Deadlock

by DiAnn Mills

  “What I have is trivial.”

  “We’ll decide the value.”

  Pastor Lee stared at his desk. “The Javons were having marital difficulties. I counseled them. The last time they were in my office, I saw complete reconciliation.” He toyed with a pen on his desk. “I shouldn’t be telling you this—their confidentiality is at stake. They’re upstanding members.”

  “The law says when a crime has been committed, confidentiality no longer applies. You wouldn’t want to be held liable in Alicia’s death.”

  His nostrils flared. “You’re making insinuations with no validation.”

  Thatcher nodded for Bethany to take over.

  “Pastor Lee, Alicia couldn’t defend herself from her attacker because her arm was in a cast. Her husband admitted to anger issues,” she said, her voice soft with a hint of her Hispanic roots. “What made you think the situation was improving?”

  Pastor Lee waited before answering, no doubt to ease the red flaming his face. “They were in my office a week ago. They planned a trip together. They—”

  “What are you not telling us?” she said.

  Pastor Lee’s shoulders rose. “I’ve told you everything. Paul and Alicia worked out their minor differences. If you don’t mind, agents, I have a memorial service to prepare for the Javon family.” He pushed back from his desk and walked to the door.

  “What kind of marital difficulties?” Bethany obviously wouldn’t let this go easily. Persistence. Thatcher valued tenacity.

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

  “Special Agent Graves explained the repercussions of withholding evidence in a murder case. You claim their problems were settled.” Her calm manner spread through the office. “Do you know the death stats on family violence? Over 200,000 domestic violence incidents were reported in Texas last year, and over 84 percent of abuse victims are women.”

  Pastor Lee opened the door. “If you’re implying what I think you are, you’re making a ridiculous accusation. A man who fasts forty days for his marriage is a righteous man. Agents, have a blessed day.”

  While Thatcher and Bethany walked to his car, he processed the pastor’s words. “He’s keeping information from us.”

  “Counseling confidentiality is one thing, and I respect him for his boundaries. But his avoidance of responding to questions tells me the Javons’ relationship had hit bottom.”

  “Intuition or fact?”

  “I do have my feelings side and no room for those who protect the guilty.”

  She had the SS syndrome, sweet sarcasm. So far Bethany Sanchez communicated like an FBI robot. Not a good set of traits when he relied on her to watch his back. “We’ll follow up on this interview. See if the good pastor will open up a little more.”

  “Might take another body to convince him,” she said. “We should have stayed right there in his office and asked him to pray about his decision to protect a murder suspect.”

  Thatcher swung her a grin. “I’m all over it.”

  She returned a smile. “Where to now?”

  “Alicia’s employment.”

  She started, no doubt disagreeing with their next move.

  “You have reservations?” he said.

  She shook her head. “It’s my first day. But if we talk to Pastor Lee again, I want at him.”

  “Are we changing roles, partner?”

  “Probably not. Did you note he referred to the Javons in the present tense, while Alicia’s husband referred to her in the past?”

  “Now that you mention it, the present tense seems to indicate Pastor Lee has no doubts about the couple having a solid marriage, which we know isn’t true.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know the whole truth. A man who abuses his wife, then fasts for his marriage is not about to admit he’s at fault.”

  On this one, she had a good point.

  Once on the road in Thatcher’s silver Mustang, they swung onto 610 north toward the Galleria area, where Danford Accounting represented many of the wealthy citizens of Houston. Up ahead, an overturned truck sent four lanes down to two, and traffic slowed to a crawl in the far right lanes. Add a blinding downpour to the mix. Not exactly what Thatcher needed today with a list of interviews glaring at him. Emergency vehicles and police cars swarmed the area.

  “We could walk faster than this,” Thatcher said. “What I wouldn’t give for a siren.”

  “You could always work for HPD.”

  Thatcher had that one coming. “Ah, no thanks. I wouldn’t be able to keep the uniform clean.”

  Bethany chuckled. “From what I’ve heard, you’d bankrupt the department in replacing them. Unless you worked undercover.”

  “I’ll stick with the FBI. Hey, you did well back there, and I don’t blow smoke.”

  “Thanks. Pastor—” A text came through on her phone.

  “For us?”

  “I wish.” She stared out the window. “I apologize for the two personal interruptions today.”

  “No problem.”

  She kept her attention on the highway.

  Something had Bethany unnerved, and his sources said she was always in control.

  CHAPTER 6

  1:05 P.M. MONDAY

  Bethany and Thatcher rode the elevator to the fourth floor of Danford Accounting, where Alicia Javon had held a VP position. Bethany watched the numbers rise and considered her last text.

  U will pay 4 this.

  Her lunatic brother still blamed her for his recent jail stay.

  Pastor Lee had revealed enough to send her into analysis mode. He’d been agitated. When someone concealed the truth, it had to be pried out. The man wore stress like a turtle’s shell, and it would take a hard crack for him to open up. Wasn’t God supposed to handle convictions? He certainly bore down on her faults. She’d experienced ugly secrets, deeds covered up that made a person edgy. Pastor Lee needed a reason to tell all, including the consequences of harboring evidence. She wanted to talk to the pastor again today. But Thatcher had another agenda.

  Jealousy and greed were prime motivators for murder. The answers could be at Danford Accounting.

  “You’re quiet,” Thatcher said, his gaze fixed on the elevator door.

  “Thinking.”

  He nodded as though he understood. “It’s only your first day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, I like the sound of those two words. Can I hear them again?”

  “Not today.”

  He chuckled. “We all have a learning curve. Same plan as at the church office?”

  “Sure.” The interview with Felix Danford seemed like another chance for her to gain credibility. She gauged her racing pulse. “Before we leave here today, we need a list of employees for background checks. Right down to the janitor.”

  “Okay—”

  “Don’t ever call me general.”

  “Hey, loosen up, which is what I started to say before you interrupted.”

  How many times had she heard those words? “I’ll work on my attitude. Perfectionism is a nasty implant. Guess what you heard about me is true.” She tried desperately to relax.

  “Get through our first day, and tomorrow will be much easier.”

  “Thanks. I’m really a super gal. Fun-loving.” She wished it were true.

  “I’ll reserve my thoughts until I see you party.”

  Bethany knew for certain she respected Thatcher as an agent, but not his methods of investigation. She had to climb down from her edgy attitude. Get answers to stop the killer or killers and move on to the next case.

  Why hadn’t Thatcher mentioned the awkward situation with her brother? Before the day was over, she’d have to bring it up. Get the bad salsa out into the open and deal with it.

  Once they stepped off the elevator, the agents displayed their badges to a leggy receptionist who gestured them to a waiting area. She returned to her desk, no doubt to find someone who could get rid of them. Fat chance.

  Danford Accounti
ng handled the finances for several real estate companies in Houston and around Texas. They had recently added a division for legal firms. The contemporary, plush furnishings displayed their wealth in striking chrome, black, white, and red—the colors of power and passion.

  “Alicia Javon made well over six figures.” Bethany sank into a white leather chair. “I did some research while you were driving. She supported several charities, including her husband’s ventures. He closed a software business over three years ago.”

  “That had to put a dent in their income. I’d like to know more about Alicia’s personality. Power driven? Control freak? Hard to live with? Could be her death was caused by her husband’s discontent or a work-related vendetta.”

  The runway receptionist walked toward them. She flipped a lock of long blonde hair behind her ear, most likely for Thatcher’s benefit.

  He smiled at Bethany. “Let’s see if anyone had cause to murder Alicia Javon.”

  1:25 P.M. MONDAY

  Thatcher sensed the hostility from Felix Danford, the president of Danford Accounting, the moment he and Bethany introduced themselves. A quick glance from her told him she felt like roadkill too. Danford motioned for them to sit several feet away, where a matching pair of white leather sofas faced each other. A wall of windows behind the massive chrome desk was blinding.

  “You’re joining us?” Thatcher’s question bordered on irritation. “We hadn’t planned to conduct an interview in the next room. Why not have a seat over here?”

  Danford’s gaze tossed a dagger, but he complied by sitting on a sofa across from them. “What can I do to help solve Alicia’s murder?” He crossed his legs, a leisurely picture of a silver-haired CEO dressed in a black Italian suit, when moments before he appeared uncooperative.

  Unaddressed emotions could level a man, even a CEO.

  “Can I get you two anything? Coffee? Water?” When they declined, he drew in a breath. “I’m assuming you have the police report and the imaging from her computer.”

  “We do.” Thatcher picked up on a twist of arrogance. “Have you remembered a conversation or seeing anything that could help us since you spoke to HPD?”

  “Alicia ranked as the epitome of leadership. Her work ethic was impeccable.” His impassive features on an unlined face threw Thatcher until he remembered Danford’s age. Botox made it hard to read a person. “She stayed late and arrived early. Projects completed ahead of schedule. Excellent rapport with clients and staff. Didn’t get involved in office politics or gossip. Never heard her lose her temper or condescend to an employee.”

  Had he rehearsed those choppy lines? “How long had Mrs. Javon been in her current position?”

  “Eight years. Top of the line. I’d need to resign for Alicia to have risen any higher in the company.” He smiled, revealing sandblasted-white teeth. “As you can see, no one here would have wanted her hurt.”

  “She was murdered,” Bethany said. “Big stretch from hurt.”

  Danford glanced away. “I was being discreet.”

  “Discreet is for polite society,” she said. “Murder is never polite.”

  Danford wasn’t married. Was he an ambitious executive who wanted Alicia out of the way? Or did he fear she wanted too much control? “Special Agent Sanchez and I need to talk to your employees. We also will need to look at the victim’s projects.”

  A muscle twitched near Danford’s mouth. “We’re on deadline with several of them, most of which were on her computer. But I don’t want to stand in the way of an investigation. One member of her staff is on vacation. That leaves two others. You should be finished within the hour.”

  Thatcher despised someone telling him how to run an interview. “A thorough investigation means we talk to all employees. Agent Sanchez and I work efficiently together.”

  Danford hesitated.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “The staff is apprehensive about the murder, as though one of them could be next. I’m merely being protective.” He glanced at Bethany. “Discreet.”

  “Do you think the killer is among your employees?”

  Danford pulled a cell phone from his jacket pocket. “I’m contacting my attorney. I’ve nothing to hide, but if you’re going to disrupt my employees, I need legal guidance. Would you mind stepping outside while I make the call?”

  “Doesn’t matter what your attorney advises,” Thatcher said. “We intend to talk to every person who works here. Perhaps you prefer we issue a subpoena for your employees. And I’ll personally make sure we have a search warrant to access all your files.”

  “Wait a minute,” Danford said. “I agree—whoever did this to Alicia has to be brought to justice. But I pay my attorney for his counsel. I cannot answer any more questions or subject my employees to interviews until I speak to my attorney.”

  “Agent Sanchez, we’re finished here for now.”

  Bethany and Thatcher walked to the door. “We’ll be in touch,” Thatcher said.

  “When you have a signed, legal search warrant to come barging in here again, we’ll talk.”

  CHAPTER 7

  2:00 P.M. MONDAY

  On the way to Thatcher’s car, Bethany explored what they’d learned about Alicia Javon. The Javons’ marital relationship had disaster written all over it, then add to that Danford’s responses to their questions . . . Did Alicia’s ambition pose a threat to the business? Was he protecting his rights or hiding something?

  Her stomach rumbled. “Sorry.”

  “We missed lunch,” he said. “What works for you?”

  If she didn’t eat soon, she’d be in bad shape. Thank you, diabetes. “What about a burger? Anything fast.”

  “You’re on. We could do Taco Bell.”

  “Thatcher, I don’t eat jalapeños and nachos at every meal.”

  He cringed. “Didn’t mean to sound like I was profiling you. Are you going to nominate me for sensitivity training classes?”

  She might appreciate this guy yet. “A new class starts every month.” She opened the door to his Mustang and slid onto the tan leather seat. “Have you had an Hispanic partner before?”

  “No. A woman once, but she transferred to New York.”

  “I’ll give you cultural training instead. How’s that?”

  “You’re one up on me,” he said. “I’m thinking through what we’ve learned. Other than father and husband of the year, what else struck you about Javon?”

  “Control. He pulled Carly next to him when she anchored herself on the opposite end of the sofa.”

  “Could he be telling the truth? He’d abused Alicia, got help, then his wife’s murdered?”

  “Hard to think sweet things about a wife beater.” She knew far too many women who’d been hurt by an overpowering man. “The verdict’s out on Danford.”

  “He’s hiding something.”

  She wanted to say there wasn’t proof, but chose otherwise. Thatcher was merely following normal procedures for a man of his caliber.

  “I can read your thoughts, and you want to know the why of my observation,” he said.

  “I do.”

  “He can hide his feelings with Botox but not the grip of his hands at the mention of her name.”

  “I didn’t see it.”

  “A point for us to follow up on.”

  She’d have to do a better job reading body language.

  He pulled into McDonald’s. “This work to refuel?”

  “Perfect. I need to tell you something, get it out in the open. I never met Alicia Javon, but I heard outstanding things about her from the director at Noah’s Loft. Elizabeth and I are close friends. She persuaded me to volunteer, and my first session is this Saturday. It’s a coincidence, I know. But I’ll see if any of the women were better acquainted with our victim.”

  “Good. See what you can learn. Discreetly of course.”

  She drew in another breath. “Thatcher, during lunch, can I ask a few more questions?”

  “About the case?”

/>   “Not exactly.”

  “Right. More insight into our partnership.”

  While munching on fries and chicken nuggets, Bethany studied Thatcher. This partnership meant learning from each other, and her reluctance to respond appropriately to Thatcher’s questions delayed any progress. If SSA Preston learned how she communicated with Thatcher this morning, he might reassign her to civil rights.

  He dipped his fries in ranch dressing and emptied more on his jalapeño burger. Must be his version of Tex-Mex. From what she’d seen since 7:15, he handled himself well as an agent, even if she hadn’t. Good-looking too.

  “Your turn to fire questions,” he said with a gulp of Coke.

  “Worst mistake you ever made in your career—and it can’t be me.”

  He laughed. “Believing another agent wouldn’t be on the take, and he was.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Prison.”

  Made sense. “Best day of your life?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, she continued. “Favorite vacation place.”

  “Wyoming. There’s a dude ranch near wild mustangs.”

  “Thus your car?”

  “Closest I’ll come to owning the real thing.”

  “What matters to you most?”

  He dipped three fries into ranch dressing and popped them into his mouth. “Being an agent who doesn’t fold.”

  She hadn’t expected that. “Describe what ‘not folding’ means to you.”

  “Are you sure you want to hear this?” She nodded, and he took a long drink before continuing. “In working violent crime, I witness a lot of negative emotions. In order to separate myself from a life of cynicism, I find it important to evaluate my own less-than-positive emotions, search for the root cause, and deal with it.”

  “As in ignore or deny?”

  “Nope. Acknowledge them.”

  Should she dig deeper into his beliefs? “How do you specifically approach negative emotions?”

  “The battle is won first in the mind. If I’m afraid of the killer, think he’s smarter than me, or am concerned he’s a better shot, I’m a dead man.”