Pursuit of Justice

by DiAnn Mills

  “Do you know what to look for? I’ve been there on more than one occasion, and there are no etchings or rock formations indicating the treasure site.”

  “But it’s there.” He reached for a blank piece of paper and drew a sketch of the butte. “According to my great-granddaddy, my granddaddy, and my daddy, it’s buried right here, and there’s no physical signs of the location.”

  “Why didn’t any of them search for it?”

  “They were all Baptist preachers. Believed it was a sin.” Wither laughed. “But they didn’t think it was a sin to pass on the map.”

  “And what about you?”

  He wrapped his arm around the young woman, who leaned into him. “Different folks call different things their treasure. I’ve always known what mine was.”

  Bella smiled and hoped she could contain her amusement until she was in her car. The agents back in Houston would not believe this character. She thanked both Shep and his woman and began the drive back to the High Butte.

  If the killer could not get access to the High Butte to dig for the treasure, what else could he do? She grabbed her cell phone and punched in Carr’s number.

  “Where are you?” His voice indicated his displeasure.

  Ouch. “On the road. And for the record, you’re not my daddy.”

  “Point well taken. You’re calling, so you must be alive.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Sullivan. I’m driving your way.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Spending time with an old man in Junction.”

  “I would have driven you.” Carr’s voice took a level between exasperated and downright angry.

  “I needed to do this alone. And I found exactly what I was looking for.”

  “Which is?”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “For an FBI agent, sure.”

  “I have the map that shows the Spider Rock treasure is buried on the High Butte.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “And that brings me to this call.”

  “You want to borrow a shovel or call in the county sheriff’s department?”

  “Neither. I’m not the least bit interested in following up on the treasure, but I do want to study the map in hopes of finding more evidence to find the killer. What I want to know is if you own the mineral rights to your ranch.”

  Silence settled between them.

  “Carr?”

  “I gave them to New Hope. The church has a building project going for a new education facility, and I thought it might help. I had no use for the rights.”

  Her heart sank at the thought of who could be behind the killings or working with Brandt. “Did Pastor Kent handle it?”

  “No, Aros Kemptor.”

  She’d heard his name before. “What can you tell me about him?”

  “An attorney from Abilene. Outstanding Christian.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “He lives in Abilene. Joined New Hope about a year ago.”

  Bella’s suspicions raced into overdrive. “Hear me out on this. The victims were killed near the base of the butte while digging for the treasure. Based on the map, their bodies were found near where the treasure is supposedly buried. That tells me they found out where and were killed so the murderer would not have to share the findings.”

  Carr blew out a sigh. “Makes sense. You and I have talked about that possibility.”

  “But the real killer cannot dig because he’d be trespassing, and he couldn’t risk being discovered.”

  “But if he had the mineral rights, he could mask what he was doing while digging for the treasure.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Aros also has something else of mine,” Carr said.

  Excitement bubbled inside her, not for Carr but for headway on the case. Aros and Brandt could be working together. “What else?”

  “I deeded the High Butte over to the church in the event of my death.”

  Apprehension changed her excitement into fear for Carr. “Then you’re on the hit list. Don’t go anywhere today until I receive a full report on Aros Kemptor. Is Wesley there?”

  “Of course. This could be the end of the investigation.”

  “Let’s hope so. Do you have Kemptor’s phone number handy?”

  “Yes.”

  Once Carr gave her the number, she sensed her confidence easing in. “I’ll talk to you after I receive the report from the FIG.” She ended the call and got Pete in Houston on the line. “Feed it back to my BlackBerry. This may be our ace.” She glanced at the clock in her car. Two thirty. Mr. Kemptor was probably not in his office on a Saturday, but she had his personal cell number.

  The phone rang three times and went directly to voice mail. “Mr. Kemptor, this is FBI Special Agent Bella Jordan. I’m working on the murders on the High Butte Ranch and would like to talk to you as soon as possible.” She gave him her cell phone number and ended the call.

  Exhausted, she couldn’t wait to crawl into her guest room bed at the High Butte and take a nap before Zack’s baseball game.

  Chapter 43

  Brandt sipped a beer and contemplated what disguise to use next on Rachel. He’d used a Mexican yardman, a deaf-mute, a maid at the hotel, a mourner at the sheriff’s memorial service, and he’d shared an elevator with her—but he’d allowed her to figure that one out.

  He swallowed his laughter. If Rachel had any idea how many times he’d walked past her and talked to her since she arrived in Abilene, she’d catch the earliest flight back to Houston.

  Oh, but his finest would be his last. All he needed was patience. She’d come around. He’d waited too long for all of this to happen—the gold and her.

  Brandt wished Sullivan and Warick hadn’t gotten together. This was one of the scenarios that he wanted postponed until closer to the day. But since the two met at New Hope Church, their little friendship had progressed to a dangerous level.

  Brandt could handle it. His pocket was full of tricks to keep him from being bored. Hmm. It could play right into his hand. His cell phone rang, and the caller ID read Mair.

  “Why are you calling me?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Oh, really. Where are you?”

  “Waco.”

  “Liar. You’re in Austin. Are you with Yvonne?”

  How did she find out about her? “Look, I have no idea where you come up with these weird ideas. I’m in Waco, and I’m not seeing Yvonne. I’ll see you later on tonight.”

  “Not so fast. Your girlfriend just phoned me. She said Rachel came to see her.”

  “We knew that.”

  “Rachel convinced her to go to the FBI with information about you.”

  He should have known better than to waste his time with a money-hungry female. “How much does she want?”

  “You are having an affair with her.”

  “I never said anything of the sort. My guess is Kegley told her a little too much about what was going on, and she wants hush money. Which isn’t going to happen.”

  “Then you know what you have to do. And hope it’s not too late. I don’t care if you sleep around. I do care when your lover threatens me with prison and being an accessory to murder.”

  Brandt’s game had taken a detour. He ended the call with Mair and phoned Aros. “I have a job for you in Austin.”

  “I’m halfway through my game.”

  “Do you think you can play golf in prison? Better take a walk away from your golfing partner. I need you in Austin tonight.” Brandt waited a few seconds as he heard Aros pant through a fast walk. “Can you talk now?”

  “Do your own dirty work. I have troubles enough of my own. Bella Jordan called me this afternoon. We had what she termed an ‘interview’ via the phone.”

  “How’s that working for you?”

  “Very funny. You’re not Dr. Phil. She questioned my power of attorney within New Hope Church. She’d seen the paperwork from Kent Matth
ews that authorized my control of the mineral rights on the High Butte. She also questioned the wording of Sullivan’s will that deeds the ranch to New Hope. She demanded copies of both forms.”

  “So instead of contacting me, you’re playing golf?”

  “Yeah, with Kent Matthews.”

  “If you want my help out of this, you’d better finish that game and get to Austin.”

  Aros cursed. “Once I dispose of her, what about the FBI?”

  “The FBI’s going to help us with this one.” And help me eliminate you.

  Chapter 44

  At least fifteen years had passed since Bella had watched a baseball game from wooden bleachers. In the grueling, near-one-hundred-degree heat, with perspiration trickling down her temples and her back soaked, a strange elation possessed her at watching the third inning of Zack’s baseball game. Anne sat on her right with her arm linked in Bella’s. The added heat didn’t matter; this was her baby sister. Alex sat on her left, and Ty sat behind them with Carr. She felt like a stranger to those who shared the same blood.

  To the right of them on the top row sat Stanton Warick. The kids had called out to him, and Anne had left Bella’s side to hug him. She was obviously a daddy’s girl. Bella couldn’t turn around to look at him. Neither could she fault her siblings for their attachment to their father. She’d made progress there. In fact, she envied them. They were able to do what she could not. Or rather, she refused to do. Ah, God had His work cut out for Him. Her siblings had forgiven the man who at one time did not care for his children. He hadn’t attempted to sell them, but he’d treated them atrociously too. Why was she hanging on to her hatred? Did she still think he was involved in the murders? Carr touched her shoulder as though he sensed her confusion. She patted his hand without turning to greet him. Some thoughts needed to stay private.

  In the past, she’d placed her dreams of a relationship on hold. Frank had tried to break through her wall. But he wanted them to be a suburbia couple with 2.5 kids, while she wanted to be Mr. and Mrs. Dink—double income, no kids. Her priorities had changed, not only with her faith but with Carr and her siblings. Her brothers and sister needed her, and they needed to live in Houston. Where did Carr fit in the equation?

  “Zack is up to bat,” Anne whispered.

  Ty and Alex shouted like crazy men, and to Bella’s shock and embarrassment, Carr did the same, then Anne.

  Who cares? She stood and yelled right along with them. Zack adjusted his cap. He had determination etched into his face.

  The pitcher threw a fastball.

  Strike one.

  The crowd roared with a mixture of jeers, attaboys, and you-can-do-its. The pitcher threw again.

  Strike two.

  The crowd responded the same. Bella sweat more than before. The pitcher, a man who looked to be in his late twenties, grinned at his teammates. He wound up and threw a third pitch.

  Crack. Zack smacked the ball way out in left field, past the zone that had Home Run whistling on the wind. He raced toward first base while the fans cheered him on. Bella found herself screaming and jumping. And it felt good, so very good.

  “I need something to drink. Your brother wore me out,” she said to Anne a few minutes later. “Come with me?”

  “Sure.”

  Bella took drink orders from the boys and Carr, and she and Anne hurried to the concession stand. While the volunteers from a local church group fished cans of soda from a huge ice chest, Bella swung her attention to the onlookers.

  Brandt could be here. She scanned faces, male and then female, looking for someone who resembled the man who had murdered in his greed, or for her stepmother. No one but good people enjoying a baseball game. No raspy voices or deep-throated laughs. After paying for the drinks, she and Anne wound their way through the crowd toward the bleachers.

  An older man stepped in front of them, but his limp halted his progress. “Excuse me,” he said. “My grandson’s playing ball.” He stopped and gestured for her to pass. “Don’t let me slow you down. You have your hands full, and those cans are ice-cold.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I don’t have far to go.”

  “Thanks.” Bella motioned for Anne to go ahead of her, and she followed. The instant Bella handed out drinks to those waiting, her mind whirled with something that was familiar about the old man—the way he walked . . . the fictitious agent at the Courtesy Inn . . . the day she attempted to speak to the deaf man who limped. Brandt! Her suspicion about his having surgery to repair his vocal cords must have been on target. She could no longer count on his raspy voice betraying him.

  Her attention flew to where the elderly man had been standing. He was gone. She rushed back down the bleachers. He’d disappeared. She made her way to the concession stand.

  “Did you see an elderly man with a limp?”

  One woman said no. The second pointed to the parking lot. “He was moving at a fast clip for an old man.”

  Bella bent and pulled her Glock from her ankle holster, concealing it so as not to alarm those around her. She sprinted toward the area of the parking lot where the woman had pointed. A few teens leaned against cars.

  “Did you see an elderly man with a limp?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said a boy wearing a baseball cap and jeans that threatened to fall to the ground. “He was in a hurry. Do you need some help?” She knew he’d seen her weapon by the shock registering on his face.

  “Stay right here,” she said. “I’m FBI. I’ll show you my creds later.” The last thing Bella needed was for Brandt to shoot a couple of teens who simply wanted to be of assistance. “Which way did he go?”

  “To the right.”

  Bella left them with a mental note to thank them when she returned. She raced to the right, fully aware if the man was Brandt, he could be waiting for her. Her shoulder ached, but she refused to slow down.

  “Bella.” She whipped around to see Wesley racing on her heels.

  She stopped long enough for him to catch up. “I think Richardson’s here.”

  “Good thing I got another deputy to keep watch on Lydia and Jasper.” He shook his head. “Had a feeling Richardson might try something in a public place.”

  “He’s out here in the parking lot, according to those teens.”

  They separated, but neither was able to locate him. A late-model car and a newer truck left the area. Both kicked up dust, dirt, and gravel. Wesley got the license plates of one, and she jotted down the other.

  “You need your rear kicked for taking out after him,” Wesley said, taking on the persona of a man in charge.

  “It happens to be my job. Had to be Brandt Richardson using one of his disguises.” She continued to scan the parking lot. “He could have crawled into one of these vehicles and changed his looks.”

  Wesley peered out over the area. “Every time I think of Uncle Darren—and the others who’ve been killed—I want to be the one who catches him.”

  “I understand. Now I’m telling you to be careful.”

  “Makes sense that he’d try here since Frank is in Abilene. Carr’s probably fit to be tied. He started after you, and I had to order him back. Told him the kids could be in danger.”

  “Thanks, Wesley. I owe you one.”

  He smiled his boyish grin, which she hoped wasn’t filled with too much naiveté. “All I want is to be with you when Richardson is arrested. Sure hope he doesn’t take off until this is over.”

  “I don’t think so. His logic is ruled by his obsession with the Spider Rock treasure.”

  “Do you believe in those stories?” Wesley studied her as though her response had anything to do with how she worked the investigation.

  “Nah. If there ever was a lost cache of gold, I think it was found years ago. And the finder had sense enough to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Sure seems like a lot of men have died for it. Tell you what: I’m going to walk back and search the far side of the parking lot. Brandt could have ducked betwe
en cars.”

  “Good idea,” she said. “I want to talk to those teens. They saw my gun, and I want to explain things.” When she glanced toward the small group, she realized she didn’t need to waste any time showing her creds. Their imaginations had probably gone berserk.

  * * *

  Carr refused to consider himself a babysitter. But there he was, attempting to calm an overemotional fourteen-year-old and two teenage boys while Bella chased after a possible fugitive with her left shoulder bandaged. At least Wesley was with her. Darren would be proud of his nephew. Roano, on the other hand—or rather, acting Sheriff Roano—would have sent Carr after Bella in hopes Richardson might empty his gun on him. Ever since Roano had blacked Carr’s eye, he suspected the man had the potential to put others in danger with his lack of control. Roano’s lack of control? Carr had come a long way in his climb toward recognizing the height and depth of a man’s emotions.

  Carr sensed someone behind him. Stanton had climbed down from his perch on the top row. “I saw Rachel hurry out of here and the deputy stop you. Which one of us is going to make sure my daughter is okay?”

  “I am.” Carr didn’t need to venture into a discussion in front of the kids about Bella’s resentment toward her father.

  By the time Carr located Bella and caught up to her, she and Wesley had parted company, and she approached a small group of teens.

  “He vanished.” Bella’s resentment dripped like a leaky faucet. “I know it was him.” She nodded toward the teens. “I need to explain a few things to those kids. They saw my gun.”

  He listened while she talked to them about her role in the FBI, allowing each of the five to examine her creds. She pulled out business cards from her jean pocket with her uninjured hand. “If you see this man again, please contact me immediately. He’s highly dangerous and is wanted for several murders.”

  The teens were quiet, and Carr supposed they were picturing themselves in some unfolding detective TV drama.

  “Ready?” she said to Carr. “We’re missing the game.”

  Once they took a step up the bleachers, Stanton stood and made his way back to the top. Bella didn’t say a word. Neither did she turn and toss her father a glance. All Carr could do was pray she soon understood the power of forgiveness.