by Scott Pratt
“I thought you were supposed to be my personal servant during my visit,” I said to him.
“Plans change sometimes,” he said.
“Care to elaborate?”
“My wife became ill. I had to take her to the emergency room.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is she all right?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
I smiled and tapped the pen I was holding on the desk. “You and your wife have grown apart over the years?” I asked.
“She whines too much,” Rafael said. “Nothing is ever satisfactory. We don’t have enough money. The house is too small. The yard isn’t mowed properly. The flower garden isn’t pretty enough. The vegetable garden isn’t yielding what it should. The cat sheds.”
“Like I said, I’m sorry to hear it. Thank you for the note, by the way.”
“Note? What note?”
“Doesn’t matter, but thanks just the same.”
“What about you, Mr. Dillard? Are you married?”
“I am.”
“How long?”
“Two and a half decades, give or take a few months.”
“And are you still in love?”
“Desperately, but I didn’t ask you here to talk about my personal life. I need to talk about your life, and especially what you know about Lana and Paul Milius.”
“I know they are two people who, like my wife and me, have grown apart,” Rafael said. “But unlike my wife and me, there is an element of danger around the house, especially where Mrs. Milius is concerned. I would advise you to be extremely careful in your dealings with her.”
“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” I said. “What can you tell me about Mr. Milius?”
“Very little. He was hardly ever around. There were a lot of rumors, though.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“He apparently enjoyed sampling the housekeepers from time to time.”
“Sampling? Are you talking about having sex with them? I’ve been told he has problems with…with…erectile dysfunction.”
Rafael laughed aloud. “Really? Someone told you Mr. Milius is impotent?”
I nodded.
“You have been lied to, Mr. Dillard. I’m sure you’ll discover as you get into the case that Mr. Milius is anything but impotent. As a matter of fact, he should probably be in therapy for sex addiction.”
“How do you know that?”
Rafael looked around the room slowly, as though he was searching for recording devices. He crossed his arms and began rubbing his hands up and down.
“Relax,” I said. “Nothing you say will leave this room.”
“I will not testify,” he said. “If you try to call me to testify, I’ll disappear, just like Alex did.”
“Were you and Alex friends?”
“We were. That’s how I know about Mr. Milius.”
“How close?”
“He was very busy, as was I, but we managed to spend some time together. We had many things in common. We’re both liberals. We both spoke fluent Spanish, played classical guitar, and we both loved Latin beers and soccer. Alex was the son of a Greek father and an Ecuadoran mother. I am Chilean. He visited my home several times. Over the past year, Tilly came with him. They were a beautiful couple, so young and so vibrant together. They reminded me of my wife and me in happier times.”
“Do you know what happened to them?”
“To the best of my knowledge, they became enmeshed in a situation that threatened their lives, so they left.”
“Can you tell me about the situation? What did it involve?”
“Alex wouldn’t be specific. He just said he was sorry but they had to leave, and he said I shouldn’t believe anything Lana said about him or Tilly after they were gone. And I don’t. Alex was not a thief, and I don’t believe Tilly was, either.”
“Does Alex have money? Or Tilly? Are either of them wealthy?”
“Alex was frugal and I know he was paid quite well, so I would guess that he has accumulated some money. From what he said, I gathered that his family is quite wealthy. As for Tilly, I can’t really say.”
“Can you give me any sort of timeline?”
“I noticed a change in Alex maybe the second week of November. It happened very, very quickly. He was short with me, distracted, and seemed terribly fidgety. He virtually stopped answering his phone, and he wouldn’t return my phone calls if I left him a message. Then, the night before Thanksgiving, he showed up at my house unannounced and told me he was leaving. He wasn’t there long, and he was very emotional. He asked me not to say anything to anyone and I promised him I wouldn’t, and then two days later, the word began to spread through the house that he and Tilly were gone. Then a day or two after that, the rumor started spreading that Alex had spent a huge amount of money using a credit card that belonged to Mr. Milius.”
“But nobody called the police,” I said.
“Exactly.”
“Then just a couple weeks after that the young country singer was killed and the police started coming around and rumors started flying that Mr. Milius was involved. Then he was arrested, and now here we are.”
“So you believe Alex and Tilly’s disappearance is connected to Kasey Cartwright’s murder.”
“It would just be too much of a coincidence for them not to be connected.”
“Have you heard anything from Alex since he left?”
“Not a word,” Rafael said, “and frankly, I don’t expect to hear anything from him. Not for a long, long time, if ever.”
“Where do you think they went?”
“I really have no idea. They could be hiding in plain sight somewhere in Tennessee, or maybe they went to a big city like New York or Los Angeles. Or maybe they left the country.”
“Ecuador, maybe?”
“Or any other Spanish-speaking country. Take a look at a map of the world, Mr. Dillard. There are a lot of them. They could be anywhere.”
CHAPTER 14
“I have bad news and terrible news,” the lawyer said.
“Which do you want first?”
They were walking through Centennial Park as a gentle snow fell. Lana had told her driver to drop her off at the entrance of the First Fifth Bank downtown and instructed him to wait in the parking lot until she called. She had immediately called a cab and ridden to Centennial Park where she met Carl Browning. It was ten o’clock in the morning, classes had not yet resumed at nearby Vanderbilt, and the park was almost empty.
“I’m beginning to loathe you,” Lana said, her breath misting in the cold air. “It seems like every time you contact me, something else has gone wrong.”
“You didn’t answer the question,” Browning said. “Bad or terrible first?”
“Stop playing childish games and say what you have to say,” Lana said harshly.
“The money’s gone,” Browning said. “It’s taken me all this time—and almost $100,000 in bribe money—to get around the Channel Islands secrecy laws and get a bead on the bank account Alex set up. I mean, he did it exactly how we wanted it done. There’s no way it could ever be traced back to any of us, but all the money he deposited has been transferred out of the account. The first half of it went out on the tenth of November, and it went to an account controlled by the company we hired to do this job. I spoke with our contact that day to confirm.”
“And the rest of it?” Lana said.
“It apparently went to a bank in the Cayman Islands,” Browning said.
“When?”
“The day before Thanksgiving.”
“Into an account controlled by whom?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is that it wasn’t controlled by the company we hired, and that’s where the terrible news comes in.”
“What are you talking about, Carl?” Lana said. “You’re not making any sense.”
“I got a message yesterday afternoon from our contact. They want the rest of the money. They want the full contract price.”
> Lana stopped and faced him, her cheeks flush with anger.
“What do you mean, the full contract price?” she hissed. “They only did half the job! There were supposed to be two bodies in that hotel room. Two! That’s what we were supposed to be paying them for. They didn’t live up to their end.”
“That isn’t how they see it,” Browning said. “Their spin is that they were told to be at a certain place at a certain time and that the targets would be there. We told them they’d be in bed together, that it would be easy. Instead, Paul left, didn’t come back, and they were only able to get to Kasey. They say they’re not responsible for bad intelligence, and they want the other half of the money.”
“I hope you told them to go screw themselves,” Lana said as they continued walking.
“These aren’t exactly the kind of people you say that to, Lana.”
“Then I suggest you start spreading some money around in the Caymans and find out where the other half is.”
“I could do that, but my guess is that the money went from the Caymans to the Seychelles or to Samoa, maybe through Switzerland, maybe to some obscure place like Brunei. We might never find out where it went, and even if we do, we’ll probably never be able to get our hands on it.”
“So what you’re telling me is that some little olive picker who probably didn’t know shit from Shinola about international finance three months ago and a froo-froo-haired redneck girl from McNairy County have out-smarted you? Is that what you’re telling me, Carl?”
“They didn’t outsmart me, Lana. They just…they just—”
“Stole two and a half million dollars of my money!”
The lawyer dropped his head. There was nothing he could say.
CHAPTER 15
Lana showed up in the guesthouse at eight o’clock, just as I was zipping up my suitcase to leave for home. Rafael had been there when I arrived, but he’d already left. He’d seemed genuinely disappointed that I refused to allow him to help me pack. Lana was wearing jeans and a pink blouse and seemed sober. I could hear the jet taxiing onto the runway outside.
“Just wanted to say bye,” Lana said.
“That’s nice of you. I appreciate the hospitality.”
“How did your interviews go?” she asked.
“Went good.”
“Did you learn anything I need to know about?”
“Nothing earth-shattering,” I said as I pulled my suitcase off the bed, “but there is one thing I’d like to ask you about before I go.”
“What’s that?”
“Why did you tell me Paul is impotent?”
She seemed startled by the question at first but quickly regained her composure.
“I was just kidding,” she said.
“Seems like a strange thing to joke about.”
“I have to laugh about it, Mr. Dillard…excuse me, Joe. If I didn’t, I’d spend a lot of time crying.”
“So he’s been unfaithful?”
“Unfaithful would be an understatement.”
“Why don’t you divorce him?”
“And run the risk of losing all this? How silly would that be? We have an open marriage now. He does what he wants, and I do what I want.”
“So you don’t mind that your husband has sex with other women,” I said.
“I’d be dishonest if I said it doesn’t bother me sometimes, or at least it used to,” she said, “but I’ve learned to deal with it. It’s like I told you at the restaurant. I don’t much believe in love anymore. I’ve grown past all that.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “Thank you again for the jet and the house and the meal the other night. I’ll see you again soon.”
“Keep something in mind for me, would you?” Lana said.
“What’s that?”
“Paul being a philanderer doesn’t make him a murderer.”
“That’s very understanding of you, Lana. Oh, just one more thing. Carl Browning? Is he your attorney?”
“Carl represents me, yes. He handles all my business affairs.”
“Good lawyer?”
“Yes, very good.”
“Good guy?”
“Why do you ask?”
“No big deal. Somebody mentioned him. Do you spend a lot of time with Carl? And by that I mean is he maybe a boyfriend? You just said Paul does what he wants, and you do what you want. Is Carl one of the things you want?”
“Carl and I are strictly business,” Lana said.
“Okay, then. Thanks again for everything.”
“Have a nice flight,” Lana said, smiling her biggest smile, and I walked out and got into the waiting car.
CHAPTER 16
I arrived back home at around nine o’clock at night after spending two and a half days in Nashville. It was cold and dark, but Caroline was standing under a streetlight, waiting for me near the private charter gate in back of the airport. When I got close and could see her long hair flowing and her dark eyes shining, it was like I was seeing her for the very first time. I walked through the gate, lifted her off the ground in a bear hug, and kissed her.
“I missed you,” I said.
“I missed you, too. I had to turn off the office line. It wouldn’t stop ringing.”
“Press?” I asked, and she nodded.
I loaded my bag into the trunk of her car and got into the passenger seat. I gave her a brief outline of the Life of Milius at the Mansion, but she seemed distracted.
“What’s wrong?” I said after we’d driven a couple of miles.
“I’m almost afraid to tell you,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I know you, and I know your first reaction is going to be anger. Please try to take this calmly.”
“What did Sarah do?” I said.
“Promise you won’t get mad.”
“I promise. Well, I semi-promise. It depends.”
“It isn’t your sister. It’s your son-in-law. Randy got arrested for DUI.”
“Shit,” I said, feeling my blood pressure rise.
“I know.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Last night? He got arrested for DUI on a freaking Tuesday? Who gets arrested for DUI on a Tuesday?”
“Joe, you semi-promised.”
“I know, but what the…? What the…? What time was it?”
“Around eleven.”
“Where was he? What was he doing?”
“He apparently went to the store and had an accident. The car ran off the road into a ditch. He said he fell asleep.”
“Is he still on the pills?”
“I don’t know. It appears that way.”
Randy had been in yet another accident six months earlier, although that one wasn’t his fault. He had been T-boned on his way to school by a woman who thought it was more important to be texting than paying attention to what she was doing and had blown through a stop sign. The wreck had broken his femur and fractured several of his ribs and two vertebrae, and while there was never any real concern that he might die, he had been in considerable pain for several weeks. He’d taken opiates to mask the pain, and before he knew it, he was addicted. He also apparently enjoyed the feeling he got when he mixed the opiates with alcohol, because Lilly had mentioned to Caroline and me that he’d been drinking far more than he ever had before. We’d all sat down and had what I thought was a productive discussion with Randy about it. I even asked Sarah—an expert on addiction and the problems it can cause—to talk to him, and she had, but our words had obviously not had the desired effect.
“Have they suspended him from school?” I asked. Randy was in his third year of medical school.
“I don’t think he’s told them yet.”
“What do you know about it? Do you know what his blood alcohol content was?”
“All I know is that he fell asleep and wrecked. When he wrecked, he hit his head on the steering wheel, and it knocked him out. He was unconscious when the police officer got there. The off
icer apparently smelled alcohol on him. He got the results of the tox screen from the hospital, and when they released Randy the next morning, the officer was waiting with a warrant. They took him to jail and Lilly bailed him out.”
“Where was Lilly while he was driving off to the store drunk?”
“She was in bed, Joe. She had no idea he was leaving.”
I shook my head and took an involuntary deep breath. “This isn’t good,” I said. “This could screw up his entire career. This could screw up their lives.”
“I know,” Caroline said. “Lilly was beside herself until I talked to her and calmed her down. I told her exactly what she needed to hear.”
“What was that?”
“I told her that her father would be home soon, and he’d take care of it. You have to fix this, Joe. This is family. You have to get him out of this.”
CHAPTER 17
I met Randy for lunch the next morning at a place called Café One Eleven in Johnson City. I’d asked him to meet me at eleven o’clock so we could talk privately before the place filled up. We sat at a table in the back of the restaurant and ordered our meals. Randy was a good-looking kid, solidly built with sandy-brown hair and bright, blue eyes. He’d always been a good husband and a good father, and as far as I knew, he was an excellent medical student. He was in the middle of his third year and said he hoped to graduate summa cum laude. We got along well, but I noticed his hands were trembling slightly when he took a sip of the water he’d ordered.
“So I hear you had an adventure while I was gone,” I said to him.
“If you want to call it that,” Randy said. He was looking at the tabletop, and there were small beads of sweat on his forehead.
“A DUI charge? On a Tuesday night? Third year in med school? What in the hell were you thinking?”
“Don’t start,” he said. “The last thing I need right now is you ragging on me.”
