by DiAnn Mills
Maybe he should pull his grandparents and find a new facility.
He assisted his grandparents through the security gate and on to the designated visitor parking area, where his Ford pickup awaited them, a dual cab deluxe he’d purchased for their added comfort. He couldn’t get there fast enough. Humiliation sank to the soles of his feet. He scanned the FBI building and the towering windows. Just how many special agents were laughing at the HPD officer who brought in his Alzheimer’s-stricken grandfather? Daniel should have stuck to his original stand and refused to take Gramps to the office. He still had the interviews at Silver Hospitality to finish this week.
His grandfather’s problem began two years ago with a continuous inability to balance his checkbook. Then he couldn’t remember if he’d taken his cholesterol and diabetes meds. Confusion. Frustration. Sudden bursts of anger so unlike Gramps. After several medical opinions and a consistent diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, he accepted his condition. He expressed concern about Gran being able to care for him, since she had health issues of her own. Daniel found Silver Hospitality, where Gramps could stay while he worked. Gran insisted on accompanying him.
Gran scooted into the rear seat of the dual cab and buckled in. Gramps was quiet, probably revisiting another world where the past was kinder. He’d been coherent for most of the interview, giving the FBI his observations. It would help if Daniel had an idea where the fifty grand had gone—then he could investigate further. Gramps was convincing, persuading Daniel to look further into what might be going on at the senior care facility. Security was a selling point for Silver Hospitality, but the same technology designed to keep people safe could be reversed with a keystroke.
Torn between logic and his love for the two people who’d raised him, he gave Gramps a smile.
“Jimmy, don’t drive too fast,” Gramps said. “You just got out of jail, and I’d like to keep your record clean.” He clicked his seat belt tight.
“I’m Daniel.” How many times had he corrected Gramps?
“Who?”
“Never mind. I won’t drive too fast. You’re safe with me.” Oh, the truth in those words. Right there with the sharp regret of his grandfather’s illness.
He pulled onto State Highway 290 and drove into town, heading to the Memorial area of Houston and Silver Hospitality.
“Your mom hates for us to be late. She’s made tuna melts and Jell-O.”
“She’s right here, Gramps. In the backseat.”
The old man covered his face. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “No, Jimmy. What a horrible thing to say. I’m not blind.”
Daniel swallowed the bitterness of Gramps’s condition. Gran touched his shoulder. “We’ll be home soon.”
12:30 P.M. THURSDAY
Laurel believed in kindness. She’d learned it firsthand from Miss Kathryn, the most caring person who’d ever walked the earth, a dear foster mother. Su-Min, on the other hand, was irritated that Officer Hilton had brought his grandfather in for the interview. She’d called it a waste of taxpayers’ time and resources.
Laurel felt differently. Investigating crimes was not a waste. She stared at her cell phone, her thoughts lingering on Earl Hilton’s bright-blue eyes contrasted against his balding white hair and snow-colored full beard. He deserved better treatment.
Pressing in Daniel Hilton’s number, she hesitated, not sure why. The call was prompted by her commitment to the elderly. Nothing more. He answered on the first ring.
“Mr. Hilton, this is Special Agent Laurel Evertson with Houston’s FBI. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“I’m driving to work. Have a little time. I didn’t expect you’d get back so quickly. Of course, the likelihood of the FBI considering my grandparents’ case is nil.”
“Quite the contrary. We’re committed to going forward with the investigation. Would your grandmother be willing to help develop a composite of Russell Jergon?”
“I’m sure she’d agree. Would you take that same pic to Silver Hospitality for possible identification?”
“Yes, agents would handle that.”
“I’m surprised the FBI is taking my grandparents’ claims seriously.”
She preferred not to give him details regarding the other cases. At this point, this was an FBI matter. If and when they joined forces with HPD as part of a task force, then he could learn more. “Whether they are related to other cases the FBI is investigating remains to be seen. Our concern is the scam and a death.”
“Here in Houston, statewide, or national?”
“I’m not free to give more information. When the public can be informed, we’ll provide a press release.”
“I’m not the public or the community. I’m a police officer, and I will find the answers with or without your help.”
“Officer Hilton, this is FBI jurisdiction. I’m sure your superiors will provide information on a need-to-know basis.”
“My grandparents are my jurisdiction.”
Stalemate. Yet she understood his stance. “I sincerely wish there was something you could do.”
“I’ll be the judge of my capabilities.”
She didn’t want a family member involved in the investigation. Those situations meant reactions from the heart instead of logic and training. It also led to mistakes resulting in death. “I strongly advise against your involvement, Officer Hilton.”
“I understand you’re not at liberty to report your findings, but these are my grandparents, and I will not sit idle. I’m committed to this investigation. Is that understood?”
CHAPTER 6
1:15 P.M. THURSDAY
Laurel glanced at the clock on her computer. The conversation with Officer Hilton still weighed on her. She understood how he felt, but the FBI were experienced in investigating white collar crime and murder, if that was the case.
Time she paid a visit to Morton Wilmington, without Su-Min. She’d explain to her later. Her friend had been distancing herself lately, and Laurel had no clue why . . . except Su-Min was anxious to climb the FBI ladder. Today’s meeting with the Hiltons demonstrated a lack of compassion. No crime was a waste of time and resources. One day soon, Laurel would ask Su-Min if her career goals had stepped in the way of her commitment to protect the people and businesses of their community.
In reality, Su-Min would be right in objecting to what Laurel planned to do this afternoon. Interviewing a suspect alone went against FBI protocol, but Wilmington might lose his temper and tell her what she wanted to know. For her own peace of mind, she had to find out if he was working an elderly fraud. Too many unscrupulous people feasted on the older generation. They earned their trust and victimized them, but this group sought those with the minds of children. The victims who remembered the company’s name or its representatives never matched. What bothered her the most was the sale of life insurance policies and what that could mean if the bad guys wanted to collect sooner than a natural death. And did that happen to Tom Hanson?
A smart operation, but not infallible.
She picked up a framed quote on her desk.
When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people.
ABRAHAM JOSHUA HESCHEL.
Earl Hilton’s words bannered across her mind. “Human dignity is involved here.”
Resolved, she drove toward the meeting. Chain-link fence and barbed wire surrounded Huntsville State Prison, home to a high percentage of repeat offenders and those who boasted of gang involvement. In years gone by, the prison hosted a rodeo for the surrounding community. Today it was only the local hotel for those who thought they were above the law.
Each time she deliberated Wilmington’s model prisoner record and his allegation of finding God, she affirmed her conviction of why a huge chunk of the smartest people on the planet were criminals. The man was brilliant, but she had a few street smarts of her own, and the only way to get the edge on Wilmington was a face-off.
She left everything in the car except her ID and a copy of the e-mail wi
th the encoded message. Her heart thudded, betraying her misgivings, but soon she faced a door opposite Plexiglas. She shivered, wishing she’d learned from textbooks what she’d experienced from life. With Morton Wilmington, her street smarts might need a refresher course.
Her nemesis appeared in the doorway. Smug. Full of confidence that came from those he’d crunched or eliminated while amassing money and power. She hadn’t seen him since the day of his sentencing, after life took another ugly twist. Then he wore a contemptuous sneer and an imported silk suit worth more than her US-made car. Later he verbalized how she’d meet her demise.
The guard stood behind him, a young man who looked fresh out of the corrections academy.
She studied Wilmington in an attempt to see his soul, as if he had one. Still buff. Still carried his ego in his hip pocket. Still a lady’s man from the way his gaze ravaged her. But now he resembled a painter wearing a white jumpsuit. He seated himself, his hands cuffed in front of him. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her.
“Hello, Morton. Still playing Monopoly?”
“It’s my favorite.”
“How’s the hotel business?”
“Did well on Boardwalk, but I misplaced my get-out-of-jail-free card.”
Same wit. “Heard you were looking for it.”
“I am, without a single bribe.” He smiled, a lift of the right side of his mouth that didn’t dispel the anger in his eyes. “I’ve achieved the game’s objective—I’m still the richest player inside and out.”
“I’m not bankrupt.”
“Pretty lady, you didn’t pay the rent, and the longer time passes, the more you owe.”
She reached deep for the balance in her training and logic. “I recall the situation a little differently. The rent was more than paid.”
He shook his head. Paused. Ah, the dramatics. “The past has a way of jumping into the present.”
“Like the agent you murdered?”
He glanced down as though filled with regret, but the truth always surfaced. “Guilt is a flesh-eater.”
She willed her emotions to stay stoic. “It was murder. Your so-called repentance doesn’t change a thing.”
His body language stayed intact. “Justice prevailed,” he said. Did Laurel imagine the sneer in his tone?
“I’m sure his wife and kids think differently.”
His face softened. “I’ve been tamed. My slate’s clean according to my status with God.”
Her stomach rolled. “You expect me to believe you?”
“Your opinion doesn’t matter to me. Only God’s.”
“Your charade doesn’t fool me.”
“Doesn’t have to.” He smirked as though he’d uncovered every detail of her life. “I know your habits like you know mine. There’s a big difference between us. While I’m in church on Sundays, you’ll be riding Phantom, wishing you hadn’t spent your childhood in a foster home, wondering why no one ever loved you. Hoping no one finds out you see a shrink. Trying to figure out what’s wrong with you.”
She glared at him, the words forming. But could she handle his response? “Do you still want me dead for sending you to prison? I’d like to hear where I stand before I talk about another matter. Total honesty.”
“Do you still want me dead for shooting your partner?”
“I asked first.”
“I’d like nothing more than to see you pay for what you did to betray me.” The lines around his eyes deepened. “But until you make your peace with God, you’ll spend every day of your life looking over your shoulder for who plans to end you. The sad part is you’ll welcome it. I hope you find comfort soon. I found mine.”
His words tore at her heart, frightening and bold, a combination that unnerved her. “I’m here to discuss an FBI matter.”
“Alone?”
“I’m working on an elderly fraud case that implicates you.”
“Impossible.”
She unfolded the e-mail and pushed it to where he could read it. “The encoded message at the bottom is very much like the one you used with your men. Note the Greek numbers and Latin letters.”
Not a muscle moved on his face.
“I know you recognize it, and your memory hasn’t changed. What does it say?”
“Not today, sweetheart. Besides you’ve already figured most of it out. I have no idea about any elderly fraud case.”
She swallowed her ire. “Are you working a scam while praising God?”
He pressed his lips together. “No.”
“Why’s the encryption so much like yours?”
He didn’t blink. Only stared.
She kept her attention on him. Two could play this game.
“I can’t help you,” he said.
“Why? If you’re serious about the faith thing, then wouldn’t you want these innocent people protected? The victims are elderly with dementia. A man is dead, possibly because of this scam.”
“I do care, but the situation’s complicated.”
“Like your bank account?”
He shook his head. “Some areas of my life are private.”
“What can I say to convince you to cooperate?”
He sighed. “Nothing.” He stood and nodded at the guard.
“I’m prepared to make an offer.” Laurel was feeling desperate, grasping at straws.
“What kind?”
“Recommend parole.”
He laughed. “And who will keep me alive? You? I’ve seen you in action, Laurel.”
“You have my word. Help the FBI close in on the fraud case, and I promise to help shorten your sentence.”
“You gave me your word when you said you’d marry me. What’s the difference now?”
“This has nothing to do with back then. But if you won’t assist in the case, I’ll do everything in my power to block an attempt at parole.” She paused for him to consider her offer.
“I’ll think about it. This would be the deal—you don’t pull the trigger on me, and I’ll do my best not to pull one on you.”
CHAPTER 7
6:50 P.M. THURSDAY
Abby Hilton linked one arm with Earl’s and the other through Daniel’s before walking across the parking lot of the funeral home. All around her were old, blue-haired people wobbling in like it was their last day. A lot like her, though she’d never admit it. Seemed like they were attending more and more of these things, but then age had a way of catching up with you.
Hadn’t she just talked to Tom earlier this week? He thought she was his sister, but that didn’t matter. He laughed. Drank lemonade. Talked about living on a farm and milking cows.
Now he was in eternity, mind and body healed.
As they entered the funeral home, Abby squeezed Earl closer to her. Maybe she could prolong the inevitable, the passing from one life to the next, leaving her empty and alone. Memories were supposed to suffice.
Hogwash.
A woman couldn’t cram seventy years into a thought that had no body. She couldn’t spoon up to a warm husband and feel his love from every pore of his skin. Smiles were priceless, and a camera could never catch the special ones meant only for her since she was a girl.
Death. Who needs it? She lifted her chin. She and Earl would go together. Daniel shouldn’t have to take care of them like children when he needed his own wife and kids. She swallowed the emotion threatening to dissolve her. Life and death were a part of human existence. Birth came with joy, and most deaths were a celebration of life . . . when they occurred naturally. That ushered in again her fear that Tom’s heart attack had assistance. Had Russell Jergon collected on a life insurance policy?
She shivered. If that were so, then who’d be next? Jerks. She might go after them herself. All her life, she’d faced challenges with faith and resolve, but this was different. She couldn’t fight what she couldn’t see.
Tom’s daughter walked their way.
“So good to see you,” Abby said and released Daniel but not Earl. “Why, Tom and I were talking just
this week and he told me how you’d beat him at target practice when you were but ten years old.”
The woman, a grandmother in her own right, dabbed at her eyes. “Daddy and I had a special relationship. We had a bond that made us closer than father and daughter, more like friends.” She sighed. “Oh, Abby, I’m going to miss my friend.”
“I understand,” she whispered, unable to stop her quivering lips. “More than you know.” Each time she lost a friend or loved one, a piece of her heart broke and fell onto her life’s journey. What would she ever do without Earl? She kissed the woman’s cheek and watched her walk away.
Daniel touched her shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking. I promise to find out who’s responsible for the fraud.”
8:45 P.M. THURSDAY
After leaving his grandparents at their home, Daniel remembered the days when his grandfather’s opinion mattered to the businesses and city of Houston. No expansion project ever began without Earl Hilton’s financial wisdom. He’d served in the Korean War and earned a Purple Heart. Had limped ever since. A hero in every sense of the word.
Gramps’s mind was failing faster than the average stats for Alzheimer’s sufferers. He wouldn’t recover . . . only sink permanently into his own world.
Daniel’s phone rang. The screen displayed Marsha Leonard’s number.
“This is Officer Daniel Hilton.”
“We have a problem at the facility.”
“How can I help you?”
“Your grandfather has upset several of our clients with this scam business. I ignored it until tonight after the memorial service when clients’ families approached me with their concerns. I have no idea what to do about the situation.”
Daniel shoved aside the dramatics. “Gramps was a victim of fraud. We’re trying to get to the bottom of it.”
“My office has been flooded with calls and visits by family members. Discreetly questioning staff is one thing, but the gossip has to stop.” Her voice rose, punctuating her words—and unleashing a load of anger in Daniel.
