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.”
Dale nodded and then asked for another favor. After a brief moment to think it over, the sergeant replied.
“Okay, you got it. But be careful. Linda Grant is a pretty powerful person herself in this community.”
Dale would track Linda with a GPS mounted secretly on the rear bumper of her car. He rushed back to his desk to get her phone records pulled and the lines tapped.
The search warrants had arrived when he made it back to the front desk. Without further discussion, he hurried outside. When he jumped into the car, Jimmy gave him a doubtful grin.
“Back in a minute, huh?”
Dale was looking forward to questioning Linda Grant for different reasons than his partner who, a married-man of twenty-five years with a sex-drive of a teenager, probably took a little adolescent delight in talking to someone everyone knew was a knockout.
A forest of trees hid the Grant house and a wrought-iron gate secured it. Jimmy said their names into the speakerphone and as the gate swung open, a patrol car followed the detectives’ cruiser inside. A gardener, tending a flowerbed, glanced up as they passed by. The front lawn resembled a putting green.
The house was a castle—a six-thousand-square-foot Tudor-style mansion with five bedrooms, marble mantels, antique moldings and a gym.
The house had been on an edition of Las Vegas Celebrity Mansions as one of the top-ten visited houses in the city.
Dale was expecting a maid but Linda Grant opened the door. She lived up to her pictures—a beautiful woman with a super-model body, at least twenty-five years younger than her late husband. She wore a formfitting, high-waistline dress in a lavender floral print and black ankle-wraparound heels. She had a simple tassel necklace. Her brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. She threw the detectives an amiable smile.
“Good morning, Detectives.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Grant.”
“Ma’am.” Jimmy nodded.
As they stepped inside, Dale thought her eyes were dark and unreadable. She seemed much more composed for someone who was facing a surprise police visit.
“How can I help you, officers?”
“I’m Detective Dayton. This is my partner, Detective Mason.” They both showed their badges. “We have some news about your husband.”
“Doug didn’t come home last night. He often spends the night at the casino.”
“We know, ma’am. That’s why we’re here.”
Now she seemed a little worried. “Please come in.”
They stepped into a grand oak-paneled entrance hall. She led them past a front room filled with oil paintings and Persian carpets and into a cozy back room, where the warm sun shone through walls of windows. They all sat down around a glass coffee table.
“Mrs. Grant, your husband’s body was discovered this morning in the woods just off highway 515. He’d been murdered.”
Linda brought her hand to her mouth and her body started to tremble.
Jimmy pulled a handkerchief from his coat. “Here.”
She received the offer and dabbed her eyes and sculpted nose.
Dale continued. “He was killed quickly and didn’t suffer.”
“He didn’t come home last night,” she admitted between sniffles. “I just assumed that he’d slept at the office.” She wept louder.
“Get her a drink, Jimmy.”
Jimmy headed toward a wet bar in the corner of the room. Dale watched Linda. She kept her eyes on her lap and twisted a gaudy-sized diamond on her ring finger.
After pouring three fingers of expensive scotch, Jimmy returned with the glass. Linda sipped it.
Dale went on. “Mrs. Grant, everyone with your husband’s prominence has enemies. Can you think of who might have wanted to harm him?”
She shook her head.
“Please, Mrs. Grant. Anything you can tell us would help.”
“You’re right, we all have enemies, but I can’t think of anyone who would have killed him!” Linda said shaking her head. “He was the kindest, gentlest man I have ever known. Just about everyone he knew loved him.”
“What would he be doing in the woods?”
“I don’t know. Doug hadn’t mentioned any new real estate plans. He often looked at property to expand, but he hadn’t said.”
“I know this is a tough question, Mrs. Grant, but one I have to get out of the way. Where were you last night between the hours of ten and twelve?”
Linda held the tissue to her nose and stared at the detective. “Well, I was home, where I always am.” Her hand dropped and her eyes were fixed with rage. “Wait a minute, Detective.” She jumped to her feet and raised her voice. “Are you insinuating that I had something to do with my husband’s murder? Do you think that I could do that?”
Jimmy stood up and spoke in a calm voice. “Easy, Mrs. Grant. We’re not saying that. Please, sit down. We have to ask these questions.”
Linda sat back down and Dale studied her. At least part of what he saw was an act. He was sure of it.
“Was anyone here with you, Mrs. Grant?”
“Just the servants doing their regular prep for the following day. We’re preparing a wonderful birthday party for my stepson, Shawn, next week, so my helpers have been working overtime and did last night, not finishing until after midnight. I was supervising, so all three can confirm that I was here during those hours. They sleep in the other wing.” She pointed to the far side of the house.
That would be easy enough to verify.
“Dale, can I speak with you in the other room?” Jimmy asked.
Dale nodded. “Excuse us, Mrs. Grant.”
When Linda was out of earshot, Jimmy whispered, “Dale, this isn’t an interrogation. We’re just here to make next of kin notification, not start a war. If we piss her off, she has the connections to make our lives miserable.”
“I know, Jimmy, but we don’t get a second chance to watch her first reaction or hear her side. You know that. So let’s see what we can see—don’t be a wimp.”
“Dale, stop jumping to conclusions. We need to do real investigating, not chase theories.”
“I know, you’re right. But let’s at least look around.”
“Is the warrant good for that?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay then, but let’s be respectful and professional.”