Blood Money: Joe Dillard Series No. 6

by Scott Pratt

  “So if I… if you found a bunch of silver buried somewhere and you got to keep it, what would you do with it? I mean, how would you turn it into cash?”

  “I guess I’d shop reputable silver buyers and brokers to find the best price,” Joe said.

  “And what? You just sell it to them? Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “Do they write you a check? Hand you cash?”

  “I don’t have a lot of experience with this type of thing, but I suppose it would depend on how much money you’re talking about. I’d think they would analyze the silver to insure its authenticity and purity and then they would either mail you a check or wire transfer the money to an account of your choosing.”

  Charlie opened her mouth to ask another question but caught herself. Joe’s eyes had turned into laser beams. She suddenly felt as though he knew what she was thinking, that he could see into her soul. He’d been trying cases in front of juries for twenty-five years and she’d heard him speak of a sixth sense he’d developed, what he called “the art of detecting bull crap.” Charlie squirmed under his gaze, re-crossed her legs.

  “What if…?” she stammered, “What if…?”

  “Spit it out, Charlie. You’ve gone this far.”

  “What if you wanted to hide the money so nobody knew you had it? How would you do it?”

  Joe took a deep breath, leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. The laser beams emanating from his brown eyes grew brighter, more intense.

  “Charlie, I’m going to ask you a simple question, and I want an honest answer. Have you found gold on Roscoe’s property?”

  Charlie remained silent, but her chin, almost involuntarily, dipped and rose, dipped and rose.

  “So it’s real. The legend is true. Do you know the story? Do you know the story about Carmine Russo?”

  “Roscoe wrote me a letter and told me about it. He left me a map.”

  “How much did you find?”

  “Ninety-nine, I think.”

  “Ninety-nine what?”

  “Bars.”

  “What kind of bars? How big?”

  “I think they’re four hundred ounces each.”

  A long, slow rush of air escaped Joe’s lips. She watched him closely as he silently multiplied quantity by value. He turned to his computer, punched in some numbers, let out a low whistle, turned back.

  “And you found this on Roscoe’s property?”

  “In a cave. But isn’t it my property now?”

  Joe shook his head.

  “Not until a court says it is. If the will turns out to be valid, then I suppose it’s yours, but you know as well as I do that Zane Barnes and his lawyers aren’t going to just stand by and let you take fifty million dollars right out from under their noses. Did Roscoe’s letter say anything about Zane? Does he know about this gold?”

  Charlie nodded. “It said he knows about it, but he doesn’t know where it is.”

  “Then you can count on him and Nathaniel Mitchell being a part of your life for the next several years, and I’m afraid that’s only going to be the beginning. A newspaper reporter from Elizabethton is going to write a story about the gold, Charlie. Once it hits the paper and the internet, all hell is going to break loose. It could even get dangerous for you. You’re going to need to take some steps to protect yourself and to protect the gold, and you’re going to need to take those steps as soon as possible.”

  “What kind of steps?”

  “You should probably turn the gold over to the court. Happens all the time with money. If there’s a dispute over money, the parties turn it over to the court and the court deposits it in an interest-bearing account until the dispute is resolved. Once the trial and the appeals are over, the court gives the money to the winner, or if a settlement is reached, the court splits it up according to the agreement. There is obviously going to be a dispute over Roscoe’s will, so that’s probably what you should do.”

  Charlie was silent for a few minutes.

  “But what if I don’t?” she said. “What if I don’t want to turn it over to a court? I talked to the lawyer in Greeneville that drafted the will and he said he didn’t have any doubt about Roscoe’s mental state. He even said he’d testify in court. And Roscoe’s letter said he didn’t want Zane to have any of the gold. He wanted me to have it. If I turn it over to the probate court or the chancery court or whichever court this ends up in, there’s a chance I’ll never see it again. Or like you said, by the time the case goes through a trial and the appellate process, it could be five years, maybe even ten years, before I can touch any of it. I don’t want to wait that long.”

  “I understand,” Joe said. “Well, to be honest, maybe I don’t. Fifty million dollars is probably more temptation than I can fathom. But my concern is that if you try to keep all this gold and convert it to cash without going through the court system, you’ll wind up with nothing but trouble. You can’t keep something like that a secret, Charlie. Word will get out, and when it does, bad things will happen. You could wind up a victim of your own good fortune. And if you decide to take the gold out of the cave and turn it into cash, you’ll have to pay tax on it. Income tax, which means you’ll have to explain how you got the income to the IRS. If you don’t, you could wind up in jail. My advice – and I assume you came here for advice – is to hire the best probate lawyer you can find, turn the gold over to the court, and let the system sort it out. It’ll take a long time, but just keep on doing what you’ve been doing – study for the bar exam, learn to practice law, get ready to bring your father back into your life. If everything goes well, you’ll be a multi-millionaire before you turn thirty and life will be sweet.”

  “If I decide to turn the gold over to the court, will you represent me?”

  Joe shook his head. “There’s too much at stake. You need someone experienced in probate law, a specialist. If you’d committed a murder, it would be different, but I’m not the guy you want for a case like this.”

  “I have a lot to think about,” Charlie said.

  “You certainly do. I know you’ve been through a lot in the past few days and I know the thought of being instantly rich is alluring, but please, please think this through carefully. I’ve thought about it a great deal this morning, and I have to tell you there’s one thing that really bothers me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If this gold came from Carmine Russo, it has to be blood money. Men like him were glorified thieves and murderers, Charlie. They terrorized people, tortured people, killed people, and they did it all for money and power. I’m not particularly superstitious, but you mentioned karma the first day you came in here to talk to me. What goes around comes around? If that gold is the result of terror and corruption and murder, I don’t think I’d want any part of it. So just think about it carefully, okay? I’d hate to see anything bad happen to you.”

  Charlie stood to leave. She was suddenly exhausted and spoke quietly: “Bad things have already happened to me. My father has been in prison since I was a small child. My mother abandoned me the day after he was sentenced. I’ve lost both of the grandparents who raised me in the past year. Maybe Roscoe giving me this gold is a sign. Maybe it’s my turn to be happy.”

  “Money won’t bring you happiness,” Joe said. “It might make your life easier in some ways, but it will bring its own set of problems.”

  “I think I’m willing to take a few risks,” Charlie said, and she turned and walked out the door.

  Chapter 23

  ON Sunday morning, Caroline and I loaded up Rio, our German shepherd, and Chico, our teacup poodle, and drove to Winged Deer Park just outside of Johnson City. We’d walked hundreds of miles along the trails there over the years, but because of her breast cancer, Caroline had gone through several periods during which she was simply unable to tolerate the strain of sustained exercise. Her latest bout with the disease had been a particularly intense one, so intense that there had been times when I didn’t
believe she would make it through another month, but through a powerful combination of medication and determination, she had rebounded once again and was able to walk a mile or so three or four times a week without too much discomfort.

  We parked near the lake and started up the trail beneath a clear, azure sky. I’d always enjoyed walking with Caroline, spending time with her, but her sickness had changed my perception of, and appreciation for, time. I savored time more, was much more aware of it each day. I had become more patient, sometimes to the point that I surprised myself. Small inconveniences bothered me less, and small pleasures brought me more enjoyment than they had in the past. I’d always been aware that I tended toward intensity, and I don’t think that had changed all that much, but the focus of my intensity had definitely changed. It had turned away from my legal career, away from murderers and thieves and judges and cops and politicians, and I was now focused much more on my life with Caroline and the rest of my family.

  “Am I becoming a bore?” I asked Caroline as we walked past a pavilion while the dogs wandered nearby in search of squirrels.

  “A bore?” she said. “Why would you ask me a question like that?”

  “Because I’m starting to feel like a bore. I’m afraid I’m getting old and boring.”

  “How can you think you’re getting old and boring? Look at you. You’re still gorgeous and sexy and vital. You can still run five miles and barely break a sweat. You’re big and strong and have one of the sharpest minds imaginable. You remind me of the ancient Greeks, Joe, maybe Leonidas. A citizen-soldier, an everyman who is capable of great things when the need arises. A tremendous combination of mind, body, and spirit.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Leonidas, huh? I guess that makes you my Gorgo.”

  “Don’t call me Gorgo. What a terrible name. It sounds like some kind of slimy monster.”

  “But she was a strong woman. A queen.”

  “Who wound up with a dead husband after he marched off to Thermopylae and got himself killed by the Persians.”

  “She was the daughter of a king, the wife of a king and the mother of a king. Now that’s a woman who lived a full and adventurous life.”

  “I like my life better. My father wasn’t a king and my husband and son may not be kings, but I wouldn’t trade my life for hers or any other woman’s.”

  We walked in silence for a couple of minutes before I said, “You’re right. It’s been good, hasn’t it? Ups and downs, ins and outs, joys and tragedies, but all in all, it’s been good.”

  She nodded and smiled at me. “And it isn’t over. We still have a long way to go.”

  I reached out and took her hand. “I know we do, baby. How do you feel?”

  “Good. I feel pretty good. So good, in fact, that I don’t feel like talking about how I feel, so let’s talk about something else.”

  “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

  “Jack and this new girl.”

  “Jack and Charlie? What about them?”

  “He’s in love, Joe.”

  “In love? He barely knows her. What makes you think he’s in love?”

  “I can see it on his face, hear it in his voice when he talks about her. And he actually said the words to me. He said, ‘Mom, I know it sounds silly, but I think I’m in love. I’ve never felt this way about a girl before.’”

  “Of course he hasn’t felt that way before. He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know anything about love, what it feels like, what it means. He’s too young.”

  “He’s older than we were when we fell in love. In fact, he’s older than we were when we got married. He’s older than we were when we had our first child. Have you forgotten?”

  “I suppose I have, or maybe I just choose not to think about it. Do you really think she might be the one for him?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t even met her yet, but I plan to change that very soon.”

  “You might want to hold off for a little while.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s a… there’s a bit of a… complication that you don’t know about. Jack doesn’t even know about it, or at least I don’t think he knows about it.”

  “What complication? What are you talking about?”

  “I’d rather not get into it right now, Caroline, but it’s serious. Could be a huge problem for both of them.”

  She stopped, pulled her hand away from mine, and folded her arms.

  “What is it?”

  “C’mon, don’t do this. Let’s keep walking and talk about something else. I’ll tell you about it some other time.”

  “You’ll tell me now, Joe Dillard. Right now. We’ve been through this a hundred times. You always promise not to keep things from me, and then you go right back to keeping things from me. I want to know what this complication is.”

  “It may not be that—”

  “You said huge problem for both of them. That’s what you said, just a second ago.”

  “But I—”

  “Spill it, mister. I’ll stand here until dark if I have to.”

  Chapter 24

  LATER Sunday evening, after she had fed Jasper, cleaned the dishes, showered and dressed and put on a light dusting of makeup because she was expecting a guest, Charlie walked out onto the back porch. Thick, dark clouds had moved in earlier and hung low over the mountains. It was chilly, and a slight breeze was blowing. She saw a flash of movement in the trees about fifty yards in front of her. She stared at the spot and saw the twitch of a long tail.

  “There you are,” she said. She went back inside to the refrigerator and took out a small bunch of white grapes. She sat down outside and fixed her eyes on the edge of the woods, tossed a grape out into the grass. A minute later, a red fox appeared, stepping cautiously into the fading light.

  “C’mon,” Charlie said. “Don’t be shy. You know they’re not sour.”

  Charlie had noticed him lurking about early in the spring and had started tossing food in his direction: grapes, slices of apple, boiled eggs. Biscuit had seen him a couple of times, but paid him absolutely no attention. She’d named him Reynard after a fabled fox her third-grade teacher had read about in class.

  “I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Charlie said. “Where have you been?”

  He was a beautiful animal, the size of a small dog, with golden eyes and a bushy tail that made up a third of the length of his body. He moved gracefully, and when startled he could run as fast as Sadie. And when the wind was right, Charlie could detect a distinctive odor. Reynard smelled very much like a skunk.

  “That’s it,” Charlie said as Reynard picked up the grape and swallowed it. She tossed another, this time much closer to the porch. He ignored it. She longed to pet him, but she knew he would never allow it. Fifty feet was his limit.

  “Some things just aren’t meant to be touched, are they?” she said.

  Charlie tossed another grape, closer to him. He picked it up and appeared to smile.

  Charlie heard the sound of tires traveling over gravel, coming up the driveway. Reynard bolted into the trees. Charlie turned to see Zane Barnes’s Mercedes crawling toward her. She shivered involuntarily; Roscoe wasn’t yet in the ground, and here was Zane. She heard Jasper banging away at something in his shop and took comfort knowing he was nearby. She braced herself for what she knew would be an unpleasant conversation.

  Barnes cut the engine and got out of the car. He was alone, wearing a brown pullover and khaki pants. It was the first time she’d ever seen him in anything but a business suit. He walked stiffly toward the porch. Charlie stood still, the bunch of grapes still dangling from her left hand.

  “Good evening,” Barnes said. He stopped about ten feet from the porch.

  “What can I do for you?” Charlie’s tone was neutral, neither friendly nor hostile.

  “I just thought we should have a little talk.”

  “About what?”

  “I’d like to make you an offer.”

  “You’re wast
ing your breath. I’m not interested.”

  Barnes’ shoulders rose and fell. He spread his feet a little, squared his shoulders. Charlie smiled to herself. He was taking on the posture of a gunfighter. A very short gunfighter.

  “My father had five hundred acres of land. Some of it, a lot of it, is worthless. But the timbers is worth some money. I’m prepared to offer you three hundred thousand to sign a release and a deed. There’s no need for us to fight over it, no need for a long court battle. We can settle this right here, right now.”

  “Like I said, not interested.”

  “Make a counter offer.”

  Charlie thought about the bar of gold in the trunk in the barn, about the fortune in the cave. Zane probably wasn’t certain that Roscoe had told her, but he had to suspect it. She decided to have a little fun. “Why do you want it so badly? Roscoe said you didn’t really care about him or the land.”

  “That isn’t true at all. I cared deeply about my father, and I care deeply about my heritage. That land is part of my heritage; it’s part of me.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “I don’t intend to let you take it.”

  “I’m not taking anything. Roscoe gave it to me.”

  Barnes snorted. “That will is a joke. My lawyer will tear it apart, piece by piece. You’ll be left with nothing.”

  “Then I won’t be any worse off than I am right now, will I? You, on the other hand, will be paying Mitchell four hundred dollars an hour plus expenses. How much did he stick you for on the conservatorship? Twenty thousand? Thirty? Whatever it was, this will cost you a lot more.”

  “Do you think I care about how much it will cost? I’ll keep you locked up in court for twenty years if that’s what it takes.”

  “I’m young. I have time.”