Free Dead Man's Hand by Luke Murphy

four police cars were pulling up to the curb, lights flashing. The sirens were cut off in mid-wail .
    Okay, this is all too weird. I ’ m getting out of here . Fuck this.
    He headed to the elevator , but hesitated. Were the cops heading up or taking care of business in the lobby? If he took the eleva tor down to the first floor, s ome of the officers might be heading up in the elevator , while a couple would take the stairs. He made it a general policy to be invisible to cops as much as he could. Whatever was going in this building, he didn ’ t want to be a part of.
    “ Shit! ” he muttered.
    It would take too long to climb down twenty-five flights of stairs. And it would kill his knee, not to mention that he ’ d eventually be greeted by the officers.
    There was only one thing to do. He ’ d take the elevator to the third floor. The officers going up the stairs should be well past that point. He ’ d then get off the elevator and take the back stairs down three flights. He could manage that much .
    When he reached the t hird floor, he got off the elevator and searched for the exit sign. Sunlight filtered in through windows at both ends of the hall as he found the emergency exit and started sprinting down the steps, taking two at a time.
    At the bottom floor, his breathing had quickened slightly, his shirt was damp with sweat and his knee throbbed . Cops would be in the lobby, so h e went straight to the emergency exit at the back of the building.
    Damn.
    The door was wired to set off an alarm if opened from the inside. He took less than a minute to disconnect the wires from the alarm , then ran down the back alley without look ing back.
     

 
     
    Chapter 9
     
    When Dale Dayton arrived at the murder site, nosy spectators were being ringed back by the police , while others drove past, stirring up dust clouds of dry Nevada air . Dozens of police cruisers, along with the emergency medical teams, had responded to the emergency call.
    He accel erated past the road block and pulled up to the curb , grabbing h is Styrofoam spit cup and exiting the car. As he badged his way past the cops at the front, he noticed four road flares placed around fresh tread marks on the gravel at the side of the road.
    He found a junior officer standing nearby and said, “ Make sure this area is secured. ”
    The officer said, “ Yeah, thanks. I know how to do my job. ” Then he walked away.
    Dale scanned the crowd of bystanders herded behind yellow police tape. News traveled fast in Vegas . A ngry and scared citizens , as well as the meddlesome media , were always drawn to the scene of a crime .
    A familiar group awaited him. Suits.
    The lieutenant, Dale ’ s sergeant , the Clark County sheriff and the m ayor huddled behind a strand of tape . It was rare when the l ieutenant made an appearance at a crime scene . A nd Dale had never seen the m ayor at one. But this time, the victim was Doug Grant. High profile cases wake up all the supervisors. They would want to talk to him as the lead detective.
    Dale frowned. Gotta avoid them if I want to get real police work done.
    He followed the recently trampled tracks into the woods and weaved through the thick brush to where Jimmy was waiting , scribbling in a notepad . Slipping a pair of latex gloves over his hands , h e knelt down next to the body .
    “ He ’ s been identified tw ice , ” Jimmy said . “ The deceased is Doug las Grant. ”
    “ Anything else? ”
    “ Chargers lost last night , ” Jimmy added with a sarcastic grin.
    Dale gave a brief nod , ignoring his partner ’ s poor attempt at humor . He put his cup on the ground. “ Let ’ s have a look-see , shall we? Larry, did you get a picture ? I wanna roll him over. ”
    “ I have ten from this side, all angles, ” the crime scene photographer said. “ I also got a s ketch of the crime scene and some overalls. I ’ ll go get a couple of angle shots of the roadside tread marks that we can keep on record for any