by Liliana Hart
Hank’s lips twitched. “She told me. I like looking at her too.” Coil wasn’t the only one who could change the subject. “If you could keep that gold, what would you do with it? Would you retire from law enforcement?”
“I never think like that,” Coil said. “You know I worked undercover over twelve years and laid my eyes on more stacks of cash than you can ever imagine. If I ever, even for once, considered touching a single dollar bill that didn’t belong to me, I’d transfer out of that unit quicker than this truck will get us to Austin.”
“That’s admirable.”
“Hank, ain’t no amount of money worth losing your good name over.”
Hank let that sink in. Coil was a good man and had an excellent reputation in the county and among other cops. Why would he risk it now? Especially knowing that he and Agatha knew about the gold too. Maybe he was just being paranoid.
“You know,” Hank said. “Everyone thinks money solves their problems. It only makes for bigger problems.”
“Agreed. That’s why I want to play this close to the vest until we know the best thing to do with that treasure. We sure don’t need no raiders or pirates coming after us.”
“Looks like we’re here.” Hank pointed across Guadalupe Street. The parking lot was filled with marked and unmarked police cruisers. He tugged at his dark windbreaker, and decided to leave it in the truck. The dark slacks and navy Polo shirt gave him an official appearance. If the CID detectives planned to play loose with Hank, he wanted to give them the message that he was all business.
Hank watched Coil as he exited the truck and began walking across the parking lot. Beneath his dark black shades, he saw Coil’s green eyes moving back and forth, taking in everything. Coil’s jaw was so tight he could see the muscles twitch. Something was definitely going on out of the normal.
“You okay?” Hank asked.
He saw Coil’s shoulder’s tense. Coming back to Austin wasn’t one of Coil’s favorite pastimes. He’d worked there once, and it had almost cost him his life.
“Yeah, let’s just get inside,” he said.
Hank handed Coil a cup of water from the fountain as they waited in the big, open-spaced lobby and reception area. He looked like he’d calmed down a bit, but Hank knew what was still going on inside of him. One incident had completely changed Coil’s life, and the tragedy was that while the rest of the world had moved on, Coil couldn’t.
“Hello, gentlemen.”
Texas Ranger Will Ellis stood larger than life, and Hank was sure glad they were friends instead of enemies. He was six-foot-five-inched and lanky with it, with razor-tight brown hair and cold, dark eyes that sunk inside of hawkish features. If Hank hadn’t known how kind-hearted Will was, he would have been intimidated by the big man. Will held a sheaf of papers in his hand and used them as cover so he could point out the cameras. Being friends wouldn’t be advantageous at the moment.
“Mr. Davidson,” Will said, shaking Hank’s hand, and then reached over to take Coil’s.
“Y’all follow me,” Will said.
He escorted them through a corridor that led in and out of several locked doors. Hank was starting to get the feeling they might end up in some alleyway or prison cell. He wasn’t at all comfortable with the way things were going.
Hank peeked around the corner and saw the typical detectives’ bullpen. A large open space cluttered with portable wall dividers. State surplus desks were wedged into the tiny cubicles, and everything from crime scene photos to family pics were thumbtacked to the felt lining.
“Can I help you?” a man asked. He was much shorter than Hank, and had a dark, angular appearance that looked hardened from working or living on the streets.
“We’re with Ranger Ellis,” Hank said.
“This is a restricted area. Stick with your escort,” the man, who appeared to be American Indian, warned.
Hank raised his brows. “Yeah, sure, no problem.”
Hank hurried and caught up with Will and Coil. “What’s that guy’s problem?”
“Never mind him,” Will whispered. “Coil, they’ll see you now in here.”
“Just Coil?”
“Yes, sorry,” Will said. “He’s authorized law enforcement and the only one they’ll share the identity and lab results about the skeleton with.”
“I’m starting to wonder why I’m even here,” Hank said, glaring at Coil.
“I’m sorry, Hank,” Will said. “It’s a different ballgame in here.”
“No kidding.”
“You Henry Davidson?” asked the same man who’d run him off.
“Depends.” Hank was past the point of good manners. “Who’s asking?”
“Detective Sergeant Jason Whitehorse.”
“Then, I guess I am,” Hank said.
“I’ll need you to follow me.” Whitehorse turned and walked away, clearly expecting Hank to follow.
Whitehorse wasn’t physically intimidating. His hollow cheeks and sunken eyes showed he worked too much and ate too little. The purplish veins traversing his temples signaled he was under constant stress. The wad of chewing tobacco was surely an effort to comply with a no smoking indoors policy.
His clothes looked like a boy playing in his dad’s closet, but his shoes were shined to a polish. The greasy, slicked back hair framed a reddish, wrinkled face, but it looked out of place set atop narrow, slumping shoulders.
Hank drew himself to his full height and walked toward the detective. Once away from Will, Whitehorse spewed profanity-laced language that shocked Hank, and they soon marched around the corner into a room that bordered the bullpen. He felt the heat of glares that shadowed him as he walked behind Whitehorse. He knew a setup when he saw one. And this was definitely a setup.
“In here,” Whitehorse ordered. His tone was aggressive. It would have been easy to let his temper get the better of him, but his training kicked in and he watched Whitehorse’s movements and expressions closely.
A guy like Whitehorse was looking for confrontation, so Hank decided to give him the opposite.
“Thank you,” Hank said, moving into the ten-by-ten foot windowless room. The walls were eggshell, and the fluorescent fixture hanging above gave a hazy, lethargic sense to the space. There were three folding metal chairs and a narrow desk with a writing pad and pencil. On purpose, Hank chose to sit in one of the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk.
“Not there,” Whitehorse demanded.
“Does it really make a difference?” Hank said without looking at Whitehorse.
“Yeah. It does. Sit there,” he said, pointing to the lone chair on the other side of the desk.
Hank decided not to sit at all and leaned against the threshold of the door. He still hadn’t looked back at Whitehorse, and he knew it was driving the man crazy.
“What are you waiting for? Sit.”
Chapter Six
Other than physically putting him in the chair, Hank wasn’t going to sit, and Whitehorse must’ve realized that because he turned around and slammed the door behind him.
Hank used his time to text Agatha while he waited. He figured he had about thirteen minutes. It was long enough to make someone antsy, but not too long to make them bored.
He was being played for a confession. But a confession for what?
This is going odd. Know attorney in Austin? Hank texted.
Agatha’s reply had his lips twitching.
OMG They arrested you?
No, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Just need a contact if they try to put squeeze on me.
Where’s Coil?
They split us up.
And that worried him. Why would they do that?
I’ll send a contact for lawyer. Good friend.
Thanks
Hank hit send just as the door opened and two men walked in.
“Hello, Henry. I’m Detective Bud Skinner, and you’ve met my partner, Detective Sergeant Jason Whitehorse.”
Skinner was the complete opposite of Whitehorse.
He had to have just returned from the Marine Corps or was still in the Reserves. The guy was carved from stone. He was chiseled, and his deep tan in March signaled that he’d been deployed until recently. His buzz cut was tight and his black tie was tied with a crisp knot.
“Detective,” Hank said, moving in to shake his hand. They were about the same height and size, though Hank was a little taller, and he made it a point of moving into the detective’s personal space. This was the way alpha males operated, and although Hank wasn’t carrying a badge and gun, he was indeed an alpha male, and he wanted them to know he wouldn’t be intimidated.
“Have a seat, Henry,” Skinner said. He and Whitehorse took the chairs opposite of Hank.
“Thanks, Skinner.”
“You can call me Detective.”
“Then you can call me Mr. Davidson.”
“Fair enough,” Skinner said. “I guess you’ve had enough time to consider why you’re here?”
Whitehorse slumped back in his chair and stared daggers at Hank.
“No, I’ve not considered it at all,” Hank said. “I’ve been busy texting with my attorney.”
Skinner’s eyebrows lifted. He moved forward and leaned a muscular forearm on the desk.
“Why would you need an attorney, Mr. Davidson?”
Hank leaned onto the table, mirroring Skinner’s posture, until their faces were about a foot apart.
“Why would I need to think about why I was here, Detective Skinner?”
Whitehorse leapt out of his seat, knocking his chair over. Hank was happy with the response. Whitehorse was a loose cannon, and he was the weak link.
“You’re lawyering up?” Whitehorse asked. “That’s how you want to play this game?”
Hank ignored him and kept his gaze on Skinner.
“Is that what you’re saying, Mr. Davidson?” Skinner asked.
“How about I tell you the facts, and then you can decide where this goes from here. Deal?” Hank said while keeping his own temper in check.
“Deal.”
Hank eased back in his chair, but never broke eye contact with Skinner. It’s as if Whitehorse wasn’t even in the room.
“You’ve just returned from deployment, and I appreciate your service to our country. So out of respect for that, I’ll go along with this charade for just a bit. But while you only have a few years in with the Rangers, you still know enough about constitutional law to realize that I am under no suspicion of any crime either as a suspect or witness.
“Which means I have zero obligation to sit here and be subjected to this fishing expedition in hopes of intimidating me into saying something that you or this one will twist into a conspiracy theory. Something just shallow enough that your lieutenant will green light the overtime Whitehorse here needs to satisfy the off-duty details he’s lost since the holidays ended.”
Whitehorse froze and Skinner narrowed his eyes at him. They were both wondering how Hank seemed to know so much about them. He’d let them in on the secret. Eventually.
“Since I rode here with the Bell County Sheriff, I can assume you want to ask me about the skeleton we found two days ago. The skeleton we were invited here today to learn the identity of and get a possible cause of death. Now, if this is about anything outside the scope of that skeleton, I will exercise my rights, and stand up slowly, and walk out of this building.”
A slight moisture formed across the ridge of the detective’s hairline, and the artery in Skinner’s neck was pulsing.
“We still have a deal?” Hank asked.
Skinner sat up. His white button-down shirt was moist beneath the armpits. He looked up at Whitehorse for support, but Whitehorse was trying, and failing, to adopt Hank’s technique of ignoring what was going on in the room.
“Detective Skinner,” Hank said. “Whitehorse isn’t going to help you. He’s so unsure of what he can or should do that he’s missed his spit bottle’s opening, and now the shirt that he should’ve ironed is stained with tobacco. If you pay attention tomorrow or Monday, I bet you’ll notice he’s wearing the same old shirt and it hasn’t been washed. Guys like him don’t take pride in the job. But you do. He’ll end up hurting your career if you stick with him.”
Hank pulled out his cell phone and saw Agatha’s text message.
“Screw you and your smart mouth,” Whitehorse yelled, launching himself toward Hank.
Skinner moved like lightning to intercept Whitehorse, while Hank leaned back and remained calm. Maybe more than calm. He allowed a smirk to slip through. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact he was recording the entire fiasco.
“He’s got a recorder,” Whitehorse said, grunting as he strained against Skinner’s massive forearm. “Take that away from him.”
Skinner looked sheepishly back and forth between Hank and Whitehorse.
“Son, you know better than to try to do that,” Hank said. “Now calm him down, and I’ll allow you to ask me three questions.”
“Cool it, Sarge,” Skinner said.
Whitehorse pointed to Hank, his glare full of malice. “You’re mine.”
“No, I’m not.” Hank said, getting tired of the whole charade. He pulled out a business card and handed it to Skinner. Just because he was retired didn’t mean he didn’t still have a reputation or wasn’t still an active consultant with the FBI.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Hank said. “When you want to ask me those questions, feel free to call me anytime.”
Skinner nodded, his eyes glued to the card.
Hank stood up and straightened his shirt.
“You sit back down,” Whitehorse yelled. “We ain’t done with you yet.”
“Shut up, Whitehorse. You’re with the FBI?” Skinner asked.
Whitehorse let out another string of curses and kicked at the chair, sending it flying across the room.
“It always pay to treat others with respect,” Hank told Skinner. “You never know when you’ll need them. What do y’all say in the sandbox? Winning hearts and minds.”
Skinner stood and nodded, and then he looked at Whitehorse with embarrassed disgust.
“Yes, sir.” Skinner said. “Thank you.”
“Would you mind showing me out?”
“Gladly.”
Hank gazed down at Whitehorse. He wanted to punch him through the wall, but he knew he’d already been demoralized enough for one day. Hank despised rotten cops like him.
Hank thought he’d noticed something about Whitehorse, but he needed another look to be sure, so he stuck his hand out.
“I’m sure we won’t be seeing each other again,” Hank said.
Whitehorse stared at Hank’s large palm before deciding to shake it. Hank purposefully pulled Whitehorse toward him. The Sergeant’s shirtsleeve rode up above his wrists, and Hank saw the myriad of tattoos covering the man’s skinny arm.
“For your sake, we’d better not cross paths again,” Whitehorse threatened. “Not even as much as a parking ticket.”
Hank held up his cell phone and showed Whitehorse the blinking red dot that indicated it was still recording.
“And with that, I’ll be going.”
Hank and Skinner made it around the first corner before running into Will and Coil. Hank had to stop abruptly to prevent running into the Marine’s backside.
“Son, what happened to you?” Will laughed, looking at Skinner with curiosity.
“Sir?” Skinner asked.
“Never mind. I see you met Mr. Davidson.”
“Yes, sir.” And then Skinner turned to Hank and whispered. “I’d love to join the FBI one day.”
“You’d make a fine agent. Just make sure Whitehorse doesn’t taint you. Crumbs like that tend to rub their oil on others.”
Hank stared at the menu, but he didn’t really see the words on the page.
“It’s Taco Thursday,” Coil said. “Eat up.”
“I’m not hungry. That idiot back there really got under my skin. Do they have a salad?”
“A taco salad. I
t’s Taco Thursday.”
They’d stopped in Round Rock and found a food truck serving a Mexican menu, but true to the advertising, they only served tacos on Thursdays. Hank knew Coil wanted to get out of Austin as quick as possible, and so did he.
They sat at a picnic table in the sunshine, and Hank tucked his windbreaker beneath his thigh.
“What happened back there?” Coil asked. The sun glinted off his aviator sunglasses.
“I’m sure you can guess. And I think you had a hand in it.”
Coil dropped his flour tortilla on his paper plate and took off his sunglasses. “You’re going to have to do some quick explaining as to what you mean by that and why I shouldn’t be ticked you said it.”
“Because this whole thing makes no sense. Why would they come at me like a criminal? You brought me along for a reason, and I’m betting you knew why they wanted me the whole drive to Austin. You knew they were going to interrogate me.”
“All I was told was that they wanted to talk to us about the case. It turns out the Rangers also have a cold case involving Beau, and they wanted to make sure we weren’t stepping on each other’s toes.”
“Listen,” Hank said. “I’m sick of the games. I want to know the truth. I’ve got a good contact for an attorney. Actually, it’s the State’s Attorney General, and if I don’t get straight answers, she’s the next one I call. And I’ll tell where the gold is. Or at least where you say the gold is.” Hank stabbed his plastic fork into the flaccid lettuce until the prongs snapped.
Coil’s face went pale.
“I’m not bluffing,” Hank said. “You’re my best friend in this world, but friends don’t do this. You walked Aggie and me down into that pit on purpose. I want to know what that purpose is.”
Coil sighed and pushed his plate away. “We go back a long way, but I had a lot of past before we met.”
“We all got pasts, but it doesn’t mean you drag your friends into it.”
“I’ll fix this. I promise.” Coil said.
“Not good enough. Your promises tried to feed me to a land shark back there. You knew it, but did nothing to prevent it. You delivered me right into their hands. So much for loyalty.”
