by DiAnn Mills
Bella picked up her cell phone and speed-dialed Pete in Houston. “Hi, Pete. I’ve got a few calls made from public phones in Ballinger. Can you run down the addresses and e-mail them back to me?”
“Sure. Anything else?” Pete’s skills were better than a wife’s. She chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“I’d embarrass myself. Get back with me, okay?” She ended the call, glad for the temporary humor break. Her neck and shoulders ached, and she had nothing, absolutely nothing, to show for it.
Her e-mail alerted her to a new message with an attachment. She opened it, silently praising all those in the field office who helped agents.
Professor Miller’s records displayed nothing out of the ordinary. Neither did Walt Higgins’s. Kegley appeared to be the spokesman for the group, and he originated the calls to the others. His fiancée’s number appeared frequently—Yvonne Taylor. Bella thought about the bartender who stated she’d taken Kegley home. Clearly he had commitment issues.
Later on in the afternoon, Bella phoned Professor Miller’s wife in Austin and set up a time for another interview in the morning. Yvonne didn’t respond, and she was the one Bella wanted to question. She wanted to explore Kegley’s unfaithfulness and their relationship. Vic’s interviews appeared devoid of specific information that Bella wanted. Perhaps his wife’s health had affected his work.
Vic still hadn’t contacted her. She felt bad about his wife’s medical condition, but he’d been a part of the FBI long enough to understand responsibility. And why didn’t he want the bureau notified about his absence? If Vic didn’t call her by Sunday night, she’d alert Swartzer to the problem on Monday morning.
Bella focused on her online reading, continually weighing information in her mind in case she’d missed something. Her phone rang.
“Special Agent Jordan?” Bella recognized the voice of Pastor Kent Matthews.
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”
“May I have a moment of your time?”
Anticipation charged through her. Could he have remembered valuable information about the murders? “Go ahead.”
“I’ve known Carr Sullivan for five years. I’d known Darren and Tiffany Adams for nearly twenty, since they were newlyweds. Carr and Darren were friends. Solid friends. It’s ludicrous to think Carr poisoned Darren.”
“I see. What about the three men found on the High Butte Ranch?”
“No matter what the media says, Carr’s a good man. Why, he’s been taking biblical studies distance-learning classes for the past three years in an effort to gain more knowledge of Christ and Christianity.”
As much as she believed in Carr’s innocence, she refused to allow anyone to deceive her. Ulterior motives, cover-ups, and lies were the makeup of criminals—no matter what their interests. “He wouldn’t be the first delusional psychotic to murder in the name of God.”
“That is not Carr Sullivan.”
Immediately she regretted her impudence. “I’m sorry. I realize Carr is your friend, and I made an insensitive remark. What can you tell me about his temper?”
“Around five years ago, Carr asked for counseling to help curb his temper problem. I met with him weekly for over four months. I’ve never seen his temper in action.”
“But you heard about it.”
“Agent Jordan, don’t put words in my mouth. I’ve never seen or heard anyone speak of Carr having anger issues. The purpose of my call is to let you know the media have accused the wrong man.”
“I appreciate your concern and your loyalty to Carr. I really do. These murders have everyone in the community upset and pointing fingers, but my job is to help put an end to the nightmare. If I insult or upset anyone, it’s simply part of the process. Do you have any idea who could be behind the tragedies? anyone who might have pertinent information?”
“Uh . . . no. Not at all.”
So what was Pastor Kent Matthews hiding? “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
He sighed while heavy seconds passed. “I can’t accuse someone simply because I have problems with his personality.”
“I assure you any name given to me will be kept strictly confidential.”
“Let me have a little time.”
Urgency raced through her. “Pastor Kent, don’t approach the man yourself. We have enough victims without adding one more.”
“This may mean nothing.”
“The FBI needs to be the judge of your information.” When Pastor Kent didn’t respond, she continued. “I could drive to your office right now. We could talk through this, explore your reservations.”
“Not yet. I’ll let you know. I have a feeling, that’s all. That isn’t enough to subpoena me.”
Curious and frustrated, Bella thought through the reports and names on all of the interviews. Without the name of the person Pastor Kent suspected, she had nothing.
* * *
Carr drove to see Kent in Ballinger. Long overdue. He should have gone to see his pastor when he first discovered the dead men. Phone calls helped, but not like a face-to-face meeting. And Carr needed prayer. At the hospital, Kent offered to meet regularly until the chaos ended, but again Carr felt like he was an imposition. The media last evening had shaken him, even if Bella admitted her belief in his innocence. Then the onslaught of calls started—noisy reporters wanting interviews; anonymous calls, which he assumed were from the sheriff’s department. One call from a well-meaning man said God would judge Carr for his murdering ways. Whoopee.
The truck hummed over the highway while Carr played a Spanish guitar CD. A month ago, he and Darren had discussed the upcoming mission trip to Mexico. They were excited about the building project and being a part of what God planned. What God planned . . . The calamity besetting them all hadn’t been listed on Darren’s and Carr’s to-do lists. Granted, God allowed the murders to happen for a greater purpose. But that kind of reasoning was easier to accept when catastrophes weren’t happening to him or his friends.
Lately Carr had read so many viewpoints and opinions about why bad things happened to good people that he didn’t want to see another piece of Scripture or hear another prophetic voice. All he could deduce was that God was still in control. And Carr had problems accepting it. Period.
When would this be over? His cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts—mostly feel-sorry thoughts. He should be praying for wisdom and guidance and strength and all of those other pious things. But he was fresh out of spirituality.
“Carr, this is Aros. How are you doing?”
Maybe he did need an attorney. “All right. What can I do for you?”
“It’s what I can provide in the way of legal assistance. Caught the latest news from Abilene. Thought you might be ready for representation.”
Many fine Christians were attorneys, and he’d spent much of the night contemplating Aros and his expertise. He’d seen the man in action more than once. And he claimed to pray for his clients. “I’m considering your services, but I haven’t decided yet.”
“I hate to bring bad news, but don’t be surprised if you’re arrested.”
A twinge of apprehension attached itself to his heart. “I have an alibi for when those men were murdered. And Darren and I were accountability partners.”
“I understand. If money—”
“Money is not the issue. Faith and trust in God will see me through this.”
“God can use other people to fulfill His purpose. Our small group just talked about those whom God uses. We’re all praying for you, but I’d like to do more—to help.”
Which was exactly what Carr had been thinking. “I need time to make sure I’m doing what I’m supposed to.”
“I understand. This whole mess makes me angry. Anyway, I’m here, and I’m glad you’re considering legal representation.”
“Certainly. I’ll get back to you. Thanks for hanging in there with me.”
Carr had placed the new education addition to the church on hold. “Are you calling a meeting?”
“Not yet. I suggested Pastor Kent acquire a few more estimates first. Then we can look at those and make recommendations before submitting it to the church body.”
“Good. I can’t take on anything until the murders are solved.”
“Understandable. My thoughts are to have the project paid for before we hammer one nail. One of my ideas to raise money is for ranch owners to assign their mineral rights to the church.”
Talking about church business relieved Carr’s load, something else for him to think about beside his problems. “I have mine. But other ranchers may not.”
“It’s a way for the church body to help finance the new building project.”
“I agree, and it’s an excellent idea. In fact, I’ll take a little time today and pull out the paperwork on my mineral rights. I don’t have any plans to ever do anything with it anyway.”
“Are you sure, with all of the other pressures?”
“Absolutely. I welcome the diversion.”
“Take care, and I hope the FBI solves the case today.”
Today would be nice. More than nice. Having the murderer arrested meant he would have his life back, his integrity restored, and the plans for at-risk teen boys put back into action.
Some of the folks in the area had never accepted him as a part of the community. He understood the skepticism of small-town people toward outsiders, but with the media dragging him through the manure, he’d never be trusted. He ached all over for things he could not prove. All the adverse publicity probably ended any hope for the High Butte Ranch showing teens how to become Christian men. At least his mineral rights could go to a godly cause.
Chapter 18
Later that morning, Bella met with Professor Miller’s widow in Austin and picked up a journal belonging to her deceased husband. Mrs. Miller had not detected anything that could help in the investigation, but details about the responsibilities of each of the four-member team were documented. Mrs. Miller pointed out that a man referred to as simply “Morton” had provided a map and funding. However, the professor indicated Morton had a bad knee, which limited his walking. This could have been another of Brandt’s disguises.
Shortly after one in the afternoon, Bella knocked on the door of Yvonne Taylor’s luxury condo. She’d seen the woman enter about twenty minutes before, but Bella had waited for her to get settled. Yvonne worked as a Realtor for an upscale firm, which caused Bella to wonder if the woman could have been the one to phone Carr about selling his ranch.
The door slowly opened. The tall, attractive brunette in an ivory silk pantsuit sipped a glass of wine.
“Hi, Miss Taylor. I’m Special Agent Bella Jordan from the FBI.” She pulled her creds from her purse and gave the woman time to read the information. “I’d like to talk to you about the death of Daniel Kegley.”
“I’ve already talked to another agent, Vic Anderson.” She cast a skeptical glance. “Told him all I knew.”
“I know, and we appreciate your cooperation. I have a few questions that the other agent didn’t have in his report, crucial questions in solving not only Daniel’s case but the murder of the other two men as well.”
Yvonne hesitated. Her shoulders slumped, and her eyes reddened, revealing her grief—or at least giving that impression. Bella had her own hunch about that one. Knowing Kegley had been unfaithful to her once indicated he could have done so on numerous occasions. Yvonne might have been aware of his indiscretions and reciprocated.
Bella smiled. “I’ll make it as brief as possible.”
“All right. Come in. I do want to help.” She gestured to a sofa.
“Thank you.” Bella took a quick glance around the living room—sleek, contemporary lines in stark black and white with splashes of vivid red and yellow. Bella pulled her pad and pencil from her shoulder bag and sat on the edge of a white sofa.
Yvonne eased onto a matching chair, clutching her wineglass as though it held her life together. “I was supposed to have my first wedding shower on Saturday.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. When were you to be married?”
“In September. Daniel frequently traveled, so we set a date nearly a year ago.”
“I’m sure you had many wonderful conversations when he was on the road.”
“Not really. Daniel was very caught up in his work and focused on his dreams and goals.” Her eyes pooled. “We were very much in love.”
Really? “I can tell you miss him. We are doing everything we can to find his killer. When you say Daniel’s work, do you mean as a geologist or the team’s search for the Spider Rock treasure?”
“Both. One complemented the other. He was very close to finding the treasure. Said we’d never have any financial worries.”
“Did you ever accompany him on the searches?”
“I wasn’t interested in rocks or digging for lost treasure. All I did was arrange for hotel accommodations and make phone calls.”
New information. “The other agent failed to mention that in his report.”
Yvonne stiffened. “I didn’t tell him. Saw no need for it.”
“I see. Did you ever phone Carr Sullivan about the purchase of the High Butte Ranch for the team?”
Yvonne crossed her legs. “I may have. I don’t remember all the calls. My work for them and as a Realtor could have crossed.”
“Sounds like you are extremely busy. This morning I met with Professor Miller’s wife, and she gave me her husband’s journal. I briefly examined the contents, but it will definitely assist the task force team.”
Yvonne lifted a brow. “I’m glad she could be of help. I met her briefly at the funeral.”
“So did you act as a secretary for the four men?”
“Uh, yes, I did. Once they formed a team, someone needed to keep records.”
“How did the men team up?”
Yvonne pointed to Bella’s notebook. “Did Professor Miller’s wife give you a similar report?”
“She said the men met online during an open forum about the Spider Rock treasure.”
“Correct. They met that way for about three months before a face-to-face.”
“Is that when plans took form to search out the treasure for themselves?”
“More or less.”
Bella took her time in recording Yvonne’s statements. She wanted the woman to think through every word. “I understand there was a fourth man who organized the search. Did you meet him?”
Yvonne slowly brought the glass of wine to her lips. “Many times. He and Daniel were the most involved.”
“What was his name?”
“Morton Thomas.”
“Did he accompany the other three on their treasure hunts?”
“No. He has terrible allergies.”
Bella pulled out a picture of her dad. She didn’t know if she wanted Yvonne to recognize him or not. “Have you ever seen this man?”
“No.”
On the glass table in front of them, Bella laid out six eight-by-ten photos of Brandt Richardson. In each one he wore a different disguise. “Is this him?”
She picked through each one and then smiled. “No. None of those men are Morton.”
“He must be quite the lady’s man,” Bella said.
“Morton? What do you mean?”
“Oh, other women I’ve interviewed have dated him. He does get around.”
“Really? He seemed like the studious type.”
Bella caught Yvonne’s intense gaze. “I’ve been disappointed in men enough times to know none of them can be trusted.”
Yvonne took another sip of wine. “How many women claimed to have known Morton?”
Bella shrugged. “I didn’t count. Some of the reports came from Peru and Mexico. Another agent re
layed the information. I do know the man’s real name is Brandt Richardson, and he’s on the FBI’s fugitive list. He’s also been implicated in a fourth murder—a sheriff in Runnels County.” She leaned in closer to Yvonne. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you can tell me?”
She moistened her lips. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”
“I’d like to see the records you kept for the team.”
“Sure.” Yvonne rose from the sofa. “The file’s on my laptop. But nothing’s really there except where they’d looked and what they found—if anything.”
“I really need to take it with me as evidence.”
“Do I have a choice? My work contacts are stored there, but I could put my info on a memory stick.”
“I’ll get your laptop back to you as soon as possible.”
Yvonne’s lower lip protruded slightly. “I guess it’s okay. If the information helps solve Daniel’s murder, then you can keep it for as long as you need.” She disappeared and returned quickly with the laptop, bringing a memory stick with her. Good. She didn’t give herself enough time to delete any files or make any calls.
“Thanks, Miss Taylor. By the way, has Morton contacted you since the deaths?”
She handed Bella the laptop and sat down. “No need to.”
“Wouldn’t he be interested in the files about the treasure or how you’re doing?”
“Oh, he wasn’t the social type, and he has a copy of everything.”
Bella didn’t believe her for a minute. “Do you have a way of contacting him?”
Yvonne’s foot wiggled. “He initiated the phone calls, and he didn’t use e-mail.”
“That’s a shame. We really need to ask him a few questions about his dealings with the deceased and some of the allegations from women he’s known.”
“Sounds like he’s a jerk.”
“Then I can count on you to let me know immediately if he contacts you?”
“Certainly.”
Bella thanked her again and handed her a business card. Yvonne took the card and clenched her fists.
Once outside, Bella left the parking area of the condos and drove until she found a side street close by where she could leave her car. She had FBI surveillance waiting on standby. Walking behind the condos and a three-story apartment house, she made her way back to where she could keep an eye on Yvonne.
