Color of Murder

by John Foxjohn

  Beth’s sleepy voice changed to excitement when David spoke. They chatted for a while about the kind of house they wanted to buy, family they wanted, and how much they looked forward to settling down.

  At last, she asked, “You going to tell me the problem now, or make me continue to wait?”

  David smiled at the phone, and chuckled. She knew him too well. He told her about his expected confrontation with Melissa and why.

  “Do you believe she leaked information?”

  He’d asked this question himself several times, and it lay in the back of his mind, but he always beat it down. He trusted Melissa—period. Besides, he knew the tip on the last one didn’t come from an agent, but he needed to know how they got information.

  He shook his head. “No. I trust Melissa.”

  “Why didn’t you tell her?”

  He rubbed his hair. Beth had a way of getting to the meat of a problem. He would bet money Melissa would also ask that same question. “It didn’t seem important at the moment. The chief and I knew about it. I knew it wasn’t from a team member, and we needed to stop it, but we had to go forward with the other stuff first.”

  They talked for several minutes before they hung up. After he dressed, he realized he’d talked on the phone for an hour. He reached for the phone to call the agents, but it rang with his hand poised over the receiver.

  Beeker’s scratchy voice transmitted over the phone. “How’d it go yesterday?”

  “Sir—we conducted the raid. Arrested all of them, and Post, the investigator, talked. We have more than enough evidence for conviction. Besides the two confessions, we seized all kinds of records, including the bank statements where they hid the money.”

  “Good. You all did a great job on that one. Now, you need to get the situation cleared up with the deputies’ deaths. You still believe the sheriff’s department had no dealings with that?”

  “No, sir. I don’t think they did. Post, who knew everything, was shocked about that. He swears the sheriff or anyone else in the department had nothing to do with the two deputies’ murders. I believe him.”

  “OK. Get it cleaned up down there as soon as possible.”

  David said “Yes, sir,” to a dead phone. He scratched his head. Beeker and the others were getting impatient. He let out a loud breath. He wanted to get this mess cleaned up as fast as they did. Without Whistlam, they didn’t have anything. David had realized the slim chance of getting Whistlam to talk, but with him dead, that chance vanished. He didn’t blame Melissa or his team for it, but it was a reality.

  He hesitated with his hand over the phone, let out an audible sigh, and called Melissa and asked her to come to his room. Her knock came moments later. With her face downcast, she shuffled into the room carrying a manila folder. David’s heart leaped out to her. She appeared as if she hadn’t gotten any sleep. Her roadmap eyes glistened, lips quivered.

  When she sat, she mumbled. “David—I owe you an apology.”

  His eyes widened. He’d expected an argument, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. First, a confrontation between the two of them wouldn’t be good for the team structure, but he was afraid she might be mad enough to kick his butt and he didn’t doubt she could do it. He didn’t feel like getting whooped this morning, especially by a little red-headed woman.

  She looked up for the first time. “Believe it or not, Morgan came by to talk to me last night. He made me realize that if you suspected any team member of leaking information, you’d jump in right away. Wouldn’t let it continue.”

  Relieved, David leaned back, tension escaping from tense shoulders. “Morgan’s right. I know for a fact that none of the agents leaked the last information to Whistlam.”

  Melissa frowned. “How do you know? Everything looks like it.”

  David rose and filled his cup, indicating the pot to Melissa. She nodded and he poured a little cream and put two lumps of sugar in her cup before filling it. He glanced out the window as several long moments passed before Melissa asked him how he knew.

  “Ms. Whistlam said that her son arrived, and about five minutes later he received the call, slammed the phone down and ran out the back door. Moments later, gunfire erupted at the back of the house.”

  Melissa nodded. “And?”

  David stood and shuffled to the window, but couldn’t see out the frosted pane. He spoke without turning, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Where was the team when Whistlam pulled up?”

  “In the trailer across the street.”

  “Did anyone leave before you deployed?”

  Melissa squirmed, confusion radiating across her face. “No.”

  David took a deep breath. He’d hoped she would get it by now and he wouldn’t need to explain everything. “If all of you were together without access to a phone, then none of you could have made that call.”

  Melissa wilted in her seat, embarrassed. She again dropped her head. “Oh.”

  David leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. “I should have made the time to talk to you about it. I had my mind on other things at the time and didn’t think it that important. We need to do something about this leak, but I believed it needed to wait until we took the sheriff down. I was afraid they’d get wind of the raid and get rid of evidence.”

  Quiet moments passed before David spoke again. “Melissa, you want everyone to respect and trust you. That street isn’t one way. You think you’re due respect and that may be so. I am due that same trust and respect. If I had acted to Beeker like you did to me, he would have fired me. Please keep this in mind. I am the boss.”

  Tension between the two vanished before they called the others. All of them filed in, glancing from David to Melissa. Their attitudes reminded David that in a small group, nothing went unnoticed.

  He talked to the agents about the leak. They had heard rumors from the P.D. about it but not particulars.

  “How are they getting information if it isn’t coming from one of us?” Andy asked.

  David shrugged. He’d bounced that million-dollar question around so much. “I have no idea. All I know is, somehow they’re getting information. Let’s look at this. David held up one finger. “We sit here and talk about the weak link being James and we needed to get to him. Next thing we know, he is dead.” He held up a second finger. “We find out that Whistlam is the one who killed James and there is a witness. They attempt to kill the witness. The only thing that stopped them, the Nacogdoches sheriff moved them without us knowing.” David held up a third finger. “We go after Whistlam and he receives a call at his house and flees moments before we get there.”

  David held up a fourth finger. “You all set up a damn good watch on his mother’s house to wait for him. He shows up, but receives another call warning him about you. He flees, but runs into you.”

  David leaned back and no one said anything for a long time. At last, Melissa stood and got coffee. When she sat, she again asked the question that bothered them all. “How’re they getting this info?”

  David didn’t respond for several minutes, lost in thought. He rotated his neck, popping it. “Don’t know, but one thing I am sure of. Never believed in coincidences to start with, but this takes odds to an unnatural level.”

  “You got that shit right.” Morgan said.

  Melissa’s head jerked up and her eyes widened. “Forgot something. May not mean anything, but…” She reached for her folder. “Got up early this morning and went over some things.”

  She spread the sheets in the folder on the table. “The police department has received two hundred and seventy-three crime stopper reports on the people who killed Deputy Milam. I looked through them this morning. Nineteen mention the same person, a Joe Don Hensley.”

  CHAPTER 29

  David frowned. “You’re right—it’s a big coincidence that that many people mentioned one person. Did any of them say why they thought he murdered Justin?”

  Melissa nodded and checked her notes. “He’s told anyone who would list
en that he was coming into a lot of money soon and getting out of this place. He is also a friend of Tanton Whistlam.”

  After Morgan stood and filled his cup, he leaned against the wall. He pointed the cup at David. “When we first assembled here, you said something about homicides following some kind of pattern. Something to do with money.”

  “SMR pattern. Sex, money, and revenge. Most homicides fall in one of these categories, and sometimes two of them.”

  Morgan sipped his coffee, and then tilted his head. “Do you believe this has anything to do with sex?”

  David leaned back, staring at the ceiling, massaging his neck. “Naw, I don’t. We can’t discount it, but we need to look at the others more.” Several moments passed before David spoke. “My gut tells me this is all about money. I have nothing to go on, but Justin’s murder was a well-planned execution. It seems to me if all this were revenge, there wouldn’t be a need for the bank clerk to die, or James.”

  “L—let’s don’t forget that t—two hundred thousand—d—dollars put into and taken out of—a bank account in Deputy Milam’s name—either.”

  Andy spoke for the first time. “If someone put up that much money, the payoff has to be big.”

  David rose. “My guess is there never was two hundred thousand dollars. It is easy to present a fake check when you know no one will look at it and you’re going to get it back before anyone can. Who checked out Justin’s wife?”

  Melvin searched for his notes. “I did, but you’re barking up the wrong tree with her. Her driver’s license says she is twenty-eight, blonde hair, blue eyes, five-three and a hundred and fifteen. She has never had a traffic ticket or an arrest. Graduated from Lufkin high school and worked at Travelers Insurance as a secretary for two years while taking night classes at Angelina College.” He glanced up from his notes. “That’s a junior college here in Lufkin.” Without waiting for anyone to respond he continued. “She passed her test for an insurance license and worked as an agent for that company until she married Justin Milam. She quit to stay home. She told her boss they wanted children and she wanted to stay home and raise them. She has lived in Lufkin all her life.”

  David leaned forward, head down, elbows resting on his knees as Melvin talked. The agent had just described most East Texas women and many women all over the country. He frowned, but something dropped by the front door, stealing his concentration. John went to open it, but returned a couple minutes later, telling them that it was a woman looking for the person in the room next to them.

  David massaged his temples for a moment. “Anything else on Melanie Milam?

  Glancing through his notes, Melvin looked up. “Not really. Financial stuff. She doesn’t have much. Couple hundred in checking. The only policy she has coming is the ten thousand through the sheriff’s department. You said everyone has that. She hasn’t received the money, yet. Her car has a note and they rented the house they live in.”

  David sat up and scratched his head, remembering his thoughts from before, but before he could say anything, the phone rang. Andy answered and thrust it toward David. “Chief Spears.”

  David talked to him for a couple of minutes and asked him if he knew Joe Don Hensley. When the chief told him he did, he’d spent a lot of time in their jail, David asked for all they had on him and told him they’d be by in about thirty minutes.

  When he hung up, the phone rang again. David rolled his eyes. This time, Beeker wanted an update. He filled the director in on what they planned to do, and told him he’d call him that afternoon.

  David, with Morgan and Melvin, parked in front of the police department. He’d sent Melissa with the others to Nacogdoches to find out anyone who had contact with or knew Tanton Whistlam, and interview all relatives. He also instructed them to find out if anyone knew Joe Don Hensley.

  Chief Spears’ secretary led them to his office as if they belonged there. David had to admit, he did spend a lot of time in the office, but he respected Spears and trusted his judgment. He hoped something turned up with this Joe Don Hensley because he didn’t have a place to turn. They were almost at a dead end and didn’t know where to go. He had a feeling deep inside that he had missed something, but try as hard as he could, he couldn’t come up with it. He decided to forget it and maybe it would come to him.

  Spears indicated they sit and shoved a file across his desk. He leaned back in his seat and lit a pipe while David glanced through the file. When David glanced up, Spears pointed to it with his pipe. “Don’t think that’s your boy. He’s not smart enough. Just a little shitbird. Small stuff, shoplifting, burglary, purse snatchings. He did a stint in the joint for two years for burglary of a habitation when he left his wallet at the scene—complete with driver’s license. Wasn’t hard to catch.”

  David tapped on his lips, looking at the eight by ten picture of Hensley. He handed it to Melvin. “Can you do anything with that?”

  Melvin’s eyes grew. “Think I can. Take me an hour or two. You want me to transfer to the pictures of the deputies’ murderer.”

  David nodded and glanced up at the chief and rubbed his mouth. “On outward appearances, he may not seem like a suspect, but his criminal history looks just like Whistlam’s.”

  Spears scratched his ear. “Now that you mention it, it does.”

  David reopened the file and pointed his finger at the first page. “Do you know his parole officer?”

  Spears nodded. “Good man. He’ll know where he is. Keeps good records and makes his visits to home and work.

  The agents left after Spears told them the parole officer’s address.

  Morris Marks, parole supervisor for Angelina County, resembled a sheet of paper standing sideways. His straw hat tilted back, dominating his angular face. His jaws puffed with tobacco and he spat in a spittoon on his desk when David identified himself and introduced Morgan and John, and told him why they were there.

  Without a word, Marks spun in his chair, opened a file drawer, and spun around with a file. He laid it on his desk, pushed it toward David, and spat again. “Joe Don’s a shitbird, who doesn’t have the brain power to wipe his own butt.”

  Looking through the file, David glanced up. “Chief Spears gave you a good report. Could Joe Don Hensley lead an elaborate scheme to murder a deputy sheriff?”

  Marks chuckled. “Hell, son. Joe Don can’t even spell deputy sheriff. Hell no. If he led something like that his butt would be in jail. He’d have screwed the pooch from here to Dallas.”

  Morgan, who had remained standing, asked, “Would he follow someone who called the shots?”

  Marks rested both hands on his desktop and drummed his fingers for a few moments before replying. “Yeah, he would. If he thought there was some easy money in it. Joe Don is allergic to work.”

  David drummed his fingers on the chair arm for a moment. “When’s the last time you talked to him and his employer?”

  The parole officer opened a book on his desk, flipped a few pages. “Talked to Joe Don on my weekly visit at his house three days ago. Went and talked to the manager at the slop house he cooks at yesterday. Manager said he was about to can Joe Don.”

  * * * *

  Joe Don threw open the oven, jerked the pan of biscuits out and shoved another in. Sweat pooled under his t-shirt and he wiped his brow with his food-stained apron.

  “Dammit, Joe Don. I need my order,” the waitress yelled.

  Mumbling “bitch” under his breath, he poured gravy on the biscuits and shoved the plate on the stainless-steel ledge. “Here’s your order. I only have two hands.”

  The double doors to the kitchen slammed open and the pancake-shaped assistant manager marched in, stopped and glared at him with hands on hips. “You need to get a move on. We’ve had two tables leave because their food was late.” Without a reply, she spun and left.

  As he cracked two eggs on the griddle, he told the bacon to just wait until he got his money. He’d get out of this hellhole. He never wanted to see another egg or smell bacon fr
ying again.

  Every time he put an order up, four more came in. They must have packed the place like sardines. A plate landed on the ledge. “I wrote down over easy for eggs. These are well done.”

  He didn’t care one iota about the damn eggs. He cracked three more, dumped the ones on the plate in the trash, flipped the ones on the grill and slopped them on the plate. Muttering under his breath, he slung them on the window. “Here’s your eggs.” He was tired of this shit. He wanted his money now, tired of having to wait on it.

  Two hours later, with rush hour over, Joe Don scrubbed the grill when the manager poked his head into the kitchen. “You have a call. They said it was important. You can take it in my office, but when you’re through let me know. I need to talk to you.”

  He wondered who’d called him at work. He wanted to tell the manager to take his job and shove it where the sun didn’t shine, but he needed it at the moment. He picked up the phone and said, “Yeah.”

  “Joe Don, we need to talk tonight. It is important.”

  He’d thought about what to say for several days. Now he had his chance. He glanced around to make sure no one could hear him and took a deep breath. His hand shook holding the phone. He had to be careful how he said this. “Listen, with Tanton dead, I should get a part of his share. I’m tired of waiting for my money.”

  “Our waiting is almost over. A few days. No more. I have a small job I need you to do and if you get it done you can have all of Tanton’s share,” ice voice said.

  Excitement surged through him and his ferret cheeks trembled. “All of it?”

  “All. We need to meet tonight.”

  His enthusiasm changed to suspicion. His eyes narrowed. “What kind of job do you have in mind?”

  “One you can do easily. I’d do it myself but can’t let anyone see me right now. Meet me behind the mall tonight at nine. By Sears.”

  The phone clicked in his ear, but he didn’t care. He was going to do this thing tonight and get both shares. He’d take off to Mexico. He’d heard that someone could live down there for next to nothing. He wouldn’t have to worry about cold weather and he’d have enough money to live there and never work again. With all his money, those Mexican bitches would flock all over him.