Class Conspiracy: A Hank Lancaster Mystery

by Ace Beckett

  The pastor welcomed me with a firm handshake. Only an inch shorter than me I wondered if anyone told him that he could be in the World Wrestling Federation, as a good guy of course. He looked that fit without all the weird tattoos. I asked if he remembered John Kuster?

  “Yes. I knew John. He and his girlfriend attended church a few times but I never managed to convert them.”

  “The size of the church indicates you did manage to covert a lot of other people,” I said.

  “I’ve always been persuasive. I could usually get friends to agree with me. I wanted to use that talent for the Lord. What is your spiritual state, Mr. Lancaster?”

  I laughed. “I know a few Baptists. They never let an opportunity slip to talk about Jesus and to convert the heathen. I admire that dedication. In 1638 Roger Williams started the first Baptist church in American in what would be the state of Rhode Island. The denomination has grown since then.”

  “I see you know history.”

  “Yes, I’m a history buff and an avid golfer. One of the good things about golf is it’s so slow you can read while watching it. Usually I’m reading a history book while watching a tournament.”

  He smiled. “I play a little golf myself. But I only have an eighteen handicap. What’s yours?”

  “Six, but my schedule usually isn’t as hectic as a pastor’s. So I have a lot of time to practice.”

  “You still haven’t answered the question about your spiritual state, Mr. Lancaster.”

  “Call me Hank. I’m agnostic but right now I’m leaning toward belief. I’ve read a number of those books on your wall. I’m very impressed with Mr. Lewis.” I nodded toward the bookshelf. “And I’m been blown away more than once by the Rev. Kenneth Hagin. When you read him his experiences are a powerful pull on your soul. It’s so…. different from secular sources you have to read him two or three times to get comfortable. But he’s very readable.”

  “Yes, although he was a charismatic I enjoy Rev. Hagin’s works. He was a prophet in the 20th century. I will be praying for you, Hank.”

  “Thank you. Now that you’ve asked a question mind if I ask a few,” I said, smiling.

  He laughed. “Of course. Ask away.”

  “Twenty years ago John Kuster took a hunting trip with four friends. Three of those people have died recently. The police believe all three were accidental deaths. I think the three people were murdered. The fourth person who went on the trip was Chet Franklin, well known around here.”

  He nodded.

  “On their way back the van swerved around a curve and ran slightly off the road. A homeless man was either bumped by the van or, startled; fell to the creek below where he drowned. I know about the trip because John Kuster, once when he had too many drinks, told a friend who told me. But there are still questions regarding the trip and especially about who might have known about it. I wanted to ask if Kuster ever talked to you about it and did he tell you who the passengers were. Was a sixth person on the trip? If there was, it might clear up a few things.”

  The pastor leaned back in his chair and scooted it back from his desk. He clasped his hands together under his chin and gave me the pastor stare. I didn’t like those. With a few pastors, such as this one, it almost like he can peer into your soul, see the strengths and weaknesses; know all the times you failed or sinned as the Baptists would put it. The Winter Springs Police Department could have used the pastor as an interrogator. One stare from him and the witness would leap up and shout, “I did it. I’m guilty. Guilty!”

  “Hank, whatever John told me in session is private. I’m not sure I’m at liberty to discuss it.”

  “It wasn’t a confession I assume, it’s not private. What John said could relate to three murders. I also think Chet Franklin might be in danger. He was on that trip. No one knows where John Kuster is now so I don’t think you would be violating a trust. But what you say may prevent another murder.”

  He thought for a minute then nodded. “Your knowledge of the trip is very close to what John told me but it’s not the whole story. Yes, there were six people in the van, six people who were hunting. If Chet Franklin is in danger, so is his brother. Chet Franklin and Tom Franklin both went hunting with the group.”

  I felt like the ground had opened underneath me and I fell into blackness. I grabbed armrests of the chair and tapped my foot on the rug to make sure I was still in the pastor’s office.

  “Tom?”

  The pastor nodded. “Tom sat on the passenger side while John drove. They all had too much to drink. Tom woke up just before the van hit the curve. With the lights showed the man walking toward Tom grabbed the steering wheel and said, “Let’s scare him!” Before John could react Tom yanked the wheel. The van slid off the road toward the straggler. And bumped him. He was pushed over the side of the road and into the creek. What happened was a crime not an accident. Three people were sleeping in the back. They didn’t see what happened. Chet was dosing off but he was in the second row of passenger seats. He woke up after the man fell into the stream. John was angry at Ned and said he was going to the police. Ned bought him off. He said he would pay for Ned’s silence and offered him fifty thousand dollars. He said he couldn’t pay it all at once because his father had basically tightened accounts because of his free spending ways. They made a deal, a deal unknown to the other passengers. It took four, maybe five years for the fifty thousand to be paid. John also promised he would tell no one Ned was in the van. If he did, the money stopped. John said Ned was frantic. If his father knew he was in trouble with the law again he’d be cut off, even disowned. John came from a lower middle class background and was scrambling for money. He knew a good thing when he saw it. I don’t really know why John came in and talked to me about this matter. It was probably a few days before he left the state. He asked for confidentially so he knew I would not repeat it and until today I haven’t. But with the threat of other murders… I weighed the two decisions and I hope I made the right one.”

  “If an agnostic view is worth anything I think you did. Thank you,” I said.

  I walked out of the office enlightened but confused. I thought Chet would be the target of the killer. Did the killer know the truth? Would he hunt Chet or Tom? The lobby of the church had an offering box. I’ve gotten to carrying debit or credit cards not cash but when I opened my wallet I did have twenty-two dollars in it. I took it out and stashed it into the box. The pastor had helped me out. I should return the favor.

  I drove back to hotel. I kept turning what the pastor told me over in my mind but I didn’t reach any conclusions. I’d be thinking on what he said for at least a couple of hours.

  The dinner at the hotel restaurant was exceptional. When I got back to my room and flicked on the TV, a bowl game was on. Bowling Green was playing Florida Southern University. There is actually a small town named Bowling Green in the Sunshine State but Florida Southern was playing the Bowling Green University team from Kentucky, which had an impressive 9-3 record. All of us tend to root for our favorite teams but it’s interesting to be neutral at a game. You can study the plays, the offensive schemes, the quality of the players. Frankly I did want to simply enjoy the game for a few hours and not worry about the case. So I hoped it was not a blowout. It wasn’t. Early in the fourth quarter the score was 24-24. Both teams played almost flawless football. Both teams had a good rushing and good passing attack. There was only one fumble, by Florida Southern but it was recovered. Only one interception marred the game. Bowling Green lost the ball near mid-field but the Big Red defense stopped Florida Southern and the team had to kick. The clock ticked down to the final seconds when Florida Southern kicked a 37-yard field goal and won the game 34-31. It may have been a minor bowl but it was a great game. I checked my watch. It was a few minutes after ten. Usually I’m a late-night person not turning in until between eleven and midnight. But I thought I’d make an exception tonight.

  When I told the Bay Tree Sheriff’s Department’s receptionist that Detective Al
Douglas had requested my presence in his office, I was ushered in immediately. Douglas looked like a huge, angry bear ready to pillage for food. For a moment I thought I might be the garbage can. He didn’t swing his big paw at me but he wasn’t in the mood for any social amenities either.

  “I assume you heard the news stories about Chet Franklin’s murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “There was a paper with a list of names on it found with the body. Three of those names were also in the file you left with me. Mary Laurie. Harper Fletcher. Dale Keegan. The list also mentioned Chet Franklin, Tom Franklin and a John Kuster. Then below the name was a question mark. We’re inclined to believe there is another person in danger but we don’t know who it is yet.”

  “We have a very shrewd killer. I think it’s possible that question mark is a red herring and just meant to confuse you. But Tom Franklin basically caused the accident and he paid Kuster to keep quite. It took a while for the hush money to be paid off in full. But once it was Kuster left the state. What happened twenty years ago was not negligence, it was manslaughter.”

  Douglas’ deep-set eyes stayed deep but widened considerably. And turned almost red with anger. He picked up the file I had given him.

  “I hadn’t finished reading this when the Franklin murder occurred. I read the rest of it this morning. But we are going to over this very carefully, word-by-word, syllable by syllable, until I am satisfied. Maybe you’re the one spreading red herrings in this case.”

  He reached into the desk drawer and brought out a yellow legal pad. As I talked he scribbled notes. He had more than five pages filled when I finished. At times he asked me to repeat a point. Then like, a bomber flying at his target from a different angle, he’d swoop down and ask basically the same question in a different way. It is a technique for tripping up subjects. Douglas was a master at it. At first glance I didn’t think he had the patience. But he did. Finally, after talking for so long my throat was sore, Douglas put his pen down.

  “I will check out your story, Mr. Lancaster, and make my first call to Stephen Bates.”

  “Please do. He will confirm everything I told you.”

  “Jim Wyland. You have a number where I can contact him.”

  I thought I might give him a snappy reply then decided the detective wasn’t in the mood for wit, not even my sparkling kind.

  “Yes.”

  I lifted out my cell phone and read the number off.

  “You say he is on this case too.”

  “Yes, as noted in the file he was hired by Harper Fletcher’s wife to investigate her husband’s death. She was suspicious. I think he did a real good job. You can ask him about the details of his investigation. I think you will be impressed.”

  “Maybe. But it takes a lot to impress me.”

  I didn’t doubt that at all.

  Douglas stared at me with his dark eyes a minute more.

  “Revenge can be a motive for murder.”

  “Yes, but I’m still not sure about that in this case. If that theory is true why wait twenty years to get revenge?”

  “People do a lot of strange things. The people this department deals with are not relentlessly logical.”

  “Yes. But I wonder if the murderer wants you to spend all your time and your resources looking for Kuster because he doesn’t care about Kuster. He doesn’t care where he is or if he lives or dies. He’s could be playing a game of misdirection. He has you looking for a man you may never find because of alleged motive that’s not the clue to the case.”

  A flash of anger came into his yes. “Thank you for that advice. We’ve got a few openings in the police academy. Why don’t you sign up for one and then you can help us with all our cases. I’m not looking for shadows when the motive is obvious.”

  I frowned.

  “Been a pleasure talking to you, detective.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  J. Anthony VonRenn had not yet fully recovered from his injuries sustained in the assault. But while his body was recuperating, when I talked to him on the phone, his mind was sharp. At first he seemed disinclined to an interview but when I mentioned I was investigating Chet Franklin his tone changed.

  “I am sleeping late these days Mr. Lancaster. My doctor says it’s good for me. So I am still in my pajamas and a bathrobe. But if can arrive at, say, eleven o’ clock I will be presentable by then,” he said.

  “Thank you, Mr. VonRenn.”

  The attorney was more than presentable when he opened the door. He wore an elegant blue coat and tie with some type of burgundy emblem on the pocket. His dark office pants had a sharp crease. His shoes shined brightly. He was a distinguished looking gentleman, and gentleman seemed the right word for him. His black hair was streaked with gray but gray didn’t make him look old. It merely added to the dignity of his presence. His black and gray mustache was neatly trimmed. He smiled graciously as he offered his hand and invited me in. As we sat in his living room he picked up a cigarette holder and placed a cigarette in it. I had seen only one other person use a cigarette holder. But somehow it fit Mr. VonRenn. He puffed smoke out and then looked at me.

  “Mr. Lancaster, I knew Chet Franklin from a very young age. He was a fine young man and a fine middle-age man. I will do anything to help find his killer. I was intrigued by your theory that Chet’s murder was connected to the murders of four other people. But I don’t see how I can of any value in your investigation. But I am curious about why you wanted to talk to me.”

  “I understand you were the personal and the business attorney for Clyde Franklin.”

  He took another puff from his cigarette. “I was. However, another legal firm represented the cattle company. I handled his personal matters but not his corporate interests. I also assisted him with he got into a wrangle with the IRS.” He paused a moment for emphasis. “We won our case.”

  “So you would have been the one to draw up his will.”

  “Yes.”

  “I was wondering about the details of the inheritance to relatives.”

  “I don’t believe that is any of business. That can’t be relevant to a man killed Georgia or another man killed in Florida.”

  “It might be, sir. To be frank, I am shooting in the dark. I can’t see the target. But like an animal rustling the woods, it’s out that. Maybe a blind shot will hit something.”

  “An odd and perhaps even unethical request. But after our discussion on the phone I phoned an attorney from your home county, Wade Stone. I believe you know him.”

  “Not well. But about two years ago I did some work for him.”

  “I know Wade well. He gave you the highest recommendation. Which is a very rare from Wade. He doesn’t hand out compliments like candy. In fact, he’s very stingy with them.”

  “That says something about my sterling character.”

  VonRenn smiled. “Indeed it does. Wade said I could trust you and that anything I said to you would be confidential.”

  “It will be…unless the information is needed to catch a killer.

  He nodded. “Fair enough. But first I must ask if you are sure this information might help catch Chet’s killer.”

  “I can’t say for sure but I believe it could,” I said.

  “Clyde, as you know, had two sons. But Tom had tested his father’s patience time and time again. Clyde determined many years ago that Tom would only get a minimal share of his inheritance of money and land. Once or twice Clyde was almost ready to disinherit Tom. He spoke with me about it and asked for my advice. I was not only in an attorney-client relationship with Clyde but I was also his friend for almost forty years. I advised against cutting Tom out of his well. Disinheriting a son is the most drastic action a man can take. I still had hopes for Tom, that somehow he would turn his life around and become more responsible. But a few weeks ago Clyde discovered Tom had either mismanaged a considerable amount of money or had simply used it for private enjoyment. Tom had a weakness for gambling. The casinos over in Mississippi have six figur
es worth of Franklin money. Clyde also suspected Tom might have been using funds for illegal drugs.”

  “How much money are we talking about?”

  “Clyde was never specific about the amount. There are a lot of accounts streaming from the Franklin Cattle Company and the other business interests of Clyde. I think a detailed accounting may be needed. A preliminary estimate was approximately fifty thousand dollars, possible more. That cut it. Clyde was determined to cut Tom almost entirely out of the will. He could continue to hold an minor executive function with the company, a position that would be virtually powerless when it came to decision making but would pay a modest salary. But that was it. I asked him if he was sure and he said yes. He was basically going to leave his entire fortune to Chet.”

  “So with Chet’s dead what will happen now?”

  “It’s not that simple. That was Clyde’s plan but the will was never officially filed. I was rewriting it when Clyde suffered the medical setbacks. Even days before he went to the emergency room there were times when he was not…as lucid as he should have been. I hesitated for a while writing up the new will because I knew Clyde was failing mentally and physically. I thought, under those conditions, the will could be challenged in court. Finally I did write it and I was on the way to go over it with Clyde when I was assaulted. Obviously Clyde was making a major decision that involved his family. I had to be confident he was in the proper mental state give approval.”

  “But you never made the meeting?”

  “No, the will was in my briefcase and it was stolen. There’s been no trace of it since. A copy is on my computer as well as paper copy in my desk. Clyde wanted to see important documents on print. He said he was more comfortable with print and it was easier on his eyes. He was fighting both glaucoma and cataracts when he died. But there were always digital copies. But because he spent a number of days in the hospital and because I was injured and couldn’t met with him his new will was never signed.”