by Luke Murphy
Low muffled sounds got past the duct tape and Pierce began to sob. He swallowed a large lump in his throat before blinking once.
Dale was still feeling the effects of his meeting with Flannery when he pulled into his empty driveway. He wasn’t sure why he was home. It was as if the old cruiser had steered itself.
Actually, he did know why. There was something he wanted to do, something he needed to do. He’d been putting it off, hoping that if he didn’t do it, if he didn’t see the actual words, then it wouldn’t be real—like it was just a horrible dream that he would soon wake up from.
But it was time.
Since his family had left, Dale tried to spend as much time at the office as possible, especially during the day when he’d notice the things he missed the most. It just wasn’t right. No noise, no smell of home-cooked food and no toys scattered throughout.
For the first time since Betty’s departure, Dale went into their bedroom. He lay on the bed and buried his face in her pillow, where her scent still lingered—lavender vanilla shampoo and coconut lime body wash.
He turned onto his back, propped his head up on two pillows and shoved his hand inside his jacket pocket, where Betty’s letter had been for four days. He’d kept it there, close to his heart, refusing to read it, refusing to admit it was over. Now he was facing that fear head-on.
His name was written in black marker on the outside of the white envelope in Betty’s handwriting.
Dale,
I hate impersonal letters like this, but for the last little while you haven’t been around long enough for us to talk. I think we need some time apart. Sammy and I will be staying at Catherine’s place until we figure things out.
We both know this isn’t working. I knew who I was marrying. You’re a cop and a great one, but you’ve changed over the years. Now that we have a son you need to adjust your priorities with work and family.
I want to say that your job is the only problem, but it’s not…and we both know where I’m going. I know I said I’d gotten over your infidelity—that I had put it behind me and moved on. But the truth is that the thought still lingers. Every time you come home late, I wonder if you were with HER. I just can’t live like this anymore.
I still love you and hope we can work this out. I want the Dale I fell in love with and married.
Love,
Betty and Sammie
Dale felt numb.
As he reread the note, he felt a sudden, crushing exhaustion and was brought to a complete halt. How tired he was from too many years on the job, the stress of work and his marital problems.
His throat tightened and he was having trouble breathing. Then Dale did something that he hadn’t done in a long time. He cried.
He removed the snuff in his mouth and put it on the bedside table. He lay down and fell asleep, his head on Betty’s pillow.
Chapter 33
From his conversation with Whitney, Calvin had at least a rough description of his follower, unless he’d already changed his appearance, and he began to watch the video monitors around his fortress all the time.
Did this guy have his own reasons for wanting to kill Calvin or had he been hired to take Calvin out?
Calvin knew the more networks he reached out to, the greater possibility of finding his opponent. So, with Rachel surfing the net, he decided to try Gene Lockhart, a forty-one-year-old bachelor with a gambling problem. Lockhart was also a pit boss at the Golden Horseshoe Casino and someone Calvin had grown to trust. He had collected from him years ago and could get him fired at any time. But Lockhart somehow had convinced him that he would get over his addiction and he had kept the secret. True to his word, Lockhart had been clean since. Lockhart had introduced Calvin and Rachel, so each man was indebted to one another, even though Calvin held all the real cards.
Lockhart knew the streets and had major contacts.
“What?” a sleepy voice barked into the phone.
“Geno, it’s me.”
“Cal? What do you need?”
Calvin knew the sound of his voice had roused his friend. “I need some answers.”
“Sure. Is this about your situation?”
“Afraid so.”
Both were silent a moment.
“I’ll tell you anything you need to know, if I can.”
“Great. I need some information on your boss.”
“He’s a popular guy lately.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, just the other day the police came by asking about Ace.”
“About the Grant murder?” Calvin hadn’t seen Sanders’ name in any “suspect” report.
“Of course.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Most of this crew is scared to death of Sanders and I know the execs and employees at the Midas are too.”
Calvin sat back in his chair. Why had he thought he’d get information?
“But for you, I’ll talk. I know you had nothin’ to do with this and I owe ya.”
He was back in business. “Thanks, Geno. I appreciate that. Now, talk to me. Tell me anything you’ve seen out of the ordinary or anything you might have overheard.”
“Sanders is a very private businessman. He shares almost nothing with anyone. I know he was mixed up with Pitt. But you probably know that. Sanders was said to be sleeping around with Linda Grant, but that wouldn’t be the first marriage he’d broken up. I wish I could help you more, Cal.”
“This isn’t anything I don’t already know. I need to prove that someone else committed these murders, but so far, I can’t do that. I need something to take to the cops.”
Lockhart’s voice changed. “I might not have proof, but I can tell you this. Sanders is evil and capable of killing.”
“How do you know?”
“Nothing you can use. But remember I told you about that young couple we caught counting cards at the Black Jack table two years ago?”
“I remember.”
“They’ll never cheat again.”
At least Calvin had his thought confirmed by a reliable source. He remained silent.
“Okay, there is one thing. You can’t say who told you because I didn’t tell the police. On the nights of Grant’s and Pitt’s murders, Sanders wasn’t in his office. The first night I saw for myself that he was gone. On the night that Pitt was killed, same thing. But I could’ve sworn that I remember seeing his Ferrari parked in his private spot. I talked to my friend at the Midas and he told me that Sanders wasn’t in his office there on either night.”
Now Calvin knew that Sanders could make the entire staff at the Golden Horseshoe and the Midas lie to the cops. Next, he gave Lockhart the description of the hit man.
“Sorry, Cal, haven’t seen anyone like that. I’ll ask around and get back to ya.”
“Thanks, Geno. That would be great.”
The two men said goodbye.
Sanders could have done it and could have hushed everyone up.
Dale woke with red, swollen eyes, a rotten taste in his mouth and dried tobacco juice on his chin. He noticed juice stains on the collar of his dress shirt and changed into a new one.
As he tied his tie, the mirror showed him pronounced lines around his mouth and eyes for the first time.
Cops’ wives walked out all the time, but how could he have missed seeing it coming?
He knew that his marriage had serious problems that he had not prioritized or tried to resolve with Betty. He had dedicated himself and almost all of his time to his job instead. Even so, he couldn’t believe that it had come to this. He had just assumed that Betty would give him more time to work things out. He and his wife were now physically separated. The two people who mattered the most to him were hundreds of miles away.
Dale checked his watch. He had slept for almost two hours. Now Jimmy would wonder what kept him—and ask.
He went through the rooms and remembered the clothes and the other items they had taken. He felt like he was emptied, not just the hous
e. But the nap had cleared his head a bit…at least enough to push forward. He’d feel better getting back to work.
His cell rang.
“Dayton.”
“Dale, it’s Jimmy. Where the hell are you, man?”
“At home.”
“Somethin’s come up. You better get your ass over here now. I’m on my way to pick you up.”
Dale shut the phone off, finished tying his tie and hurried down the stairs.
It had been four and a half days since they’d left. That seemed to him enough time for Betty to collect her thoughts. Maybe she would be ready to talk.
He dialed Betty’s cell phone number, but it went straight to voice mail. He’d try her sister Catherine.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Catherine, it’s Dale. Can I speak to Betty?”
He could hear his sister-in-law talking in the background before she came back on the line. “I’m sorry, Dale. Betty isn’t ready yet. Maybe in a couple of days.”
He appreciated the apologetic tone.
“Okay, thank you, Catherine. Please tell Betty I love and miss her. And give Sammie a big kiss and tell him the same.”
“Goodbye, Dale.”
He hung up and swiped away a tear. Maybe in two days, with a few lucky breaks, he could tell her he’d cracked both cases. No…that was why she’d left him, or at least part of the reason. What would he be able to say to Betty that she would care about?
Cops had good instincts and as a homicide detective, Dale had to use his intuition and deep understanding of the human psyche to help solve his crimes. He saw his job as a mission and he was a third-generation police officer. Law enforcement was his grandfather’s calling, then his father’s and now his. He’d been raised with those values.
He sat and thought. For the next few days, until it was time to try to reach Betty again, he would put his personal problems aside and focus solely on getting the job done. Later, he’d know what to do. He hoped.
He heard a honk and looked out the window to find Jimmy in the driveway. Dale checked the gun in his shoulder holster. He rinsed out his mouth, tossed his jacket over his shoulder and walked outside. As he approached the car, Jimmy yelled through the open window.
“You look like shit!”
Dale jumped into the passenger seat and did his best to tuck in his wrinkled shirt and straighten his uncombed hair.
Jimmy handed Dale a covered Styrofoam cup. “I thought you could use this.”
“Thanks.” He peeled off the lid, sipped and felt a little better. “What did you tell the Sarge?”
“I told him you were working the assignment. He was not impressed and wants to hear about some progress right now.”
They walked through the crowded lobby and Dale saw a man in a well-cut suit with the sergeant.
As the detectives entered the office, the mayor turned to them. Another visit meant increased urgency and pressure.
“What do you have now?”
Dale knew that the mayor had a minor background in law enforcement, so he realized that Grant’s murder was scary enough, but when cops were also being murdered, it was even worse—especially with possibly two killers hunting people in the city.
“We have some leads,” Dale said. “There’s a lot of circumstantial evidence to follow.”
“What about this Watters character? The sergeant says that Watters has probably already left the city, maybe even the state and country, while you two go around chasing theories.”
“We are following Watters as well as we can, but as you say, he might have fled. We are focusing on those who are here and profited from those deaths. My team is totally dedicated and focused.”
What he wanted to say was that Sanders was his prime suspect and they should be concentrating on him.
“Listen,” the mayor said in earnest. “I want these cases closed. Pick up Watters, connect him to the murders and find the cop killer. And do it now.”
The detectives were silent again. Dale looked at his sergeant, who nodded.
Then the mayor changed his demeanor. “Detective Dayton, whatever you need to help with these investigations is available. Manpower, money—whatever resources you need. I’ll make sure you have it at your disposal. I have talked to the lieutenant about this and he has assured me that everything possible will be done to bring down the killers. You name it, Detective and it’s yours.”
“Yes, sir,” Dale and Jimmy said at the same time.
“Go get our killers, gentlemen.”
The sergeant escorted the two detectives out. As they left the office, he whispered. “Do whatever it takes.”
Chapter 34
Calvin sat in his computer room eating Chinese noodles from a Styrofoam container when movement at the corner of the monitor grabbed his attention. The long black hair that had flashed by the screen sent chills through Calvin’s body. His gut clenched.
He quickly sat upright and placed the container on the desk beside the monitor. He grabbed the remote and maneuvered the joystick, zooming in from another angle. The man was at a distance and somewhat hidden. Any other time, Calvin wouldn’t have warranted a second glance. But Whitney’s description and the man’s actions—continuing to move, circling out wide and returning at irregular intervals from different angles—showed Calvin the man was scoping the place.
He studied the image on the screen. The hit man was less careful than he should have been. So he didn’t know about the camera and thought he was too far away for detection.
All the cameras were set to record in a continued cycle until Calvin changed the digital hard drives. Depending on the hit man’s location, distance, speed and angle of movement, at least one and sometimes two or three cameras were recording different views.
Then, as if understanding he was being watched, the hit man moved away in haste, turning from the house and starting to walk down the street, avoiding all of the hidden camera lenses.
Calvin dropped what he was doing. He opened the closet and pulled the larger of the two Kevlar vests out, slipping it on over his upper body.
“Rachel, come on.”
“Where are we going?”
He ignored her question and grabbed her by the arm. He pulled out his Harrington & Richardson .32 revolver, the smallest weapon he owned, and raced to the back entrance.
“Make sure to lock up from the inside when I leave.”
“Don’t go, Calvin.” She held his arm.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t forget the secret knock.”
He turned before she said another word. He heard Rachel locking up again from the inside. She’d only open for his knock.
His knee was starting to throb, but Calvin caught up with the assassin and followed him on foot through the streets of Vegas.
It had taken Scott only six minutes to spot Watters and realize that the man had somehow identified him and was coming after him. He could play the hunter being hunted for a few minutes until he led Watters somewhere convenient to finish him.
He used the busy Vegas streets and shop windows as mirrors to position himself for a clear shot. He didn’t know the streets as well as his adversary, but Scott had years of killing experience to his advantage.
They ducked and dodged inside buildings, crossed back streets and took shortcuts through backyards. The quiet, unoccupied side streets with abandoned buildings were the perfect locations for a pursuit.
But they had been waltzing for a half hour and neither was able to get a clean shot without risk of being exposed to the other.
This was Watters’ turf and some street people might even be watching out for him. Best to retreat and finish the job tomorrow.
At the next corner, Scott turned and started running at top speed, twisting, dodging, changing sides of the streets, turning one corner, then another, making a full circle, then breaking away in a new direction. He knew about Watters’ weak knee. Maybe with the sudden change in speed, he could break free.
When he was satisfied he’d l
ost Watters, he took the service entrance into the hotel and rode the elevator to his suite. He swiped his card to unlock his door and went to the bathroom, shedding his soaked shirt, cursing the whole way, before using a towel to wipe his sweaty face and body. He returned to the bedroom, threw the towel against the wall and without hesitation studied Watters’ dossier again.
Watters was a formidable adversary. Not many of Scott’s targets could find him, let alone pursue him for a half hour and survive. He was going to like this game—almost as good as taking out an FBI agent.
He wouldn’t underestimate Watters again.
Watters had to have spotted him by using cameras at his safe-house.
But killing him at close quarters would be tricky.
Scott knew just what he would do.
Calvin had tried to keep up with the hit man when he started running, but his knee forced him to quit the chase long before he was satisfied he knew how his opponent thought and thereby how to fight him.
It tore him apart inside to watch the hit man disappear. Uncatchable. Untraceable. At least for tonight. Calvin took small comfort in having twice eluded the hit man and some pride in keeping their deadly match even, for now. The impasse was short-lived.
The only difference in the two men’s ideas was that Calvin didn’t want the man dead. He needed answers.
But this was a true pro and he’d had years of practice. Calvin would be killed and Rachel too if he didn’t think of something very clever, very soon.
He got back to his fortress tired, his knee swollen and aching, but he appreciated that his years of hard work staying physically fit had saved his life tonight. He had endured hunting and being hunted and knew that he had given his assassin an impressive battle.
He used the special knock and Rachel opened the door. Her eyes were red and swollen.
“What happened?” He rushed inside and locked the door behind him.
Rachel turned without saying a word and walked into the next room. Calvin could hear her quiet sobs as she distanced herself. He hobbled after her and spun her around.