After The Fire (The Bill Travis Mysteries Book 9)

by George Wier

  I shook Newton Frisley’s hand again. “Mr. Frisley, you just made a friend.”

  *****

  I like it when my head can hit the pillow, my eyes close, then open an instant later to daylight and a check of the clock reveals that six or eight hours have passed. That almost never happens to me. Instead, I dreamed.

  I tried calling Julie on the phone, but all I kept getting was a busy signal. This busy signal, however, was an odd one. Instead of beeping, it said ‘fire-fire-fire’ again and again. I hung up and tried again, but got the same signal.

  I went to the garage to wake up Jessica and tell her about the odd phone behavior, but instead of her room the garage was filled with a lifetime of my junk. It was then I realized that I had no family. I’d never had a family. It had all been a dream. They had been so real to me: Julie, Jessica, the kids. Even Franklin. I was alone. Instead I lived a solitary life and dreamed strange dreams of adventure—adventures I would never have.

  A sense of deep sadness overcame me.

  I turned and made my way back to my bedroom, but objects kept disappearing around me. A look to the right along the hallway and the photographs there vanished as soon as my gaze touched them. Anything I observed closely began to vanish.

  When I opened the door to my room, everything was as it would have been had I never married—the furniture simple, an absence of women’s clothing and little trinkets. All the things that add a woman’s touch.

  Then the goat came. It hopped up on the bed and stared at me with dead eyes.

  “We need to have a talk,” it said.

  “I thought they shot you into the sun.”

  “Now that would be silly. Instead, they got smart and shot the sun into me. That’s not what I’m here to talk about. So far, there’s absolutely nothing on who killed poor Bebe, right?”

  “Right.”

  “It’s who you think it is. That’s what I wanted to say.”

  And then the goat hit me with what seemed like a bolt of lightning. Only it wasn’t lightning.

  I shook and shook. “Wake up, dad,” the goat said.

  My eyes came open.

  It was Jessica.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “These aren’t our invoices,” Newton Frisley said.

  “These were on the table when we walked in on Sol,” I said. “He had just busted open half of the filing cabinets in the room. About five seconds before we looked into the room, we heard him grunt something that implied discovery of some kind. ‘Aha,’ I think it was.”

  We stood at the table in the same police interview room where we’d grilled Eloise the day—or was it the night?—before.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Frisley said. “These are not our invoices. Not even close.

  Jessica picked up the top invoice and read it: “‘Bill of Lading, Pico Freightliners, Biodegradable chemical waste.’ You’re saying this is fake?”

  She handed the invoice to Frisley, who looked it over carefully. “I’ll let you be the judge. We can go back to the shop and I can let you compare this bill of lading and any in these stacks to any one of ten thousand of them we’ve kept since time immemorial. This is close to the same color,” he thumped the page and it rattled, “but it’s off a little bit. Also, it’s not the same paper manufacturer.” He flipped the invoice over and indicated the watermark. He flipped the page back around. “This is sort of our logo, but badly done. The font is even off. But I’ll let you be the judge.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Maybe the invoices are fake. If that’s the case, then Sol or someone is trying to set you up. Biodegradable waste?”

  “We don’t haul biodegradable waste. We don’t haul waste of any kind. I’ve been working in the yard since I was seventeen. We’ve never hauled anything anywhere that was questionable. I’ve known the owners of the place since I was knee-high to a jackrabbit. We don’t haul waste, whether it’s trash, chemical, nuclear, or biodegradable...not so much as a discarded toothbrush. My complete files are open to you folks. I mean as of right this minute. Files, computer logs, everything. Hell, I’ll let you talk to every employee in the place, but I’m telling you, Pico is clean. If I find out one of my employees is hauling something off the books, they’re gone, man. They know it, and I know it. It’s never been an issue.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Frisley,” Jessica said.

  He met her gaze. “You can call me ‘New.’”

  “Thank you, New. I suppose we can bring in Sol, now. See what he has to say.”

  Frisley turned to me. “You say he can afford to pay for the damage he’s done?”

  “Many times over. Give me a bill, and make sure you include the time it takes to install new cabinets and put everything in order, and I’ll get a check to you within twenty-four hours.”

  “That’s not the same as him paying for it, though.”

  “Yes it is. It’ll come from his account, not mine. I have his power of attorney for financial matters. And don’t worry. He’ll know he’s paying you for the damage. I won’t soon let him forget it. That’s if you don’t press charges.”

  “I’ll have to be satisfied with what he has to say. That is, if he says anything.”

  “Oh, he’ll talk,” Jessica said.

  *****

  “It was Eloise,” Sol said.

  He sat back in his chair, the only person on his side of the table. I sat directly opposite him and Jessica was to my right, her back to the door. Opposite her, on my left, was New Frisley. Outside the door, Patrick Kinsey paced.

  I leaned forward, patted the stack of files.

  “You were to plant these, then conveniently find them.”

  “That was the plan.”

  “What does Eloise have to gain by this?” I asked.

  “She’s doing her best to look out for me, Bill. She knows what they done. She knows about the stuff they poisoned the creek with.” He gestured in the direction of New Frisley. New looked at Sol, yawned, then turned his eyes toward me.

  “Sol, she divorced you, then she tried to take you for every dime you had. When that didn’t work to her satisfaction, she had you thrown in jail. That is, until I talked you into paying her off. She went through that money in a New York minute. She’s remarried now. I did some checking this morning. Eloise’s husband is out of a job. I made a call to their banker and found out that their house is about to be repossessed. The bank has called the note and they have to come up with two hundred thousand bucks. They can’t file for bankruptcy because they can’t even afford to pay a bankruptcy lawyer. I sense, here, some elaborate scheme to have you thrown in jail and then for her to somehow get a court order for your assets, which by the way, I just transferred so far out of anybody’s reach that they’ll have hell finding out just where your money is.”

  “Well hell,” Sol said. He huffed, as if all of the pressure inside him was blowing off. “I do appreciate that.”

  “Let me tell you something, Sol. You don’t have any reason to trust anything that anybody except me and Jessica here tell you. So I’m just going to put it to you bluntly. You, my dear friend, are an idiot. I say that as kindly as I can. All of us men are idiots when it comes to women. They say jump, and we don’t even ask them how high—we just jump. I’m no different. The only difference between you and me is that I know how to pick a woman who doesn’t tell me to jump at the wrong thing. That’s the important part. You need to apologize to Mr. Frisley. If you do, and agree to pay for the damage you’ve caused, then you can walk out of here right now.”

  Sol looked at Frisley. He looked at Jessica, then back at me again.

  “We tested the soil, Mr. Gunderson,” Jessica said. “It’s normal for Austin. There’s no chemicals. There’s no radiation on your place. There’s no nothing. I need to know just one thing, since the powder check on your hands came back negative. Did you fire the shot that wounded Drisel, the news cameraman, and the one that hit me in the chest and knocked me on my ass?”

  “No,” he said. “Not no, but
hell no. I own a rifle, but it’s in my gun cabinet at the house. I haven’t fired it in two years.”

  “We know,” Jessica said. “I got a warrant and searched your house this morning, found the rifle and had it tested. It’s clean.”

  Sol nodded. He turned slowly to Newton Frisley.

  “Mr. Frisley. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I’ll pay for the trouble I caused.”

  “That’s alright, Mr. Gunderson,” New said. “I knew we were a clean operation all along. No harm done that can’t be easily fixed.”

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you kindly.”

  Sol shifted in his seat, preparatory to getting up. He fixed me with a cold look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Is that damned reporter waiting outside to talk to me?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good. That silly woman has been following me around for a week.”

  I glanced at Jessica.

  “Sol,” I said, “before you go, I need you to do something. It’ll be tough, but I think you owe it to me, to Jessica, and to everyone else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When you talk to Eloise, tell her what I told you about me hiding your money.”

  “What makes you think she’s going to call me?” he asked.

  “Oh. I think you’ll be calling her. When you do, don’t let on that you had to apologize and pay for the damages. Act like you’re going to turn state’s evidence and help me nail Pico Freightliners to the wall. There’s going to be a full-scale investigation, you know. It’s being barked all the way up to the Attorney General’s Office.”

  “That’s just mean, Bill,” he said.

  “Way to go, dad!” Jessica said.

  “You might even want to call her from here,” I said. “What you’d call a pre-emptive strike.”

  “I just might do that.”

  *****

  I shook Sol’s hand outside the Sheriff’s Office and watched him walk away. He was intent on hailing a cab and finding his own way home. I’d stuffed a wad of bills into his hands. He’d thanked me, and I’d had to remind him it was his money to begin with.

  “I’d say this one’s winding down,” Jessica said.

  We walked across Woodmansee Plaza together and toward the parking garage half a block away.

  “Yes,” I said. “So now we have one more person to see.”

  “You’re thinking who I’m thinking, aren’t you?”

  I nodded and fished out my wallet. “I think I have the business card right here.”

  “What’s the plan, then?”

  “Since Sol has called Eloise, I’ll call the other one.”

  “Meet at Chuck’s apartment, right?” she asked.

  “I’ll take Chuck’s apartment. You take my office. These people are desperate. Call Penny and tell her to leave the back door unlocked and for her to get out of there. As in, now. I don’t want to have to replace the doorknob—or the secretary. Also...don’t get yourself shot.”

  “Dad, I’m the one wearing the kevlar. You got that gun in your car?”

  “Damn right I do. I think you should have Patrick back you up. Wait till Eloise goes inside. A good place to watch from would be Perry’s office. Hell, it’s only two blocks. You can walk from here.”

  “I’ll call him. He lives for this kind of thing. Once she breaks in, are you pressing charges? I mean, she’s a former client, and all.”

  I nodded.

  “Thought so.”

  “I mean it about the being careful part. I’m willing to bet you’ll have to contend with two of them.”

  “Husband and wife. Got it.”

  “You look good in kevlar,” I said.

  “It’s the new fashion.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It was 4:30 in the afternoon, and the traffic was bumper-to-bumper. I made my call from my cell phone.

  “Shawn Tannen.”

  “Shawn. It’s Bill Travis. This whole thing about the dead goat is winding down. It looks like that trucking company was dumping chemicals into that creek.”

  “No shit?”

  “Dead to rights. It’s the story of the century.”

  “What do you want me to do.”

  “Meet me at Chuck’s apartment. You got a cameraman? You may want to interview me.”

  “I’m only a few minutes away. Yeah. Driesel’s with me. He’s hobbling, but he’s alright.”

  “That’s great. See you in a few.”

  I clicked off my cell phone and laughed.

  *****

  There’s a saying running through the culture these days about ‘being owned.’ I take the meaning to be that one side lost without the other side having to fire a shot. Thus far I had set up all of the dominoes up. If I was right, they were about to be knocked over. And someone would be owned.

  The news van was waiting just before the long Holland driveway. I pulled past it and into the driveway and on toward the back. I glanced in the rearview of my Mercedes as I came to a stop in front of the garage and saw the van pulling in behind me. Driesel was at the wheel.

  I got out and slipped a jacket on. It wasn’t cool out, but I wanted to hide the pistol in my belt.

  Chuck Holland came down the stairs as I buttoned my jacket.

  “Bill? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “An interview. I suppose I’ll be on television. Maybe she’ll interview you as well. Almost-broken nose and all.”

  “Uh. What about?”

  “About the conclusion of the whole goat thing.”

  I turned as Driesel got out of the van and closed his door. He limped over to me and shook my hand.

  “Mr. Travis,” he said. “Say, I’d like to ask you something.”

  At that moment Shawn closed her door and stepped around the van.

  “Hi, Bill,” she said. “Where do you want to do this. We can do it in the sunlight or in the shade. If we do it in the sun, Driesel will need a filter. In the shade, though, he may need to rig some lights.”

  “In the sun is fine,” I said, “although I prefer it not be directly in my eyes. Do you have an opening statement prepared?”

  “I think so. I can just wing it, or we can do it after.”

  “How about one before and one after?”

  “If it takes too long to set up, we may have to do this Live.”

  “Fine by me,” I said. “I guess you’re up, Driesel. You can ask me as you set up.”

  “Ask you what?” Shawn asked.

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  Driesel moved quickly. He skirted the van, flung the back doors wide and began hoisting his equipment—a camera tripod in one arm, the news camera and bundle of cables in the other. He set these on the grass at my feet and returned to the rear of the van. A noticeable hum arose from the roof of the van and a large antenna telescoped into the air, narrowly clearing the tree limbs.

  The back door to the house opened and the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Holland came out onto their concrete back porch, then sat down in a couple of lawn chairs.

  “Come to see the circus?” I asked them.

  The old man frowned and the old woman waved a dismissive hand.

  Shawn made a cell phone call to the TV station and I tried to listen, but only got bits and snatches. After a moment of explaining, she thumbed her phone off.

  “Shit,” she said. “We’re going to have to do this Live.”

  “Far freakin’ out!” Driesel said. “I’m almost set.”

  He adjusted the camera up and down on the tripod, aimed it at Shawn, who busily tried to straighten her hair, apply a bit of pancake and check her lipstick in a tiny mirror, all at the same time.

  “You look sweet,” Driesel said. “No worries.” Driesel put his headphones on.

  “Thirty seconds,” he said.

  “Shit shit shit,” Shawn said.

  “Just don’t say that On the Air,” I said.

  “Oh shut up.” She brought her left hand up into the air be
fore her and made as if she were cleaning a pane of glass by sweeping it downward. As she did so, a beatific smile appeared on her face and her composure softened.

  “And Ten,” Driesel said.

  “You got this,” I said.

  “Shut up, Mr. Travis,” she mumbled between clenched teeth.

  “Five.”

  A sense of peace overcame me. A sense of wonder and of delight. While I had not the vaguest idea of what I was going to say, I knew that my words would be right.

  “Two.”

  Driesel held his two fingers up in the air for a moment, then pointed them at Shawn.

  She began.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “It began four days ago with the untimely death of a local rancher’s goat. The goat’s name was Bebe. Since that time, an investigation by the Travis County Sheriff’s Office in cooperation with a noted local investment advisor, Bill Travis, has revealed what could be a cover-up of the potential illegal dumping of toxic waste.”

  I stood beside Shawn with what I hoped was a serious look on my face—despite the fact that I was cackling madly inside—and waited.

  “I’m here with Bill Travis, who has agreed to share the latest details of the investigation. Mr. Travis?”

  The microphone appeared before me.

  The words came.

  “We are standing at the home of Chuck Holland just north of the University of Texas. Quite a bit of action has taken place here, at Boggy Creek near Sol Gunderson’s house, and at Pico Frieghtliners in East Austin. Late last night there was a break-in at Pico Freightliners. In an attempt to reveal what he was certain was a conspiracy to cover up the truth about toxic waste being dumped into Boggy Creek, Sol Gunderson was duped into an attempt to plant evidence of wrongdoing on the part of Pico Freightliners.”

  The microphone started to move away from me, but I snatched it from her hand. There was a moment of shock on Shawn’s face, but she quickly recovered.

  “Mr. Gunderson was set free when it was revealed that at least two, and possibly three individuals, were attempting to frame the trucking company for their own ends.” I turned the microphone towards Shawn.