by Diane Kelly
We stopped in the hallway between our two offices, our gazes locked.
Nick reached out to take my hand and let out a long breath. “I guess we’re all done with Brazos Rivers now.”
“Yep,” I said, offering Nick a smile and a squeeze of my hand. “He’s water under the bridge.”
chapter thirty-six
And the Verdict is …
At half past noon, I rounded up Eddie and Josh and we headed over to the county courthouse together. All of us wanted to be there when Judge Craven issued her verdict.
The courtroom was packed even tighter today, and we had to squeeze to get inside. My view of the judge’s bench was blocked by a tall rancher, but I had a view of Larry Burkett’s head from behind. Jeez. Even the back of his neck was wrinkled. The guy was a walking testimonial for sunblock.
My eyes scanned the room, noticing that there were several armed deputies in the courtroom. Probably a precautionary measure in case anyone upset by the verdict decided to cause a scene.
The bailiff ordered us to rise as Judge Craven entered the room. Again, it was a moot point for the vast majority of us, who stood around the perimeter of the room.
As the judge took her bench, Eddie, Josh, and I exchanged glances. Would she rule in favor of PPE? Or would she do the right thing and rule in favor of the plaintiffs?
The speculation among the media was that the plaintiffs would claim victory. The defense attorneys talked a good line, but the testimony and evidence their witnesses had offered hadn’t stood up well to scrutiny and had been pulled apart under cross-examination.
I squirmed, managing to slip into a small gap in front of the tall rancher from where I could see the judge now. After she settled in, she got right down to business.
“I have carefully reviewed the evidence in this matter,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact, “and have come to the following verdict. With respect to the allegation that PPE employees caused damage to the septic tank on the property owned by Millard Blankenship, I find that the evidence supports a determination of negligence and hereby award the plaintiff damages in the amount of thirty thousand dollars.”
Murmurs erupted from the crowd.
The tall man behind me said, “You got that right, judge.”
I suspected he might be Millard Blankenship.
The judge continued. “With respect to the allegation that PPE failed to replace a fence it had removed in order to move its equipment, I also find for the plaintiff. Judgment is awarded in the amount of three thousand four hundred dollars and sixty-seven cents.”
She continued on, awarding small amounts to several plaintiffs for alleged structural damage to their homes from the earthquakes, but denying relief to others, citing insufficient evidence. The impression she gave was that she’d carefully considered the evidence relevant to each particular claim and had attempted to issue fair and impartial rulings. But had she actually done that? Or was she, like Brazos Rivers, just putting on a show for the crowd?
I mentally calculated. Though Judge Craven had found against PPE in the majority of claims so far, the damages she’d awarded totaled less than eighty grand, a mere pittance in the grand scheme of things. I suspected she might have ruled in the plaintiffs’ favor on many of these smaller claims in an attempt to appear unbiased.
The real meat of this matter, however, was the pollution of the wells and the resulting health issues and devaluation of the plaintiffs’ land. I listened, eager to hear her rule on those particular claims. Of course I suspected what she’d say, that PPE wasn’t responsible, that the company had no legal liability to compensate the plaintiffs for the damage they’d suffered.
Judge Craven ventured on. “I find that the plaintiffs’ wells were indeed contaminated by toxic chemicals in quantities that posed significant health and safety issues to the plaintiffs and their livestock, and that those chemicals were more than likely the cause of the health issues suffered by the plaintiffs.”
What?
Eddie, Josh, and I exchanged glances again, this time perplexed glances. We certainly hadn’t expected the judge to agree with the plaintiffs’ scientific expert on this point. We’d expected her to find that the levels of toxins were within acceptable limits. After all, there was no clear standard or agreement within the scientific community regarding what levels were safe and when the line was crossed.
Was Judge Craven going to rule against PPE? Had I been wrong all along, wasted three days in this courtroom when I could’ve been working on my other investigations? Had I been wrong about PPE buying her off?
I had lots of questions. And, very soon, I’d have the answers.
Judge Craven looked down at the notes in front of her, as if afraid to meet the plaintiffs’ eyes. “I do not find, however, that the plaintiffs proved that it was more likely than not that the contamination was caused by the negligence of PPE.”
The judge’s use of multiple negatives made her words difficult to comprehend, and it took a moment for the crowd to interpret her speech. Even I had to repeat her words in my head in an attempt to decipher them. She’d ruled in favor of PPE, right? Yep. She had.
A rancher in the galley hollered, “Speak straight, judge. What are you telling us about the wells?”
Judge Craven swallowed hard. “On all other claims, I find in favor of the defendant.”
There was a short pause as her words sank in, then the room exploded in noise. The sound in the courtroom now was not mere murmuring as before, but rather was an absolute uproar.
Many in the room cried foul. Well, actually what they cried was, “Bullshit!,” which is Texan for foul.
Behind me, Blankenship huffed. “This can’t be! Is that judge out of her ever-loving mind?” When those around him agreed that she very likely had lost her mental faculties, Blankenship posed the question to the judge herself, hollering over the din of the crowd. “Judge Craven, have you lost your marbles?”
A female plaintiff burst into tears, pointed an accusing finger at the judge, and shrieked, “This is wrong! You know it is!”
Both Blankenship and the woman were quickly escorted from the courtroom by deputies. When two men pushed their way through the crowd and stormed toward the judge’s bench, they, too, were intercepted by armed officers. Both were shackled and led from the room, but handcuffs didn’t stop their shouts.
“How can you live with yourself?” hollered the first.
The second directed his shouts at the room in general. “Big oil has the government in their pockets!”
Having rendered her verdict, endured a nasty verbal assault, and only narrowly avoided a probable punch in the nose, the judge banged her gavel one last time. Bam! With that, she turned and hightailed it through the door to her private chambers, taking her guilt and shame with her.
chapter thirty-seven
Balloon Payment
By the time we made it out of the courthouse, reporters were already in place on the steps, interviewing the disappointed plaintiffs. Larry Burkett and his attorneys were escorted past by law enforcement who were probably less eager to protect their charges than to simply avoid a brouhaha.
Trish stood with the woman who’d been led from the courtroom. “Can you tell our viewers how you feel about Judge Craven’s decision?”
“I feel like I’ve been violated!” the woman cried. “Like the world’s been turned on its head! It makes no sense. None at all!”
An especially zealous reporter was able to stop Burkett and his attorneys for a quick comment. The lead defense attorney said, “The plaintiffs were simply unable to prove their case. Those contaminants could have come from any number of oil and gas companies. Judge Craven’s decision was fair and right.”
And expensive. Still, the bribe had cost PPE only a fraction of what it stood to lose had she ruled against the company.
As I walked back into my office at the IRS, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. The readout indicated Katie Dunne was calling. I punched the button
to accept the call. “Hi, Katie.”
“I have to talk fast,” she said. “The crew supervisor stepped outside but he’ll be back soon.”
“Sure,” I said. “Shoot.”
“Mr. Burkett just called from his cell phone on his way home from Dallas. He said PPE won the trial?”
“Yep,” I said. “I was there when the judge gave her verdict. It was a total fiasco. Deputies had to haul a couple of the ranchers off in handcuffs.”
“Oh, no.” Her voice sounded feeble, weak. “I can hardly believe it.” After a moment’s pause she seemed to gather her wits. “Mr. Burkett told me to withdraw fifty grand in cash today. He told me that since PPE won the trial he’s going to step up production and that the company will need an extra-large order of drill bits.”
Katie’s call confirmed what I’d suspected. That now that the verdict had been rendered, a final payment would be made, like a balloon payment on a loan, a bonus of sorts.
“Thanks, Katie.” Knowing the shit might hit the fan tonight, and that Burkett might possibly think Katie had something to do with it, I said, “Do you have somewhere you and Doug can take your kids and dog tonight? A place where Burkett can’t find you?”
Katie sucked in air. “Do you think we’re in danger?”
“I think people do bad things when they find themselves in trouble,” I said. “Burkett may put two and two together and realize you were the one to tip off the government. It can’t hurt to play it safe.”
“One of my high school friends lives in Weatherford,” she said. “We can stay with her.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
At six-thirty that evening, after affixing a camera to the historical marker, I bent over and tiptoed across the pasture in Palo Pinto, the one that had once belonged to the illustrious George Webb Slaughter, hoping to blend in with the goats that surrounded me and nibbled at my hair and jacket. I was tempted to shoo the pesky beasts away, but I realized they provided good cover. If I hunched down among the herd I could blend in, remain virtually unnoticeable.
When I was within twenty yards of the fence, I stopped and squatted behind a scraggly mesquite tree to wait.
I watched the PPE headquarters through my night-vision scope, gently pushing the goats away when they mouthed it. “This isn’t food,” I told them. “Stop it.”
A few minutes after seven, the door to the building swung open. Burkett exited with a thick envelope in his hands. It didn’t look any bigger than the envelopes he’d used for the previous cash transfers, but he’d probably had Katie get the cash in larger bills this time.
I lowered the scope while he went to his car, knowing the headlights would blind me if I didn’t. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed my way.
My pulse grew more rapid, warming me from head to toe, and adrenaline caused my lungs to work faster, too. My breath hung in the cool air, like a beacon marking my location. I sat back on my butt and curled my legs up in front of me, lowering my nose to my knees to prevent the cloud of steam from giving me away.
Baaaa.
A gray and white goat called right next to my ear. I was tempted to push him away but was afraid to startle the herd and possibly catch Burkett’s attention. The goat seemed to sense my annoyance and decided to incite me further by raising his tail and dropping a load of tiny turds right next to my foot.
I stared the goat right in his horizontal pupils. “Seriously? You had to do that right now?”
He pulled his head back and butted my upper arm, knocking me sideways before waltzing off.
Burkett’s Yukon came up the highway, slowing as he approached the marker. As he pulled over, his headlights played across the pasture, lighting up a moving swath that started forty yards away and headed rapidly in my direction. With any luck, the light would sweep quickly across me and continue on.
Alas, luck was not with me that night.
When Burkett pulled to a stop, his headlights were aimed directly at me. I felt like an actor in a spotlight. One who had forgotten her lines and froze.
Holy shit.
Surely he had to see me, right? Or did my dark clothes and the scraggly tree and the goats milling about provide enough cover? I wasn’t sure, but instinct told me to hold my hands up over my head as if they were horns. When the goats around me baaed, I channeled Old MacDonald’s farm from my kindergarten years and baaed along with them. Baaa. Baaaaa.
I hoped Burkett wasn’t armed. I didn’t want to die, especially out here in the middle of nowhere in a pasture with goat poop on my shoe.
Burkett cut his lights. I waited for the inevitable, for him to call me out, or shoot me, or spot me and simply drive off with the cash. But he did none of those things. Rather, he scurried up to the historical marker and dropped his envelope at the base.
Looks like we’re still in business.
His dirty deed done, he rushed back to his car, started his engine, and flashed his lights three times, giving the signal to Cobb, who waited down the road.
The instant Burkett had completed his U-turn I was in motion. I snipped the barbed wire fence with wire cutters, slipped between the severed strands, and crab-scrambled up to the marker. In the distance, a car began heading up the road toward me. No doubt it was Cobb in the Toyota.
I pulled a decoy envelope out from under my hoodie and exchanged it for the envelope Burkett had left. I’d just made it back through the fence when Cobb pulled up, cutting his lights.
Rather than risk being spotted fleeing across the pasture, I flattened myself on the ground and lay as still as possible, hoping he wouldn’t notice me. The goats meandered up, nibbling at my clothing again, but at least they surrounded me, obscuring any view Cobb might have had. It probably appeared as if they were snacking on dried tufts of grass.
Leaving his car running, Cobb exited the vehicle, snatched the envelope, and was back in the driver’s seat in less than seven seconds. The guy had his moves down. As they say, practice makes perfect. He’d had seven months of practice with this routine.
He slid the car into gear and took off, driving thirty yards or so before turning his headlights back on.
I turned onto my back and looked up at the sky, releasing a relieved breath as the tension snaked out of my muscles. Out here, where there was little interference from lights, the sky was darker, the stars more bright and beautiful. Too bad I couldn’t stay for a while and stargaze. But I had work to do.
I got to my feet, bade my goat friends good-bye, and hurried back across the pasture to the G-ride I’d left on the dirt road a half mile away.
Once I was back in my car, I turned on the interior light, tore open the end of the envelope, and poured the money out onto my seat.
Whoa.
I’d never seen so much cash, not even when I’d worked the half-price night-crawler sale at Big Bob’s Bait Bucket back in high school. We’d been busy that day. Anglers had come from all over the tricounty area to stock up on discounted worms.
The cash from the envelope included five straps of hundred-dollar bills, each strap holding one hundred bills. Ironically, for dirty money, the bills looked surprisingly clean and crisp, as if they’d come straight off the printing press at the Bureau of Printing and Engraving. I thumbed through a stack and, for some unknown reason, held the stack to my nose and sniffed it. I don’t know why. It just seemed like the thing to do. The bills smelled of paper and ink. No big surprise there.
I slid the bills back into the envelope, slid the envelope into my glove compartment, and locked it inside. The money secured, I texted Eddie and Josh.
Pickup complete. Get ready. He’s headed your way.
chapter thirty-eight
Fifty Grand of Green in Pink, Yellow, and Blue
I drove from Palo Pinto back to Dallas at lightning speed, leaning forward in my seat as if that would somehow make the car go faster. When I reached Preston Hollow, I parked my car three blocks away from the judge’s house and continued to her residenc
e on foot.
Looking around to make sure I wouldn’t be spotted, I positioned myself behind an electrical box across the street, armed with both my Glock and the high-resolution camera Josh had given me. As wound up as I was, I had a hard time being still.
I’m ready for action.
Now.
Twenty long minutes later, Cobb’s Mercedes pulled up to the judge’s house. He hopped out with his briefcase in his hand, his usual MO. He scanned his surroundings, but only looked left and right, failing to look behind him, where I was hidden.
I snickered to myself. Criminals were never as smart as they thought they were. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on Trudy Cravens’s wall when she and Russell Cobb realized their final payment consisted of fifty grand in Monopoly money. I had no idea how they’d planned to spend their dirty earnings, but they wouldn’t get very far with the pink, yellow, and blue currency. Just for grins, I’d also stuck the get-out-of-jail-free card in the envelope, though I’d written VOID across it in red Sharpie, a little inside joke.
Cobb went to the door, rang the bell, and was promptly admitted, as usual. I saw Eddie and Josh advance toward the house on the street, using parked cars and brick mailboxes for cover as they filmed the goings-on at the Cravens’ house.
Cobb had been inside less than a minute when the front door opened again, and he exited without fanfare, taking quick steps to his Mercedes.
What?
Why didn’t he look enraged or upset? Why wasn’t he ranting and raving and stomping his feet? For all he knew, Larry Burkett had duped him, filling the envelope with play money instead of the real thing. Why was he acting like nothing was wrong?
Cobb started his car, made a loop at the end of the cul-de-sac, and motored off, free as you please.
Eddie, Josh, and I met up in the middle of the street.
“What the hell?” Eddie said. “I expected the two of them to hit the roof. Where are the fireworks?”