Vigilance

by Carolina Mac

  “Yeah, that type of thing.”

  “Shit,” said Blaine. “I’ll put the boys on it and see what we can pull up. That’s gonna be the high shits if the Churchills were a goddam random mistake.”

  Jesse grinned. “Yeah, ain’t it?”

  Huntsville, Texas.

  THOMPSON stood in the sun on the front steps of the big red brick building breathing in the air. A cool March day, but not cold enough for a jacket. Didn’t matter, he didn’t have one anyway. Didn’t come with one and didn’t have one now.

  He did a visual search for Lou and didn’t see his brother. Maybe he was sitting in the parking lot. He damn well better be here if he wanted to play another note on his goddam guitar. Music was all his brother thought about, talked about, and Ewing had warned him time and again to shut the fuck up about his goddam CD. Lou lived and breathed the songs he’d written, and it got on Ewing’s last nerve.

  How the hell would I know if they were any fuckin good? Why does he keep asking me?

  Ewing descended the steps with a bag in his right hand. It pissed him off that he could hold all his possessions in one fucking hand. That would be changing shortly. Right after he did what he had to do.

  A horn honked, and Ewing turned his head. Lou was parked outside the gate waiting for him just like he was supposed to be. Ewing gave a wave to his brother and strode to the guardhouse and showed his discharge papers. The bastards looked them over like they had something to say about it, then they did their thing and let him out. Course a guard wasn’t far behind making sure he didn’t fuck up between the door and the gate. What the hell could happen? Did they think he’d turn around and run back inside?

  Fucking idiots.

  He jumped in his brother’s truck, tossed the bag over the seat and reached into his shirt pocket for his smokes.

  “You didn’t get out at ten like you said.” Lou sounded pissed.

  “Hey, I’m out the goddam minute they let me out. Not a goddam thing I could do about speeding things up for your convenience.” He lit his cigarette and blew the smoke across the cab at his brother.

  “Don’t.” Lou snarled at him, shoved the truck into gear and took off. “Cop showed up at my gig last night asking about where you’d be staying when you got out.”

  “None of their fucking business where I’m staying. I’m free and clear of those assholes.”

  “Yeah, well this wasn’t one of the regular assholes. I recognized him, and it was the super cop.”

  Ewing snarled at his brother, “Ain’t no such thing as a super cop. They’re all the same. Pond sucking scum.”

  “True enough, but just sayin. He said he’d be watching you from the minute you came out the gate.”

  Ewing twisted around for a look out the back window. “Not a goddam car, truck or hay wagon behind us. Just running his mouth like they all do. An empty threat. Trying to be something he’s not. Cops can’t afford to follow every con who gets let out of prison. That’s bullshit.”

  BLAINE met the boys in the parking lot at headquarters. “Nothing much from the autopsy, but Jesse raised an interesting point. If Mrs. Churchill was not the intended victim, and it wasn’t her husband—not that we’ve given up on him yet but consider this, what if it was the wrong condo?”

  “If it was a one-offer,” said Farrell, “like that?”

  “Yeah, like that.”

  “Shit, boss, a mistake like that will quadruple our fuckin work,” said Farrell. “We’ve got to check either side of the Churchills, plus one up and one down.”

  “Exactly. Take everybody back to the condo building, partner up and see what kind of vibes you get. Say you’re interviewing all of the Churchill’s neighbors and take a lot of notes.”

  Blaine turned towards his truck and his cell rang. “Got him, Jack?”

  “Yep, picked him up at the gate. The brother is driving a dark green Ram. This is the tag. Right now, we’re just heading south into Houston.”

  “Keep on him and see if he makes any stops.”

  “No worries. Greg and I won’t lose him.”

  TRAVIS hunkered down in the outer office with Miss Simkins, the DA’s personal assistant. She was a stickler for doing things by the book and on schedule for her boss, but also a big believer in always-fresh coffee and fresh pastries from the bakery in the lobby of the building. With Travis lurking outside the DA’s door, nobody could get to Perry Leighton without getting by him first. His cell rang, and he grabbed it. “Hey boss, anything?”

  “Jack and Greg have him. They’re right on Thompson’s ass. Going through Houston at the moment. I have Rick and Andy sitting on the brother’s street address in the junk truck waiting for them to get to Austin.”

  “Sounds like we’re covered.”

  “For now, at least. Take Mr. Leighton for an early lunch, say in the next hour and then keep him in the building until he’s done for the day. Give us a chance to get set up here in the city.”

  “Uh huh, I’ll talk to Miss Simpkins and get her on board.”

  Miss Simpkins was a straight stick of a woman, gray strands meandering through her short brown hair, and her glasses hanging on a gold chain around her neck. Hardly ever smiled and reeked of efficiency, but once you waded through the shyness, she was accommodating and funny as hell.

  She looked up from her computer screen when she heard her name being bandied about. “What are we talking about, Major Bristol?”

  “Getting the boss out to lunch and back to his office while Mr. Thompson is in transit.”

  “Understood. I’ll take care of it.” She jumped to her feet. “How long do we have?”

  “Hour and a half.”

  “Done.”

  “TURN HERE,” said Ewing. Take seventy-one. I want to make a stop.”

  “You ain’t getting me in trouble already, are you?”

  “Course not. I need to do some shopping. Nothing to do with you,” said Ewing.

  “Shopping for what?”

  “Shit I need.”

  “Like what? I’ve got food, clothes and shaving stuff at my house. You don’t need anything.”

  Ewing pointed a finger at his brother across the console. “That’s where you’re wrong. Stop at the first Home Depot or Lowes you come to.”

  “What the hell do you need there?”

  “Don’t ask questions.”

  “There’s a Home Depot out on the highway near Smithville, I think.”

  “Good enough. Take me there.”

  Lou found the store easily enough, parked near the entrance and left the truck running. “I’ll wait here.”

  “You don’t want to be seen with your own brother?” Ewing laughed as he jumped out of the shotgun seat.

  “Something like that.”

  JESSE was on his way home to the Quantrall ranch north of Giddings when he got Blacky’s call.

  “Jack is on the Thompson brothers and he says they stopped at the Home Depot on seventy-one.”

  “The one near Smithville?”

  “Yep, that’s the one.”

  “I’ll cruise by there and see what Mr. Ewing purchased.”

  “Will the store tell you?”

  “Let’s find out,” said Jesse. He turned the Range Rover around and arrived at the big box store inside of fifteen minutes. He had copies of Ewing Thompson’s eight by tens on the front seat of his truck, so he took one inside with him.

  At customer service he asked for the manager and a couple minutes later a big fellow dressed in an orange marker, stood smiling at him.

  “Dave Kennedy, sir. What can I do for you?”

  Jesse showed his creds and asked in a low voice, “Is there somewhere we can have a word?”

  Dave raised his dark eyebrows. “Sure. My office is right back here.”

  Dave pointed at the chrome chair in front of his desk and closed the door behind them. “Is it one of my employees?”

  Jesse shook his head. “No, nothing like that. A person of interest that we’re watching came i
n here a few minutes ago,” he shoved the picture towards the manager, “and we need to know what he purchased. That’s the extent of it.”

  “We have very few weapons.”

  “Can you call up purchases in the last hour for me?”

  “Uh huh. Okay, sure.” Dave sat down at his computer, entered his password and flipped through a bunch of screens.

  “Read the purchases to me when you’re ready. I don’t have to see any confidential information or anything.”

  The first three were paint.

  “It won’t be paint, you can skip all those.”

  Dave smiled. “That will save a lot of time. We have the best paint in the business for the best price. Paint is huge for us.” He continued on and Jesse thought he’d recognize Ewing Thompson’s purchases when he heard the list, and he did.

  “Stop there. Print that one for me, please?”

  “Padlock, nuts, bolts, nails, fertilizer.”

  Dave Kennedy pulled the copy of the receipt off the printer in the corner of his office. “It was paid by cash.”

  “It would be,” said Jesse. “Thank you for your time, sir. Appreciate it.”

  “Is this guy dangerous?” Dave appeared apprehensive.

  “Can’t give you too many details. Someone we’re watching, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone. This is police business and is strictly confidential.”

  “I get it, Ranger Quantrall. I know who you are. The Violent Crime Agency is watching this guy.”

  Jesse nodded. “Our secret.”

  BLAINE had settled into his office for more research on Bartley Churchill when he got the call from Jesse.

  “Talked to the manager at the Home Depot and just guessing but this might be Thompson’s receipt.”

  “Read it to me,” said Blaine.

  “Padlock, large quantity of nuts, nails and bolts, hundred pound bag of fertilizer.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Anything in his record indicate he knows dick about making a bomb?”

  “Not that I saw,” said Blaine. “Armed robbery and murder are right up his alley. Maybe he learned a new skill at the Huntsville Hotel.”

  “Shit,” said Jesse.

  FARRELL returned to the Agency at five-thirty with the crew. They had diligently questioned condo owners on all sides of the Churchills and had taken extensive notes.

  “Come on in for a beer. Boss might have a couple questions, then we’re done for today. We hope.”

  “Don’t think I ever talked so much,” said Pablo, “or asked so many questions.”

  “Yeah,” said Farrell, “interviews suck, but we need information if we’re gonna make a bust.”

  “For sure,” said Lane.

  Blaine met them in the kitchen, handed out Lone Stars and asked, “Any vibes hit y’all?” He turned to Farrell and waited. His brother never missed picking up the signs.

  “If it was anybody other than the Churchills, I’d vote for Ward Ingram and his live-in, Celia Stone.”

  “Okay, that’s good info,” said Blaine. “Which way was their condo from the Churchill’s?”

  “Next door on the same floor,” said Pablo. He checked his notebook. “Twenty-four ten.”

  “Leave your notebooks with me overnight. I’ll read over your notes and give them back in the morning.”

  Lane finished his brew and set his can on the table. “What’s the status on the con that got out today?”

  “Jack and Greg are on him. He stopped at a big box store and purchased a few items on his way to Austin. Jesse got a copy of the receipt.”

  “What did he buy, boss?” asked Farrell.

  “A padlock, nuts, bolts, nails and fertilizer.”

  “Fuck,” said Pablo. “A bomber.”

  TRAVIS was almost dozing in one of the waiting area chairs when Perry Leighton was finished for the day.

  “Ready to leave, Major Bristol?”

  “I am, if you are, sir.”

  “A long day for you just sitting.”

  Travis smiled at Miss Simkins. “We had coffee and pastries. Wasn’t that tough.”

  “See you tomorrow, Major Bristol.”

  He gave her a little wave, then checked the corridor before letting the DA out of the office. “All clear.”

  They took the elevator straight to the parking garage and a lot of the employees had already left for the day.

  “Almost deserted, sir. Stand right there and I’ll get the truck.”

  Travis picked up the DA and delivered him home without incident.

  Day one.

  EWING stowed his purchases in the garden shed behind his brother’s two bedroom ranch house and secured the metal door with his shiny new padlock.

  “I don’t want to know what you’re doing with that shit, Ewing. I know what it looks like and I don’t want to think about it.”

  “It ain’t what you think. I’m not getting into trouble no more. You can trust me.” Ewing gave his brother a pat on the back to reassure him.

  “Good. You just got home and you’re free. Why don’t you enjoy that? I can feed us both for a while until you get caught up.”

  Ewing grinned. “I’m okay for money.”

  Lou raised an eyebrow. “You are?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Ewing had a beer with his brother, and Lou looked like he wanted to say something. “You’ve got a guilty look on your face. What is it? Come clean.”

  “I have to tell you this before…”

  “Before what?”

  “Before Mattie comes home from her shift at the hospital.”

  Ewing stared at his brother and felt the heat rising. “You’re screwing around with my woman while I’m locked up?”

  “Didn’t plan it. It just happened, bro. Sorry.”

  “Sorry ain’t gonna cut it.” Ewing left his unfinished beer on the table, stomped down the hall and slept in the spare room for a couple of hours. When he got up, he’d cooled off a bit and wanted to kill Lou a little less. Not much less.

  He realized how hungry he was and went to the kitchen to check out the fridge. “Not much to eat in here.”

  “I eat at the T n T most nights,” said Lou, “Better than my cooking if Mattie ain’t here.”

  “Guess I’ll eat there too. Any objections?”

  “None. I’ll be leaving about eight.”

  “I’ll take a shower and get cleaned up.”

  FARRELL showered and changed his clothes after Blacky went to bed. Rick and Andy had the night surveillance shift on Ewing Thompson, and both brothers were reported to be at T n T. He intended to go listen to the band and drink a pitcher of beer and make sure Ewing stayed out of trouble. It was only day one.

  Farrell drove downtown to the roadhouse and sat at a table with a good view of most of the room. During the second set, Lou was at the mic blasting out a cover of an old Bellamy Brothers song and Farrell noticed Ewing cross the dance floor and slide into a booth across from a scruffy looking dude with a beard and long scraggly auburn hair.

  I know that guy.

  Farrell strode past their table, faking a trip to the men’s room to get a better look. “Yep, that’s Bud Palatka.” Palatka and Thompson were leaning in close having a serious conversation about something. “That’s trouble in the making,” Farrell mumbled to himself.

  Gotta talk to Kamps tomorrow.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tuesday, March 10th.

  AFTER BREAKFAST, Blaine held the morning meeting in the kitchen, his new favorite hangout since the renovation. The two new guys were gung ho, experienced and eager to dig into the job. They were used to hard work, long days and iffy conditions. Good guys and he was lucky to have them.

  He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the island. “Everybody grab a coffee and we’ll start.”

  Lil breezed in with her pad and pen ready to take notes and sat at the end of the table. “I did background checks on the Churchill’s neighbors and I think Farrell got a good read on Ward
Ingram. “He’s a regular at the track and he’s three months behind on his condo payments. His Lexus was repossessed two weeks ago, but I can’t get his banking information.” She winked. “Maybe you can, boss. Could be Mr. Ingram has an unhappy creditor or he borrowed money from the wrong crowd.”

  “Good start, Lil. Hope I have time to dig deeper into Ingram later today. I went more in-depth into Bartley Churchill and came up empty. No connections I can see that would get him or his wife killed. Cat said he was a good husband, so unless he was fooling everybody, I just don’t know.”

  “Until we know different,” said Farrell, “we have to presume the Churchill’s were the target.”

  “Absolutely,” said Blaine.

  “Contract killings are hard to pin down unless you can verify the transfer of funds,” said Farrell. “Who paid the killer?”

  “Yeah, like we have a chance of finding that out, when we don’t know who in hell the shooter was,” said Blaine.

  “Well, somebody hired him,” said Lil. To Farrell: “Get one of your street crew to find out who’s in town.”

  Farrell nodded. “I’ll put it out there. I’ve got a meet with Kamps in an hour and that’s what I’m gonna talk about. I went to the roadhouse last night to watch Thompson and he had a cozy little meeting with Bud Palatka.”

  “Palatka is a goddam fireball,” said Blaine. “How long has he been on the outside?”

  “Not long,” said Farrell. “Let’s find out who his PO is and have a little chat with him.”

  “For sure.” Blaine pointed at Lil giving her that task.

  “Yep, I’ll do it.” Lil wrote it on her list.

  “Next is the funeral for Mrs. Churchill,” said Blaine. “We have to consider the possibility that Mr. Churchill was the intended hit—that’s if the shooter had the right condo—if that’s true, then it follows that the job is unfinished. If the shooter has to finish the job before he gets the final payment, he might try for Churchill when he’s out in the open, like at the funeral home or the cemetery.”

  “Makes sense,” said Lane, “if he had the right condo in the first place and shot the wife by mistake.”