Chapter
53
YOU MEAN YOU’RE not even going to talk to them?”
Robie was staring at Sheriff Monda.
Pete had given his statement and signed it. He was now in protective custody, which in Cantrell meant he was sitting in a spare jail cell.
The man had not been happy about it, but it was better than being dead, Robie had told him.
Taggert was hovering next to her boss, looking extremely nervous.
Reel was watching all of this while leaning against the wall with her arms folded over her chest.
“Do you know who Nelson Wendell is, or was?” asked Monda.
“Yeah, some über-rich asshole who likes to play with children in a very inappropriate and illegal way.”
“Solely based on Pete Clancy’s word and the admission that he was trying to blackmail those folks.”
“We have pictures.”
“Of a younger man who may or may not be Nelson Wendell.”
“If Wendell was that well-known I think we’ll be able to find folks who can ID him in those pictures,” Reel pointed out. “Are you sure you don’t recognize him, Sheriff?”
Monda glared at her. “No, I don’t. I never met the man. And another thing is the statute of limitations has long since run out on this. Which means he couldn’t be prosecuted for this, even if he wasn’t dead.”
Reel said, “You’re forgetting about those guys who kidnapped Pete and Sara, and nearly killed me and Robie. And they might have killed Sara, too. Those are all new crimes.”
“And we don’t have one shred of proof that those fellows are connected to the Wendell family,” countered Monda.
“But if you investigate you may find that evidence,” pointed out Robie.
“Do you know how influential the Wendell family is in Mississippi, hell, all the way over to Atlanta, for that matter? They’re worth billions. And they give a lot of it away. And all told they account for over a hundred thousand good-paying jobs.”
“Which is all wonderful but not an excuse to commit crimes,” replied Robie curtly.
Monda hitched up his pants. “Well, I don’t have probable cause to investigate them for anythin’. Probably get my ass sued if I tried.”
“Then turn it over to the state police.”
“Same problem. They’re not lookin’ to take a black eye over this, either, based on some old pictures. Hell, they might’ve been doctored for all I know.”
“What about Pete?”
“Pete Clancy is a liar. I’m not riskin’ my career on anythin’ he says! And the Wendell lawyers would rip him a new one on the stand.”
“How about the FBI?” asked Reel. “I doubt they care how rich the Wendells are.”
“You can go there if you want. I’m not.”
“Is there something you’re not telling us?” asked Robie.
Monda looked away but Taggert said, “His wife and his brother and his son are employed by Coastal.”
“That has nothin’ to do with it, Sheila,” barked Monda, giving Taggert a scathing look.
“Are you sure about that?” asked Robie.
“Damn sure. Now if you can bring me some usable evidence, maybe my mind can be changed.” He pointed a finger at Robie. “It’s all well and good for you to want to go after those folks, but you don’t live here. You just flit in and out. But I can’t do that. This is my home.”
Robie looked at Taggert, then returned his gaze to Monda. “Well, we’ll see if we can get enough to change your mind, Sheriff.”
“Okay, but keep in mind if the Wendells come after you, don’t look for any help from me. Not ’less you got some strong evidence they’re connected to all this.”
“Message received loud and clear,” said Robie as Taggert gave him a sympathetic look.
Robie and Reel left the office.
Outside Taggert caught up to them.
“Monda is a good guy, Robie. But he’s caught between a rock and a hard place here.”
“I get that, Sheila. But it’s apparently up to us to do his job.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Check out the Wendells. Any help you can give us on that?”
“Their main house is up in Jackson. But they keep a place down on the Gulf over near Biloxi. Makes the Willows look like a shanty.”
She gave them the address. “They’re there this time of year.”
“Do you know anything about the family?”
“Norma Jean is the mother, the widow of Nelson. There’re a bunch of grown kids and then grandkids. I hear tell that Bobby Wendell, the oldest boy, is runnin’ things now. He’s the only son. The others are daughters. They get their share of the money and they all live wonderful lives, but they have nothin’ to do with the business.”
“So Bobby’s the one taking the company public?”
“That’s right.”
“How do you know so much about them?” asked Reel.
“Everybody down here knows about the Wendells. Sort of like royalty to us. And the sheriff is right, they do a lot of good. Names on hospitals and museums and colleges all across the south. Good, charitable folks. And they provide a lot of jobs.”
“So why are you helping us then?” Reel wanted to know, her tone suspicious.
“I don’t have anybody worth carin’ about that works for Coastal. And I don’t like folks gettin’ away with shit, no matter the size of their bank account. Especially when it involves kids.”
“Works for me,” said Reel.
They left Taggert and walked back to their car.
“So how do you want to approach this?” Reel asked.
Robie leaned against the fender of the car.
“They have to know that their guys were killed. And the ones who got away are probably long since gone. If they were outside contractors we may not be able to trace a connection unless we get ahold of financial records showing transfers of money to the muscle.”
“And even if we had access, Coastal probably has lots of slush funds to ferry money like that around and make it untraceable.”
“Agreed. And despite what I said to Monda, I doubt the FBI will be interested in pursuing this with the little we can tell them.”
Reel said, “And Wurtzburger is after a serial killer, not a corporate titan run amok.”
“If the cops can’t tie the dead guys to Coastal that is a complete dead end. Even with Pete’s testimony. Monda is right. Pete is not going to be seen as a reliable witness. Blackmailer, yes. Honest citizen telling the truth, no.”
“Which gets me back to my question: How do we do this?”
“Sometimes the direct approach is the best.”
“So go to Bobby Wendell?” said Reel.
“Yeah.”
“With what?”
“With the only leverage we have.”
“Which is?” she asked.
“Pictures of his dear old dad playing with kids.”
Chapter
54
BOBBY WENDELL LOOKED up at the pair.
“I don’t usually encourage visitors without an appointment.”
Robie and Reel were in the palatial Gulf Coast retreat of the Wendell family that looked more like a Ritz-Carlton resort than an individual home.
The rich weren’t just unlike other people—they apparently lived on an entirely different planet.
“And yet here we are,” said Robie.
“Well, your communication was…provocative.”
Bobby Wendell was taller than Robie, lean with longish graying hair and a slab of rock for a chin. His dark green, penetrating eyes held on the pair as he sat on a couch with sweeping views of the water.
Robie and Reel had been escorted in by beefy security when they had sent in a four-word message at the front gate of the estate.
Your father in pictures.
“Yes, it was. Intentionally so.”
Without waiting for an invitation Robie sat across from Wendell.
Ree
l remained standing. They had left their weapons in the car, because they figured they would be confiscated. But the security guards weren’t that good on the pat-down at the gate.
They had missed things.
A blade inside Robie’s belt.
And a garrote wire hidden in Reel’s sleeve.
“And why was that?”
“Dead guys back at a swamp in Cantrell.”
Wendell shrugged. “So? What does that have to do with me?”
“If they were working for you it has everything to do with you.”
“I have lots of people who work for me. But no one who’s dead.”
Robie said, “I figured you’d say that. So let’s get to the pictures. Unless you want us to leave now?”
“I’m listening.”
“We talked to Pete.”
“Pete who?”
“Nice one,” said Reel.
Wendell glanced up at her. “You look very serious. Very professional.”
“Then looks aren’t deceiving.”
Wendell glanced back at Robie.
“Pictures?”
“Your father. And his young friends.”
Wendell winced, looked away, and rubbed his mouth with his index finger.
“I hope you’re better at blackmailing than that little shit was.”
“Is that a confession?” said Reel.
“What do you want?”
“A man is in prison right now, on trial for killing Sherman Clancy.”
“Okay. What does that have to do with my situation?”
“It has a lot to do with it if you had Sherm killed. That would mean the other guy is innocent.”
Wendell leaned forward and said, “Until my father died I didn’t even know who Sherman Clancy was. In fact, I didn’t know who Pete Clancy was until he tried to blackmail me.”
“So you admit you know who Pete is?” said Robie.
“Trust me, I wish I didn’t.”
“But you knew about your father’s…problem?”
“That he liked to diddle little kids? No, I had no clue about that until Pete sent me the pictures.”
“So you’re saying you didn’t have Sherman killed?”
“If I did, why in the hell would I admit it to you? But the fact is, no, I had no idea my father was being blackmailed for anything. When I saw the pictures…” His voice trailed off and he rose, walked over to the window, and looked out at the view.
“We have a hundred and forty-seven oil and gas platforms out in the Gulf,” he said. “We’re not as big as ExxonMobil, but we do really well. My father was a brilliant businessman; none better in my mind. I couldn’t hold a candle to him when it came to doing deals and making money. I think it’s because I’m not a psychopath. He evidently was. But then again, some of the best capitalists are.”
He turned back around to face them. “But when I saw those pictures I wanted to vomit. I wanted to kill my old man.”
“And how exactly did he die?” asked Robie.
“On the operating table. He’d had an aortic aneurysm. No question how his life ended. They didn’t even bother with an autopsy. And I didn’t see the pictures until after he died.”
“And you hired people to get the pictures back from Pete?”
Wendell shrugged. “I may not be as smart as my father but I’m not stupid. So, again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“People have been kidnapped and people have died,” Robie said.
“Don’t know what to tell you.”
“You’re planning to go public with your company?”
“We are.”
“So you have a lot to lose if this comes out,” said Robie.
“In the grand scheme of things, no. My old man had withdrawn from the business over the last five years. Our underwriters are banking on me, not him. He’s dead. I’m not. Even if he was a pedophile, the boys on Wall Street won’t give a damn. All they care about is the bottom line, and we make a shitload of money. We invested well, got our fingers in all the best places. We weathered the recession and had the capital to buy at bargain-rate prices when everybody was bailing. All we have is upside. The story is great. The IPO is going full steam ahead, bad news about Dad or not.”
“So why do you care about the pictures, then?” asked Reel.
When Wendell said nothing Robie answered. “Because his mother Norma Jean is still alive.”
Wendell looked away again. “My old man was an asshole. Treated me and my sisters like shit. I’m running the company now largely because my father was too busy living his life of decadence.”
“Diddling little boys?”
“I always thought he was off with other women. I wish he had been. Now, I guess I know better.”
“And your mother?”
“Heart of gold. Innocent as they come. Maybe as naïve as they come. If she saw those photos it would kill her.” He turned to look at them. “Kill her. And that’s just not something I can live with.”
“So you wanted the pictures back?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“And you’re sticking with your story that you didn’t have Sherman Clancy killed?”
“Like I said, I had no idea who Sherman Clancy was until his son showed up. Then I went back over the company’s financials. I found a rogue account that had been set up a long time ago. Money was funneled in and money was funneled out over decades. Millions of bucks. Maybe tens of millions. I tried to track where the dollars went but it was like a black hole. Even had my CPAs on the job, but they couldn’t do it either. Like I said, my old man was smart. Then Pete shows up on my doorstep and starts talking about pictures and money. That’s when I put two and two together.”
“But that was after Sherman died?”
“And after my father died, too. I had no reason to look at that part of his life until that punk showed up trying to blackmail my family. I guess he figured with my father dead and his old man dead, too, he needed to keep the gravy train going. Least that’s what he intimated.”
“So you met with him face-to-face?”
“Yeah, right here in fact.”
“Based on the pictures?”
“I recognized my father. Enough said.”
“And did you know the kids in the photo?”
Wendell shook his head. “No. They looked like…just kids.” He glanced down, his face turning pale.
“None of them were white, Mr. Wendell,” pointed out Robie. “They were either black or Latino. I’m wondering if that’s significant.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it might tell us where they came from.”
The Guilty Page 31