by Irving Munro
“We all have work to do, so let’s get to it.”
~
Bill Ross was back at his desk and still fighting the jet lag. It was just after lunchtime as he fought to keep his eyes open. He launched an email to Joe Nichol using the information provided by Claudette.
Bill’s email read, “My name is Bill Ross. I am an officer with the Travis County Police Department and would like to speak with you about Mike Muguara. I was recently at the Geist Reiter offices in Heidelberg visiting with Claudette Weiss and she gave me your contact info. We believe that Mike Muguara was murdered in Travis County some months ago. Given your relationship with the deceased, we would like to talk with you as soon as possible. Can you provide a telephone number that I can call?”
The reply to the email arrived less than an hour later and it was short and to the point.
“No telephone. You want to talk, come to Boston. The Bootsy Brogan's pub on Kingston Street and ask for Sean O’Driscoll at the bar. He will check your credentials and if it’s you, he’ll tell you where you can find me.”
“I guess I’m off on another road trip,” mumbled Bill.
~
Based on the progress being made on the case, Bill Dunwoody approved the trip to Boston, and the following night Bill was on Jet Blue flight 1038 leaving Austin at 6:45 p.m. and arriving at Boston Logan just before midnight. He grabbed a cab and got to his hotel in South Boston about 1 a.m. He was exhausted and fell asleep fully clothed on the top of the bed.
Bootsy Brogan’s pub smelled like a mixture of Pine-Sol disinfectant and Pledge wood polish. It had just turned 11 a.m. and the pub had just opened its doors. It was a U.S. version of an Irish bar with dark wood and gleaming brass. Signs for Guinness and Jameson Irish whiskey dominated the walls, and the chalkboard by the bar listed the lunch specials, fish and chips, Irish stew and all-day Irish breakfast. It reminded Bill just a little of the pubs in Scotland and, in particular, a certain area of Glasgow within a stone’s throw of Celtic Park—watering holes for the faithful, where tall tales are told and ballads sung.
“Is Sean O’Driscoll around?” said Bill to the attractive young girl behind the bar already pulling pints of Guinness for the regulars.
“Gets in about noon, you’ll have a pint while you’re waiting, will you?”
Bill guessed that the accent was County Cork but, if not, certainly from south of Dublin.
“Are you from Cork then, Miss?”
“No, I’m from Waterford me‘self, and you’re not from Boston. My name’s Kathleen and your name?”
“My name’s Bill Ross and yes I’m not from Boston. I’m originally from Scotland, a town called Kilmarnock on the west coast, just south of Glasgow.”
“I know Kilmarnock, I’ve actually been there once. My sister lives in Ayr and her husband is an Ayr United supporter. We went up to Kilmarnock when Ayr played them in some cup game. What a laugh we had. Great place Kilmarnock.”
“Well I never, you’ve been to Killie. I will have that pint, thanks, Kathleen. I’ll sit right over there and perhaps you can ask Sean to come join me when he gets in?”
“I’ll bring your pint over and tell Sean what you ask. Go sit yourself down,” said Kathleen with a smile.
Bill was drawing on the last few drops of his Guinness when Sean O’Driscoll sat down beside him. He had a big round face and red cheeks and looked like he was born to be a bartender in an Irish bar.
“Bill Ross I understand? Do you have something on you that will confirm that?” Bill gave him his ID and he looked at it purposefully before handing it back.
“Pretty good likeness. The guy in the picture is a little younger, but I guess you’re him,” laughed Sean. “The guy you’re looking for is sitting by the bar over there in the corner. We both saw you arrive and we’ve been watching you for the past hour. Good wee liar is our Kathleen.” Again the bartender laughed, got to his feet and walked past the bar to the office beyond.
Bill walked over to the man seated at the bar. He pulled up a stool and sat down next to Joe Nichol. He looked like Billy Connolly in his role as Il Duce in Boondock Saints. In front of him was a half-drunk pint of Guinness, standing guard over a smaller glass that Bill guessed contained Jameson.
“Ever try Glenmorangie?” said Bill, looking straight ahead with not even a glance in Joe’s direction.
“And why the feck would I do that?” replied Joe Nichol.
Their conversation was off to a good start.
“You sure it’s Mike?” said Joe.
“Afraid so.”
“How’d he die?”
Bill explained the circumstances as he knew them surrounding the death of Mike Muguara.
“We all have to go sometime, I guess, but that’s one hell of a fucked-up way to check out,” said Joe.
“You know anything that might help us?”
“Something happened last year when he was over here. He’d been trying to track down his birth parents and he stumbled onto something. He wouldn’t tell me about it, just said that he might need my help and that he would be in touch in the normal way if that need arose.”
“One question, Joe. On October 18, 2013, you rented a Cadillac SUV using the alias James Martinelli and returned it on October 26th with a total of 4,010 miles driven. What was that all about?”
“Mike wanted me to drop off a package for him at his storage locker in Houston,”
“What was in the package?”
“Certain items that we use in our profession, and I won’t talk about any of that. You might want to check out the storage facility; my guess is that you already know where it is. I would like to be kept in the loop regarding your investigation. You can text or email me, now that we’ve met. If you are open and honest with me then I will help in any way I can. I would like that the killers get what’s coming to them sooner rather than later. No need to shake hands or any of that shit. That’s all I have for you. If you want to stay and have a few pops that’s fine, but no further talk about this.”
Joe Nichol had ended the conversation. After a few additional “pops,” Bill Ross caught a cab back to Logan Airport for his flight home.
~
While Bill was in Boston, Tommy was on the trail of the BMW. He visited the car park on Lamar Boulevard where the SIXT Car Rental team had picked up the abandoned vehicle. Tommy looked around the parking lot, wondering why Mike Muguara might have been in this vicinity, and saw the Gold’s Gym.
“Hi, I’m Detective Tommy Ross with Travis County Police Department. Is the manager around?” said Tommy.
“Let me get him for you.”
“Hi, Detective, I’m Alan Archer. How can I help?”
“How long have you been a manager here, Mr. Archer?”
“Almost five years now.”
“Do you recognize this man? He may have worked out here, perhaps paid for a short-term membership in cash a year or so ago?”
Alan Archer studied the photograph of Mike Muguara.
“Yes, I believe I do recognize him, Detective Ross, for two reasons. One, he paid three months’ cash up front, and also his workout routine. Not many people can run flat out on a treadmill for an hour and then go through a weight routine that some NFL players would have had a tough time with!”
“Would you have any paperwork for him?” asked Bill.
“Give me a name and I’ll look and see,”
“Raul Hernandez.”
“Raul Hernandez, you say, yes, here it is. He gave an address as the Extended Stay Hotel on Braker Lane by the Capital of Texas Highway.”
“His BMW was recovered in the parking lot in January. Do you remember seeing that?” asked Tommy.
“Yes, I do, Detective. Was that Raul Hernandez car? I always wondered who it might have belonged to.”
“You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Archer., Is there anything else you remember, anything at all?”
“Sometimes we get some altercations in the parking lot, Detective. Adrenalin and testosterone is
flowing when some of the guys leave the gym. We watch for it since we know it happens a lot. I remember a couple of times some guys got in his face, but he would always completely ignore them except for one night.”
“What happened this particular night?” asked Tommy, his sixth sense sending signals that something of significance might be about to appear.
“This black limo was parked in the corner of the lot next to a white pickup and another Ford of some type, I think it might have been a Taurus. There were several guys all talking together and every so often looking over here at folks entering and leaving the gym. When Raul walked out they approached him and a big argument ensued. Right at that moment I was distracted by a problem in the gym. A few minutes later when I got back to the window they were all gone. I never thought any more about it until now.”
“I don’t suppose you could recognize any of the men again or the license plate of any of the vehicles, including the limo?” asked Tommy, knowing what the answer would be.
“Afraid not, Detective. Now I think of it, the white pickup had a logo on the side of the door. I don’t remember what it said but the colors were red and blue. It was the name of some contractor, like electrical or plumbing, I think. If I saw it again, I might recognize it.”
“This has been very helpful, Mr. Archer. Here is my business card; if you think of anything else, please call.”
~
Tommy left the gym and headed over to the Extended Stay Hotel on Braker Lane. The duty manager was busying himself on the desktop computer when Tommy walked in.
“Detective Tommy Ross, Travis County Police Department. Did you have a guy stay here a year or so ago, name of Raul Hernandez?
“Let me look on the database, Detective,” said the tall, black duty manager. “Can you be a little more specific than a year ago, the month perhaps?”
“Try December 2013,” said Tommy.
“Yes, we had a Raul Hernandez stayed with us then, paid three months’ rent cash up front. Do you have a photograph?”
Tommy gave him the photograph.
“Yes, I recognize him, real nice guy. Military type, I would say, no small talk, all very yes sir, no sir. Toward the end of the three months he never slept here. I tried to call him on the cell number he had given me but the number was no longer in service. When we couldn’t locate him we entered the room and looked in the closet. Everything was very orderly, all clothes folded, everything in place. We stored it all for six months in case he came back and then we gave it all to Goodwill.”
“Okay thanks, this has been very helpful. Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“My name’s Nate Brown,” said the young manager, stepping around the desk to shake Tommy’s hand.
Tommy happened to glance down at the young man’s shoes. “Real nice shoes, Nate, what make are they?”
“Oh, they’re Hugo Boss,” replied Nate proudly.
“Looks like you take about size ten or eleven, same as me,” said Tommy.
“Yes, size ten, Detective.”
“I guess not everything went to Goodwill,” mumbled Tommy as he walked to his car.
~
When Tommy arrived back in his office there was a note on his desk that Bill Dunwoody wanted to see him as soon as possible. When he arrived at the chief’s office he was told to go right on in.
“Special Forces Command has sent over the service records for Mike Muguara and Joe Nichol as we requested,” said the chief.
Tommy and the chief looked over the information, and a lot of the content had been blanked out with black marker as the information was considered to be too sensitive to national security. The main information was all there, including initial training and qualification for Special Forces. The teams in the Iraqi desert had been selected based on their complementary skills. Mike Muguara was an explosives expert and Joe Nichol a sniper. Other than that there was little in the records that the team didn’t already know.
Chapter 21: U-Haul Storage
It was Monday morning and Bill Ross arrived in the office with his customary coffee in hand in a brand new mug. Elaine had sent off to Scotland for a set of four mugs with the Kilmarnock FC logo and surprised Bill that morning with one of them when he went to pour his coffee. He was ecstatic about the gift and it helped to dull the pain of the Killie loss to Glasgow Rangers in the Scottish Cup on the weekend. Tommy’s Oakland Raiders had not faired any better, and he sat at his desk head in hands as he had done on many Monday mornings over the past few years.
“Why are you so bright and cheerful this morning?” said Tommy, his mood as black as a Raiders player’s jersey.
“New mug, Tommy, you know me, KTID - Killie Till I Die,” replied his dad.
“I was thinking over the weekend that you should hold off going back to Whispering Hollow to interview Jimmy Rodriguez and his limo driver. If the leather jacket that I saw the driver wearing was the one that Mike Muguara bought in Houston, he might try to dump it if he thinks we suspect him. Let me get down to Houston tomorrow and see what’s in the U-Haul storage locker first and then we can regroup.” said Bill.
“Makes sense, Dad. I interviewed the desk manager at the Extended Stay Hotel the other day and he was wearing Hugo Boss shoes that I have no doubt belonged to Mike. Seems like most of Austin is wearing dead man’s clothes,” replied Tommy.
“Marie is over at the Statesman today working with Latisha Williams and making good progress on the financial network behind Venture Point Holdings. What did you learn from your trip to Boston? I guessed that given that you didn’t call me over the weekend that it wasn’t any great breakthrough,” continued Tommy.
“Interesting guy Joe Nichol. I wouldn’t like to cross him. He could probably kill me with the little finger of his right hand. He was very careful with everything he said, and the reason for the extended rental of the Cadillac SUV back in October of 2013 was to deliver a package for Mike Muguara to the storage locker in Houston. He wouldn’t tell me what it contained, but suggested that I go and look for myself. That is the reason I want to get down to Houston tomorrow.
“He did confirm that Mike was disturbed about something he had uncovered in his search for his birth parents, and this gelled with what Claudette Weiss had said to me on my trip to Germany.”
“If I’m not going to go visit Jimmy Rodriguez right now, why don’t I drive down with you to Houston tomorrow?” said Tommy.
“Sounds like a plan,” replied Bill.
~
They called the Harris County Sheriff to give them a head’s up that they were coming into the Houston area. Harris County offered their assistance and just to call them if the need arose. With this green light in place, the following morning they set off down FM290, passing through Elgin on the way.
“We need to stop at Southside Market on the way back and pick up some brisket and sausage,” said Tommy as they drove past this bastion of barbeque perfection. The smoke from the meat slowly roasting in their oak barbeque pits was drifting across the highway, filling their car with an aroma that made their mouths water.
It was almost eleven when they arrived at the outskirts of Houston. They decided to surprise Martha and Jacob Goldman at M & J Fine Clothing before visiting the storage facility out by the airport.
The bell tinkled as they pushed open the door to the clothing emporium. It was like being transported back in time; it looked like a real tailor and smelled like one. The finest worsteds hung from rails for the welcomed inspection of potential customers. There was no background music or loss-leader sale item displayed to entice the spur-of-the-moment shopper as they entered the store. No prices could be seen displayed anywhere. If you couldn’t afford the merchandise you shouldn’t be in the store.
“Good morning, gentlemen, and welcome to M & J Fine Clothing, how might I be of assistance today?” said Martha as she emerged from the back of the store.
“Good morning to you, Martha!” said Bill, and the woman recognized the accent right away.
&
nbsp; “Officer Ross, how wonderful. Jacob, it’s, Officer Ross come to visit with us.” Martha could not hide her excitement as she called her husband to come meet the Scottish detective she had told him so much about, as she stepped forward and gave Bill a huge hug.
Jacob Goldman appeared from behind the curtain that led to the tailor’s workshop at the rear of the store. The years of tailoring had caused him to walk a little stooped over and he looked up over the top of his gold-rimmed spectacles.
“Welcome. My name is Jacob Goldman.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Jacob, and you also, Martha. We have business here in Houston today as we continue to work the case, and we both decided that we should come visit with you first. This is Tommy Ross, the lead detective on the case. Tommy is also my son.”
“We are so glad you came, and I can see the resemblance. You both must have some refreshment after your journey. May we offer you coffee or tea or some water perhaps?” said Martha.
“Coffee would be great,” said Tommy.
Martha invited them into the back of the store to a little sitting area adjacent the workshop.
“We want to thank you for helping us make the breakthrough on this case,” began Bill. “The BMW clue and the name Raul Hernandez helped us immensely. Thank you so much, Martha.”
“Ever since the call we had together, Officer Ross, I have been racking my brain to think if there was anything else that I could remember that might help you in your investigation, but alas not,” said Martha apologetically.
“You gave us what we needed, Martha, and thank you for that. We have made really solid progress and we think we might be on the verge of another breakthrough,” said Tommy, wanting to put Martha at ease and to reinforce the genuine gratitude they had for her help.
“You offer your customers a level of personal service that they can’t get from the big chains. Is that what allows you to remain competitive? It must be a hard life,” said Bill.
