Dead Peasants

by Larry D. Thompson

  When the call ended, Colby appeared in the kitchen, her eyes red from lack of sleep. “Jack, would you mind not leaving me today? I got really spooked when Joe said that the shooter might have been after me. I hardly slept at all last night. Can you do some trial preparation or something and maybe by tomorrow, I’ll be okay.”

  Jack hugged her. “Sure, Colby. We don’t go back until day after tomorrow. I can prepare closing argument

  Colby alternated between sleeping and sitting next to Jack at the dining room table while he worked on his closing argument. He gave himself a small pat on the back for not wasting time on closing when he did his trial preparation. The case had turned into one he never saw coming when it began. Now, he intended to take advantage of it.

  The next morning Jack woke Colby and had a long talk with her. When he was satisfied that she was back in control of her emotions, he decided that he and J.D. could be gone for a few hours. After setting the alarms and convincing the two officers parked in the front of the house they should stay and watch over Colby, Jack and J.D. drove downtown. Jack wanted to arrive at Quillen’s office at eight o’clock, the minute the doors opened. As they rode the elevator to the thirtieth floor, J.D. asked, “You think he’ll give us everything he has?”

  “He will.” Jack nodded. “Our trial and Allison’s shooting are the lead stories in the Star Telegram, even this morning. Quillen isn’t about to do anything that would piss off the judge and put the spotlight on him. We’ll get everything.”

  The door opened. Across the hall were two large paneled doors. Jack opened one and they entered an opulent office, suitable for the CEO of a financial conglomerate. A young receptionist sat at the desk

  “Good morning, gentlemen. How can I help you?”

  “Is Mr. Quillen in?”

  She shook her head. “He’s out at a meeting at one of our banks.”

  J.D. handed the subpoena to her. She studied it for a minute before she spoke. “Mr. Quillen was expecting you yesterday. I suppose I can get what this says. You want the entire list of employee policies where we have liens on the proceeds?”

  “That’s correct.

  “Please excuse me, and I’ll get the information. Will a thumb drive be okay?”

  “That’ll be fine,” J.D. replied.

  Thirty minutes later they were back on the elevator and headed out the front door of the building.

  “J.D., plug Federal Bank Security in the GPS and let’s drop by there before we head back to the house.”

  The GPS directed them to the main office on a side street off of Seventh Avenue a few blocks from downtown. The building was unmarked without even an address. Six inch posts circled the building, rising four feet in the air and placed about three feet apart. From the look of the posts, a tank could not have gotten past them. Finding the front door locked, Jack pushed a doorbell and waited. A voice from an intercom said, “Yes.”

  “I’m Deputy Jack Bryant. We’re investigating a shooting that took place two nights ago. It appears that the shooter was driving one of your panel trucks.”

  “Just a minute.”

  “The door opened and a gargantuan man invited them into a small reception area with another door, leading back to the main work areas. The man who opened the door asked for some identification. Jack flashed his badge quickly enough that he did not notice that Jack was a reserve deputy. When he handed the man a piece of paper with the license number on it, the man picked up a reception phone and called to the back.

  “That license is one of ours. That’s all the information I can provide you without a subpoena.”

  When they returned to the house, J.D. said he would check the information on the thumb drive.

  Jack shook his head. “J.D., you’re a better computer sleuth. See what you can find out about FBS. I’ll check out the rest.”

  J.D. spent the rest of the afternoon tracking information. Colby supplied them with sandwiches and sodas. As the sun was dropping below the horizon, J.D. came bounding down the stairs. “I’ve got it, Dad. I had to trace back through several dummy corporations, including some off shore, but I’m certain I’m right. Quillen owns Federal Bank Security.”

  Jack got up from his computer and stretched his fingers. “And I think I can top that. The sweet little receptionist gave us a lot more than we asked for. We got the Allison Southwest dead peasant policies on a spread sheet. I’ve confirmed that what J.D. found was correct. Every one of the violent deaths was an Allison employee with a dead peasant policy. Colby, that includes Rob.

  J.D. drove his fist into the air. “Yes!” he exclaimed. Colby breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Wait, it gets better. Once I got past the Allison Southwest employees, and, by the way, there was a red “X” beside the ones who had died, I found more. Quillen has fifteen other bank clients who have dead peasant policies on their employees. None of them individually are as big as Allison Southwest, but I found twenty-three names with the same red “X” beside them. They’re scattered all over ten states. Then I went to the Social Security website and those twenty-three are all dead. It doesn’t say how they died, but does anyone want to place a small wager that they were unexplained violent deaths?’

  “Shit, Dad, what are you saying?”

  “I think we’ve been barking up the wrong tree. Allison’s business ethics are damn marginal with all those dead peasant policies, but I don’t think he’s the killer. Quillen Bank and Trust is in deep shit. Quillen picked up the idea of dead peasant policies from Allison years ago. Then it looks like it became standard operating procedure for his bank. If you want a loan, you take out these policies. When Quillen started getting in trouble because of Allison’s non-payment, and he started getting squeezed by the mortgage lawsuits that Jacob and I filed, he needed money and he needed it fast.”

  Colby’s eyes glistened. “That means it wasn’t Allison. I knew he couldn’t have tried to kill me. I knew it.”

  “Tomorrow ought to be a most interesting day. I’m going back to work. I need to outline questions for Allison and Quillen. Now, I think I know why Allison is insisting on testifying, even if he has to get out of a hospital bed to do it.”

  Later that evening J.D. burst through the doorway between the man cave and the dining room. “Dad, the feds just closed one of Quillen’s banks. The newscaster says it may be the first of many. Quillen was not available for comment.”

  “Well, isn’t that an interesting turn of events.”

  “What are we going to do, Dad? What if Quillen doesn’t show up tomorrow?”

  Jack walked over to the back door to his collection of canes. He sorted through them until he found the one he wanted. “I think you and I better take a little drive over to Shady Oaks. Grab a couple of bottles of water. We’re going to watch Quillen’s place for a while.”

  Jack parked Lucille a half a block down the street, in the darkness between two street lights, and waited. J.D. spent the hours texting Tanya and then his teammates, encouraging them to run up a big score. After all, they were going for a national championship. Jack was content to drink his water and watch the street for any signs of activity. It was getting close to midnight when Jack saw a truck approaching in the rear view mirror. “Put down that phone, Son. There’s a white panel truck coming up from our rear.”

  When it passed, Jack said, “Your young eyes are better than mine. See if you can make out the plate.” J.D. squinted until the truck came under the next light. “Can’t make it out, Dad, but it’s the same kind of truck the shooter was driving.”

  The truck turned into Quillen’s driveway and stopped at a mounted keypad. The driver punched in several numbers, and the gate opened and shut slowly behind him once he was through.

  “Now, what, Dad?

  “Now we wait and let our instincts direct us.”

  Hawk pulled he truck around to the back of the house where two men stood with Quillen. “Hawk, you’ve been well paid. There’ll be another hundred grand in your account tomorrow.
I’m leaving the country for a while. These wrapped frames contain my most valuable art work, two Picassos, a Remington, two Russells and several lesser known but expensive artists. The rest of this is jewelry and some cash. I trust you to take all of this out to my private jet at Meacham Field. I’ve got some other matters to wind up and will be there in a few hours. Any questions?”

  “You still want me to try for that big score?”

  Quillen shook his head. “No, it’s too late for that now. Leave her alone.”

  “Then, Boss, it’s been a pleasure to work with you and profitable at that. Hope your plan works.”

  Fifteen minutes later the truck was loaded, and Hawk eased out the front gate. A steady drizzle caused him to turn on his wipers. He never noticed the truck parked to his right when he turned to his left and headed for Camp Bowie.

  “We’ll give him a block and then get in behind him. Hopefully, he won’t notice us in the neighborhood. Once we’re on Camp Bowie, even at this time of night, there should be plenty of other traffic to hide us.”

  Hawk turned left on Camp Bowie and glanced in his rear view mirror. Even though he was a block away, he noticed a red pickup stopped at the same place where he turned. It also made a left. The speed limit was thirty-five. Hawk sped up to fifty and the truck maintained a two block distance. He slowed to twenty-five and the truck was still behind him.

  “I think we’ve been made,” Jack said. “Only we can’t afford to lose him. I don’t know what he picked up from Quillen’s house, but I doubt if it was a bunch of old clothes for Goodwill. Watch him to see if he turns off.”

  When Camp Bowie ended at Seventh, Hawk took Seventh. At the old Montgomery Wards, he suddenly turned right into the park. Jack forgot about keeping a distance and sped up, making the same turn with screeching tires. The white truck was a block ahead. The drive through the park was winding, intended for families to have a leisurely drive at about twenty-five miles an hour.

  Hawk sped up to fifty, ignoring the wet street, as he followed the road that weaved among the trees. He passed the duck pond where this project had started months before.

  At fifty miles an hour, Jack was staying up with Hawk by doing everything he could to keep the truck on the slick pavement.

  Jack felt like he was weaving through a tunnel of trees with no margin for error. “That son of a bitch can’t keep this up on wet pavement. He’s driving a goddamn panel truck, not a Ferrari.”

  As if hearing Jack’s words, Hawk pushed it to seventy and began to pull away. When he glanced in his mirror to estimate the distance he had put between himself and the red pickup, he took his eyes off the road at just the wrong time. The road curved to the left. Hawk hit his brakes, but it was too late. He careened into the forest where his truck thudded into a large oak. Steam erupted from the radiator as Hawk freed himself from his seat belt and forced open the door.

  Jack saw what had happened and followed the white van, stopping behind it as Hawk stumbled out. J.D. leaped from the passenger side and bullrushed Hawk. Hawk tried to raise his pistol, but J.D. hit him full speed like a linebacker flattening a tight end. He wrapped his arms around Hawk and drove him into the ground. Hawk was no lightweight and was not going to go down without a fight. He and J.D. wrestled for the gun until Jack walked up with his cane.

  He stuck the cane into Hawk’s neck. “Now, that’ll be enough. This cane fires a gas propelled bullet. It’s only accurate to about twenty-five feet. But with the cane pushing into your neck, the bullet will blow clean through it, rupturing arteries in the process. So, you have two choices. You can continue to wrestle around with my son. He’d kick your ass anyway. But if you do, I pull the trigger. Otherwise, drop your hands and J.D. is going to sit on top of you while we have a little discussion.”

  Hawk relaxed and remained on the ground with J.D. straddling him. Jack kicked Hawk’s gun a safe distance. “Now, there are a couple of more parts to this little deal. You threatened me at the courthouse and tried to kill me. You also tried to kill Colby. The next conclusion I draw is that Quillen paid you to kill a bunch of other people in several states.”

  Hawk knew he had no bargaining position and nodded his head.

  “Very good. Final choice. You’ll either be going to the death chamber, or, if you’re willing to confess and dime out Quillen…I think that’s the term you thugs use…anyway, you turn state’s evidence, I know the District Attorney, and I suspect he’ll let you cop for life with no parole. So what’ll it be, death chamber or life with no parole?”

  Hawk twisted just a little and Jack shoved the cane farther into his throat, making it even more difficult for him to talk. “It was all Quillen’s idea,” Hawk said in a hoarse whisper.

  Before J.D. could call for help, two police cars drove up lights flashing and sirens wailing. Officers leaped from the cars with guns extended.

  “About time you guys got here. We’ve been needing some backup. Look in my back pocket. I’m a Tarrant County Reserve Deputy.”

  One of the officers pulled Jack’s wallet from his pocket and confirmed what he had said. “Who’s this guy?”

  “Serial killer. We’ve got evidence of about forty deaths in several states. If you’ll permit me, I’ll call Joe Sherrod. This guy wants a plea bargain.”

  Jack called Joe and explained what had just come down.

  “Damn it, Jack. You could have got yourself killed. I’ll do the deal. Let me talk to one of the officers. They can bring him to my house. We’ll take a recorded statement and have him sign a short confession.”

  Joe was standing on his front porch, already dressed in a suit and tie. The officers dragged Hawk up the steps and pushed him into a chair on the porch. Joe turned on a pocket recorder and explained that if Hawk told everything he knew about the killings and Quillen’s involvement, he would get life from Tarrant County. Joe explained further that he could not control what other district attorneys did, but thought they would follow his lead. Hawk nodded his understanding. With Jack’s help, Joe recorded all of the murders Hawk could remember and confirmed that all had been ordered by Quillen. There would be wire transfers, documenting his payment a few weeks after the murders. The last one he covered was the suffocation of Robert Jones. Hawk confessed to that one, too. Joe looked at Jack and nodded. When Joe was approaching the end of the confession, Hawk said he had picked up some valuables from Quillen that night and was supposed to deliver them to Meacham Field.

  Joe looked at Jack. “Looks like we better hightail it over to Beau’s house. We don’t have a search warrant. So, we’ll have to wait for him to leave. First, let me call another couple of squad cars to take care of Hawk.”

  89

  Joe positioned his car, Jack’s truck and the two police cars in the street in front of Quillen’s house and instructed them on what he wanted done when Quillen tried to make a run for it. Around four-thirty, a limousine drove slowly around the house. As it approached, the gate opened. When the nose of the limo passed beyond the gate, Joe gave the signal on the radio. Suddenly, the driver was blinded by four sets of headlights on bright. Joe approached the rear door and knocked on the window. Quillen slowly lowered it.

  “Morning, Beau,” Joe said. “What brings you out this early in the morning?”

  “Nice to see you, Joe,” Quillen lied. “I have to be in court this morning and thought I would get a head start to beat the press and the crowds.”

  Joe looked at his watch and shook his head. “Tell you what, just to make sure you’re there in plenty of time, we’ll escort you to the courthouse.” Joe tapped on the driver’s window until the chauffeur lowered it. “We’re going to have a little procession to the courthouse. A police car will lead you with one directly behind. I’ll be next. I suggest you don’t try anything stupid.”

  Joe turned to Jack. “You guys have had a long night and may have a long day coming. Go home and get a shower, and I’ll see you at the courthouse in about three hours. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your friends.�
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  At the courthouse Joe escorted Quillen to a conference room and stationed two cops at the door. Quillen demanded to call his lawyer, and Joe had no choice but to agree. When the lawyer arrived, he talked privately with Quillen and told Quillen to take the Fifth Amendment to every question. Quillen nodded his understanding.

  Before the jury was seated, Quillen was led into the courtroom, now overflowing with reporters, and instructed to take the witness stand. The two cops stood at the door, on high alert for any outbreak. Quillen was followed by Jack and his entourage. This time Jack chose not to unpack anything. He figured that he didn’t need notes for what he was about to do.

  When the judge exited his chambers, he was followed by Joe Sherrod who had been briefing the judge on the events of the night. Joe went to the back of the courtroom and stood between the police officers. The reporters and jurors noted the strange goings-on. All of the reporters knew the district attorney and whispered among themselves about what was about to occur. The judge nodded at Jack.

  Before he could begin, the door squeaked, and Hawk was escorted into the courtroom by two more cops.

  “Mr. Quillen, you’re the one who arranged for the murder of William Davis, aren’t you?”

  The jurors all looked at one another in shocked disbelief. The reporters began talking until Deputy Waddill finally had to call for order. The one person who didn’t say anything was Ace Leyton. The case was clearly out of his hands. In fact, he stared at the flag over the judge’s left shoulder with a slight smile on his face.

  Quillen looked at his lawyer who nodded. “I respectfully exercise my right to refuse self-incrimination under the Fifth Amendment and decline to answer.”

  “In fact, there are eighteen other Allison Southwest employees who were murdered, including one Robert Jones, all under your orders in an effort to save your bank.”