Color of Murder

by John Foxjohn

  * * * *

  Half a mile away from LaQuinta Inn where the six agents watched the tape, the sheriff tramped into a private nightclub at the loop and Highway 59.

  Peterson found a seat in the back, away from the band and hearing of everyone. It wasn’t long before Spivey, Post and Bevins joined him. They ordered their drinks and waited for the fifth member.

  Ten minutes later, Deputy Willis James ambled in, looked around, and made his way to their table. Spivey scooted over to let him sit down.

  When the waitress left, Peterson asked James, “How’d it go?”

  James smiled. “Like you thought, Pateau and Mason bought it hook, line, and sinker.”

  “I knew we didn’t have to worry about that damn Mason,” Bevins said.

  The sheriff tapped his fingers on the table, took a drink of his beer and set it down. “I know something about this guy. Milam used to tell me stories about him. They weren’t all bullshit, either. He’s supposed to be smart and good.”

  “Yeah. I’ve done a little checking on him, too,” Spivey said. “We can’t underestimate Mason.”

  “What’re we going to do?” James asked.

  They stopped talking when the waitress approached their table and took orders for refills. After she brought them their drinks and left, Peterson said, “From this moment on, we only talk here. Not in the office, home, or anywhere. We don’t know what they’ll bug, but I bet they bug us.” Peterson pointed his finger at James. “You need to win their trust and not give yourself away. We have to know what they’re up to.”

  James nodded. “That won’t be a problem. I was a born actor.”

  Quiet ensued for several minutes. At last, Post asked, “What’ll we do if Mason gets suspicious?”

  The sheriff met each of their gazes. “We have too much to lose here. If he finds out, we’re dead. Let’s ride that horse later, but if he gets in the way, we’ll need to kill him.”

  * * * *

  David rubbed his face. “First bullet hit Justin in the back, and was from a .38. We got lucky. He wore his vest and the bullet lodged there. It was ball ammunition and intact,” Matching it won’t be a problem. All we need to do is find the gun that fired it.”

  Rewinding the tape, they watched it again. First person on the scene turned out to be a Lufkin Police officer named William Freyman. After reading the officer’s statement, they compared it to the tape, which had remained running.

  “Seems to be in order,” Melvin said.

  David nodded. “Yeah, it does, but I want Andy to talk to him anyway.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Morgan asked.

  David rubbed his neck. “I want you to find out everything there is about that car. Medical examiner found the driver’s license in Justin’s hand. I want to know about it.”

  Morgan gave David a long stare. “You probably don’t know this, being new, but this isn’t the normal way the bureau handles things.”

  David breathed deep and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. He’d worried about Morgan when he interviewed him, but there weren’t many administrative specialists applying. He chose and hoped for the best. He hoped he didn’t screw up. He didn’t like the way Morgan treated Melissa or looked at her. For the time, he’d let Melissa handle that end. He knew she could. David rubbed his hands together. “You may not know this, being new to my team, but it is the way I handle things.” David’s gaze nailed Morgan to his seat. “I could care less how the bureau handles things. My concern,” he pointed to the three men on the screen, “Is to nail their butts to the wall.” David glanced at Melissa. She gave him a slight smile.

  He returned his attention to Morgan. “I also want you to find the federal judge in this town. Talk to him. Find out what he’ll expect from us to obtain search and wire warrants.”

  Melvin perked up when he heard about the bugs. “Who’re we tapping?”

  “Don’t know yet. Want to be ready if we need to. One last thing—Morgan, we need warrants for all of Justin’s bank accounts and phone records.”

  “Do you suspect the deputy was dirty?” Melissa asked.

  David’s temper almost boiled to the surface. He cautioned himself to go easy. They didn’t know about his relationship with Justin. “No. I don’t think Justin was dirty. But we need to examine all possibilities.”

  David caught a funny expression from Melissa as she stared into his eyes. David smiled. “We’ll talk later.” She frowned, but nodded.

  “Melvin, I want the plate blown up and the three suspects’ faces blown-up. I want them in sequence.”

  Melvin frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I want them in sequenced frames. For instance, I want the driver’s picture when we first see his face, next picture in the frame, and so on. I want this on all of them.”

  Melvin smiled. “I get it. Like a slide show but with blown-up pictures.”

  “Yep. What’ll you need to do this?”

  “Pictures aren’t a problem. I have the equipment for that. Problem I’ll have is I don’t have a means here to develop them or blow them up.”

  “Check with the police department, first, and see if they can help. If not, find a private company. There’s bound to be a store here in Lufkin that can do it, or let you do it.”

  David paused for a moment to allow the agents to write down his instructions. He indicated Andy. “I want sworn statements from every officer who responded to that crime scene. Talk to the district attorney here about a court reporter.”

  Andy nodded while writing, but a knock interrupted them. Melissa, without David telling her, traipsed to answer the door. She turned to David. “We have a problem. There is a crazy woman out here claiming to be your wife.”

  Everyone in the room smiled, but John. With a serious expression, he asked, “W—why do y—you think—she’s c—crazy?”

  Laughing, Melissa said, “What sane person would claim to be married to David?”

  Beth stepped into the room laughing and hugged Melissa. After kissing her, David introduced her to the other agents.

  “Well. I think we’ve had our cue to leave,” Melissa said.

  When the agents left, Melissa approached David, pointed her finger in his chest, “Fella, we’re here on business. You’d better not be smiling in the morning.”

  Beth winked at Melissa. What about me? Can I smile in the morning?”

  * * * *

  David awoke at 6:30. After sitting on the bed for a moment, he leaned over and kissed Beth.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she turned on her side to face David. “What time is it?”

  David rubbed sleep out of his eyes and yawned. “Mmm. 6:30. I need to get in the shower. Lots to do today.”

  Beth flung the sheets off and rolled on her back. With a mischievous smile on her face, she said, “I haven’t seen you in three weeks.”

  An hour later, after a long, hot shower, David examined his suits he’d hung up in the middle of the motel closet. With all the hangers facing to the rear, a hand span apart, in order by designer, he chose his dark blue Inghirami, three-piece. Moving with practiced skill, his hands tied the Dolce and Gabbana woven silk tie in a Windsor knot. With his breakfront Bianchi shoulder holster on, he removed his Model 1911 .45 from the top drawer and snapped the gun into the holster under his arm. He took a large silver railroad watch, a gift from his grandfather, out of the bedside stand. He’d added a gold chain with a .41 Derringer fastened to the other end. He slid the Derringer into the left vest pocket, and the watch in the right pocket with the gold chain looped over a button.

  After he dressed, he called the others and told them to meet him at his room. Melissa showed up first. When he answered the door, she took one look at his face and punched him on the arm.

  “You sorry dog. You have a smirk on your face.”

  His smirk grew into a large boyish grin. “Sorry. Can’t help it.”

  Ten minutes later, David led all the agents into the living area. After everyone had
a seat, Morgan said, “Something has me puzzled.”

  David leaned back, sipping his coffee. “What?”

  Morgan breathed deep and hesitated.

  “Go on.”

  “Why does everyone think Deputy Milam’s death has to do with drugs?”

  David puckered his mouth. He’d wondered how long it would take one of them to come up with that question. He nodded. “Good question.” He rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. “There’s something all of you need to be aware of. You’ll find out soon enough. First, right before Justin’s death, he was in Washington receiving the national law enforcement officer of the year award. Over the last year, he made eighty-four arrests and confiscated drugs with a street value of over a hundred and fifty-seven million dollars, more than the entire DEA put together—major reason for his award. He had a one hundred percent conviction rate.”

  Their mouths fell open. “One hundred—fifty seven—million—dollars,” John said.

  Morgan lowered his head and looked at David out of the top of his eyes. “No wonder everyone’s thinking about drugs.”

  Melissa, with a frown on her face, head cocked, asked, “David—you always refer to the deputy as Justin.”

  If he hadn’t already been convinced about her qualifications as second in command, her statement would’ve done it. Unlike the others, she had cop ears. She not only listened, she heard, too. He nodded. After a deep breath, he said, “That’s the part I wanted to talk to you about. Before Justin hired on here, he worked as a patrolman with the Houston Police Department.”

  “Then you knew him,” Melvin said.

  David nodded. “I more than knew him. We worked in the same precinct and rode together at times. We were good friends.” He massaged his neck. At last, he raised his head and met their gaze. “Justin’s death is my fault.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Melissa leaned forward, confused. “How’s his death your fault?”

  David breathed deep as he smoothed his hair. “I’m the one who gave him the idea of how to find the drugs. If I hadn’t told him, he would be alive now.”

  Morgan scratched his head. “I don’t understand. What idea did you give him? How’d he find drugs?”

  David thought for a long moment before answering. “I had a theory. Highway 59 runs from South Texas through Houston and all the way through Nacogdoches, then up through Arkansas. I believed it was a perfect drug mule route. Drug runners like to travel major highways at night, highways running through small towns. I showed it to Justin on a map. On Highway 59 North, two semi-large towns, Lufkin and Nacogdoches, stood between Houston and the border of two different states, and both towns have loops around them.

  “North of Nacogdoches, Highway 59 splits and one branch, Highway 259, runs north into Oklahoma while 59 goes northeast into Arkansas and passes a few miles from Louisiana. I figured if I ran drugs, I’d drive 59 North from Houston at night—take the loop around Lufkin, hit 59 again until Nacogdoches, and travel around the loop. I could transport my drugs into Oklahoma, Arkansas, or Louisiana and not worry about cops.”

  Melvin fiddled with the pens in his pocket, a habit he had when something confused him. “I would think daytime would be best to run drugs.”

  David nodded. “It appears the best time, but it isn’t. You have to realize how police departments work. Most major crimes occur at night—disturbances, shootings, fights, and robberies. Police departments are busy answering calls at night, patrolling business areas to prevent burglaries. They aren’t on the loops enforcing traffic laws like they do in the daytime.”

  When the phone rang, David indicated for Melissa to get it, but told her to tell whoever it was to call back in ten minutes. David sat back in his seat, fingers tapping on the chair arm.

  When Melissa returned she mouthed, “Beeker.”

  “I understand how this highway makes a good route. What I don’t understand is how he found the drugs,” Melissa asked.

  David stood and trudged to the window, hands stuffed in his pants pockets, gazing at the scenery before answering. He kept his back to them. “I told Justin I’d set up south of the loop around Lufkin at night and stop vehicles with any traffic violation, no matter how small. I’d run a check on them and ask for permission to search their vehicles.”

  “Drivers gave him permission to search?” Andy, the interrogation specialist, asked.

  David nodded. “They’re afraid he’ll get a search warrant if they refuse. They also think it’ll appear like they’re hiding something.”

  Morgan, the administration specialist, said, “He couldn’t get a search warrant just because they refuse to let him search their vehicle.”

  David pursed his lips and nodded. “You and I know that. Citizens don’t know anything about probable cause or search warrants.” David sat, staring at the carpet.

  “You think that was what he was doing the night he was killed?” Melissa asked.

  Sitting up in his seat, David nodded. “That’s what he was doing.”

  David rubbed his hands together. “Now you know. We have a lot of work to do. We need to find a car rental place and rent separate vehicles since everyone will split up.”

  When the others left, Melissa remained sitting. “You gave everyone a job to do, but me.”

  David smiled. “I know. I have a special assignment for you. I want you to check into someone. I want you to find out where he lives, what he does when he’s off, all that kind of stuff. I want to know what he is up to. Who he talks to, meets, is friends with, everything.”

  Melissa frowned. “You want me to follow him.”

  “Yep.”

  “Who?”

  “Deputy Sheriff Willis James.”

  * * * *

  After leaving the motel, David drove north on Highway 59. Inside the city, the town called the highway Timberland Drive, and it cut through the center. After a left on Denman Avenue and another left on Second Street, he found the police department.

  He figured he needed to talk to some experienced law enforcement people before he did anything.

  He identified himself to a smiling receptionist in a glass-enclosed office, and told her he’d like to speak to the chief.

  Minutes later, a woman in her mid to late forties glided from the rear offices to greet him. His eyes widened at the realization that Lufkin had a female chief. He had nothing against it, but he had never seen a female patrol officer, let alone a chief. He believed their time was coming, but didn’t know it had arrived, yet.

  After shaking hands with David, she told him she was the chief’s administrative assistant, and asked him to follow her. As he followed, he chided himself about making assumptions—something a good investigator didn’t do.

  She indicated a seat across from her desk and sat. “Which officer are you investigating?”

  “Do what?”

  She cocked her head. “You’re here investigating one of our officers, aren’t you? Chief likes to know the details before he talks to you.”

  He caught on. FBI investigated charges of civil rights violations against police officers. He knew this, but being new to the bureau, it never occurred to him. He smiled. “No ma’am. I’m not investigating any Lufkin police officers. I’m in town investigating Deputy Milam’s death.”

  She breathed a relieved sigh and held up one index finger. “Give me a moment.”

  He sat back in his seat and crossed his legs when she trooped out. Several minutes passed while he examined certificates and plaques on the wall.

  When she returned, she told him the chief would see him. David followed her to the chief’s spacious office. Diplomas lined the wall, and a clean, neat walnut desk sat toward the back.

  David stopped dead in his tracks. On the wall, behind the desk, a framed picture hung with the man standing before David. In the picture, the police chief shook hands with FBI Director Baylor, who stood beside Assistant Director Beeker.

  Chief Harlan Spears reminded David of Chief Pores in Houston. He
extended his hand and shook, and asked if David wanted some coffee or anything to drink. When David declined, he dismissed his assistant and had a seat. David sat across from him in a stuffed, cloth chair.

  “How’s Director Beeker?” Spears asked.

  “He’s fine sir. How do you know the director?”

  Chief Spears chuckled. “He and I went through the FBI academy together. I retired from the bureau eight years ago.”

  David nodded, pursing his lips. That’s one screw up. He should’ve checked everyone out around here. He could make the excuse that he had hurried down here and didn’t have time, but the thought never occurred to him to begin with.

  David and Spears chatted a few minutes about their backgrounds, bureau, and people they knew. Spears seemed surprised when David told him about his police background.

  Before they could get to what David dropped by for, the chief’s assistant interrupted them with a message. Spears read the note and asked David if he could wait about fifteen minutes. He had to take care of something right away.

  David stepped out of the office and told the assistant he needed to make a phone call. She told him he could use her phone but he declined and strolled to his car to call Director Beeker.

  When Beeker answered, David asked him about Harlan Spears.

  “He’s a good man. Damn good agent when he worked for us. I should’ve told you he was the chief there.”

  “Sir. Can I trust him?”

  Without hesitation, Beeker answered, “You bet you can.”

  “Thank you for not telling me,” David said.

  “Not telling you what?”

  David puckered his lips. Old bastard knew why he thanked him. “For not telling me I should’ve run a check on the people in this town and county.”

  Beeker chuckled. “You already know. Didn’t need to tell you.”

  David strode into the police department and this time the receptionist hit the buzzer to open the door before David said anything. When David arrived at the chief’s office, his assistant told David it would be a few more minutes.