by John Foxjohn
When he said yes, sir, Beth gave him a questioning look, and he mouthed “Beeker.”
She nodded and continued to massage his neck. She stopped when a huge smile flashed across his face and he pumped his fist in the air.
Beth leaned back to wait whatever news Beeker had given.
When David hung up, he told her that they had taken his advice and the team would be located in Houston when this case was over.
After they hugged, Beth straightened up. “In that case, I’m bored to death here. I’m driving to Houston this morning. I’m going to start looking for us a house. I’m tired of motel rooms and apartments.”
David smiled. They had talked about this often. They both wanted a house and a family, but unlike Beth, David wanted to wait for children.
Beth rose, tightened her robe, and took a step, but stopped and pointed to the still picture on the screen. “That’s a good wig that guy’s wearing.”
His jaw unhinged. David stared at the screen while Beth strutted out.
“Hey! Git back here.”
Beth stuck her head back in the door. “What?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Beth feathered her hair out if her face. “I thought you knew. The guy in that picture is wearing a wig.”
David popped his forehead with both palms. “Crap!” That’s what he’d missed. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
She smiled. “You didn’t ask.”
As he rifled through the pictures, Beth left. It didn’t take him long to find the one he looked for. Dammit. It was right here all this time and he couldn’t figure it out. Once he knew what he looked for, it wasn’t hard to find the rest.
Now he had an entirely different problem to consider. Along with the fact that the three knew Justin’s routine when he made these stops, there could be only one reason to go to this elaborate of a scheme to conceal their identity.
Justin knew them.
* * * *
After buckling in and starting the car, Willis James’ eyes scanned his neighborhood. He couldn’t let anyone follow him to this meeting.
With the back of his eyes hurting, he put the car in reverse, vowing he’d never get drunk again. His toenails even hurt. But he’d made that promise before. He didn’t know why he drank so much, but he did know, if he didn’t stop, one day he’d say or do the wrong thing. In his position, diarrhea of the mouth could be fatal.
He rolled his window down while backing. He wanted to see if he could hear another engine start up. With his gaze fastened on the rear view mirror, he almost ran over the trashcan.
Taking his time, he made several unnecessary turns, thinking this would be the best way to catch anyone following. He was sure he didn’t have a tail, but he sped up, made a sliding turn, and accelerated to the next one. With the tires squealing and the whiff of burning rubber coming through the open window, he’d lost anyone that would be following, and he pulled into a driveway and stopped to watch.
Several minutes passed with no one going by. He relaxed and pulled out, hoping the house owner didn’t call the police. He made his way to Timberland Drive, and turned north, driving through town and continued north on highway 59 toward Nacogdoches and their usual meeting place.
After crossing the Angelina River, which separated Nacogdoches and Angelina County, he drove for a couple of miles before turning left on a small farm road. A large sign indicated that the road led to Stephen F. Austin Experimental Forest.
Driving slowly because of the loose gravel on the asphalt road, it took him a few minutes to travel to the old wooden bridge that sat over a fast-moving, small creek.
On the other side of the bridge sat a blue Ford F-150 pick-up.
When James pulled up, Tanton Whistlam stepped out. James stopped—surprised Whistlam met him. He wondered why the boss didn’t come. With reluctance, he continued and shook the extended hand. Whistlam’s smile alleviated any apprehension James had before the meeting. It was in all their best interests to turn themselves in while they could make a deal. After Mason figured it all out, it’d be too late.
Whistlam indicated a small game trail down to the creek. “Let’s talk by the water.”
Careful where he stepped, James looked for snakes while his boots crunched on the wheat colored grass. He stood facing the creek as sun glistened off the water. He took a deep breath of the clean, fresh air.
In a quiet voice, Whistlam said, “Willis—are you still set on talking to the FBI?”
Something in the man’s tone made him stiffen. His heart hammered. He’d screwed up coming here. “I think we should. Don’t you?”
“There’re things about this you don’t know.”
James frowned. What the hell was he talking about. He’d started all this. He knew everything.
With his pulse racing, he jammed his hands in his pockets. Now, he didn’t dare look at the man behind him. He knew something was wrong. Bad wrong. He was a fool for taking this meeting all the way out here. There’s no one around, but the two. Why was Whistlam here? Why did he come by himself?
“Can we talk you out of going to the law?” the cold voice said.
It occurred to James that he may have said too much to the wrong people, but how to get out of it? He had to act as if he would go along. Get out of here. Mason would give him protection, and the government had witness protection programs. He needed that, but he had to get away first. James nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that. It may not be the best idea. Hell. Mason won’t figure anything out. We have everything set up to perfection. I shouldn’t’ve panicked.”
“No, Willis. You shouldn’t’ve.”
The coldness of the man’s words made James close his eyes tight. His jaws tensed—an electrical surge rushed up his backbone. He was too late. “I won’t say anything.”
The contact let off a small laugh. “We know.”
An explosion thundered behind the deputy. Willis James fell half in the creek. He never felt the water.
* * * *
Jimmy Hollis froze, his eyes as large as cow patties. He wanted to run, but his feet wouldn’t move. With his knees shaking, the ten-year-old boy dropped the fishing pole and knelt in the woods along the creek bank.
He peeked through the low brush. One of the men at the creek held a gun on the other. He wasn’t sure the man facing the water knew it.
When the gun fired, he dropped all the way to the ground, trying to get as close to the dirt as he could. Violent shivers racked his body. He had trouble breathing, but stuck his hand in his mouth to make sure he made no noise. Tears streamed down his cheeks. His mind kept flashing to the man’s head blown apart. Blood, brains, and bone had exploded out the front of his head.
Several long moments passed before he raised his head. One of the men lay face first in the water, but the one who fired the shot strolled up the trail toward the road. He needed to get help, run, but his body didn’t cooperate. He stared after the man, shivering. He didn’t think the bad-man knew he was there. If he had, he’d kill him too. Jimmy had seen to many TV shows and knew how it worked.
Instead of heading home through the brush, he made his way on shaky legs toward the road, wondering why he did that. He was glad he’d hiked through the woods and not down the road.
He’d never seen a dead man before, but he knew the one by the creek had to be dead. A new wave of fear surged through him, and he hid in the brush by the road. The man, no longer with the gun in sight, climbed into the truck and took off. Jimmy waited until he was out of sight before he burst out of the brush and raced home as fast as his legs would take him.
* * * *
The team had gathered a few minutes before. Andy, who normally joked, sat looking at his feet.
Morgan came in funny, as if he needed to calculate his steps. Melissa and Andy exchanged a glance and a smile crept to Andy’s mouth. David glanced at Morgan. The agent sat, his mouth tight, staring at the floor.
David scratched his ear, look
ing at his team members. John and Melvin appeared unaffected, but something had happened with the other three. Whatever it was, Morgan didn’t like it.
David turned his attention to Andy. “Let me guess. Your profile says the suspects are white. Not black.”
Andy’s head jerked up. “How the hell did you know that?”
Melissa’s eyes widened. “Really? How did you know that?”
David smoothed his hair and smiled. “Beth told me.”
“B—eth kn—kn—ew they were w—hite. How?”
David crossed his arms. “I stayed up half the night looking at the tape and the pictures.”
“How many times have you watched that tape?” Morgan asked.
David shrugged. “Anyway, I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t find it. Then Beth pranced in this morning and told me right off what I’d been looking at, but didn’t see.”
Melissa dropped her chin, glancing at David out of the top of her eyes. “Well. Are you going to tell us?”
David showed them the tape, but no one saw it. He showed them the picture. Morgan nodded. “I see it now. They’re wearing wigs.” He pointed to the back of the man’s head. Although in black and white, a lighter hair tuft dropped below the wig.
“Andy nodded. “They’re white, dressed as blacks.”
Melissa stood and paced the room for a moment. “That must have been what Deputy Milam sensed that put him on edge. That and the license plate. The question I have is why would they go to all that trouble to hide their identity?”
David puckered his lips and rubbed his palms. “That is the ten-million-dollar question. Justin had to know at least one, maybe all of them. It’s time we had a long talk with Deputy James.”
Morgan folded his arms across his chest. “If he is involved, do you believe he’ll talk?”
“He’ll talk. He’s the weak link here. We need to know what is going on in this place. Bet ya he knows.”
David gave them their assignments for the day, everyone but Andy and Melissa. “I want you two to go with me to interview Justin’s widow, then we’ll talk to James.”
CHAPTER 12
Melody Milam lived on the south side of town off Highway 59, outside the loop. They eased down the street, looking for the address. David parked in front of 2617 Ferrier. Gray, with peeling paint, the frame house needed repair. Almost knee-high grass covered the front yard.
Melissa adjusted her hair. “This is not what you’d call a high-class area.”
“Are we going in?” Andy asked.
David opened the door and stood on the sidewalk for a moment, his gaze taking in the neighborhood. The house next door had several old cars in the yard and a pile of beer cans beside the front door.
The others followed as he made his way to the front door. When he pushed the doorbell, chimes sounded on the inside. A moment later, a female opened up. Attractive and petite with long blonde hair, she wore jeans, black boots, and a white blouse with small flowers on it. Her smile stopped. She stared at them, head tilted. “May I help you?”
David flashed his badge. “Ma’am. I’m agent David Mason of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” He indicated the other two. “This is Melissa Adams and Andy Hastings also of the bureau. Is Ms. Milam around?”
The smile returned to her face. “Yes. I’m Melody Milam. I thought you were salesmen.” She nodded. “I thought you’d want to talk to me.”
She led them into the living room, sitting in an overstuffed wine-colored loveseat and indicated for them to sit on a matching sofa.
After she asked them if they wanted something to drink, and they refused, she looked at David. “What did you say your name was?”
When he repeated it, she nodded several times. “You and Justin were with the Houston Police Department. He talked about you all the time.”
“I hope you don’t believe it all,” David said.
She forced a smile. “What can I do for you?”
“We need to talk to you about Justin’s death,” David said.
“It takes three FBI agents to talk to me?”
Melissa chuckled. “We only send three agents for desperate criminals.”
Melody Milam relaxed. “That’s me. A desperate criminal. I didn’t know the bureau had female agents.”
The phone rang, interrupting their conversation. After she answered, she told them to excuse her and left to talk in another room.
David glanced around the clean, but tattered house. Venetian blinds, half opened, allowed sunlight to filter through, and dust mites swam in the streaks from the blinds.
When Milam returned, she plunked on the love seat and crossed her legs. “Sorry. My mother. Where were we?”
David rubbed his chin and winced when his stubble make a scratching sound. “How well did Justin get along with the sheriff?”
Melody’s eyes lit up. “Very well. Justin admired the sheriff. Thought he was going to do good things with the sheriff’s department.”
“Was there anything worrying him? Did he seem troubled?” Andy asked.
“Not at all. As you probably know, he had recently returned from Washington where he received the Law Enforcement Officer of the year award. He was proud of that. Especially since David had won it also.”
David nodded. “Has the sheriff returned his personal possessions to you, yet?’
She shook her head. “No. He said that would have to wait until the case was settled.”
David nodded. At least the sheriff got that right. Thirty minutes later, the three agents strode out, climbed into the rental and David started the engine, pulling away from the curb. Down the block, he pulled over and tapped his hands on the wheel.
“You have a frown on your face,” Melissa said. She tilted her head. “Do you suspect Justin’s wife had anything to do with his death?”
David didn’t reply for a long moment as Melissa and Andy exchanged glances. Andy shrugged.
David stopped tapping. “A better question than that, why did she sit there and lie to us?”
* * * *
Melissa squinted at him. “How do you know she lied?”
“Justin called me when he was in Washington. We talked for about forty-five minutes over the phone. He talked about quitting the sheriff’s department and either going back to Houston or attempting to go to the Department of Public Safety.”
“Did he say why?” Andy asked.
“Yep. He thought the sheriff was ruining the department, and he said some strange things were happening he couldn’t explain on the phone. He thought Spivey was up to something illegal.”
No one talked while David sat staring at the sky. Melissa broke the silence. “A lot of men don’t take work problems home. She may not have known what his feelings about the sheriff were. Might have thought everything was OK.”
“That’s true,” Andy said.
After taking a deep breath, David said, “I’m dropping you two at the motel for your cars. I want to know everything there is to know about Melody Milam. Everything. I’m going to have a talk with James.”
Before he could put the car in drive, his phone rang. He answered and his eyes widened in surprise. “No shit! Where?”
Melissa and Andy exchanged a glance. David told his caller to hold on for a minute. He jerked his spiral and pen out. “I appreciate the call. Give me directions on how to get there.”
David drew a map on the spiral and told the caller he’d talk to him later that day. When he hung up, he spun in the seat to face Melissa. “I don’t have to worry about looking for Deputy Willis James anymore. Someone murdered him a little while ago.”
“What?” Melissa and Andy asked at the same time.
David nodded. “That was Chief Spears from Lufkin. The Nacogdoches county sheriff gave him a courtesy call. They’re old friends. I’m heading to the crime scene.”
* * * *
It wasn’t hard for David to find the scene. A few miles down a dirt road off Highway 59, flashing lights led the way. Gravel
made him drive slower than normal, but even though his mind was on the killing, he admired the area’s raw beauty. With the road lined with evergreens, stark oaks meshed, leaving a carpet of bright leaves at their base, and tawny yellow grass grew right up to the edge of the asphalt.
Before he arrived at the bridge, a Nacogdoches County sheriff’s deputy stopped him, but directed him on when he flashed his badge. As David glanced in his rear view mirror, the deputy brought his walkie-talkie up. Parked law enforcement cars presented a picture of who is who in Texas—Department of Public Safety, Nacogdoches and Angelina County Sheriff’s department, Texas Rangers, constables, and even a couple of Texas game wardens.
When David exited his vehicle, a tall, rawboned man, grey haired, wearing a white shirt, khaki pants, and a gun belt strode toward him. As he neared, David read the Nacogdoches sheriff’s badge attached to his shirt pocket.
The sheriff extended his hand. “Joseph Lambert. My friends call me Joe. You must be Agent Mason.”
David smiled. “My friends call me David. So far I haven’t found many of those around here.”
A sour expression crossed Lambert’s face and he nodded. “Yeah I’ve heard. Peterson and Spivey are here. I’ve got an ear full. A person can be judged by who don’t like them.”
David chuckled. “So very true, and I bet you have.”
The sheriff wiped his mouth. “Listen. This is not the time or place for us to talk, but I do need to speak with you. Would it be possible to drop by tomorrow at my office?”
David’s eyes flicked to Peterson striding toward them. Little puffs of dust sprang up with each step he took. Lambert half turned to see what David looked at.
“You’re right,” David said. “I’ll drop by in the morning.”
Red faced, Peterson blurted, “What the fuck are you doing here at my crime scene?”
