Desperate Crimes (The Bill Travis Mysteries Book 11)

by George Wier

  I shared a small portion of my pork chop with Morgan Freeman, who had quickly grown on me. Bob paid for dinner, which I found annoying and refreshing at the same time. It's usually me that springs for dinner. Ask anybody.

  The sun was below the horizon by the time we walked out, and another night was coming on.

  “Won't the law office be closed?” I asked, as I unlocked my car and let M.F. hop inside.

  “We're not going to the law office,” he said. I nodded, got in and started up the car and followed him back into town.

  We turned back into the neighborhood of the Bledgrave home and within a few minutes were passing it by, it's imposing bulk on the hill already illuminated by automatic lights.

  Three blocks down—about where I figured Hank had parked the car and left Jennifer with the windows rolled up and the doors locked to make the trek back to the Bledgrave house—Bob turned into a long driveway that sat against a backdrop of trees and hills. It appeared to the be the last house on the west of town. I was impressed by it. It was of much newer construction, complete with terra cotta roofing the color of dried blood, with an Austin Stone facade covering three stories beneath its extended eaves.

  Bob got out and I left M.F. in the car, but with a couple of windows rolled partially down. It wasn't overly hot out, so I figured he'd be fine. I did notice, however, that he had decimated the supply of breakfast sausage, making a mess of the rear seat.

  At the house, Bob rang the doorbell and we waited.

  A sixty-something woman answered the door after a minute.

  “Hello, Mr. Ross,” she said. She looked at me in the porch light, scanned me from head to toe and made either some kind of mental note or snap judgment, and said, “is there anything I can help you with?”

  “This is Bill Travis. Bill, this is Duffie Caperton, attorney at law.”

  “It's nice to meet you, ma'am,” I said, and extended my hand. She shook it.

  “Travis. It seems like I should know who you are, but the reason escapes me.”

  “I have one of those faces,” I said.

  “Bill's a civilian,” Bob said. “He is, however, assisting with a case I'm working on. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind answering a few questions.”

  “Is this about a client of mine?” she asked.

  “Maybe. Former client, definitely.”

  “Is this about the shooting? How is Reece doing?”

  “News travels fast, I see,” Bob said. “Reece is going to be fine. Fenner, however, is pretty bunged up. He'll be in the hospital for awhile, recovering. Mind if we come in?”

  “Oh,” she said, “where are my manners? Certainly, please do come in.”

  I nodded to her and smiled, and followed Bob into the house.

  It was the home of someone who appreciated fine things and had the wherewithal to purchase them. There was what appeared to be a large frieze in the living room that covered most of one wall. Above it, high windows shed outdoor lighting from the back yard up onto the ceiling, but the painting had its own track lighting. A Steinway piano dominated the room, the kind of piano I badly wanted to buy for Jennifer one day.

  “I'm sorry,” Bob said, as the lady showed us to a place to sit on a large leather couch, “but I have to ask you whether you kept copies of the various wills for Ms. Tinnie?”

  “I have the most recent one,” she said. “I'm prepared to file it with the Probate Court, but I haven't gotten around to it.”

  “Is that because someone asked you not to?” I interjected.

  She sat back in her high-backed easy chair, crossed her knees and placed her hands on them. “Mr. Travis, I have received a request not to file the one I have. I was holding off out of courtesy to see if someone had another one to produce, but I will have to file the will shortly, for statute reasons, if no one comes forward with a different one.”

  “Were you the only attorney who would have prepared a will for Ms. Tinnie?” I asked.

  “You do know, don't you, that you don't have to have an attorney to prepare a will in Texas. Anybody can do it. All you need is a statement from the testator that they are of sound mind, that this is their will, and you have to have at least two witnesses. That's the law.”

  “But would Tinnie have prepared a will without you?” Bob said. “At least, I think that's what Mr. Travis is asking you.”

  She sat studying me for a moment longer, as if seeing me well for the first time. Whatever judgment she'd made of me at the front door—perhaps the fact that my shoes weren't polished, or maybe there was dirt under my fingernails or something—was being revised before my eyes.

  “Not unless she was coerced,” she said, finally. “And a coerced will can easily be broken. Tinnie was ancient when she died.”

  “Was she of sound mind?” I asked.

  “Who is?” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, bringing her face much closer to mine. “When a person gets to be in their nineties or their hundreds, maybe they're not crazy, but to the rest of the crazy world they will seem to be. It's my opinion that the whole world has gone stark raving mad. I read just the other day where a gunman walked into a doctor's office and started killing people. That wouldn't ever have happened when I was young. People weren't...nuts.”

  I nodded in agreement. “That's true, but Ms...Caperton, right?”

  “Yes, Caperton.”

  “But Ms. Caperton, I mean, was she in her right mind when compared to the way she was before her nineties or her hundreds?”

  “She was sharp as a tack, Mr. Travis. She could remember anything all the way back to before the Great Depression. Can you imagine, being able to remember when Franklin Roosevelt took office?”

  “No, I can't,” I said. “So she was mentally sharp enough to remember dates and places. But was she...all there?”

  Duffie Capterton leaned back and crossed her arms together. “You're not an attorney, are you?” she asked.

  “No ma'am,” I replied. “I'm not.”

  “It's a pity. You'd have made a good one. You know to ask the right questions and to keep asking them.”

  “No offense, ma'am, but I don't really care that much about the law. I'm an investment counselor and CPA.”

  “Well, if you ever get bored, you could always go back to law school.”

  “I'll take that under advisement. You were saying about Temperance Bledgrave?”

  “Okay. All right already. No, she wasn't of sound mind. She was sure that everyone was out to get her. She would call me up on the phone and tell me that the bad men were in her house. That they were poking her with needles and questioning her. When she looked out a window, there were always kids throwing rocks at her house. But, you see, there are hardly any kids in the neighborhood. And if there were, that would be the last house they'd throw rocks at.”

  “Ah,” I said. “A little paranoid. A little off her rocker.”

  “It's true, Bill,” Bob said. “She used to call the Sheriff's Office at all hours, complaining about the same thing. Because it was her, we always sent someone to check it out. It got to the point where our deputies had to lie to her and tell her that they had chased the kids away, or had even arrested them and were taking them straight to prison. It was the only way we could get her to hold off the rest of the night.”

  I laughed. I'd known people like that. It dawned on me how true it was that people were treated differently in life because of their social and economic status. When you're poor, you can't afford to be crazy, because being so can wind you up in some pretty dire straits.

  “What's this about?” she asked.

  “How well do you know Lorraine Sands?” I asked. “And was it her that asked you to hold off on filing the will?”

  “She's too smart to ask me not to file the will herself.”

  “Then who did?”

  She turned and looked at Bob, but didn't speak.

  “Crap,” Bob said.

  “Sheriff Singletary,” I said.

  Duffie Capterton,
attorney at law, nodded.

  “I have another question,” I said.

  “Of course you do,” she replied. “Go ahead, counselor.”

  “The will you have in your possession, to whom does the bulk of the estate go?”

  “Most of it goes to Reece and Fenner. Mostly Reece. He was the one watching over everyone.”

  “Uh huh. Figures. You do know that Gus is missing, right?”

  She laughed. “Gus? Of course he's missing. He's been dead for two years.”

  “Would Lorraine know that?”

  “I don't see why she would,” Bob said. “Far as I know, she's been living in New Mexico for the past thirty-something years.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “Do you know where? Sorry, just curious.”

  “I think Taos,” he replied, then looked to Duffie.

  “Yes,” she said. “Taos, I'm fairly sure.”

  “Do you folks know anyone missing a finger?” I asked.

  “No,” they said, in unison.

  “Well, somebody's missing one. Tell me, please, about Tinnie's family.”

  Duffie sighed, rubbed her forehead, as if a headache was coming on, and said, “Temperance had four daughters and one son with Oliver Bledgrave. The boy, I'm told, died when he was very young. I've seen his grave. In fact, Gus, Margaret's husband, is buried right next to him in the family plot in the San Sebastian Cemetery. I remember asking Tinnie about the grave at the time. Anyway, Tinnie outlived all her daughters but Margaret.”

  “You were around back when Oliver Bledgrave was killed, weren't you, Duffie?” Bob asked.

  “Of course I was. I was a wet-behind-the-ears lawyer at the time, and this was back when women could get a law license, but they damned well had better not practice law. Tinnie was impressed with me, fired her old lawyer and moved her business to me.”

  “Do you stand to make anything from the estate?” I asked.

  “I don't need to. Tinnie gave me five million bucks to keep Fenner out of prison. I told her it couldn't be done. She asked me for how much it would take for me to do the job, no matter what. I named the highest figure I could think of. She paid it, and I succeeded in getting Fenner probation. It was impossible, but I did it. And I did it without breaking the law, just in case you're curious.”

  I nodded. “I don't doubt you. Not for a minute.”

  “Doubt is a healthy thing these days,” Bob said, and I looked at him. He seemed to be boring a hole in the faraway wall, lost in his own thoughts.

  “Okay,” I said. “I think that's everything.”

  “Oh,” Bob said. “Right. Yes, let's go. I need to get back on duty.”

  Duffie Caperton walked us to the door of her mansion. She opened it, waited for us to exit, then said to me, “Did you really bring down that old Beech with a single shot?”

  I shrugged. “I got lucky.”

  “Hell,” she said. “I doubt luck had a thing to do with it.”

  *****

  I followed Bob as he turned around at the end of the street, came back around to drive back out of the neighborhood. He stopped in front of the Bledgrave house and I pulled up behind him. I had to remove M.F. delicately from my lap in order to exit. The little beast dutifully let me close him back up in the car. I walked up to Bob's cruiser.

  “What are you going to do about the Sheriff?” I asked him.

  “Nothing, yet,” he said. “And neither are you.”

  I nodded. “What would I do, anyway?”

  “That's just it. There's no telling, with you.”

  “I'm old enough to know when to jump and when not to.”

  “I hope so. Go spend the evening with your kid. Buy her an ice cream or something.”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Sounds like a good plan.”

  As he drove away, I turned and looked up the hill toward the imposing mansion. Either my mind was playing tricks on me, or one of the drapes in the second floor window moved no more than a hair.

  “Nope,” I said to myself. “It's as empty as a mausoleum.” I turned and walked back to my car, got inside and drove away. But I shivered as a I did.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Back at the hotel room, Jennifer was watching some reality show on television, and the subject matter was, appropriately enough, alligators.

  “Daddy! It's okay if we don't get an alligator.”

  “That's good to hear. What have I missed?” I released M.F., and he scampered over to Jennifer, climbed into her lap and curled into a ball of fur.

  Hank replied, “We had a long talk while you were gone about alligators and missing persons.”

  “Well, there's only one person missing of which I'm aware.”

  “You found Gus?”

  “He wasn't lost. Gus is dead. Has been for two years.”

  “Oh. Then Ms. Sands didn't...”

  “Right. She didn't. She's been living in Taos for the past thirty. I think she's desperate for money. I think she was cut out of the will a long time ago, and is trying to hedge her bets. I found her.”

  “Sheriff's house.”

  “Right.”

  “Shhh,” Jennifer said. “They're about to capture him. Ohh! Watch out for his tail!”

  “I'm tired,” I said. “Let's call it a night.”

  “After they get the alligator,” Jennifer said.

  “After they get the alligator.”

  “I miss alcohol,” Hank said.

  *****

  Sometime in the night, I came awake and looked over at the other bed to see Jennifer curled up. M.F. was draped across her. I watched them both breath, and counted myself the luckiest man alive to have such a kid.

  I stepped outside in my pajamas and looked at my phone. It was one in the morning—not so terribly late. I decided to call Julie.

  She answered on the second ring. I told her I was hoping to be home sometime the following day. The thing was starting to wrap itself up, except for the fact that we had yet to find Todd Landry.

  “She's counting on you, I think,” Julie said.

  “Yes. She is.”

  “It's tough being a father,” Julie said.

  “It's the best thing in the world, next to being your husband. By the way, I had soul food today.”

  “You must be in heaven,” she said.

  “There was this singer. This was in a bar out in the country along the river. This woman could sing.”

  “What'd she sing?”

  “O Shenandoah.”

  “I haven't heard that song in years,” she said. Then, at that moment, a picture intruded upon my thoughts. It was something I never actually saw, but only imagined from what was told me. It was the image of Hank searching along the side of the highway for Todd Landry's cellular phone.

  “Where'd you go?” Julie said.

  “I'm here.”

  “No you're not. Something's happening.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I think it is. Go back to sleep. I'll call you in the morning.”

  We exchanged “I love yous” and hung up.

  I knocked on Hank's door. It took him a minute to answer.

  “What?”

  “Hank. You still have that cell phone?”

  “Yeah. But you've got your phone right there in your hand. Why do you need to use mine?”

  “I don't need yours. I'm talking about Todd's.”

  “Oh. Sure. Why do you need it?”

  “Just get it and come out here for a minute.”

  “Crap,” he said, and closed the door. A few minutes later he came out wearing his jeans and his shirt and handed me the phone. I removed the back of it, and held the thing up to the light of the walkway above us.

  “What are you doing?” Hank asked.

  “What kind of thing is this?” I asked.

  “That's the battery.”

  “I know that. But it doesn't look like any kind of battery I've ever seen before.”

  “Let me see that,” he said. I handed it over.

  Hank held it up and turn
ed it over in the light. “Hmph. It's some kind of super battery. It must boost the charge.”

  “When you found it, it was low. By the time you, me and Jennifer met at my office, it was almost discharged. You charged it up last night, and it's held a charge pretty well since then, right?”

  “We haven't been using it,” Hank said. “What's this about?” He handed the battery back to me, and I replaced it and snapped the cover back into place.

  “I think I know,” I said. I gave the phone back to him. “Okay, I'm going back to bed.”

  I pushed open my door and started to go inside, but Hank said, “What's this about, dammit?”

  “Shhh,” I whispered, and held my finger to my lips. “Sleeping kid.”

  I closed the door, but not before Hank said, “Damn you.”

  *****

  The phone woke me up at seven-thirty.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Travis. Where are you?” It was Penny, my secretary.

  “I'm...out for a few days. I should be back in on...Friday, I think. Or Monday.”

  “I just woke you up. I'm sorry about that. I was just wondering. I need to take off for a day or two, but I didn't feel like I could do it without letting you know.”

  “No, that's fine, Penny. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, sir. I need some...personal time.”

  “You've earned it. Take it. Put the phones on away and leave a message saying we'll be closed until Monday.”

  “If you don't mind my asking, what are you doing?”

  “Jennifer's piano teacher is missing. We're looking for him.”

  “So this is one of your adventures.”

  “Penny, I do not go on adventures. I don't know whatever gave you that idea, but please, dispell it.”

  “You had a message on the office phone this morning.”

  “Who is it from?”

  “A lady named Delores Clayton.”

  “The Elysium Sheriff!” I said, and sat up in bed. Jennifer wandered out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. She stood watching me while she brushed her teeth.

  “Yes. She said something weird. She said, and I quote, 'The finger was already necrotic. Tests show the presence of...' I hope I'm pronouncing these correctly, but, 'formaldehyde, glutaraldehyde, and phenol, which means it's from—'”