by John Foxjohn
When David turned back to them, Morgan stood with a smug smile. “I talked to the federal judge here. His name is Earl Sontag and he’s been on the bench twelve years.” Morgan adjusted his coat. “Him and I got along. We chatted for a while about fishing, that kind of stuff. We won’t have any problems with the wires. All we have to do is tell him when and where.”
David handed Morgan a list. “Since you two are buddies, we need wire taps on these people and places the first thing in the morning.”
Looking at the floor, John took a deep breath. “I—uh obtained the warrants. L—look—ed at D-deputy Milam’s checking and s—savings accounts.”
“Saving accounts?” David asked.
John glanced up for a moment, met David’s eyes, and dropped his gaze. “D—David…” John took a deep breath.
David leaned forward in his seat. “Relax and tell me what you found.”
He nodded fast and swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Taking out his notebook, he flipped pages.
David sat back in his seat, arms crossed. John stalled and he must have found out something he didn’t think David would like.
“He had three hundred and seventy-four dollars in his joint checking account. His wife is on the account. He has a joint savings account also with his wife and they have two thousand eight hundred and thirty-four dollars. His wife is listed as the beneficiary on both accounts.”
John paused and rubbed his mouth. Speaking with clipped words to control his stuttering, he continued, “I found another savings account that isn’t a joint with his wife. He had two hundred and fifty-four thousand dollars in the account.”
CHAPTER 10
“No fucking way.” The words blurted out of David’s mouth. He blinked, too stunned to speak, and shook his head. He knew Justin too well. He would never believe his friend was dirty. He slammed his hand on the table.
Everyone jumped. John dropped his gaze, staring at the carpet. The ringing phone broke the silence. Melissa strode into the next room, returning a minute later, and told David Beeker wanted to speak to him.
David rubbed his neck, heaving himself from his chair, floundering to the next room. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Beeker. He took a breath before speaking. “Yes, sir.”
“David,” Beeker’s scratchy voice emitted over the phone, “we’re receiving a lot of heat here. Sheriff called demanding the FBI leave the case to his men, if not he wants someone else investigating it. County commissioners are demanding we stay on the case. Two area congressmen have talked to the director about this mess.”
David’s jaw tightened. His pulse throbbed in his temples. After taking a deep breath through his nose, he responded after a silent minute. “I’m not leaving this case. Period. I have assumed it and I will see it through to the end. I’m sure the sheriff wants someone else on it. This whole thing stinks. I have people here attempting to cover shit up. I’m going to find out what’s going on.”
Beeker didn’t respond. His breath caught after David’s outburst. “The case is yours. I expected complaints. Young man, I want you to keep something in mind. You’re there because I recommended you. My butt’s on the line, too. One other little thing you need to keep in mind. I’m your boss, and you will do what I tell you. I will not tolerate an agent speaking to me in the tone you did.”
David drew in a breath. Beeker was right as rain. He wouldn’t tolerate this from someone on his team and he shouldn’t expect his boss to put up with it from him. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Tell me what you’ve found out.”
Several minutes later, David returned to the others. After sitting, he massaged his temples, eyes closed. When he looked up, he caught an exchange of glances between Melissa and John. Melissa gave John a perceptive nod.
“D—David. S-something else. The b-beneficiary…”
David, with a toothpick in his mouth, snapped “Yes.”
“I—I f—f—found o—“
David realized that he had made John’s stuttering worse by snapping at him, leaned forward and told him to calm down and tell him what he wanted to say.
With gratitude in his eyes, John nodded. “I found out that the beneficiary is someone called Michael Lawrence Mahoney. I don’t know who he is.”
David pursed his mouth, tapping it with his finger, and shook his head. He didn’t know who he was, either. “John, I want you to take Morgan with you to the bank tomorrow. Get warrants. I want all money, information, and everything else on that account frozen. I want all paperwork seized as evidence. They have to have information on the beneficiary. Find him. I also want to see the security tapes of the day that man opened the account, and every time he deposited money in it.”
John glanced up from taking notes. “Ah—David, the account was closed out two days before the deputy’s murder.”
David rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Of course it was. Why could nothing be simple in this mess?
Morgan sat with his arms crossed and a smile. “Is that all?”
David didn’t like Morgan’s condescending attitude. He didn’t know how long he would put up with him. He stood. “Nope. It’s not. I still want all the information I just asked for. Also want to know which bank employee opened that account, and I want to know everything about him or her.”
Morgan frowned. “Is there a problem with the bank?”
David indicated John. “Why don’t you tell him?”
John smiled and sat up straighter. “The bank is insured by the federal government for amounts up to one hundred thousand dollars. Under federal law, all bank employees are required to encourage clients to never exceed that amount.”
David pointed at Morgan. “I want a wire tap on the bank employee who opened that account.”
Morgan nodded. “No problem.”
“What about me?” Andy asked.
David crossed the room to lean on the windowsill, looking at the view of the back parking lot. A field of high, honey-colored grass butted up against a stand of pine trees two hundred yards from the motel. The grass rippled with the wind like ocean waves.
At last, he turned. “I want you to interview all of Justin’s relatives and friends, except his wife. Melissa and I will go with you to do that. I want all information on anyone close to Justin, including finances, criminal history checks, that sort of thing.
He glanced at Melissa, who wrote down everyone’s assignments. He nodded with satisfaction. He’d attended two non-commissioned officers schools in the military to learn about leadership. She hadn’t attended any, but did the correct things without him having to tell her. “Melissa, I want you to go with Melvin to the sheriff’s department. We need all personnel and financial records on Justin, insurance policies and the beneficiaries. Also, I want all arrest records over the last five years.”
Morgan frowned. “Do you think this has something to do with revenge?”
David hesitated before speaking. Although he wasn’t fond of Morgan’s attitude, he’d asked a good question. He needed to keep their inexperience in mind. They were experienced agents, but not experienced in this type of investigation. “At the moment, I don’t have a clue what any of this is about. We need to check all angles. Can’t go in with the mindset that this has to be about a certain thing. Investigators miss evidence when they do that. We have to cross our I’s and dot the T’s.”
John looked up at David. “This could take a while.”
David smiled for the first time since the meeting started. “We’re not going any place, are we?”
* * * *
When the agents left David’s room, Melissa hurried to catch up with Morgan. She called his name as he opened the door to his room. When he turned, Melissa asked him to wait up.
He leered and motioned her inside. Melissa hesitated and Andy, who was in the room next to Morgan, froze with his key in the lock. Melissa knew that Andy heard and noticed everything, even though he pretended he didn’t.
Her stomach turned but she strod
e in. When Morgan shut the door, he turned to face her. Cocking his head, he asked her as if he knew the answer, “What can I do for you?”
He closed the distance between them, reached out, and touched her upper arm, caressing toward Melissa’s shoulder.
Melissa smiled, her head rotated to glance at his hand, now close to her left breast. She looked into the agent’s lustful eyes. “You have nice hands. How would you like to lose the one you’re touching me with?”
Morgan’s hand froze. Confusion crossed his face, “What?” he said as if he hadn’t understood, or couldn’t believe what she said.
Still smiling, she said, “You heard me right.” Her voice hardened. “Get your hand off me.”
“Or what?” Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “I know what you want. You’ve teased me since the first moment we met. If you want to play this little hard-to-get game, I’m not going along with it.”
His hand caressed up to her ear.
Her smile disappeared. “Last chance.”
Morgan raised his left hand and grasped her breast.
Melissa kicked his balls almost between his ears.
With an inhuman squeal, his face changed to a deep purple and his eyes bugged. Grabbing his balls with both hands, he made little hops around the room. At last, having trouble breathing, he dropped to his knees. His forehead struck the carpet.
As he sobbed, Melissa glanced around the room, found his ice bucket, and strolled out, leaving Morgan’s briefcase in the door to keep it open. She sauntered the twenty feet to the ice machine and filled the bucket.
When she returned to the room, he stood, bent over, gasping for breath. She caught him by the belt in front and pulled him close, dumping the ice down his pants. Most of the ice hit the floor but enough traveled down Morgan’s pants. His breath sucked in.
She dropped the bucket and put her face close to his. “I was going to have a friendly conversation with you, until you started talking through your cock. I want to make two things clear. First, David has enough to handle without putting up with your bullshit. Second, if you ever touch me again, I’ll shoot your fucking balls off.”
Reaching out, she caught his chin with her fingers and jerked his face to look at her. “Are we clear?”
Unable to speak, Morgan nodded.
Melissa spun around and strode out, shutting the door. Andy leaned against the rail outside the room, arms crossed. “I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen. Should we start calling him Morgana?”
* * * *
With the night off, Willis James decided to go to the poker game at the home of a Lufkin police officer he’d worked with. He had a couple of drinks before he arrived, and found the game in full swing. While he waited for someone to leave the game, he had a couple more drinks. An hour later, Ronnie Hyater’s money ran out and he left the game.
James took his place. As he sipped on a double scotch, the dealer fanned the cards out in five-card draw. Laughter and good-natured banner trekked around the table as everyone anted up.
James’ heart skipped a beat when he looked at his cards. Three aces. He bet five dollars and stayed, winning a good-sized pot. He felt lucky tonight. The next hand he drew a pair of fours and eights. He smiled to himself when he drew the eight of clubs, giving him a full house, an almost unbeatable hand in five-card draw.
He bet ten dollars and William Holtz met his bet and raised him ten more. Everyone folded but the two.
James, with a frown, stared at his cards and looked into Holtz’s eyes. The police officer smiled. “James—what’d you do to get in the FBI’s bad graces?”
“What do you mean?”
“I patrolled by your house today and found a car parked a block away. Had a woman just sitting there. I stopped to talk to her. She was a female FBI agent. I could’ve sworn she was on a stake out.”
Coldness settled in the pit of James’ stomach. “Who was she watching on my street?”
Hortz raised one eyebrow. “There’s only one person she could’ve watched at that place and that time of day. You.”
With trembling hands, James put his money in the pot, and flipped over his full house. It didn’t surprise him when Holtz flicked his cards over revealing a small straight flush.
Two hours later, drunk and dead broke, James stumbled out of the house. How in the hell did fucking Mason figure it out this fast? He would’ve sworn he’d fooled him.
Now, they were up shit creek without a paddle.
* * * *
Peterson’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth. “Get a grip on yourself, you drunk idiot.”
“But that fucking Mason knows,” James sputtered over the phone.
Dammit! He’d told these idiots to stay off the phone. Mason’s probably listening to this shit right now. “James—what the hell are you talking about?”
“William Holtz told me—”
“James, shut the hell up and get off this phone. I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes in front of your house. Your ass better be sober, too.”
After slamming the phone down, Sheriff Peterson dialed a number. Lloyd Spivey answered on the second ring. Without preamble, the sheriff spat in the phone, “I’m picking you up in front of your house in ten minutes.”
Spivey yawned, “What’s up?”
“Never mind. I’ll tell you in ten minutes.”
When he slammed the phone down, Peterson buckled his belt around his jeans, inserted his .357 in the cross-draw holster, and clipped his badge and identification to his left shirt pocket.
He hurried out his front door, putting his coat on. Crap, how had he gotten himself in this mess? He had enough shit to worry about without having to baby-sit a spineless, drunk deputy.
Speeding around the west loop in Lufkin, he took the Highway 94 exit, looked both ways, and floored the car through the red light. He hit his brakes and swerved into the Okay Food Store parking lot.
“Good morning—Sheriff,” the heavy-set, dyed-blonde clerk greeted Peterson.
Storming to the rear where the coffee pot sat, he mumbled under his breath and glanced at his watch. One fucking thirty in the morning. After filling the large Styrofoam cup with black coffee, he put a lid on it and marched out the door without saying a word.
The clerk shook her head, took a slip of paper from her cash drawer, wrote “free large coffee for the sheriff,” and put it in the cash register with her receipts. “I actually voted for that asshole,” she mumbled aloud to the empty store.
With a sprinkle of cold rain, Peterson turned his wipers on and traveled west on 94. He turned right on a farm road in Hudson, and five minutes later, pulled up in front of Lloyd Spivey’s house.
Spivey ran through the rain, opened the door and jumped in, crossing his arms, shivering. “Damn, Willie. It’s cold.”
Without speaking, Peterson turned up the heater, set it on defrost, and pulled away from the curb.
With a fleeting glance, Spivey turned his head toward the sheriff. “I hope this is important to get me out at this time of morning.”
Peterson tightened his hands on the steering wheel. In clipped words, he told Spivey, “We have a problem with James. You brought the chicken shit bastard in—you can straighten the fucking shit up.”
A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of James’ house. Without a coat, the deputy staggered toward the car.
Spivey slammed his hand on the dash. “Shit.”
Shivering and soaked, James climbed into the back seat. Almost in tears, he stammered, “They know. They’re watching me.”
Spivey spun around in the seat, reaching out, grabbed James’ shirt with both hands and jerked him within inches of his face. “Shut the fuck up.”
Stammering, with tears streaming down his cheeks, James mumbled, “I don’t want to go to prison.”
Disgusted, Spivey pushed the distraught deputy back in the seat. He spun around to the sheriff. “We need to get him sobered up.”
With a steady plop of rain on the car’s roof, Peterson�
��s eyes locked on his chief deputy. “We damn sure need to do more than sober his ass up.”
Spivey’s mouth thinned. He nodded. “You’re right about that shit.”
CHAPTER 11
Willis James reached a trembling hand toward the phone, hesitated, and put it down before dialing. With a hammer pounding in his head, he swung his feet to the floor. He flopped back on the bed, hoping the world would stop spinning. One of his eyelids remained closed and he had to rub it to see.
After he staggered to the bathroom to throw up, he again sat on the bed’s edge, staring at the phone. He had to call Mason. It was his only way to stay out of prison. He lowered his head and shook it like an old dog with a bone. One call first. He dialed the number.
When the other end picked up, he started spewing everything out about the FBI and David Mason.
The soothing voice on the other end convinced him to wait before he called the FBI. Let them meet in person first and talk everything over, and they would go together to talk to Mason.
* * * *
David sat on the suite’s sofa going through the photos that Melvin had blown up from the tape.
Beth moseyed out of the bedroom and sat beside him, rubbing his neck. “Honey—you’ve been at this most of the night.” She pointed to the TV where the paused picture sat on the screen. “You’re eyes have worn holes in the screen.”
David half-smiled. “There’s something here I’m missing.”
“You said that same thing last night. Relax. Get away from it. You’re pressing, and it won’t come to you while you try this hard to find it.”
He knew she was right, but he’d missed something important. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something on the tape wasn’t right. He took a deep breath, picked up the remote, and pressed play. The tape started, but the phone rang. He paused it again while he talked to Andy. He was about to hit play again when the phone rang. He let out a groan and answered it. Between the dang paperwork and the ringing phone, he’d never get anything done. He’d just thought HPD had a lot of paperwork—he now believed he supported ten loggers.
