The Biggest Little Crime In The World (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 3)

by Brent Kroetch

  Drew answered by shoving Talbot up against the wall. “The security feed in Reno still provides sufficient cause to make an arrest. Whether the district attorney for Reno chooses to file or not, that’s her decision. So unless you give me something, Talbot, I’m going to borrow Kay’s cuffs, put them back on, and I’m going to leave them there for the entire very leisurely drive to Reno. Takes about seven hours on a good day, but today is distinctly not a good one. I’m guessing twelve or thirteen.”

  Talbot’s shoulders slumped, obviously resigned to the inevitable. “Frank, make her a copy of all our tapes, from yesterday and today. They can sort it out for themselves.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Talbot,” Drew replied sweetly. “See? We can get along, you and me. So maybe you’ll do me another favor while you’re at it. Well, two actually.”

  Preston smiled with tolerance but his words belied the look. “You are on the pushy side, aren’t you, Ms. Thornton. What is it you wish from me? My first born, perhaps?”

  “You may keep your first born, and all the other borns for that matter. What I’d like is for you to keep me in the loop. I know you’re going to find out who did this to your boss and my husband. I want to be in on the kill.”

  Talbot nodded agreement. “That I will grant you, though it may be after the fact. I’m not willing to tie my hands. What’s number two?”

  “Please do keep in touch,” she replied as she pulled a card from her wallet. “Let me know where you are or if you leave town.”

  “And the reason for this?”

  Drew’s grin revealed a less than subtle threat. “Because if I feel the need to come after you it’ll be easier if I know where to look.”

  He chuckled softly as he muttered, “I don’t think I’d care to have you come after me for real.” In a louder voice he added, “But you have my word as a gentleman that you will know where to find me should the need arise. May I have your word that the reverse will also hold true?” Given her assurance, he ventured further. “Then perhaps you could give me a second wish, as well.”

  “Which is?”

  “This security feed you claim you saw me on, the one that shows me the shooter. Did you really see that or was that a bluff intended to solicit a guilty admission?”

  “It’s real, alright,” Ham assured him. “I recognize you as the man on the feed.”

  Ignoring Ham, he asked of Drew, “Where did you get this feed? Where did it come from?”

  Ham would not be ignored, jumped back in with, “From Barton Mellows Associates in Reno. The camera feeds were from Virginia Street, above a small business. Why?”

  This time Preston turned directly to face Ham. “Who showed them to you? The name of the person, I mean?”

  Ham regarded him with suspicion but shrugged acquiescence. “The manager, Derek Fister. Again, why do you ask?”

  “Because,” Talbot grinned, the malevolence evident, “Barton Mellows is ours. So is Derek and so is his boss, Barton Bianchi. That is why I ask. I was hoping I was wrong but as soon as you told me you saw me on a security tape in Reno I suspected. And now,” he grimaced, his face reddened with murderous intent, “I must also suspect that Barton and Derek are not innocents in the hit on Liam.” He turned to his associate and softly ordered him to get ready. “We’re going to Reno, tonight.”

  “Call me when you get there,” Drew ordered. “We’ll be there before you and will be more than happy to help you interview your business partners.” Without waiting on a formal reply, she asked Kay, “Can you give us a lift to the airport? I know it’s out of your way but I’m in a hell of a hurry.”

  “Not a problem, it’s not far. Consider it a part of our service.”

  They hurried the way to her unmarked and Kay brought the big engine to life. She swung into traffic, left lights and sirens off yet drove as though those alarms led the way. Ham, his equilibrium tossed like a dinner salad what with the back and forth swaying and the abrupt swerves around innocent impediments to her transport demands, concentrated not on their progress but on keeping down his long forgotten breakfast.

  He used one hand to balance the rocking of the car as it swerved its way to its target, the other to press and call the contact for Lieutenant Karl Neely at Reno PD. When the lieutenant answered, Ham skipped pleasantries and got right to the gist of the call. “Listen, I need to find out how you guys are doing on any other feeds from surrounding businesses. What can you tell me?”

  “We’ve got teams all over the place, checking every firm. So far, we’ve got seven hits. However, of those, three are too far from the middle of the masses in that scene to prove useful, unless our guys turn up something unexpected. Which to date we have not. One is fairly close and shows the hit. Unfortunately, you, your partner, Mr. Porter and Liam Waterson dominate the feed and, while we see Porter and Waterson fall, the shooter, in there somewhere we presume, is hidden by the crowd, including you.”

  “Damn,” Ham muttered. “Isn’t there any way you can isolate and identify a person of interest approach the scene?”

  Ham could almost hear the nod as Neely replied, “We’re trying, of course, but so far without any real results.”

  “Alright, that’s four feeds. You said you have seven. What about the other three?”

  “Too far away to do us any good, I’m afraid. Our boys are trying to enhance them but they’re so grainy I’m doubtful. Though it’s possible there could be something there, maybe the perp acting out his intention from afar as he approached. Maybe even a car that was used in the crime, who knows? We don’t, so you can bet we’ll keep looking. Keep your fingers and toes crossed.”

  “I’ll do that. And thanks, I owe you,” Ham replied as he cut the connection. With a glance at Drew, he summed it up. “You heard my end. From his, no useful information as yet. They’re still trying, though, so we’ll see. Something may yet turn up.”

  “So you’re not convinced that Preston Talbot isn’t the perp? Not convinced the feed was altered?”

  “Hell, Drew, I’m not convinced of anything. Not at this point. Because I’ll tell you what, whoever put this in motion, whoever carried it out, knew with certainty they’d be identified, either by someone in the crowd or from those security feeds. And they took incredible steps to prevent either probability. Which means they’re well-connected, either with the police or within the crime syndicate.”

  Drew bowed her head a bit in agreement, then sat back and slid into silence. Ham followed her example, might even have nodded off if not for the bouncing and swaying of the homicidal cop at the wheel.

  Blessedly, they arrived in one piece, the car no worse for the wear, a description clearly not applying to its sole male occupant. Yet both Kay and Drew appeared exhilarated, as though the ride had been an amusement park adventure. He decided they were both nuts.

  With a quick goodbye, Ham led the way back onto Russ’ plane and plopped down in one of the sprawling captain’s chairs. He’d almost finished buckling himself in before his head dropped and he fell dead asleep.

  9

  AFFAIRS OF THE HEART

  Ham felt a touch to his shoulder, a shake of his arm and a bump in the night. He worked to focus groggy eyes on the torments, finally recognized Drew’s smile. “We’re here. Time to wake up.”

  With a yawn and a groan, he roused himself from the cocoon of sleep, a dreamless nothingness, an escape from the emotional tides washing over them for a near fifteen hours now. And not yet done.

  “Oh crap,” he yelled. “I freaking forgot to call Jesse, my new Reno driver. Hang on, let me see if I can get him on the line.”

  Drew laid a calming hand on his shoulder. “Ham, you already did that. Shortly after we took off. He’s waiting right now.”

  He regarded her with confusion, a bewilderment mixed with curiosity. “Am I still asleep?”

  “No,” she sighed, “you are not still asleep. You roused yourself just long enough to tell Jesse when we’d arrive. You fell back asleep before you had time to holster y
our phone. Which is why I have it here in my purse. To keep you from squashing it.” She pulled the cell from her bag and handed it over. “Now get your head straight and pull it together. I need you awake.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He yawned and stretched arms to rid the kinks before taking a wobbly stand. “I’m ready.”

  She led him to the waiting car, jumped in and nodded to the driver. “The hospital, Jesse.” Turning to Ham, she filled him in on the latest, on what had transpired while he slept his way across the state. “The Governor is under arrest. They got her, or rather Preston Talbot and his people did. Liam Waterson had dirt on her and was going to use it in the upcoming campaign for the governor’s re-election, maybe even get her sent to prison.”

  “For the love of god, why would they do that? They had it that bad in for her?”

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “The governor fought Liam’s entreaty to expand his sphere of influence over the state to include Reno, a move designed to cement his monopoly on gaming in Nevada.”

  Ham’s eyes continued to grow as she told the story. “I don’t understand this. The governor had Liam and Russ shot? How the hell did she set it up?”

  “She got to one of Liam’s guys. Offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse.”

  With an audible exhale, breath he had been unaware of holding, he asked, “Where do they have her? Have they released it to the press?”

  “Not yet. They’re holding her at the Washoe County Sheriff’s facility. They’re also looking to round up her advisors, from what I’m told. Maybe even the lieutenant governor. It’s going to be explosive and you’re going to be in the middle of it.”

  Alarm colored Ham’s face and his voice sounded panicked when he demanded explanation. “Me? Why the hell would I be in the middle of it?”

  “Because, you sweet simpleton, they’re going to want to swear you in as governor before they announce the arrest.”

  Before he could respond, Ham felt a touch to his shoulder, a shake of his arm and a bump in the night. He worked to focus groggy eyes on the torments, finally recognized Drew’s smile. “We’re here. Time to wake up.”

  “Are we at the governor’s mansion already?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Are they ready to swear me in?”

  Drew’s jaw dropped and she required several long seconds to get it back in working order. “Ham, what in the hell is wrong with you? I told you, wake up. We’re back in Reno, Jesse’s waiting to take us to the hospital, then back to Barton Mellows as soon as Preston Talbot and his men arrive.”

  Then it hit. What a dream, he sighed to himself. What a weird piece of wonderful dream. Sorry about that, Governor. Guess we’ll hold off on the press release.

  But it led to a weirder thought. Even if not Preston, why isn’t it possible, he wondered, that another one of Liam’s men had tried the hit? It had happened in more than one crime family. There’s always competition for the top dog spot. And there’s definitely little to no honor among thieves, as they say.

  So, yes, why not, indeed?

  “That was a slap across the face, Talbot’s claim that Derek, the manager, and his boss, Barton Bianchi, are owned by them.” Ham scratched his chin, rubbing an imaginary beard, an intellect pontificating to the unwashed. “I’m thinking they’re part of a cabal that ordered a hit on Liam, for reasons yet unknown, though we can guess it was to take control of the empire.”

  “I’m thinking that’s a ‘duh’,” Drew replied, making no effort to hide her impatience. “Good lord, I do wish you’d shake the cobwebs loose.”

  Ham’s disappointment shaded his voice when he replied. “Oh. Did we already talk about that?” Her nod confirmed the obvious. “How the hell long did I sleep? And when didn’t I? I don’t remember being awake at all during the course of the trip.”

  “You were in and out,” she grinned. “Mostly out, and usually babbling nonsense when awake. Like being the lead singer for Truckee River.”

  He flashed red, embarrassment his only companion. “I don’t even remember dreaming anything as idiotic as that.”

  “Only the idiocy of being governor?”

  Ham held his hands up, a suggestion of surrender. “Alright, fine, you got me. When I dream, I dream big. Now, shall we get back to business?”

  She led him to the cab, jumped in first and scooted over for Ham to join her in the backseat. “Take us to the hospital, Jesse. And then, if you wouldn’t mind, please stand by. When it’s time to leave we’re going to be in one hell of a hurry.”

  “Of course, I will. Whatever you and Mr. McCalister need, and anytime you need it. Jesse Spencer knows how to repay a favor, you betcha.”

  Through the night traffic the trip took little time and even less effort. Jesse pulled up to the entrance, let his passenger friends out, and announced he’d park until they needed him, that they should just call and he’d be back here out front and waiting.

  Drew nearly ran across the entry to the bank of elevators, forcing Ham, and his balky hip injured years ago by a driver that, truthfully, he ran in front of, to limp along apace. The elevator opened almost instantaneously and she pushed seven. “They’ve got him hidden away from normal traffic areas, in a suite reserved for VIPs. Which,” she beamed, “my hubby-dubby is.”

  “Hubby-dubby?” Ham mouthed, a silent mockery, eyes alight and dancing with wondrous humor.

  “Oh, hush,” she scolded, a demand contradicted by her girlish giggle. “It’s just something I like. I don’t even know where I got it. But it made Russ laugh when I called him that at the altar, right after the minister pronounced us married.” Sudden tears welled and Ham knew she fought to keep them from falling. Instead, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and whispered, “These damn cars. The air always makes my allergies act up.”

  Ham refused to embarrass her. He merely nodded understanding. “Lead the way,” he told her once the ping announced arrival.

  Drew walked-ran the hallway, past a nursing desk and on down to a room off the left, before which stood three bulky and obviously armed men. “Good evening, Ms. Thornton, go right on in. His bandmates are there as well.”

  As Ham stepped around them, intent on following, one of the men stepped in front to halt his progress. “Can I help you, sir?”

  At least he’s polite, Ham thought. Stupid, but polite. “I’m with her,” ‘he assured the man, pointing at Drew.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I have no orders on you. Please wait here a moment.” With that, he waved over one of his partners and whispered in his ear. Based upon the glare the partner focused on Ham, the whisperer probably ordered, “Kill him if he moves.”

  A statue offered greater movement than an unblinking, rock steady Ham. The hand inside the man’s suit coat, held at the ready, offered all the incentive Ham needed to not twitch, to not even blink. Only to sweat and hope that didn’t count as movement.

  Just as he began to fear that his knees might knock, the supervising guard emerged from the room. “I’m sorry, Mr. McCalister, I didn’t know who you were, but please go right on in. In future, you will be on the list. Again, I’m sorry. Please do accept my deepest apologies.”

  Yep, Ham thought again, definitely thoroughly on the polite side of stupid. “Thank you, I appreciate your consideration.” What the hell, he lies, I lie.

  The scene that greeted him made him want to turn around and try again. For there Drew stood, wringing her hands, grief etched on her face like overdone makeup, surrounded by Eric and Duncan, all listening to a man in a white lab coat speaking softly across the bed from the assembled grievers.

  “I don’t know,” Ham heard him say as he approached the bed where Russ lay, tubes seemingly connected to everything everywhere in his body. And seemingly asleep. Deep, deep asleep.

  “When will you know, damn it,” Drew demanded. “What the fuck are you paid to do, stick your thumb up your ass and make guesses and stabs and click your shoes together, chanting ‘if I only had a brain’?”

  “I un
derstand you’re upset, Mrs. Porter, as I or anybody else would be.” Ham nearly missed the rest given his startled recognition of the use of the moniker “Mrs. Porter” to his partner in multitudinous adventures throughout their lives. Leading up to and including this one, the marriage of his most cherished friend to a world renowned superstar.

  He rebounded in time to catch Drew’s angry reply. “I do not give one freaking damn in flying hell whether you or anybody else would or would not be upset. I do give a damn that you show some competence and do your fucking job.”

  The doctor sighed apologies, a huge exhalation of breath that washed over the room. “I’m doing all I can. The rest, I can only say, is up to God. It’s pretty much out of my hands now.”

  Drew’s shoulders slumped and she looked to Ham as if on her last legs, legs that would soon collapse and leave her sprawled on the floor at the foot of her husband’s bed. “Out of your hands. Then get me hands capable of coping with this. Or at least anticipating this.” With more ferocity she added, “Because obviously you didn’t or you would have warned me that this was possible, that I should worry that this might occur. But you did not,” she shouted louder, “you did not warn me that this was even a possibility. This,” she added in a menacing whisper, “is why when this is done I’m going to have your license, you fucking incompetent quack.”

  “And don’t think she won’t and that we can’t,” Eric agreed. “If anything happens to him, financial life, as you know it, is over. You can take that to what will be left of the bank your account will be drained from.”

  The doctor again sighed, whether in apology or exasperation Ham could not tell. He spread his hands in supplication and tried another tack. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere and I’ve got a job to do. So if you’ll excuse me…”

  “Not before you answer a few more questions,” Drew snapped. “This is a pulmonary embolism?”