy and you helped him. When you got to Vegas, I was
