by Mike Slavin
There had been a crack. Greg had released his grip as Sean slid downward, out of his hands and to the linoleum kitchen floor. Greg had looked at Sean’s dead, tanned, weather-beaten farmer’s face.
“Hard life? I know. It’s not fair.”
He had taken what the man had said was the only copy of the unrecorded lease assignment and had put it into his pocket. Then, Greg had wiped off his coffee cup and rinsed it out. He had pushed his chair back under the table. He had pulled out the man’s wallet and taken what little cash there was to make it look like a robbery.
“Sorry, had to be done.”
Greg had thrown the empty wallet on top of the man and left.
Greg returned to the present and listened to the conversation between Tony and Le Blanc.
“Well, that was convenient that the guy got robbed and killed. Did you have anything to do with it?” Le Blanc asked Tony.
“I’d rather not say, but based on this book, somebody knows more about it than I’d like. It’s all in there. Make sure you read it. Hypothetically, it could lead back to me, and that would be very bad. I have no idea how the author, Robert Guess, even knows about it. He claims the guy was murdered by the oil company, but what else does this guy know?”
“Were you mentioned in the book?”
“When I said silent owner, I meant real silent. Offshore shell companies owning other offshore shell companies, that kind of thing. But my company was mentioned.”
“Who else might know more about this, besides you?”
“The daughter. She’s probably about sixty years old now. She was trying to get attention and lost out on a lot of money, or so she claims. A Texas Ranger friend of hers talked to the president of my oil company, but just once. He showed up and asked a few questions. We never heard from him again.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Nope. I don’t think it was official, just a favor for a friend.”
“What about the president of your oil company?”
“He died about five years ago of a heart attack.”
“A heart attack—wink, wink?” Tony noticed that Le Blanc looked sorry as soon as he said the words.
“No, a real fucking heart attack.” Tony scowled.
“It’s been fifteen years. They probably don’t have anything now.”
“So, do nothing?” Tony asked.
“Yes, just relax.” The attorney stood up, straightened his clothes, shook hands with Tony, and left. Tony’s guys came back into the room.
“Greg, find Marco,” Tony said. “I want you guys to fly to Houston and talk to this author, Robert Guess.”
“Sure, boss. But didn’t the attorney say to do nothing?”
“It’s not his ass, is it?” Tony didn’t give Greg a chance to answer. “I want to know who Guess’s sources are. Try not to be too obvious that you’re most interested in the oil lease story. He won’t want to tell you, so convince him—and convince him to keep his mouth shut about your visit.”
“Okay, boss. When do you want us to go?”
“Now!”
10
Houston
June 4, 2018, Monday
Case sipped a cup of coffee at his desk, zoning out as he stared at a family picture of him and Becky holding Little Jeff.
How close were the cops to catching whoever had done this?
His cell phone rang. Case glanced at the phone and was surprised to see it was his niece. Olivia’s big smile and big brown eyes filled the phone’s display. Seeing her face made Case smile. She looked just like her mother, which meant she looked just like her mother’s twin sister, Becky. This was probably what his daughter would have looked like if he’d had a daughter.
“Olivia, it’s great to hear from you. Are you okay?” Case asked. Case knew Olivia called and talked to Becky a lot, but she seldom called him. He’d seen her at the funeral a few weeks earlier, and right after that for supper at his in-laws’ house, but not since then. They’d invited him over often, but it just hurt too much. Looking at Olivia and her sister Mia was like looking at Becky when she was young, or maybe the daughter he’d never have. And when Case looked at Michelle, an exact copy of Becky, he either stared too much, imagining it was his wife, or looked away, feeling awkward. He knew it was selfish, but he didn’t feel comfortable around them yet.
Maybe someday.
Maybe never.
“I’m at the mall,” Olivia said. Case could hear people in the background. She sounded nervous.
“Is everything alright?” Case asked.
“I guess so,” Olivia said.
“You know you can say anything to me. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Nothing. I’m sorry.” Case could hear her start crying and trying to stifle her tears.
“Hey, come on, relax.” Case tried to lighten up his speech. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Uncle Jeff, you know how you caught the man who hurt me?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you.”
Case could picture her lips quivering as she struggled to speak. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. But I don’t think that’s why you called me. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I miss Aunt Becky,” Olivia said.
Case missed her, too. His heart still continuously called out her name. Olivia’s pain reverberated through the speaker of his phone. How much pain did that child need to bear in one lifetime? Anger welled inside him again. Someone had to pay dearly for taking them both away from this world. His wife. His son. Her aunt. Her cousin.
“I miss her too, Liv,” Case said, using the nickname he’d given her when she was barely able to walk. He could still hear the patter of her two little feet running toward him every time he’d visited their house. Her eyes would light up at the sight of him and she’d yell out to her uncle, “Uhn Jeff, Uhn Jeff!”
These days, her eyes never smiled like that. Not since Wilson had gotten a hold of her. That son of a bitch deserved worse than what he’d gotten. If it came down to it, Case wouldn’t make the same mistake with whoever had killed his family. Nope, never again.
“Promise me something, Uncle Jeff.” Olivia’s voice yanked him back from his lonely place.
“Sure, anything.”
“Let the police handle their killer,” she said, her tone begging. “This isn’t the same thing as what happened with me.”
“I know, but the police will catch whoever did this.” Case really didn’t consider that whoever killed his wife and son wouldn’t be caught.
“What if they don’t? I don’t want you to try and catch ’em. Okay? You might get hurt.” In the forceful, uncompromising, assertive voice of a young girl, she put him in a corner. “Promise me.”
It was like a kid making an adult promise to take them to the movie or the park. She didn’t understand what she was asking.
Case waffled on his answer. “You know I don’t plan to do anything like that.” He planned to let the police do their job, but he didn’t want to promise he’d do nothing if they didn’t. Case was glad she couldn’t see him fidgeting in his chair. He pursed his lips and took a deep breath as he shook his head. He didn’t want to lie to Olivia.
“Promise me.”
“Olivia, the police will catch him.” Case knew she wasn’t going to let it go.
“What if they don’t? You promise me. Please, promise me right now.”
Since Case was on the speaker, he threw himself back in his executive chair and whipped his head back to stare at the ceiling for a second. Then he swiveled back so he faced the phone on his desk. He took a deep breath and calmly answered Olivia.
“Okay, I promise.” Case hoped he could keep that promise.
“I can’t lose you, too.” He could almost hear the tear running down her cheek as she spoke.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be in your life, Liv.”
“Aunt Becky promised me the same thing.”
Case started to reply when he realized she’d hu
ng up on him. He stared at the phone, dumbfounded. Never would he have guessed she would hang up on him. He called her right back, but she didn’t answer.
It tore a hole in his heart.
Talking to Olivia got his emotions flowing. Case didn’t want to bother the detectives every day, but he was growing impatient. It wasn’t so much that they hadn’t caught anyone yet. It was more that they seemed to have made no progress at all.
“It’s been a month,” Case said in a tight voice as he spoke to Detective Pat O’Leary. Case had always been polite and patient in every conversation with the police, but this was taking too long. “What’s happening?”
“Sir, we’re doing everything we can, and we’re still waiting on the results of the DNA tests,” Detective Pat said. “Hopefully, we’ll know something soon.”
“How long does that take?” Case asked.
“The lab is really backed up—”
“In other words, you don’t have a clue.”
“Mr. Case—” The detective tried to explain, but Case cut him off.
“What about the video from the convenience store?”
“The video wasn’t useable.”
“Have you guys checked out all their former employees?” Case asked.
“Yes, we have. There doesn’t seem to be anyone suspicious. Everyone had alibis. We know how to do our job,” Detective Pat answered, bristling.
Case sighed so loudly, he knew O’Leary heard it over the phone. “I'm not sure you do."
“Mr. Case, I understand your frustration, but you need to let us do our job.”
Case hung up, seething. He thought for a moment, controlling his anger. Case considered calling Pete, but the fact the PI hadn’t had the balls to help a little girl in trouble was unforgivable. The only other private investigator Case knew was Patricia Teal. She’d performed background checks on potential employees and business partners over the last couple years for his oil business. It was strictly an over-the-phone relationship, but she always did good work.
“Patricia? This is Jeff Case.”
“Mr. Case. Please, call me Trish. What can I do for you?” She was pleasant but professional.
“I need your help,” he said calmly. “And I need it fast.”
When Trish saw Jeff Case on the caller ID, she wondered if he was calling about the robbery and murder of his wife and child. She had dealt with death too many times. She had dealt with the surviving family members even more. “What can I help with?” she asked, after offering her condolences for Case’s loss.
“The police are moving too slowly. I want you to find out who did this, whatever it costs and however many people you need to get the job done,” he said.
Trish hesitated. She knew Case was a Green Beret. Being former military herself, she worried that he might be all about taking action. He could want vengeance himself if the cops didn’t deliver. She had no problem helping him find out who killed his family, but not if he planned on being the judge and executioner, too.
“The cops have probably already given up on canvassing the neighborhood, but I doubt they were thorough,” Trish said. “They just don’t have the resources. They could have missed someone who saw something—”
“I want to know who did this,” Case interrupted. “And anything you find, tell me directly. Do not tell the cops. Is that going to be a problem?”
“For your information, I have the same responsibility as a normal citizen,” Trish stated firmly. “Most people think you’re required to report a crime or suspects, but generally that’s not true. There are some exceptions, like teachers suspecting child abuse or doctors reporting gunshot wounds. But I have no obligation to report suspects or evidence to the police, so no worries.”
“Good. I’m not asking you to do anything illegal. I just want to know who killed my family.”
“If it can be found, Mr. Case, I’ll find it.”
“I’m counting on you,” Case said. “And please, call me Jeff.”
“Let me get started on this.”
“Good luck, Trish.”
“Appreciated, but I don’t need it. I create my own luck.”
After hanging up, Case sat in his chair, thinking.
What the hell should I do? What’ll I do if I find whoever killed Becky and Little Jeff? I’ll tell the cops. Let them handle it.
I mean, could I murder their killer or killers in cold blood? That’s crazy.
Could I get away with it?
What the hell am I thinking? That’s nuts.
11
Trish got hold of a list of ex-employees from Mrs. Park, the convenience store’s now-widowed owner. The list was staggeringly long. “Convenience store employee” was not a long-term career choice for most people. Mrs. Park now thought every former employee was shady, shifty, or up to no good, so Trish was unable to narrow down the list after discussing the staff with her. Frustrated, Trish made a call to a friend at the police department. She found out the robber or robbers had blacked out the video in the store and had known the combination to the back safe. This made Trish think the suspect or suspects were probably on the list Mrs. Park gave her, but figuring out who they were wasn’t going to be easy.
Trish canvassed the area with two men she’d hired to help her. She interviewed everyone she could find in the apartments behind and to the rear of the convenience store. The apartment complex was separated from the store by a fence, a large concrete runoff ditch, a small field, and bushes, but someone in the top-floor apartments might have seen something. It was a long shot, the kind the police didn’t always bother with. That was one reason she wasn’t a cop anymore—too many ass-chewings for using too many police resources on low-priority cases.
Even if no one saw anything at the store that day, they might have noticed something recently. It wasn’t always about asking if anyone had seen the crime but, rather, finding out what they had seen that differed from the daily patterns in the neighborhood.
Her break came from a mother and child playing in the park right below the apartment building.
“Ma’am, my name is Trish Teal. I’m a private investigator looking into the robbery at the convenience store behind you about a month ago.”
“That was horrible. Mr. Park getting killed, and that poor lady with her baby,” she said.
Trish nodded her agreement. “Is that your daughter there, the one in the overalls?”
The mom beamed with pride. “Yes.”
“I used to have overalls like that. Still do.” Trish smiled at the mom. “Do you and your girl often play at the park?”
“Oh, all the time. She has a lot of energy. If I don’t take her to the park, she just drives me up the wall.”
“Were you here the day of the robbery?”
“No, we were visiting my mother, but I remember that day. I saw it in the news around supper time.”
“So, have you noticed any new faces in the neighborhood?” Trish asked. “Or anyone who’s showed up again?”
The mom glanced away, thinking. “Well … there was this guy who used to work at the store a while ago. I saw him a few days before the robbery. I remember him because he has an odd nickname, Krusty, and my daughter always thought it was funny. I wondered what he was doing in the area, because I thought he lived in another part of town. Then I saw him again a week ago at the Walmart. I said ‘hi’ and asked how he was doing. He acted oddly and seemed like he was in a hurry. He told me he’d like to talk but had to run. I didn’t think anything about it.”
“You don’t happen to know his real name do you?”
“No. He just had ‘Krusty’ on his nametag when he worked there,” she said.
“Do you remember how long ago he worked at the store?”
“I had just moved into the apartment. That was ‘bout thirteen months ago. He was gone a few months later. I only remember because my daughter asked where Krusty was. The lady who worked there said she thought he got another job.”
“Thank you, that might
help,” Trish said, giving the mom a hopeful smile as she turned away. She tried not to act too excited, though she was ecstatic inside. This was a solid lead, and it had taken her only a few days to find. She loved the thrill of tracking down a bad guy when the police failed. As soon as she was out of earshot, she called Case.
“I think I’ve got a lead. Someone saw one of the former employees hanging around the store a few days before the robbery and then again about a week ago at the local Walmart,” Trish said.
“Really? That’s great! Who else knows?” Case asked.
“Just the witness,” Trish replied.
“Good. If you’re still near the store, can you meet me at my house? It’s a few minutes away.”
“Sure, send over your address.”
Trish arrived a few minutes later. When Case opened the front door, he was surprised. He’d never met her in person, but he had a mental image from her voice. Her voice had not misled him. If anything, it had understated. The woman had a comfortable beauty—short blonde hair, bright blue eyes with a hint of gray, and a smile that would put anyone at ease. Of course, after looking him in the eyes, she glanced at his scar like everyone did. But if people didn’t ask about it, he didn’t explain.
He showed her into his study.
Trish didn’t waste time with niceties. “His nickname is Krusty.”
“Can you get his real name from that?”
“Sure. I have the list of employees and the dates they worked there. I'm sure I can narrow it down to the right guy. With a nickname like Krusty, it shouldn't be too hard. I’m sure Mrs. Park knows, but I’d like to keep her out of this. I’ll go online and check the employees’ names against all the social media sites. If that doesn’t work, I’ll do some more footwork, but I’ll find him. I’m sure I’m only a step or two away from having the guy’s full name and information.”