Deadly Encounter

by DiAnn Mills

  Dexter concluded a conversation with James Nisse, who wanted to know if he’d heard anything about a water hoax on the north side of town. In view of Kathi Scott at Channel 5 making an inquiry the previous evening, he wanted to handle this personally. He’d first heard Dr. Broussard’s name on Saturday when she found a body. This was Alex’s case and the woman he’d talked about. Picking up his phone, he called the veterinary clinic, and a woman answered.

  “Dr. Broussard, this is Dexter Rayken, director of the Laboratory Response Network. I spoke to a representative from the health department, and he relayed an unfortunate incident about the water tower in your neighborhood.”

  “Yes, sir. It appears we’ve been victims of a water hoax, and now an investment company is approaching home owners. A man from the health department should be here shortly, and I’ve been assured HPD will be involved. Another problem that seems to coincide with it is an outbreak of flu.”

  “James Nisse is a good man, and he’ll help resolve the issues. When this came to my attention through Channel 5 last night, I failed to contact you. I’m truly sorry.”

  “Apology accepted. I feel foolish to have been so vulnerable. If you don’t mind, what is your role with the city’s health department?”

  “Dr. Broussard, your questions show your concern for yourself and others affected. The LRN is a federal network of laboratories to assist with public health concerns. Our organization tests all possible contaminants for the CDC, FBI, and other agencies. I suggest you continue to work with the Houston Health Department and law enforcement to resolve the problem. However, if you have further questions or concerns, please take my personal number to contact me.” He gave her his cell number. “No one should live in fear of water contamination.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your taking time to reassure me.”

  Dexter said his good-bye and e-mailed James and Alex as a follow-up. Whoever was responsible for the scare deserved to be in jail.

  WHITT PEDALED HIS BIKE to the clinic after school, eager to hear every detail about the health department’s assessment of the water problem. His concern for Miss Stacy mounted. She already struggled to keep all her balls juggling in the air, but no one could maintain a stressful pace for very long without eventually crumbling. If she did, he’d be dropped back into the system.

  He was selfish, but he couldn’t help it. Miss Stacy stood for the things he’d always wanted . . . a home and someone who cared.

  Late into the night, he’d read about waterborne diseases. A host of protozoal, bacterial, parasitic, and viral infections were water transmitted. The majority had flu-like symptoms, like those reported from the sick kids in his neighborhood. If the reports about their water were the real deal, a lot of people would be sick. Some might even die. The names of the diseases and how they affected people were characteristic of incidences in third-world countries, not in Houston, Texas. The thought of biological warfare hit him hard. The people in his neighborhood were the poor who couldn’t afford to move and those who’d knife you for your shoes. Neither deserved to die. Miss Stacy had always insisted upon the value of life.

  You’re overreacting, overthinking, overanticipating again. He rode his bike as though getting to the clinic faster would produce positive results. Once he locked up his bike, he dashed inside.

  “Miss Stacy?”

  “Back here. Xena and I are discussing the possibilities for lunch.” She sounded optimistic. Happy. He relaxed.

  With purposeful strides, he joined her in the office. “You must have extraordinary news about the water problem.”

  She glanced up into his face. “Depends on how you look at it. The spokesperson from the health department called me.”

  “What did you learn?”

  She scratched Xena behind the ears. “They apparently don’t have time for us until Monday.”

  “We’re at the bottom of their totem pole.”

  “I’m teasing. There’s more. I went online and phoned the number for Houston’s health department, and guess what I discovered?” Anger burned in her dark-blue eyes. “We received a bogus letter. Officials from the city are going door-to-door, speaking with residents about the hoax. From all indicators, our water is fine. I’ve called or sent an e-mail to those residents we have addresses for and given them the real health department’s phone number. I received a call from the LRN, and the director gave me his cell phone number if problems persist. In the meantime, I’ve agreed to cooperate with local authorities and meet Monday morning with the originator of our letter.” She lifted her chin. “Jamais de ma vie.”

  He’d heard the Cajun phrase enough to understand the meaning—he’d never heard anything like this in his life either. “Wait a minute. . . . Are you putting yourself in danger?”

  She shook her head. “Already have it handled. The moment the person suggests he or she is employed by the health department or admits to sending the letter, a police officer back here will make an arrest.”

  He bent to love on Xena. “Why go to all the trouble? Let someone else handle it.” His mind shifted into reverse. “What would anyone have to gain by spreading lies anyway? I mean, if we had oil beneath our homes, maybe.”

  “I investigated potential building projects too.” She told him about the real estate investment company wanting to pay cash for homes, and her futile effort to find out what a developer wanted with their property. “The problem is I don’t see a connection to those sick with flu.”

  “Flu can break out anywhere. He’s using it to his advantage. I don’t like the idea of him having appointments with residents.”

  “Right. I also learned he’s not doing a thing wrong by offering them cash for their property. It’s a legal transaction.”

  “By preying on people who’re afraid? Miss Stacy, you know he’s using scare tactics and making dirt-low offers. I bet he sent the letters.”

  “Maybe so. Which is a huge reason for me to do my part on Monday. Maybe the investment company plans to build something here and wants to keep it secret.”

  “The city’s had a proposed Grand Parkway in the works for a long time, and the construction would bring in jobs.” Questions skipped across his mind. “But I’ll look into it.”

  “In the whole scheme of what’s happened to upset our lives, the biggest priority is getting custody of you. Pushing for adoption—”

  His insides did a flip. “You never told me about adoption.”

  She blew out her exasperation. “Sorry. My thinking’s jumbled, and I really wanted to ask you about it in a sit-down conversation. But it’s in my plan if you’re okay with it.”

  “Of course I am! Having you for my mom would be awesome.”

  She smiled. “Then we’ll pray for the judge’s wisdom. The fraudulent letters about the water and the alarm it’s caused are deplorable, but it’s not the most critical issue in our lives. We can’t take on the problems of the world. Those who have expertise in bringing down lawbreakers will take care of this.”

  Whitt didn’t like the string of coincidences, underhanded business tactics, and lies. From the lines across her forehead, she had worries that rose to a frightening level. One more time, she was trying to protect him from the realities of life. “This won’t be over soon,” he said. “Too much is at stake and whoever’s responsible has gone to a tremendous amount of trouble.”

  The possible repercussions from her setting up the bad guys yanked at his fear factor. He’d read the Bible tonight to build up his points with God.

  Please protect Miss Stacy.

  ALEX GRABBED HIS PHONE and met Ric in the hallway. Techs had identified the voice of the man who’d called for Todd Howe, a man who’d done time for land fraud. This wasn’t information to convey over the phone.

  “Is Bekah expecting us?” Ric said.

  “She is, and I told her we not only had the name but also have a photo. She said she might have additional information for us.”

  Alex and Ric were escorted inside the Ho
we home by an older woman who introduced herself as a friend. Bekah soon appeared. Her dark skirt and blouse hung on her like a scarecrow’s, and her hollow cheeks rivaled a horror movie. Wasn’t anyone taking care of her? What were these people doing if not helping her through this tragedy?

  “We can talk in Todd’s office,” she said. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.” Alex wanted to take her to dinner, fill out those bones. She’d wither away to nothing if someone didn’t give her a reason to live.

  “How are your sons?” Ric said.

  Good man.

  “They are managing. I appreciate your asking. Please, follow me.” She walked to a room on the left and opened the door, indicating for them to enter.

  Todd’s large office was typical—rich hardwood floors, a massive desk, and a built-in bookcase. From the randomly placed three chairs, the seating arrangement was a new addition. She was the last one to sit.

  “Mrs. Howe,” Alex said, “do you mind if our conversation is recorded?”

  “Of course not.”

  He pulled up a photo and handed his phone to her. “This is Lynx Connor, who has been confirmed and identified through voice recognition software as the man who phoned asking for Todd.”

  She clasped her mouth and stared at the photo. “He’s the man I suspected from the footage you showed me. I planned to give you his name.”

  “Do you know him as Lynx Connor?”

  “Yes, he’s a business associate of Todd’s. Have you questioned him?”

  “The FBI is seeking to locate him. He used a burner phone when he contacted you. What can you tell us about Mr. Connor?”

  “I never cared for him. Rather crude in his language. Actually I wouldn’t have learned his name if I hadn’t found a slip of paper in my husband’s suit pants. I check his pockets before the cleaners pick them up.”

  “How was Connor introduced to you?” Nothing about the man had been found on Todd’s devices or phone records, indicating he must have used burner phones when they communicated.

  “Todd said Mr. Connor lived in LA and owned a real estate investment company that also had an office in Houston. Mr. Connor would come by the house all hours of the day and night to tell Todd about commercial opportunities. My husband used him for possible restaurant expansion sites.”

  “Seems odd the man made house calls instead of picking up the phone or communicating electronically.”

  “I asked the same thing, but Todd claimed it was necessary for discreet conversations.”

  “Were you privy to their discussions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Weren’t you curious?”

  “Not at 2 a.m. or when I was busy with the boys or running our home. In hindsight, I should have insisted on being a part of those meetings. Gentlemen, I will never again fall under the heading of sheltered or protected.” She paused. “We have security cameras inside our home, and I can provide the link for you to view.”

  “Perfect.” Alex pieced together a marriage that left more than communication out of the relationship. “How long had the two men been doing business?”

  “Hmm. A couple of years. Maybe longer.”

  “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Howe. Agent Price or I will be in touch.”

  “Mrs. Howe,” Ric began, “before we leave, I’d like to speak sincerely with you regarding your health. Your sons are Levi and Elijah?” When she nodded, he continued. “They need you. Their father is gone, and you have the tremendous role of filling both shoes. But if you don’t take care of yourself, they will be orphans.”

  Her eyes pooled. “I realized my failings this morning when I dressed.”

  “Promise us from this moment on, you will eat, rest, and find the strength to take each moment as it occurs.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “You and Agent LeBlanc are more than investigators. You have become friends. I promise, just as I made the same vow to God earlier today.”

  LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Alex battled the traffic as he left the office. Dumb decision to venture into Friday’s midafternoon rush hour. People were hurrying home from a short workday or following up on early weekend plans, and the result was bumper-to-bumper traffic, brake lights, and impatience.

  Alex despised the lack of progress in the case. Dead ends had plagued him last evening and today, leaving a taste of bitterness and frustration that added acid to his disposition.

  Unfinished work on the case could be done at home, including probing deeper into the relationship between Todd Howe and Lynx Connor. Alex needed think time. Then he would run his thoughts by Ric. His partner took evidence and simplified it like a math formula, shoving theories into Alex’s mind that he’d never considered. Together they were able to dissect crimes effectively.

  Domestic terrorism waved the highest flag, and homegrown offenders had his vote. This weekend he’d spend hours poring over evidence and backgrounds to help the FBI put boots on the ground to end this mess. And hope Lynx Connor was brought into custody and persuaded to talk. Although, with the way this case had gone, Connor probably had nothing to do with any of it.

  Alex lifted a bottle of water from the cup holder and drank deeply while the vehicles in front of him crept ahead. An image of Stacy Broussard refused to leave him alone. Every time he decided she was too complicated for his style, her face or something she’d said took over his thoughts. He refused to call her with his misgivings, but he wanted to. A relationship, or friendship as he should term it, hadn’t interested him in months. Maybe longer.

  He wanted a woman who challenged him, not a yes-sir type. Stacy had those qualities along with beauty and a depth of intellect hidden behind those blue eyes and cowgirl image. Determination and a heavy dose of stubbornness made her that much more attractive. Cajun roots were a plus too.

  Alex turned up the radio’s volume to hear the latest out of Washington. Never positive, but always information he needed to know. His cell rang in the middle of a commentary about the latest threats to Israel.

  “Special Agent Alex LeBlanc.”

  “This is Whitt McMann. Do you remember me?”

  He smiled, despite being interrupted from the news flash, and turned down the radio. “Yes. You’re a friend of Stacy Broussard.”

  “Right. Our subdivision has been hit with threats about our water system being contaminated. The residents received letters supposedly from the health department . . .” Whitt went on to explain the letter’s contents, Stacy’s attempt to obtain clarification, the investment firm offering cash for property, and Houston Health Department’s denial along with Stacy’s contact with the LRN. “She tried to find out if our subdivision was the site of any building programs. Couldn’t find a thing. A hoax.”

  “The situation isn’t under the FBI’s jurisdiction unless we’re asked to get involved.” Alex needed to follow up with Dexter about his e-mail.

  “I realize your boundaries, and your specific division is domestic terrorism. My concern is she’s agreed to set up the ones who sent the letters. I’m worried about her safety. She has the license plate number of the man representing the investment firm.”

  A twinge of alarm met him. “I’ll take it and run a check.”

  “Thanks. I also called a pro bono attorney, but no one would talk to me because of my age. My question is how reliable is the Houston Police Department at keeping her from getting hurt?”

  “Is an officer accompanying her? Or is she wearing a recorder?”

  “HPD plans to be in the back of the clinic and make an arrest when the conversation incriminates the speaker.”

  This kid and his vocabulary. “Our police department is one of the finest in the country. The officer will have her back.”

  “But there is an element of risk in the takedown, right?”

  “There’s always that possibility.”

  “Would you talk to her? I personally don’t think this is a smart move. She has no martial arts skills, no means of defending herself.”<
br />
  “I’d be glad to. I’ll call and see if she opens up.”

  “What about an impromptu visit? You’re a pro at showing up unexpectedly.”

  Alex chuckled. “When would you like for this to happen?”

  “Tonight. No gumbo, though. Usually we grill burgers and watch a movie on Friday nights.”

  There went his evening alone with his thoughts and waiting on a call from LA. “Okay, I can do this. I like my burger medium rare. What’s the movie?”

  “It’s an old one called High Crimes, one of my favorites. Miss Stacy questioned the rating’s kid-friendly status, but I’ve seen it all. Anyway Morgan Freeman, Ashley Judd, and Jim Caviezel are the stars. Released in 2002. You might like it. Lots of intrigue and deception.”

  Alex should recruit this kid. “I think I remember it.”

  “Oh, bring flowers. That’s always a good touch with a woman.”

  Alex laughed. “Thanks. Does she have a favorite?”

  “Yellow roses, and for bonus points, popcorn-flavored Jelly Bellies.”

  “Where do I find the candy?”

  “Candy store at the mall near us. About seven thirty okay?”

  “Sure. Are you playing matchmaker?”

  “No. You’ll be there as an investigator. I’m not even sure I like you yet. Got my own trust issues going on. But I think of myself as Miss Stacy’s bodyguard.”

  “Tough role for a kid.” Another question rose in Alex’s mind. “What’s the name of the investment firm?”

  “Walter M. Brown Investments. They have a website and a contact tab, but not an address. Looks like a shell company to me.”

  Once more the kid was one step ahead of him. “Appreciate the heads-up. I should have time to check it out before picking up flowers and candy.”

  “Channel 5 is reporting the fraud on the six o’clock news tonight. But money talks, and Mr. Smith is writing checks.”

  “If he’s doing anything illegal, he’ll get caught. I guarantee it.”