Stag Party (Blanco County Mysteries Book 8)

by Ben Rehder

  “Do they represent you in any matters at all?” Garza asked. He was alluding to the Frizzell murder.

  “Nope.”

  Perfect.

  “Okay, thanks for clearing that up,” Garza said. “Do you know who Jessi Winslow is?”

  No response. Endicott turned his head and stared at the wall.

  “She’s the young lady you held at gunpoint yesterday,” Garza said.

  Endicott didn’t answer.

  “How about Liam Mooney?” Garza asked.

  Still nothing.

  “Then there’s Phil Colby, Red O’Brien, and Billy Don Craddock,” Garza said. “You know who those three men are?”

  “Why are we wasting time like this?” Endicott said. “Am I being charged with anything or not?”

  Garza said, “We have 48 hours after arrest to determine the charges and get you in front of a judge, but at this point, yes, I can tell you that charges will be forthcoming. You were arrested yesterday because Officer Marlin saw you shooting at those three men I just named, and you were doing it in a manner that clearly wasn’t self-defense. You could have turned and walked away, and that means you could be looking at three counts of attempted murder. That’s a second-degree felony.”

  Again, Endicott couldn’t resist speaking. Marlin could see the self-righteous anger in the big man’s face. “They were armed trespassers. They shot at me, too.”

  “After you shot at them first,” Garza said. “All three of them say they only trespassed because they’d been told you were holding Jessi Winslow against her will.”

  “She burned my house down.”

  “You didn’t know that at the time,” Garza said.

  “She trespassed.”

  “You can’t hold a trespasser at gunpoint. You also can’t smash a trespasser’s face with the butt of a rifle. That’s what you did to Liam Mooney. That’s another possible charge.”

  Endicott had no reply.

  “Back to the three men,” Garza said. “According to them, they went looking for the girl, saw you holding her at gunpoint, and when you saw them, you immediately shot without any warning whatsoever. Did you see that they were armed before you shot?”

  Silence. Marlin noticed a sheen of sweat on Endicott’s forehead.

  Garza said, “According to the girl—who apparently had a longer and better view of the three men than you did, because they came from behind you—she didn’t see that they were carrying guns. So that means you probably didn’t see them either. But you shot at them anyway.”

  “They were armed trespassers,” Endicott said. “That’s all that matters. I’m the victim here, not the criminal. You’re twisting everything around.”

  Garza said, “When you shot at them, Jessi Winslow was able to run away. At that point—after she was safe—the three men just wanted to leave, but you had them pinned down. And you kept shooting.”

  “I feared for my life,” Endicott said. “Make sure you write that down somewhere. I feared for my life. I thought those three men were trying to kill me.”

  “I saw it all,” Marlin said. “You could have walked away. Or you could have ordered them to toss their guns and leave. But you didn’t. In fact, it looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

  “They could have taken me easy,” Endicott said. “It was three against one. What would you do if you looked up and suddenly saw three armed men coming at you on your own property?”

  “So you naturally decided the best course of action was to unload on them with an AR-15?” Marlin said.

  Endicott shook his head, as if he simply couldn’t believe he was enduring such misguided and unfounded accusations. “I wasn’t trying to hit them. I was just stopping them from shooting me. That’s within my rights.”

  Endicott was wisely covering all the possible bases. Claiming self defense. Claiming he’d feared for his life. Claiming he’d had no intent to kill anyone. And his claims could very well work with a jury, if it ever got that far. It would be difficult to prove he’d intended to murder the three men, or even to shoot them. Garza and Marlin both knew their case wasn’t as strong as they would’ve liked.

  “I suppose we could lower the charge to deadly conduct,” Garza said. “That’s a class-A misdemeanor. That charge simply means you knowingly discharged your weapon toward one or more individuals. That would be a pretty sweet deal for you.”

  “Bullshit,” Endicott said. “I shouldn’t be charged with anything at all.” His anger was flaring again.

  Garza held Endicott’s gaze for several long moments, and Endicott finally looked away.

  “Maybe we can work something out,” Garza said. “If you cooperate, maybe we won’t even have to file for deadly conduct.”

  Endicott turned and faced Garza again, but he didn’t speak. Surely he knew what was coming.

  Garza said, “We’re aware of statements you made to Jessi Winslow about the murder of Harley Frizzell. You told her who did it. Or who you think did it.”

  Marlin noticed that Garza didn’t say that he had spoken face to face with Jessi Winslow. Aaron Endicott didn’t know she was in the hospital. Better if Endicott assumed Garza had spoken to Winslow directly, rather than hearing her claims through Liam Mooney.

  “If you were to share that information with us,” Garza said, “and if it turned out to be accurate and useful, I would certainly take that into consideration when considering what charges, if any, to file against you.”

  Making a deal, just as he’d done with Liam Mooney. Would Endicott go for it? There was no telling, because the person he’d named as the killer wasn’t some stranger or a mere acquaintance. It was a family member. Would Endicott sell that person out? Or would he keep quiet? Maybe he’d be forced to admit he’d made it all up. He was, after all, a psychopath. Or maybe, even if it was all a fabrication, he would attempt to use his story as a bargaining chip to gain his freedom. There was no telling what a wacko like Aaron Endicott might do.

  At first he did nothing. Then he finally let out a long breath.

  “I don’t think I know who did it,” Endicott said. “There is no question—because I saw it happen.”

  Marlin tried not to react to that comment, and Garza did the same. What Endicott had just claimed was enormous news—if it was true. Endicott hadn’t told Jessi Winslow he’d actually seen the murder take place. His conversation with her hadn’t gotten that far before Colby and the other men had shown up.

  “You saw Harley Frizzell get killed?” Garza asked. He didn’t sound particularly interested in the answer one way or the other—a poker face, so to speak, to prevent Endicott from understanding the leverage he had. He might have. Marlin had to remind himself what type of person they were dealing with. Maybe Endicott was building an elaborate fairy tale on the fly.

  “Yep,” Endicott said. “I saw it.”

  “Where were you at the time?” Garza asked.

  Endicott smirked. “Not a chance. You want to hear any more, let’s nail down the deal you were just talking about. Otherwise, charge me and get me in front a judge. Then I’ll bond out and you’ll never know what happened to that old man, because I’ll drink bleach before I ever tell you the real story.”

  Marlin believed him. Endicott didn’t care about the truth. He didn’t care about obtaining justice for an elderly victim. And he didn’t care if he had to snitch on a family member. He only cared about himself.

  Garza was taking a long time to think it over, and Endicott simply waited, looking as smug as a man in handcuffs can look.

  “Here’s the deal,” Garza said. “You tell your story and we’ll drop the charges to deadly conduct. But if even the smallest detail of your story is false—whether you lie or it’s simply wrong—the deal is off.”

  “How many counts of deadly conduct?” Endicott asked.

  “Three.”

  “No way. Just one. With probation, no jail time. And no charges for decking that kid. No other charges for anything. And I want to be released by five o’cloc
k today.”

  Garza tapped a pencil on the table, apparently contemplating the counteroffer. Then he looked at Marlin, checking to see if he was okay with it, since it was Marlin’s arrest. Marlin knew that Endicott probably could have gotten the same agreement in a plea bargain, even if he’d had nothing to offer in the Frizzell case. Garza had played the situation well. Marlin nodded.

  Garza turned back to Endicott. “Let’s hear it.”

  Marlin already knew what Endicott was going to say—or what Endicott was expected to say, if his story was going to match what he’d told Jessi Winslow the day before. And it did match.

  “It was my mother,” Aaron Endicott said. “She killed him.”

  45

  Three days later.

  Despite the long and detailed statement Aaron Endicott gave regarding his mother’s involvement in the death of Harley Frizzell, the case went nowhere. Aaron’s word alone was not sufficient evidence to charge Donna Endicott with a crime. Not even close. Aaron had zero credibility. Garza and Marlin weren’t even sure whether to believe him themselves.

  Donna Endicott, meanwhile, was inaccessible—tucked away on the ranch, surrounded by family, and with Ted Weyland making it crystal clear that none of the other family members had any interest in speaking to the police. He went so far as to threaten a lawsuit if the sheriff’s department attempted to make any contact.

  Aaron Endicott, for his part, had pled guilty to one count of deadly conduct. His sentencing hearing was pending, but he’d get his deal unless Garza found something untruthful or inaccurate in what Endicott had said.

  Garza and Marlin resigned themselves to the idea that the Harley Frizzell case would remain open and technically classified as unsolved. The truth was, they were both ambivalent about it—assuming Donna Endicott had done what her son had said she’d done.

  Garza and his deputies moved on to other cases. Marlin went back to checking hunting licenses, laying in wait for roadside poachers, and trying not to ruminate about Nicole’s upcoming surgery, after she did in fact pass all of the tests required to be a kidney donor. And she could donate to Heather directly, without a paired exchange.

  Then, on a Wednesday morning, Donna Endicott, escorted by her husband Walter, walked into the lobby of the sheriff’s department and quietly announced that she wanted to speak to someone about the Harley Frizzell case.

  Back to the same interview room. Donna and Walter Endicott were on one side of the table, Garza and Marlin on the other.

  Garza had tried to separate Donna from her husband and conduct the interview without Walter in the room, but the Endicotts were having none of it. Walter would be there or Donna wouldn’t speak. Period. Garza had let it go.

  Marlin had watched the Endicotts closely when they’d made their way from the lobby to the interview room a few minutes earlier—with Donna holding Walter’s arm for support. Walter carried the cane, but it was obvious he didn’t need it. It was Donna’s cane. Always had been. Aaron Endicott had revealed that Donna didn’t like for anyone to see her using the cane, or even holding it. But she needed it sometimes, so Walter kept it handy for her.

  Marlin had been so close to figuring that out, but he’d never made the leap. It was obvious, once he knew the truth. When he’d watched all those episodes of Endicott Empire and knew something wasn’t quite right, it was that Donna was rarely shown walking, and when she did walk, it was usually for short distances. Most of the time she was shown sitting. It reminded Marlin of Floyd the barber on The Andy Griffith Show. After the actor who portrayed Floyd had had a stroke, he couldn’t walk well or stand for long periods of time, so the writers wrote his scenes accordingly.

  Even now, after sitting down at the conference table, Walter held the cane as if it were his own.

  “Mrs. Endicott, what can we do for you today?” Garza asked. “I understand you have some information about the Harley Frizzell case?”

  If Aaron Endicott had followed the terms of his plea agreement, he hadn’t told anyone—including the other Endicotts and their attorneys—about the statement he’d given three days earlier.

  “I do, yes,” Donna said.

  “You want to speak without your attorneys present?”

  “That’s right, yes.”

  “Okay, before we get started, I just want to inform you of your rights.”

  After he had read the Miranda warning to her, Donna Endicott softly acknowledged that she understood her rights. Walter Endicott placed a hand on her back.

  Then she began to speak slowly.

  “I knew that we were speaking to an older gentleman about his deer scent. Jasper and Dirk were raving about it. They said it was the most amazing product they’d ever seen. We had to buy the formula before someone else got it. I don’t normally pay much attention to most of the business dealings, but everyone was so excited about this particular product...”

  She stopped for a moment and took a drink of water from a cup Garza had given her before the interview had begun. Walter Endicott was staring down at the tabletop, his lips pressed tightly together.

  Donna continued. “Ron and Jasper met with this man—Harley Frizzell—to offer a price. I don’t know how much it was, but I do know that Mr. Frizzell wanted more than we were offering, and because we couldn’t pay as much as he wanted, he made an unusual request. It was bizarre and somewhat...improper, in my opinion. What Mr. Frizzell requested was an evening with Sissy. An evening with my daughter. When I heard that, well, I wanted to go over there and slap him. What sort of old man asks for something like that? Now, I don’t know if this really makes a difference or not—at least it didn’t to me—but Ron pointed out that Mr. Frizzell said he merely meant an evening of companionship. They’d have dinner and talk. Nothing beyond that. Because Mr. Frizzell was a fan. That’s all.”

  So far, everything Donna had said was matching up with Aaron Endicott’s statement.

  “Still, I thought it was creepy,” Donna said. “But everybody else seemed to think it was kind of funny and harmless. And Sissy—she is so strong and independent, she was willing to do it, because she knew she could take care of herself. What was an old man going to do to her? Still, I didn’t like it, so I spoke to her in private. She reminded me of a time a few years ago when Dirk took part in a celebrity bachelor auction for charity. He went for something like twelve thousand dollars, and the woman who won him was at least my age or older. Sissy said, ‘How is that any different than me having dinner with this old geezer?’”

  Still right in line with Aaron’s version of events.

  “So I gave in,” Donna said. “Reluctantly. And with one condition. I wanted to act as chaperone. Sissy said that was silly, but I said if Mr. Frizzell simply wanted to have dinner with her, why should he care if I was hanging around? Frankly, the more I thought about it, I began to worry he might claim that something racy had gone on between them, simply for the attention he would get for it. He would get paid to give interviews and so forth. We all know that some people will make outlandish claims about celebrities. So eventually everybody agreed that I would go with her.”

  Marlin noticed that Walter’s eyes were closed now.

  Donna took another drink of water. Marlin could tell that she was gathering strength to finish telling the story.

  “When we knocked on the door, Mr. Frizzell answered, and he looked very surprised to see me. No question about that. Sissy introduced me, and he said something like, ‘It’s nice to meet you, but why are you here?’ I said that I was the chaperone for the evening, and he immediately said that wasn’t part of the agreement, and he said, ‘Why would your daughter need a chaperone?’”

  Again, everything was matching Aaron Endicott’s story. What Donna and Sissy hadn’t known as they’d stood on Harley Frizzell’s front porch—and what they still didn’t know right now—was that Aaron Endicott had hidden in the rear of Sissy’s SUV. Even with Aaron’s enormous size, there was plenty of room for him in the cargo area. He had been watching the event
s on the porch, and with the SUV’s front windows down, he could hear most of the conversation.

  “I don’t understand. Why did you do that?” Garza had asked Aaron Endicott three days earlier. “Why hide in the back of your sister’s SUV?”

  Marlin expected Aaron to say he felt the need to watch over his sister—just in case Donna was right and Harley Frizzell was a dirty old man. Even a psychopath might feel the need to be a protective brother. Or maybe he wanted an excuse to pummel somebody.

  But Aaron said, “I wanted to know where he lived.”

  “What for?” Garza said.

  “So I could go back later if the deal fell through, or if he screwed us over.”

  “Go back and do what?”

  Aaron didn’t answer.

  “Go back and do what?” Garza repeated.

  Aaron hesitated, but he finally said, “I was gonna go back and get the formula. I figured he had to have it written down somewhere.”

  “Get it how?” Garza asked.

  Aaron shrugged. “Have you seen that old man’s place. He probably doesn’t even lock the doors.”

  “You were going to steal the formula?” Garza asked.

  “Why not?” Aaron said. “He had already agreed to the offer, so it was ours.”

  Garza wisely didn’t get sidetracked by debating ethics with a person like Aaron Endicott. Instead, he said, “We had two different tips from callers who saw a truck just like yours near Harley Frizzell’s place. Are you saying those tips were wrong?”

  “That evening in the back of Sissy’s SUV—that was the only time I’ve ever been on that road,” Endicott said.

  Garza leaned in more closely, locking eyes with Endicott. “Ron Rosen said you followed him and Jasper over to Frizzell’s place when they went over there to negotiate for the formula.”

  “Ron Rosen is a fucking idiot,” Endicott said.