Deep Extraction

by DiAnn Mills

  “On it.” She typed an e-mail for the request, then rubbed her left wrist.

  Cole scrolled through the documents on his laptop. “Do we have anything from the imaging of Anita Krantz’s personal devices?”

  Max turned his head to cough before speaking. “Tori and I have the report. I’ll forward the findings. Sorry you weren’t copied.”

  A new Max? “Information we can use?”

  “Possibly,” Tori said. “But nothing connected to the hack. Some texts indicate power lunches and late-night rendezvous points with the distinction of ‘after the others leave.’ References to ‘our office.’ She sent an e-mail informing Nathan that Preston Ustach wanted a meeting regarding a potential problem at the Texas City drill site, and Nathan told her to set it up.”

  “Was she present during the session?” Cole said.

  “No. She confirmed Preston and Nathan met at the office twice—on the Friday before the bombing and again the afternoon before he was killed, but she was not privy to what transpired. Security camera footage backs up the first time stamp, but not the second. I phoned her, and she claimed Nathan hadn’t confided in her. If there’s a follow-up paper trail, we haven’t found it. Is she cooperating or covering up? Both men are dead.”

  Cole typed into his laptop. “Next question is about Ustach. Would he have shared with anyone what he didn’t tell us or the agents who investigated the bombing?”

  “We can begin with his mother.” Max pulled out another stick of gum. “Hate this stuff. Rather have a cigarette.”

  The words tumbled out of Cole’s mouth before he could stop them. “My granddad used to call cigarettes nails in a man’s coffin.” He held up his hand. “I’m done with the lecture. Let’s get back to what we’re doing. Nathan’s personal cell had a few flags—late-night calls to Anita Krantz and several from untraceable numbers, one with a geo-stamp of Krantz’s address. Whoever’s seeking his attention preferred contacting him between the hours of 12:30 and 3:30 a.m. Those were traced to a burner phone.”

  Tori took over. “When I talked to Sally a few minutes ago, I asked her about the calls. She said Nathan told her they were from men at the drill sites, and he always took them outside their bedroom.”

  “Dead end there unless the caller switches to phoning Sally,” Max said. “Add to your request for the security footage at Moore Oil & Gas to include every person who came in and out over the last four months.”

  “Another thing,” Tori said, “and it’s on our list. I had a background completed on the protection company hired to guard the Moore home. Every employee comes highly recommended. Strict guidelines, and the ones working now for Sally have an impressive record.”

  “Cole—” Max swallowed hard as though stifling a cough—“remind me of what you and Nathan talked about that last morning?”

  “Hiring additional bodyguards because he and his family had been threatened. His concern lay with his family. He didn’t reveal the wording of the texts or the calls. He just said, ‘Another threat.’ According to Nathan, when he attempted to reply, no one answered.”

  “What else did he say?”

  Cole had relived their conversation at the gym a dozen times, searching for a clue to his death. “I suggested he send Sally and the boys out of town until the matter was resolved. Nathan said no. He’d worry more about them away. Just before we headed to the showers, he took a phone call, said it was the office.” He focused on the cell records listed on his laptop screen. “Looks like Anita made the call.”

  “No surprises there.” Max turned to Tori. “What else do we have?”

  She scrolled through her phone. “Must be our lucky day, or unlucky depending on what we can pull from these cell phone records.”

  Cole hadn’t exonerated Anita Krantz, but he’d been wrong before. “Does Anita have any link to the EPA?”

  Tori spoke up. “None that we’ve noted, nor to any activists.”

  Cole read his notes, thinking. “Lawd’s attorney hasn’t released the name of his alibi. Do you suppose he had to lay the groundwork?”

  Tori massaged her neck muscles. “The man we met was not the same man the director of St. Luke’s HR described.”

  “No ring on the director’s left hand,” Max said. “Did a little probing. My cousin works at the hospital, says Lawd is popular with the women. Not quiet or a loner.”

  “Did you ask if he dated the director?” Cole said.

  “Yep. My cuz said not to her knowledge.”

  “Most of his coworkers are women,” Tori said. “I found him nauseating and lacking in character.”

  Cole leaned back in his chair. “I have a name linked to an activist that I want to check out. Then there’s Franc Lawd or Anita Krantz. Someone is funding these crimes.” He drummed his fingers on his laptop. “I’m going to call Mrs. Ustach, see if there’s anything she’s remembered.”

  “Can I?” Tori said. “She might find talking to a woman easier than a man.”

  “Sure.” He wrote her number on a slip of paper and handed it to her.

  “Mrs. Ustach, this is Special Agent Tori Templeton from Houston’s FBI. I’m working with US Marshal Cole Jeffers, whom you met the day of your son’s death. We are so sorry about your loss, and we want to find the person who’s done this. Do you mind if I put this call on speakerphone?” Tori smiled into the phone and pressed Speaker after the woman agreed. She laid her phone on the table between them.

  “Are you alone?” Tori’s tone offered compassion.

  “No, ma’am. My daughter’s here. She just made coffee. I’d offer you a cup if you were here.”

  Tori tilted her head. “Thank you. Call me Tori, please. How are you doing today?”

  “Confused. Angry. Sad. How could God do this to my family? We’ve all served Him faithfully.”

  The woeful tone of Mrs. Ustach’s voice yanked at Cole’s heart.

  “We’ll find out who’s behind the crimes committed against your family.”

  The woman sighed. “But it won’t bring Preston back. I keep looking at the photos, football awards, sweet pictures he drew when he was a boy, all the cards he gave me on special occasions, and the gifts. It’s comforting even though I’m crying.”

  “You have wonderful memories. Those will help in your sorrow.”

  Cole wanted to take Tori’s hand, but not with Max there. Listening to Mrs. Ustach reveal her gut-wrenching emotions was part of the job . . . unfortunately.

  “I lost my brother two years ago,” Tori said. “And when sadness threatens to overtake me, I remember the good times. You can do that too.”

  “I’ve always heard there is something very wrong about a child passing before a parent. Oh, to have taken the bullet instead of my precious boy.”

  Tori blinked back tears. “I talked to him for a while just before it happened. He had a quick smile. Handsome too.”

  “Preston looked like his dad. Never could resist that smile. He was a charmer.”

  “He asked me to dinner.”

  “He’d have taken you someplace nice. Gotten all dressed up. Worn a jacket. Shined his boots.”

  “Tell me your favorite story,” Tori whispered.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Preston was eleven years old and playing baseball. He hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet and spent a lot of time on the bench. He refused to give up. Practiced with his dad until he had his catchin’ down good and could slam a ball hard. He kept pestering the coach to put him in. It was the bottom of the last inning and his team was down four runs. No hope at all. The coach told Preston to send the ball into glory. And he did. He hit the first ball pitched to him and smacked it out of the field. After that the coach let him bat all the time. Called my Preston his glory-hitter.”

  Tori glanced at Cole, her eyes watery and red. “Thank you. It’s a lovely story. Mrs. Ustach, had he mentioned anything about the oil rig bombing or being in danger?”

  “At the time I didn’t think
anything about his comments. Preston was always on the side of the folks who were hurting, and he hated the idea of what happened at the drill site. And Mr. Moore’s death. He said he suspected a man who’d gotten past security. The man lied about something Mr. Moore had done and asked a lot of questions about the company. Preston escorted him off and told him never to come back.”

  Franc Lawd. But he had an alibi.

  “Did your son give the man’s name?”

  “No. Refused to talk about it once he saw I was scared for him, but he said the FBI were on it. They’d get it handled and for me not to worry.” She sighed. “I’m no fool. He had proof and was killed for it.”

  “Did Preston have lots of friends there?”

  “That’s hard to say. Preston liked everybody, but he only buddied up to Jose Aznar. That dear man is so upset. I asked him if he knew anything that could help you folks, but he said no.”

  Cole wanted another conversation with Aznar.

  “Did he ever mention a man by the name of Franc Lawd?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  “Mrs. Ustach, you’ve been a big help by talking to us. I promise you, we will find out who has done this to your family.”

  “Honey, nothing will bring my Preston back. I know where my boy’s at, and he’s a glory-hitter in heaven. But whoever’s done these awful things needs to be stopped. That’s you and your friends’ job.”

  ALBERT EASED ONTO a worn chair in Erik’s small bedroom. Before his son got sick, Albert had used the room as an office to pay bills and keep his finances in order. He wanted Erik in the master bedroom, but he refused.

  In the shadows, Erik’s face looked gray and frightfully thin.

  “Anything I can get you? Ice chips? Some soup?”

  His son glanced at the window. “I’m good, Dad. Feel decent today.” He scooted himself up in the bed. “Would you mind opening the blinds? Feels like a tomb in here.”

  Albert blinked back a tear and stumbled on his way to the window.

  “You’re drinking a lot. I smell it on you constantly.”

  “Just a little to soothe my nerves.”

  “My fault. You need something to help you through this. Sorry to have mentioned it.”

  Albert sighed. “It’s all right.” He adjusted the light filtering into the room. “That okay?”

  “Perfect. You know, I’ve been thinking about Nathan. We had some good times growing up. Miss him. Sure hate what happened.”

  Albert stuck his hands in his pockets. “I don’t remember anything worth holding on to about the man.”

  “Dad, sit by me. Let’s talk about this. Nathan’s gone, and I hate the bitterness in you.”

  Albert nodded and found his old spot on the chair. “What do you want me to say?”

  Erik closed his eyes. “That you forgive him. I have.”

  “Not sure I can put aside the past.”

  “Think about it, will you? I don’t want my life to end knowing you’re bitter about Nathan. I’ve let go.”

  Albert swallowed hard. The nagging thought persisted . . . the one keeping him up at night. He’d contracted Hanna to hack the pacemaker, but then he realized Nathan’s death wouldn’t solve a thing. In fact, it made matters worse. While Nathan was alive, Albert could continue to talk to him, make him see his negligence was sending Erik to an early grave. All Albert wanted was the money owed to his son to pay for the treatments in Germany.

  “Dad, Nathan left a widow and two sons. The situation is sad for Sally but even worse for those boys who won’t have a father. I’ve always had you, and they will have no one.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  A chill swept through him again. Could he have been drunk and given the go-ahead to execute the hack—execute Nathan—and not remember?

  AT FIVE THIRTY THURSDAY EVENING, Cole and Tori were walking to the parking lot with Max. A long day of reading reports, discussing them, and ordering interviews and backgrounds. Cole had spent time on the EPA activist theory, talking to the investigative team who’d worked it—including Max—and come up dry.

  “I want to interview Dale Bentley about the bombing. He’s not on the FBI list but on my personal one. A few years ago, I arrested him in a bombing case involving a state representative. Did eighteen months.”

  “Why?” Max stopped on the pavement.

  “May be a long shot—”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll let you handle the business this evening. I need a good night’s sleep.”

  “No problem. Sleep hard, and we’ll work in the morning.”

  “Text me a pic of the confession.” He laughed, but it sounded forced.

  “What can I do?” Tori said. “Need me to pick up dinner?”

  “I’m not an invalid.” Max’s voice held the familiar growl. “Just get the job done. End this mess.” He slowly walked to his car.

  “How do we convince him that he needs more treatment?” Tori said.

  “Wish I knew. Are you going with me?”

  “Oh yes. Your long shot might be an ace.”

  He smiled. “I’ll drive. Once we’re finished, I want to talk to the Moores, show them pics of Franc Lawd, Preston Ustach, and the wounded man. Possibly Bentley. We’ll see how the interview goes.”

  Cole parked his truck at the apartment complex where Bentley lived. The building needed a paint job, broken windows replaced, and six dump trucks on duty for eight hours to haul away the junk. Drug dealers negotiated while smoking the disgustingly sweet stench of pot in the midst of filthy children who reeked of urine and lack of parenting.

  “Did Bentley work alone in the past?” Tori said.

  “Had a partner, but he died in the takedown.”

  “What else?”

  “Originally from Phoenix. Moved here fourteen years ago. In and out of jail for drugs. Suspected in the murder of a dealer from Honduras. He talks smack when it comes to government interference in his lifestyle. Goes by Big D. The rig’s IED is similar to his signature.” Cole opened the truck door and Tori followed.

  They climbed steps to a second-floor apartment where Bentley was talking to three other guys—all drinking beer. Could be a problem in the interview.

  “Dale Bentley,” Cole said, flashing his badge.

  “We’ve met.” He took a long drink and squeezed the can before tossing it over the railing. A real powerhouse. “Need to make your quota, Mr. US Marshal?”

  “FBI Special Agent Templeton and I need to ask you a few questions.”

  Bentley glared down his long nose. Brow and ear piercings gave him the . . . stereotypical look. “Whatcha want?”

  “We’re investigating a bombing and two murders connected to Moore Oil & Gas.”

  “Don’t waste your time talkin’ to me. I’ve been out of town until this afternoon. You’re lucky. Just unloaded my stuff.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Phoenix. My mother died.”

  “Sorry to hear that. When did you leave Houston?”

  “Three weeks ago. Had to take care of business with my mother.”

  “Who can I contact there for verification?”

  He gave Cole a name and phone number. Bentley smiled at Tori. “You’re hot, girl. Come on back without the cowboy, and you can welcome me home. We could have a good time. The door’s unlocked.”

  “I’ll remember the invitation.”

  Cole and Tori entered the Moore home. He wished he had better news, but the more they explored the crimes, the higher the body count.

  Sally escorted them to the kitchen, where the boys were talking with their grandparents. Although the facade was in place, distrust streaked her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. Everything about a man she’d loved had crumbled.

  “You two okay?” Lance said. “Heard the latest about the shooting in Texas City.” The teen had experienced too much tragedy. “It keeps getting worse.”

  Cole hid his exhaustion. “We’re on it. Like you, Tori and I want arrests made.” He greeted Kit
and Wes. Distrust there too.

  “Would you like iced tea, coffee?” Sally said, her tone absent of hospitality.

  Tori seemingly ignored the emotional ice between them and hugged her. “No. We won’t stay long. Thought you’d like to hear about our findings.”

  “All of them?”

  “No, Sal, only what we can relay.” Tori scanned those present. “No reason any of you shouldn’t hear this.”

  “Sit down.” Sally pointed stiffly to the empty chairs at the table.

  Cole and Tori obliged, and he began. “Cell phone records indicate several texts and calls to Nathan’s personal phone came from a burner. We assumed this before requesting the report. Nothing on your devices raised a red flag.”

  “What about Anita?” Sally said.

  “Still under investigation. To date, we have no evidence implicating her in the crimes. I’m concerned about your welfare—of the whole family, including Kit and Wes. After what’s happened in Texas City, the consensus is the people responsible for the crimes are not taking chances on being identified.”

  Wes cleared his throat. “What are you suggesting? The bodyguards Sally hired are stationed 24-7 outside the house. They ID all those coming and going. The boys and Sally don’t go anywhere without them. They keep a log and monitor Kit’s and my business too.”

  “I’m not comfortable with the risk assessment. Once Tori and I are finished here this evening, I’d like for you to consider witness protection until this is over.”

  “With the US Marshals?” Sally said. “Cole, we haven’t been threatened to the point I want to leave my home. I appreciate the suggestion, but not yet. I have Nathan’s funeral arrangements. If we receive any threats, then I’ll agree to the boys. But I’m not going anywhere until my husband is buried.”

  “The killer won’t send you his schedule or make it convenient for you. How would you feel if something happened to one of the boys?”

  “The bodyguards are sufficient. They have military backgrounds. We have taken precautions to ensure our safety.” Sally’s voice rose. “Boys, what are your thoughts?”