Dark Money

by Larry D. Thompson

  The creek ended in a marsh about a hundred yards from the Ridgmar parking lot. She got to her feet and slogged through the mud to the perimeter of the lot. After checking for patrol cars, cameras and security guards, she hobbled around the outside of the shopping center to her truck. When she arrived at her truck, she satisfied herself that it had not been disturbed. She dumped her gear behind the seat and drove to the secluded side street with no street lights. She grabbed her sweats from the back and, knowing she could not possibly wiggle out of her pants while seated, she opened the door and stripped them off. She cut her soaking T-shirt into ribbons and wrapped the ribbons around her leg before donning her sweatpants and shirt. She stripped the duct tape from her license plates and climbed back into the truck. Now she had to find a twenty-four hour drug store.

  11

  Shannon nodded at Jack and took a sip from a bottle of water. “Randall, as soon as we clear the partiers, I want your men to secure the ballroom, the front of the house and the patio. In case, you don’t know it, we found a dead security guard out there. Roger, have your CSI team search for slugs. People think the killer fired several times. We ought to find two or three in the stage or walls behind the stage.”

  “Joe,” Jack said, “I was told that she, if it’s a woman, was shooting from the vicinity of the bar over by the patio, the one close to the stage. Should be some casings around there.”

  “Then, at first light, Roger, I want a team to search the grounds, particularly the patio where that guard was killed.” Knowing he had to split up the assignments, he turned to Lance. “Sheriff, give me a half a dozen teams of two men in the woods behind the house at dawn. Tell them to be damn careful where they step. We might get lucky and find a footprint. I’ll tell Max to do his usual internal investigation.”

  “I’m going to head over to the hospital, check the status of the governor and do some preliminary interviews with Walt and his detail,” Jack said. He reached into his pocket and extracted three business cards which he handed to the two chiefs and the sheriff. “Joe, we know we’ll need to interview Edward’s wife and Oscar and his wife as well as O’Connell and the others on the stage. You or I should do that, but not until after the funeral. We’ll make a decision about Lardner and his wife later. I suggest that we meet in your office about four tomorrow afternoon for updates. Unless anyone has anything else, I’m headed to the hospital. Call me on my cell at any time, day or night.”

  Jack parked in the hospital garage and made his way to the front desk. “I’m Deputy Jack Bryant with Tarrant County. Can you tell me what floor the governor is on?”

  The lady behind the desk looked at him. “I can tell you, but you won’t be able to get past the elevators.”

  “Appreciate that, ma’am. If you’ll just give me the floor, I’ll take it from there.”

  “Ninth. It’s the executive floor.”

  Jack nodded, made his way to the elevators, exited on nine and then understood what she meant by it being the executive floor. The reception area looked more like that of a Ritz Carlton than a hospital. Several sitting areas with leather and oak furniture dotted a light blue carpet. The sitting areas were filled with reporters, observing the comings and goings from the elevators and corridors. No cameras were allowed. A breakfast buffet was set up on a credenza under a window looking out toward downtown. Jack glanced at his watch and discovered that it was nearly six o’clock. He assumed the governor was now out of the PACU. Two corridors led to patient rooms. It wasn’t difficult to determine which one had the governor. A large, brown desk has been pulled in front of it. Behind the desk sat a tall, raw-boned, muscular man. His Stetson was on the desk to his side. He was dressed in jeans and a Western shirt. A nametag identified him as Sergeant Willis. The most prominent feature was his badge. It was circular and made from a Mexican five Peso silver coin. The lone star of Texas was cut from the middle. Above it was DEPT. OF PUBLIC SAFETY. Below the star was the inscription, TEXAS RANGER. The inscription in the middle of the star identified the man wearing it as a sergeant in the Texas Rangers, one of the most elite and respected law enforcement agencies in the country. He looked up at Jack and asked in a deep voice, made more so by probably 30 years of cigarettes, “What can I do for you?”

  “Morning, Sergeant. Name’s Jackson Bryant, I’m a reserve deputy with Tarrant County. Can I ask if Walt Frazier is down the hall with the governor?”

  “He is, Mr. Bryant, but only family, DPS, and a few Fort Worth cops are allowed down there. Wait a minute. You said Jackson Bryant. I think I just got a text about you.” He picked up his cell from the desk and studied it for a moment. “You’re the special prosecutor. Joe didn’t waste any time getting you involved. I figured he’d just let us Rangers take it on. Let me see some creds, and you can go on back.”

  Jack pulled a laminated card from his wallet, confirming his name and status with the sheriff’s department. The ranger motioned down the corridor.

  At the end of the corridor he saw several men. Five were dressed in suits with their ties now hanging at half-mast. Another ranger and two police officers stood close by. As Jack approached, one of the officers stepped in the middle of the hall to block the way.

  “He’s okay,” Walt said. “In fact, he’s now in charge of this investigation. Name’s Jack Bryant.” Walt escorted Jack around the officers to where his detail was guarding the door to the governor’s room. Two stood beside the door and two sat in chairs on the opposite wall. All of them had blood shot eyes and were desperately in need of sleep.

  “How’s he doing?” Jack asked, nodding toward the closed door.

  Walt shook his head. “They’re not briefing us. I think it’s still touch and go. They operated for nearly four hours. Took out his spleen and had to repair some major damage to his left lung. Fortunately, the bullet missed his heart.

  “Mrs. Lardner?”

  “She wasn’t hit. She hasn’t left his room since the surgery.”

  “What about you and your men?” Jack asked.

  Walt rubbed his face with both hands before speaking. “I screwed up. I should have taken that bullet. That’s my job.”

  “Whoa, just a minute. You didn’t create that scene. You were trying to monitor two hundred or so people in crazy costumes. What the hell do you think you could have done different?”

  “I can answer that, Mr. Bryant.” It was Wyatt Kamin. “There wasn’t a goddamn thing we could have done differently, except to lock Wolf in his room until the party was over. We followed protocol to the letter.”

  “What about Edward Hale?”

  Walt hesitated and a concerned look flickered across his face before he spoke. “He, he wasn’t our responsibility. Our job was to get Wolf and Petal out of harm’s way.”

  While they were talking, Sergeant Willis walked up to them, briefcase in hand. “Gentlemen, you know the protocol in this situation. I need to confiscate your guns for testing. I’ve got replacements in the case here. We have more members of the protective detail on their way from Austin to relieve you. Should be here any time now. Until then, you’ll just have to hang in here. Coffee’s on the house.” He allowed a slight grin to show on his face.

  The five men unbuckled their six-shooters and handed over their Sig Sauer P229s. Two of them reached for their ankles to retrieve Sig Sauer 936s.

  “I’ll also have a D.P.S. lab guy here shortly to check for gunshot residue,” Sergeant Willis continued.

  Wyatt raised his hands, palms up. “You’ll find it on me. I fired several rounds. Unfortunately, I don’t think that I hit the bastard.”

  Jack hung around to try to get whatever information he could extract from Walt and his detail. Walt had frozen out the rest of the world and moved to a straight back chair where he folded his arms and stared at the governor’s door, as if trying to block everything around him out. Jack’s attempts at conversation were met with grunts and an occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’. For Walt, it was now sinking in. The taking of their guns was just the firs
t step of a long, frustrating and embarrassing process.

  12

  Miriam tried without success to hide her limp as she entered the drug store on Camp Bowie. She smiled at the woman who greeted her and declined her offer of help. She took a blue basket from the stack by the door and went to the back where the pharmacy was now closed and found iodine, large bandages, an ace bandage, and ibuprofen. In the grocery area she added two rolls of paper towels, a package of cloth hand towels, a propane fire starter and a small box of garbage bags. She made her way to the women’s hair section and chose bleach and red dye. Her last stop was for a bottle of red wine. She didn’t need a drink, but thought that it would help deaden the pain she was about to inflict on herself.

  She made her way to the front counter and started taking the purchases from the basket. The clerk stopped her when she reached for the wine.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t sell wine after nine o’clock. State law.”

  Miriam paused and thought. “Point me toward the cold and cough section. I forgot something.”

  “Back toward the pharmacy, aisle eight. I’ll return the wine.”

  She sized up the cough syrups, finding one that had ten percent alcohol. That would be twenty proof, a better pain killer than red wine. She returned to the front and checked out, paying cash and asking the clerk for several extra bags.

  She returned to her truck, placed her purchases on the passenger seat and shut her eyes for a few minutes, hoping the pain would diminish, before starting the engine. Backing out, she looked for cameras and saw none. In ten minutes she was pulling into the Hampton Inn parking lot. By now, she knew where the cameras were and knew to park at the side where she could enter with her card and not have to pass the front desk. Knowing that she looked like she had barely survived a hurricane, she hoped to see no one at the elevator. She was lucky. The elevator was there as soon as she punched the button. Better yet, no one saw her. She exited on her floor, purchases in hand. along with the holster with her gun and knife. The remainder of her gear could remain in the locked truck. She slid the card into the slot and watched as the green light invited her to enter. Inside, she dropped her purchases on the bathroom counter. She knew she had lost blood and needed to rest; only she couldn’t risk bleeding on the bed. Instead, she sat on the toilet, and leaned back. Somehow, she dozed and woke with a start since she knew she had to be out before dawn. She glanced at her Timex Triathlon: 12:30 a.m.

  First, she opened the cough syrup and downed as much as she could without gagging. It would take her several minutes to make the other preparations. Hopefully, the alcohol in the medicine would have some effect. Next, she twisted off the top of the ibuprofen bottle and swallowed eight pills with water. She stripped out of her sweats and placed them in one of the drugstore bags. Next, she carefully removed the second makeshift bandage and took a look at the hole in her leg with the makeup mirror she retrieved from her purse on the bed. “Ugly wound,” she murmured to herself. She took her knife from the holster and washed it in the sink. Next she removed the cellophane from the fire starter. She pushed the button for propane and clicked the trigger. Blue flame erupted from the end. She used the flame to sterilize her knife, moving the flame up and down the blade for two minutes until she was satisfied that it was free of any germs picked up from the guard she killed or from the creeks she had navigated. She allowed a minute for the blade to cool.

  She pushed the bathtub curtain back and laid the knife on the tub with the bottle of iodine and mirror beside it. Last, she tore open the package of cloth towels. She had thought this through and knew that she must perform the surgery in the bathtub so that she could wash away the blood and any debris. She stepped in and sat on the side of the tub with her right leg extended toward the faucet. She opened the iodine and poured it over the wound. She almost cried out, but knew the pain would pale in comparison to what she was about to do.

  She folded two of the drugstore towels and put them in her mouth, hoping to muffle any sound she would make. She picked up the knife with her right hand and positioned the mirror with her left so she could see the wound. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the tip of the blade into her leg. She had cut herself many times over the years. There was some pain, but nothing like now. It started in her leg and seemed to shoot from there through her whole body to her brain and to her vocal cords. She tried not to scream, but failed. At least the towels muffled the screams. She paused to regain control. So far, she had not encountered the bullet. After a minute, she pushed further with the same result; only this time, she felt the tip of the knife hit metal. She again paused to let the pain diminish and flipped her wrist to dislodge the slug. At first nothing happened. She tried again and pulled the knife out with the slug alongside it. She grasped the slug with her left hand and managed to pour more iodine into the wound before she passed out.

  Miriam awoke two hours later, lying in a pool of blood in the tub. The pain was still there, but not as severe as before. She still had the slug in her left hand. She pushed herself to her feet and allowed a minute for the blood to return to her head to overcome the dizziness that enveloped her. When she was somewhat steady, she pulled the shower curtain and turned on the water. She knew it would be cold at first, but thought she needed the shock to clear her head. It worked. She turned the water to warm and let it wash over her. She raised her right leg to allow the water to bathe the wound. She took one of the bottles from the corner shelf and scrubbed. Next she shampooed her hair. The towels that had been in her mouth lay in the tub. She bent slowly so as not to risk passing out and cleaned the tub. When the last of the blood had gone down the drain, she turned off the water and reached for a hotel towel. When she stepped from the tub, she used another towel to dry her hair. Clean once again, she bandaged her leg and wrapped it with the Ace bandage. Feeling slightly better, she made coffee in the room and flipped on the television, hoping for some all night news, She found what she was looking for on CNN. With the Texas governor in the hospital and Edward Hale dead, it was a national story. She confirmed that the governor would live and O’Connell only had a flesh wound in his arm. She retrieved her cell from her purse and called her dad. He picked up on the first ring.

  “You okay, baby girl?”

  “I’m okay, Pa. Didn’t go exactly as planned. I took a bullet in my right thigh, but it didn’t hit the bone. I cut it out with my knife, just like you taught me when we practiced on that deer I shot. Mission went exactly as we were directed. Our client should be happier than a pig in shit.”

  Colonel Van Zandt laughed. “Sounds like you’re going to be okay. You heading out of there?”

  “In a little while. I bought some bleach and red dye. Any cameras will see a red head leaving the motel. Figure that might throw off the posse for a little while. I may need to spend the night somewhere on the road. It’s a long drive and I haven’t had much sleep. Expect to see me roll in tomorrow night.”

  13

  By eight o’clock five fresh detail agents arrived from Austin, dressed in shirts, suits and ties that must have just come from the cleaners the day before. They formally relieved the haggard men that had preceded them. Their leader reminded Walt that they had forty-eight hours to unwind before the process would start. It took some persuasion, but Jack finally convinced Walt to spend the night with him before driving to Austin the next day.

  Walt had already called his wife in the middle of the night to assure her that he was fine. When they pulled out of the garage, Walt again called Mary to tell her he was going to crash at Jack’s place and would probably spend the night. Since they were only five minutes away from the Residence Inn on Seventh where Walt and the rest of the detail were staying, Jack drove him to the motel and waited while Walt checked out. Walt assured him that he could drive the ten minutes to Jack’s house. Jack led the way, but watched his rear view mirror for any signs of sleep deprived driving. There were none.

  They took Seventh past the museum district to Camp Bowie and fol
lowed it west to Hillcrest where they turned right. Taking a left on Crestline, they circled around Rivercrest Country Club, one even older and more prestigious than Shady Oaks. They passed by the club house and turned on Alta Drive. Jack turned into his driveway and waited for Walt to catch up before pushing the remote for the gate. He motioned for Walt to follow him around the mansion to the garage that had ample room for other vehicles to park on the driveway.

  Walt climbed from his state issued Crown Victoria and admired Jack’s house. “Damn, I forgot what kind of place you had. You told me about it, but I didn’t picture this. What is it, 6,000 feet?”

  “Something like that. I mainly live downstairs. Colby stays over a good bit. J. D. has a room upstairs and spends the summers and a lot of weekends in the off season. Your room is up there beside his.”

  “Yeah, from what I read, he may not need to call on his old man for much after this season. Isn’t he projected to be a first or second round draft pick?”

  Jack nodded proudly. “That he is. The Frogs are five and one this year. They’re getting national attention again, and that’s helping. He also carries a 4.0 in computer science. Not bad for a kid that just barely got out of high school. The Marines made a man out of him. Maybe we can make a game or two. Sorry to say it, but you know that you’re going to be spending a lot of time in Fort Worth during the investigation. I’ll give you a key to the house along with the gate and alarm codes.”

  Colby had seen the two cars turn into the driveway, knowing that the driver of the Crown Vic must be Walt. She rushed out the kitchen door, ignored Jack and gave Walt a hug. “Walt, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”