Chapter 18
Richard Banks
The next morning I stopped by the Dallas Police Department. I was there to interview the officer who had arrested Richard Banks. I went up to the information desk and advised the dispatcher that I had an appointment with Officer Wentworth. She said she would page her. I sat down next to a mother holding a cranky baby and waited. After a few minutes Officer Wentworth walked up to the dispatcher. I got up and walked toward the officer.
"Hi . . . Officer Wentworth?"
"Yes, you must be Stan Turner."
"Correct, thank you for meeting with me."
"No problem, come on back, and we'll find an empty office."
"Thank you."
I followed her into a small, sparsely furnished office. She sat down at a small round table.
"Have a seat."
"Thanks."
"So, how can I help you?" she asked.
"I need to ask you about the Richard Banks' arrest."
"Banks? . . . Why? It's all in my report."
"Well, true. I wanted to see if you might explain what happened in a little more detail. Your testimony could be very important."
"Well, let me see. As I recall I was on patrol when I got a call about an accident on Lemmon Avenue near Wycliff. I was about to give a motorist a ticket when the call came in. I told the driver it was his lucky day and immediately went to the scene."
"Were you the first officer there?"
"Yes."
"What did you see?"
"As I recall Mr. Banks was sitting in his car. The victim was lying face down near the median of the highway. I called for an ambulance and then went over to the victim to see if he was alive. He was breathing but was unconscious. A Care-flight helicopter arrived almost immediately and Mr. Ravi was taken away."
"So, then what did you do?"
"I took Mr. Banks' statement."
"Did you notice anything unusual?"
"Slurred speech--the smell of liquor--a lack of any kind of remorse. Most folks would have been a little upset over killing someone but not Mr. Banks."
"What was his excuse?"
"He said he was traveling eastbound on Lemmon Avenue about forty-five miles per hour when Mr. Ravi suddenly appeared out of nowhere and ran out in front of him. He claimed he didn't have time to stop because it all happened so fast. After he hit him, he then slammed on his brakes and skidded completely around so he was facing on-coming traffic."
"So, what happened next?"
"I went over to the car and noticed an empty bottle of scotch on the floor in the back seat. I decided I that constituted probable cause to do a field sobriety test, so I administered it."
"How did he do?"
"He failed the test completely, so I arrested him on a charge of DWI. When we got him back to the station we found out Mr. Ravi had died, so we charged him with involuntary manslaughter and transferred him to the county jail."
"Did they video tape him at the station?"
"Yes, they did, and I viewed the tape later. He acted belligerent, uncooperative, and appeared very drunk."
"What about a blood test?"
"There was a blood test, but I haven't seen the results. The DA is handling it now."
"So, what's the status of his case? Do you know?"
"The grand jury has it. I was told they should come down with an indictment pretty soon."
"Good. . . . Well, I really appreciate you talking to me. I'm sure we're going to have to take your deposition and I know we'll need your testimony at the time of trial."
"You'll need to serve me a subpoena. I can't voluntarily be a witness."
"I understand. Thanks again."
When I got back to the office, I decided to check on Mr. Bank's indictment. I didn't understand what was taking so long. The problem was grand jury deliberations were secret and there wasn't any official way I could check on what was transpiring. Then I thought of Paula. I'd call her. She might be able to check into it for me. I picked up the telephone.
"Sure, what was his name?" Paula asked.
"Banks--Richard Banks."
"Okay, I'll ask around and let you know."
"Thanks. I really appreciate your help. I owe you one."
"You can buy me lunch--or better yet, dinner."
"Yeah, Okay, I'll do that."
"Call me."
"Okay."
"Soon."
"Sure. . . . Bye."
The next day I turned my attention to the Golden Dragon partners. I still had to do what I could to help them defend themselves from the vultures who were trying to pick the Golden Dragon carcass clean. I arrived at the IRS collections office at 10:35 a.m. I checked my Daytimer and saw that the meeting was on the 8th floor. An attractive young black lady was waiting at the elevator. When the door opened she got in, and punched eleven. I followed her in and hit eight.
"Oh . . . the dreaded eighth floor," she said.
I smiled and replied,"Yeah, I'm afraid so."
"Hmm . . . you don't look scared enough to be a taxpayer," she said, "and you don't look mean enough to be a revenue agent."
I laughed and said, "You're very observant. I'm a lawyer."
She shook her head and said, "That figures. Mr. Cool, huh?"
The elevator stopped on the eighth floor and the door opened. The lady smiled and said, "Have a nice day."
I shook my head, half smiled and replied, "Right."
I stepped out and observed an office to my right with a sign that read Internal Revenue Service, Collections Branch. I entered and looked around. It was a cold, sterile office decorated with cheap, artificial plants and brightly colored plastic chairs. A large bulletin board was strategically placed by the doorway so it wouldn't be missed. Attached to it were ominous notices of seizures, levies, and asset auctions, obviously designed to intimidate the taxpayers who had been summed to go one on one with a revenue agent. I spotted Don and Jim seated in the reception area and walked over to them.
"Hi, gentlemen," I said. "Have you checked in?"
"No," Don replied."We thought we better wait for you."
"Okay, let me go tell them that we're here. I'll be right back.
I walked over and got in line at the reception window. After waiting about five minutes, I advised the clerk that we had an appointment with Agent Clyde Richmond. I was told to take a seat, and that Mr. Richmond would be with us shortly.
"How's Pam?" I asked.
"I don't know," Don said. "She won't leave the house. She's afraid she might see someone she knows. I'm really worried about her."
"She'll be okay in a few days, I bet. It must have been an incredible shock for her to suddenly be confronted by a cop ready to drag her away like a common criminal--especially with her friends there."
"It was humiliating. I'm not sure she'll ever get over it," Don said dejectedly.
Twenty minutes later Agent Richmond had yet to come out, so I went back to the reception desk and inquired as to whether Mr. Richmond was going to meet with us or not. The clerk said Mr. Richmond was out but was due back any minute.
"Can you believe this, Stan? We made an appointment with this guy yesterday. You'd think he would have the decency to show up."
"He'll be here. He just wants to make us sweat a little."
"Are you serious?" Don said.
"Uh huh. It's a negotiation technique."
"Do you think this guy will cut us any slack, Stan?" Jim asked.
"Don't hold your breath," I replied. "This is the IRS, remember."
The door flung open and a tall, slim man about thirty-five years old appeared. He was nearly bald and wore steel framed glasses.
"Mr. Turner?" he said in a loud voice.
I raised my hand and said, "Yes, right over here."
"Come with me please," he said.
We followed him into a room partit
ioned into twenty or thirty meeting cubicles. He pointed to a cubicle and said, "Take a seat right there. I'll grab another chair."
Soon Agent Richmond came back with another orange plastic chair. He put it down and everyone took a seat. I opened my briefcase and pulled out a file folder.
"All right," he said. "You wanted to talk about the levy on your bank account?"
"Yes," I said. "The partners were very surprised by the levy. They didn't receive any kind of notice."
Agent Richmond looked in his file and said, "I've got a green card right here, signed by a . . . Luther Bell."
"Yes, Mr. Bell was the manager until he was fired recently. Without the authority of the other partners, he changed the address of the partnership with the post office. They didn't get any mail for over a week. Mr. Bell didn't notify them of the IRS Notice of Intent to Levy."
"Well, I guess the ultimate question is what are we going to do with these outstanding tax liabilities. Are you going to write me a check?" Agent Richmond asked.
"Unfortunately my clients don't have the funds to pay the full amount due at this time. Their manager embezzled a lot of money from them, which left them low on cash. We would like to work out an installment payout arrangement if we could."
"If you think we're going to release the levy, forget it. Whatever we've captured belongs to us now. We can talk about an installment payout of the balance due, but frankly with so many of you financially responsible for this debt, I doubt if it would be taken very seriously."
"What do you show the balance due to be?" I asked.
"$32,231.22 as of the date of the levy."
"I thought it was only around $25,000," Jim said.
"That may have been the initial amount on the return, but we've assessed some penalties and interest."
"What kind of penalties?" Jim asked.
"There's a 10% penalty for filing the return late, another 10% for not remitting the tax with the return, plus interest at the statutory rate."
"Do you know how much you got in the levy?" I asked.
Agent Richmond looked in his file and said, "$18,250. That leaves a balance of $13,981.22."
"Can you give them some time to pay that off?" I asked.
"Perhaps. I'll have to get them to fill out a financial statement, but let me warn you if the financial statements show they have the ability to pay, then I won't be able to give them any additional time."
"Okay, give me a minute with my clients so we can make a decision how to proceed."
Agent Richmond stood up and said, "All right, I'll be back in a couple minutes."
I turned to Don and Jim and said, "Well, gentlemen, what do you want to do? I'm not sure you want to give them a financial statement. No telling what they will do once they know where all your assets are."
"I sure as hell don't want them to know I've got stock options," Jim said.
"Damn, I hate to cough up another four grand. This deal is really draining me," Don said. "Pam is going to have a stroke."
"You don't have much of a choice, really," I said. "They can garnish your wages if you don't pay the tax."
"Oh, that would be lovely if my boss got a notice of garnishment from the IRS. I'd probably lose my job," Don said.
"You could appeal the levy on grounds of lack of notice," I suggested. "That will buy you some time as they will have to cease collection activity during the appeal, but when they deny the appeal you'll still be on the same sinking ship and interest will have accrued in the interim."
"I don't want to stall. We need to get this over with," Don said.
"The other option is a chapter 13," I advised.
"My wife's at home right now, too embarrassed to leave the house because of her arrest. Can you imagine how she would feel if her friends read about her bankruptcy in the newspaper?"
"We could file in Dallas. There are so many bankruptcies there the paper doesn't bother to publish them anymore."
"I don't think so. Let's just pay the money and get the hell out of here," Don said.
"I guess we don't have any other choice," Jim concurred.
I saw Agent Richmond in the distance talking to another revenue officer and motioned for him to come back. He held up his hand, briefly acknowledging the summons, finished his conversation, and then strolled back to the cubicle.
"So what's it gonna be?" Agent Richmond asked.
"They're going to write you a check. There are five investors so each will pay twenty percent."
"Where are the others?"
"I'll get their checks this afternoon and bring them to you in the morning," Jim said.
"Very good. Once I get all the checks I'll release the levy and the tax lien against the partnership."
We left the IRS office on Alpha Road and met at a coffee shop a few blocks away. I needed to talk to Don since I'd been contacted by Detective Besch. He wanted to talk to Pam and Don, so I suggested he come by my office the following day. I hadn't had an opportunity to advise Don of the meeting, so I took this opportunity to do it.
"Tomorrow?" Don said.
"Right. He wanted to do it today, but I told him it was a bad time with the IRS and everything. He'll be in my office tomorrow morning at nine. Why don't you and Pam come in at eight-thirty so we can go over a few things before the interview."
"All right, but is it critical that Pam come? I don't think she's ready for this type of trauma."
"I know. I asked him the same question but he's adamant he speak to both of you."
"Wonderful. I wish I had killed Luther Bell. The asshole has ruined my life."
"I know things look pretty dismal right now, but you've got to try to focus on the positive things in your life."
"Like what?" Don asked.
"Like you still have a great wife and a wonderful family. You have a good job, and everybody is in good health. That's a lot to be thankful for."
"Yeah, but how long is that going to last?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Hell, they may whisk me away tomorrow and throw me in jail. Then I won't have a damn thing."
The next day it was cold and rainy in Austin. I had been taking a deposition in a wrongful termination case downtown. The depositions ended as scheduled at 1:30 p.m. but unfortunately, on the way to the airport, my taxi got a flat. By the time a new cab was dispatched I had lost twenty minutes and ended up missing my flight. I was able to get on the next flight and still would have made it back for my six o'clock meeting except that fog had socked-in Love Field and the plane couldn't land.
The flight returned to Austin, refueled and at 6:30 touched down again in Dallas. It was 7:15 when I finally walked into my office. Key was sitting reading a magazine and Amit was pacing nervously. Jodie smiled when she saw me arrive.
"We'd almost given up on you," Jodie said.
"I'm so sorry. I've never been through such an ordeal." I explained what happened.
"Sounds like you've had a difficult day, Mr. Turner," Amit said.
"Yes, and I'm so sorry you had to wait. I know you're leaving tomorrow for India."
"Correct. We have a 10:00 a.m. flight."
"Well, we'll try to make this meeting as short as possible. Come on into my office."
Amit and Key followed me into my office and we all sat down.
"Okay, the last time we met we didn't really have time for you to tell me about your relationship with your father, Key. I need to know how you two got along. What you did together. What impact your father's death will have on you. This is all important in determining damages. We've got to show, hopefully, the devastation you felt when your father died."
"Well, since my father was killed, I won't be able to get to know him."
"What do you mean? Were you planning to spend more time with him to get to know him better?"
"No, I was planning to find him and get to know him."
&nb
sp; "Huh? What do you mean find him?"
"What he's trying to tell you, Mr. Turner," Amit said, "is that he never knew his father. He had never met him. Anant and his mother got a divorce when Key was only two years old. He disappeared after that. None of us knew where he was until we were contacted about his death."
I leaned back and put my hands over my eyes. The cold chill of disappointment gripped me. How could my luck be so bad? In nine hundred ninety-nine cases out of a thousand when a son lost his father he would have suffered immeasurable damages, but with no relationship whatsoever with his father, never having seen him or talked to him, there were no damages, none, nothing. I struggled to keep my composure.
"I suppose Anant didn't visit or talk to his father in India either?"
"No. . . . Well, he did send him a letter once just to let him know he was alive."
"Great."
After Amit and Key had left I went home. Rebekah was watching TV and didn't smile when I walked in. "Where have you been? It's nearly eight o'clock. The kids have been terrible. I've been trying to help Reggie with his poetry assignment, and Marcia's been a pest--hanging on me like a little monkey."
"Don't even start," I said. "You don't know the kind of day I've had."
Rebekah glared at me for a minute and finally said, "So what happened to you?"
I told her the tragic news.
"He didn't even know him?"
"No. Not at all."
"So what does that mean?"
"It means we don't have any damages. The case isn't worth shit!"
Rebekah stiffened. "You mean . . . you mean, we won't be able to recover anything?"
"That's about the size of it."
She shook her head and grimaced. "That's just our luck. I knew this was too good to be true. Damn it!"
"I'm sorry, honey. I thought maybe this was real, but--"
Rebekah looked at me, her eyes pleading. "Isn't there anything you can do?"
I smiled faintly. "Our only hope is that the grand jury indicts Richard Banks. Then I should be able to prove gross negligence. If I can do that, all I have to do is show my client has one dollar of actual damages."
"So what's one dollar going to do for us?"
"A lot. If I prove one dollar of actual damages then I can ask for a million dollars of punitive damages."
"You can do that?"
I forced a confident smile. "I sure as hell can. So don't give up quite yet."
"When's the grand jury going to indict him?"
"Soon, I hope."
"So, all isn't lost then?"
"No, it won't be easy, but I know a pretty creative psychiatrist who can probably find some damages even without a relationship between Key and Anant. I'll have to call him."
"Good, we need that money, Stan. I was really counting on it."
"I thought you weren't going to count on it?"
"Well, you got my hopes up. You sounded so sure about this."
It would have been a good time to tell her about the Peruvian pottery and the diamonds Melanie had found, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Another disappointment would be unbearable.
"I know. I'm sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut about it. It just looked so promising, and it might still work out."
"No it won't. It's just our luck," Rebekah said as she began crying. "It's just my luck. I've always been unlucky. Just when I see the light at the end of the tunnel, there's a damn earthquake and I get buried alive! There is a dark cloud hanging over me. There always has been."
I grabbed Rebekah by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Hey, we've survived, right? It hasn't been so bad. We have wonderful children who never give us any kind of trouble. We live in one of the nicest communities in the world, everybody's healthy and we have each other. So I don't think we should be feeling sorry for ourselves."
Rebekah stared at me for a moment and then wiped the tears from her eyes. "You have such a knack for putting things in perspective, don't you?"
"I'm an attorney. I have to keep things in perspective or I would go crazy."
"Hmm," Rebekah said, giving me a wry smile. "A girl can't even feel sorry for herself around you. You're no fun."
"If you want to have some fun, I've got some ideas."
"Yeah, I bet you do. You always think sex is the solution to all our problems."
"Isn't it?" I said with a smile.
"We've got kids running around the house, in case you didn't notice."
"Isn't it their bedtime?'
Rebekah looked at her watch. "It's only eight o'clock. Sorry."
I shrugged. "The kids are busy upstairs."
"What if they come down?"
"Just don't moan too loud, and they'll never know what we're doing."
Rebekah gave me a wry smile. "Okay, wise guy. Let's do it." She unbuttoned the back of her dress, shook her head, then gave her shoulders a little twist. The dress fell to the floor leaving her standing in her bra and panties. I went over to her and we began kissing excitedly. Just then Reggie walked in the kitchen.
"Mom and Dad! Gee whiz. What are you doing?"
"Ooops!" Rebekah laughed. "Dad and I are just--"
"Messing around," I said. "Get the hell out of here, and leave us alone!"
Reggie covered his eyes and turned away. "Okay," he said and quickly left the room.
"I think we better take this to the bedroom," I said.
Rebekah nodded and we walked quickly down the hall, went into our room and shut the door. We looked at each other and suddenly burst out laughing.
"Did you see Reggie's face? Rebekah said hardly able to contain herself.
"Yes, the poor kid. We shocked the hell out of him."
Rebekah took a deep breath. "Oh God. I really needed a good laugh."
"Me too."
She looked into my eyes and smiled tenderly. "I love you, Stan Turner."
The next day Detective Besch arrived at my office at nine sharp. Jodie showed him into the conference room overlooking Central Expressway where we were waiting for him. It was a clear day and bright sunlight flooded the room. Jodie went over to the windows and drew the blinds.
"Would you like some coffee or a cold drink?" she asked.
"A cold drink would hit the spot," he replied.
Jodie nodded and left the room. I introduced Detective Besch to Don and Pam. Everyone took a seat and waited in awkward silence. After Jodie returned with the drinks the interrogation began.
"All right, my clients have agreed to talk with you," I said to Besch. "However, Mrs. Blaylock has not been well, so if we could make this as brief as possible we would appreciate it," I said.
"Sure, I'm sorry folks. I hate to have to bother you, but I've got my job to do. I'm sure you understand."
"Yes, how can we help you?" Don asked.
"Well, to expedite things, let me tell you that I'm familiar with your restaurant venture and how Luther Bell ran the place into the ground. Margie Mason has confirmed that Luther set Mrs. Blaylock up to write the hot checks for which she was arrested. I guess what I want to explore is where everyone was on Wednesday night, the night of the murder. Obviously, all of the partners are suspects simply because of the strong motive each had to kill Mr. Bell. We're not accusing you of anything, but somebody did beat him to death."
"We understand," I said. "You've got your investigation to do and we want to cooperate as much as possible. My clients are innocent and they have nothing to hide."
"Good, then Mr. Blaylock, let's start with your whereabouts the night of the murder."
"That's simple. We were at home watching TV."
"Is that right? Didn't you go over to Jim Cochran's house that night?"
"Yes, and I came back about seven-thirty. Jim just lives up the street. Pam was in her room the entire night. I watched TV after I came home."
"What did you
watch?"
Don thought a moment. "Knight Rider or maybe Magnum P.I., I don't remember. We weren't in a really good mood since we had been locked out of the restaurant that day."
"Did anyone come over?"
"No."
"Did anyone call?"
"Pam's mother called to see how Pam was holding up. Pam talked to her for awhile."
"What time was this?"
"About nine, I think."
"Mrs. Blaylock, did you stay in your room the whole evening?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what Jim and his wife did after the meeting?"
"No," Don replied. "They were at their house when I left."
"Did they say they were going out?"
"No."
"What about your son Rob?"
"He's not a partner," Don said.
"I know, but he probably wasn't too happy about the way Luther treated his mother."
"He was out running around with his girlfriend. They came and went a couple times during the evening."
"Do you know where they were?"
"I think they went to dinner and then to the library."
"So, that's all you can tell me about everybody's whereabouts on the night of the murder?"
"Yes, sir," Don said.
"Well, frankly that wasn't much help. None of you appear to have anything close to an alibi so that's going to make my job tough. I'm going to have to take each of your lives apart until I find the murderer.
I frowned. "I'll discuss it some more with them. Maybe we can come up with something to nail down their alibis a little better. I'll let you know."
"Okay, I'll need both of you to come over to the station to give us fingerprints and hair samples. Will you allow me to search your house, or do I need to get a warrant?"
Don looked at me. He seemed alarmed. "Is that really necessary?" he asked.
"Yes," Detective Besch said. "Since you have no alibi, I've got to search for evidence."
He shrugged. "Go ahead. You won't find anything."
"Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation."
"Why the hair samples?" I asked.
"Several different types of hair were found in the front seat of the Cadillac and in the pool of blood from Luther's head."
Detective Besch stood up. "I guess that will do it for now. Oh, . . . There is one more thing. I'm going to need to talk to Rob and Greg. Do you know how I can reach them?"
"What? Can't you leave them out of this? They had nothing to do with any of this," Don replied.
"Rob is my client too," I said. "If you'd like to meet with him I can arrange that for you. I guess he can bring along his brother too, if it's really necessary."
"This is a murder investigation," Besch noted. "Of course it's necessary. How about tomorrow about this time?"
"They go to school. Could they do it later in the day, like say . . . four o'clock?" Don said.
"That'll be fine. I'll be here at four," Detective Besch replied, and then left.
Don and Pam stayed awhile to discuss ways to prove they were home on the night of the murder. I suggested they get a detailed phone record from Southwestern Bell showing calls, both in and out. We knew there had been at least one telephone call from Pam's mother. That would add credence to Pam's claim that she was home in her bedroom. I was hopeful an inspection of the phone bill might indicate that someone else had called that night--someone Don and Pam had forgotten about.
After the Blaylocks had left, I went back into my office and looked around, wondering what I should do next. It occurred to me I needed to talk to Jim Cochran or someone who knew him well. He was an unknown to me. I was pretty certain that neither Don or Pam were killers. Cochran, on the other hand, did have a bad temper. Even after meeting him just one time I got the feeling he didn't let people push him around. In order to understand him better I decided to talk to his wife, Wanda. She hadn't been at the meeting, so that gave me the excuse I needed to go visit her the next morning.
Wanda got up and took a coffee cake out of the oven. It was nine-thirty and she graciously offered me a piece. Having skipped breakfast, I accepted.
"Hmm. This is good," I said. "Rebekah had to take the kids to school early today so she didn't have time to make breakfast."
"Well this was good timing then."
"You bet."
"So, what can I do for you, Mr. Turner?"
"Oh, you can call me Stan."
"Okay, Stan. Jim said you wanted to talk about Luther Bell."
"Yes, I need to get your perspective on what happened the day of the partnership meeting. I'm expecting the police to try to pin the murder on one of the partners--you know, since you all had good reasons to kill Luther."
"Pam especially--after he got her arrested and all. I'd have probably been in the funny farm by now, had it been me."
"Yes, that was pretty traumatic."
"Which one of us do you think the police will try to pin it on?"
Wanda gave me a half smile and then looked down at the floor. I felt her discomfort. "I don't know. What do you think?"
"There's probably nothing to worry about," Wanda said, "but . . . well, after the partner's meeting Don went out.
"Oh really? Where did he go?"
"I told him to stay home, but he was very upset and said he needed to get out and get some fresh air. I begged him to stay home, because he has kind of a hot temper, you know?"
"Right, I heard that.."
"Well, he wouldn't listen to me. He left about eight o'clock and didn't come home until after midnight."
"Do you have any reason to think--?"
Wanda's voice began to crack, "I can't imagine him killing someone. I don't think he would have done it."
As tears flooded from Wanda's eyes, I wondered if she knew more than what she was telling me.
"I'm sure he didn't kill Luther, Wanda. Did you ask him where he went?"
"Yes, he said he just drove around. I asked him if he drove by Luther's place, and he didn't answer me. He just changed the subject."
"Really," I said. "Did you look at his clothes? Was there any blood or anything?"
"Yes, after he left for work the next day I checked his shirt and his suit. There was no blood but they smelled of smoke and there was a faint odor of perfume."
"Perfume?"
"Cheap perfume."
"Was he drunk when he came home?" I asked.
"No, but I could tell he had been drinking. His breath smelled of liquor."
"Does he go out by himself at night very often?"
"Sometimes. But I'm not worried about him being faithful. We've been married twenty years, and he's never given me reason not to trust him. I'm just worried that he might have killed Luther. He was so upset when he left."
"Well, don't jump to conclusions. It's not likely he did it. Let's assume he didn't do it."
Wanda found a Kleenex and blew her nose. "Okay."
"Who else are you worried might have done it?"
This was a cruel question to ask of Wanda. She certainly wouldn't want to point the finger at any of her friends, but I believe in women's intuition, and I wanted to know what Wanda thought.
"You know, I'm kind of worried about Rob."
"Rob? Why?"
"Pam said he was out running around Wednesday night too. He was very upset about what Luther had done to his mother. He told Don he was going to 'beat the crap out of him.'"
"Hmm."
"Do you think this mess will ever be over?" Wanda asked.
"Not any time soon, I'm afraid."
"If Jim did kill Luther, being in prison would drive him crazy. I know him. He couldn't stand the confinement. He'd probably lose his temper and kill a guard or another inmate--if he didn't get killed himself."
"Don't even think like that. I'm sure everything will work out okay in the end."
<
br /> "I wish I could convince myself of that."
"I should be going," I said. "I appreciate you talking with me."
Wanda pushed her chair out and stood up. I got up and followed her as she slowly made her way to the door. Although I didn't acknowledge it to her, I shared her fear about Jim. After his little confrontation with Margie Mason and with no alibi, he was sure to be the DA's number one suspect.
"If the police stop by, don't talk to them," I cautioned her. "Call me, okay?"
"I will."
"Thanks for the coffee cake. It was delicious."
"You're welcome."
She forced a smile as I gave her one last glance. When I got to my office Jodie reminded me I had a full slate of appointments all day culminating with Detective Besch's interview of Rob and Greg at four.
At three forty-five, Rob Blaylock and his brother Greg arrived. Jodie escorted Rob immediately into the conference room and had Greg wait in the reception area. I needed to get Rob's version of what had happened on the night of Luther's death but I didn't want Greg to hear it in case they had different recollections.
Rob and I had to make a decision whether to tell Detective Besch the truth or abort the interview and tell him nothing.
"Hi, Rob. How have you been?"
"Okay."
"We don't have much time, so let's get down to business."
"Yes, sir."
"Jennifer told me what happened the night of the murder but I need to hear it from you."
Rob related his version of the discovery of Luther's body. His story closely matched Jennifer's rendition. After discussing the options with Rob, we decided to tell Detective Besch what happened as he was bound to find out anyway.
When Detective Besch arrived, I let him speak with Greg first. I knew Greg wasn't involved and knew little about what was going on. When he was finished with Greg I told Greg to wait in the reception area and he left. Then Rob came in and told Detective Besch about discovering the body.
Besch said, "I'm glad you told me about this. At least for now I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Your story is a little hard to believe, though."
"It's the truth," Rob said.
"What time was it when you found Luther?" Detective Besch asked.
"A little after ten."
"Did you see anybody when you pulled up into the driveway?"
"No. Jennifer and I were arguing so I wasn't paying a lot of attention."
"Was the light on in the garage?"
"No, it was dark. As we drove into the driveway, we realized the garage door was up. We didn't see Luther's body until we were almost on top of it."
"Did you touch anything?"
"No, we just got the hell out of there."
"Why didn't you call the police?"
"We were scared. If they knew we had been at the scene of the crime, they might accuse us of the murder."
"Okay. . . .One last question. Had Luther still been alive, would you have killed him?"
Rob gave the detective a hard stare and then replied, "I don't know."
Detective Besch smiled. "Well, maybe you are telling me the truth. I certainly hope so, for your sake."
Later that night I discussed my progress on the investigation with Rebekah.
"What did Rob have to say?" Rebekah asked.
I told her what had transpired. "He convinced me. I don't think he killed Luther."
"Really? Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I just can't see him ruthlessly beating Luther the way the killer did," I said. "He'd hit him hard once or twice and then leave. I think the killer was scared to death that Luther might somehow survive the attack and strike back. You know, like when you run across a snake or a scorpion. You get a shovel and beat the sucker repeatedly until you are damn sure it's dead and won't bite you. It's my gut feeling the assailant was smaller and weaker than Luther and felt compelled to repeatedly strike him to be sure he was dead."
"That could be, but what if it was a crime of passion--the assailant really hated Luther and when he or she began to hit him, it felt so good they couldn't stop."
"Perhaps. . . . I just wonder where Jim was all night."
"You said he smelled of perfume." Rebekah noted.
"Right."
"Maybe he went to a club and found a drinking companion."
"Possibly. I guess it's time to talk to him and find out."
"I would think so."
"I've got to be careful though. He's not technically my client. I work for Don. If he tells me anything incriminating he may not be able to invoke the attorney-client privilege," I said.
"Oh. So what are you going to do? "
"Tell him up front not to talk to me if he's guilty. If he keeps talking I've got to assume he's innocent and treat him simply as a witness."
"If he is innocent, who else could have done it?" Rebekah asked.
"His ex-wife, Laura Bell, and his girlfriend, Margie Mason."
"I can see an ex-wife doing it?" Rebekah replied.
"Particularly if there was insurance," I said. "Being an insurance agent, Luther probably had a big policy."
"What about Margie?"
"The problem with her is she had no obvious motive. She probably wasn't a beneficiary of his insurance, they weren't married yet, so she wouldn't inherit anything, and she was living with him--apparently quite happily."
"You're right. It wouldn't make sense for her to kill Luther."
"Unless we're missing something."
"I don't know what it would be."
"I don't either."
Cash Call, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 5 Page 18