Deadly Distractions, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 6

by William Manchee

CHAPTER 23

  CASH INFUSION

  Several days later I was paying bills and realized we had just about exhausted Dusty’s retainer. The thought of having to call Raymond Farr and asking for more money made me ill. Stan wouldn’t like the idea and might torpedo it if I consulted him on the matter. Since we had already been labeled as “traitors” by some of the more vocal media commentators, I didn’t see how we could be hurt by accepting a little more money. Stewart got Raymond Farr at his headquarters in Washington, D.C. on the phone for me.

  “Ms. Waters. So nice to hear from you,” Farr said.

  “Yes, well I just wanted to update you on the case and, well, tell you that we’ve pretty much exhausted the money you’ve given us.”

  “I don’t doubt it after all you two have been through. First the FBI kidnapping Stan and now they’ve set you up.”

  “What? You think the FBI was behind the hit and run scam?”

  “Of course. They’d do anything to keep you from giving Dusty Thomas the best possible defense. They are a bunch of unscrupulous maggots.”

  “I’ll pass on your theory to Stan and maybe he’ll look into it.”

  “You know, Paula, the council is very pleased with you and Stan. You two have demonstrated remarkable courage in standing up to our corrupt government. I want you to know the CDA stands behind you 110%.

  “Well, our only interest is proving Dusty innocent.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll call our treasurer and have him send you another $50,000. We don’t want you to let up. You must prove Dusty innocent no matter what.”

  “Well, we have come up with quite a few other suspects. Tuttle was not a popular guy.”

  “No, a ruthless agent of our shameful government.”

  “So, anyway. Thanks a lot. I’ll keep you posted if there are any other developments.”

  “Thank you,” Farr said. “Say hello to Stan.”

  “Sure.”

  Raymond Farr gave me the creeps. Every time I hung up the phone with him, I felt like I needed a shower. A tinge of guilt made me quiver. I didn’t like hiding things from Stan, but I really didn’t have any choice. He would find out what I had done eventually, but I’d deal with that problem then. Since he had turned the checkbook over to me, he rarely looked at it. He probably wouldn’t realize we’d received a new infusion of cash for some time. I’d never known a man who cared so little about money. As long as he had enough to feed and cloth his family and pay his essential bills, he was happy.

  Now that the treasury had been replenished, I thought about what I should do next to try to unravel the mystery of Bobby Tuttle’s murder. I flipped open my notebook and looked at my list of suspects. Riley Davidson and the People’s Mission had been highlighted and underlined. I looked through the roster of the People's Mission. The names didn’t mean much to me so I called the person designated as the secretary to see if I could get more information. Her name was Mabel Anderson. After I explained who I was, she agreed to a meeting later that day. When I arrived at her apartment on Cole Avenue, she opened the door enthusiastically. She was a well dressed, middle-aged black woman, and spoke with a slight English accent.

  “Mrs. Waters?” Mabel asked.

  “Yes. Thank you for letting me stop by,”

  “Oh, I’m delighted you called me. I’ve been following the Dusty Thomas case on TV and in the newspaper. I sure hope you and your partner can get him off.”

  “Well, we’re giving it our best shot.”

  “It was so terrible how the government kidnapped Mr. Turner. You must have been in a frenzy.”

  “Yes, I was. But it wasn’t actually the government. It was—”

  “Oh, yes. They just detained him for a while.”

  “Yes, I’m just so grateful that Stan is back on the case.”

  “Me too. . . . So, how can I help you?”

  “Well, your name came up as the secretary of the People's Mission.”

  “Yes, one of my charities.”

  “I understand the IRS has challenged your tax-exempt status.”

  “Yes, but our attorneys think we have a good chance of winning in tax court.”

  “Really? I hope they are right, but what would happen if you lost?”

  “We’d each lose thousands of dollars in tax deductions which would mean we’d owe the government a lot of money.”

  “How much would you lose?”

  “It wouldn’t be so bad for me because I haven’t taken near the deductions that some of the others have,”

  “Who would get hurt the worst, you think?”

  “Peter Lowe probably. He owns a used car dealership and has contributed heavily to the foundation.”

  “Do you know him very well?”

  “Yes, I do actually. He’s my ex-husband. That's how I got involved in The People's Mission in the first place. I suppose I should consider resigning now that the divorce is final.”

  “Oh, well. I don't know. Do you agree with their views?"

  "Not really. Of course, nobody likes to pay taxes. Peter says the rich have so many tax shelters they don't hardly pay anything and the poor aren't required to pay, so that leaves the burden on us—the middle class. It's really quite unfair, don't you think?"

  "Well, it's a complicated issue. . . . How much do you think Peter stands to lose if he loses in tax court?”

  “Hundreds of thousands, but that’s not his biggest worry.”

  “Really? What’s his biggest worry?”

  “If a criminal fraud investigation is instituted.”

  “Oh, my God! Would they be after you too?”

  “I suppose, but like I said, I’m small potatoes compared to some of the others.”

  Hurst hadn’t mentioned to me a possible criminal investigation, presumably because it wasn’t underway yet. Peter Lowe seemed to have motive to kill agent Tuttle, yet killing him wouldn’t necessarily stop the criminal prosecution. I was starting to get depressed again as it appeared I was on yet another rabbit trail. But before I gave up on Lowe I thought I better talk to him. He was at his used car lot and was just finishing selling a car to a young married couple.

  As I approached, he smiled broadly and said, “Hallelujah! The Lord has blessed this day. Two sales and now he's gone and sent me an angel.”

  I laughed. “Hi, I’m Paula Waters. You must be Reverend Lowe.”

  “I am,” he said as he closed his eyes. He raised one hand and said, “Okay, don’t tell me. I’m praying for inspiration. . . . yes . . . it’s coming . . . a Buick Riviera. That is your car. The Lord has spoken.”

  I smiled. “Well, actually I’m not looking for a car. I just need to talk to you for a minute.”

  He frowned and rubbed his forehead. “What about?”

  “Your favorite topic, I’m sure.”

  “The Lord Jesus?”

  “No, the IRS.”

  He let out a gasp. “Oh, please don’t speak of the devil on such a fine day.”

  “I’m sorry. But I’m afraid I have no choice. I’m an attorney representing Dusty Thomas and I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “I don’t know Dusty Thomas, but I pray the Lord will forgive him.”

  “Well, I’m sure that will mean a lot to him, but I was wondering about your reaction to Bobby Tuttle’s murder.”

  “Any senseless death brings me profound sadness,” he said. “Bobby was a troubled man, but murder was not the answer. By now the Lord has punished him.”

  “So you weren’t upset by his murder?”

  “I never question the will of the Lord.”

  “So you think the Lord wanted him dead?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Apparently so.”

  “Where were you on the day Agent Tuttle was murdered?”

  “Right here on the lot selling cars.”

  “When did you hear about the murder?”

  “Not until that night when I came home from work.”

  As far as I could tell, Reverend Lowe had only one employee.
I wanted to go talk to her to verify his story but he called her right after we finished talking and they went into a back room. I debated waiting for her to come back but finally decided against it. I’d probably have to contact her outside work if I was going to get any meaningful information from her.

  The next day when I got to the office, Stewart told me Stan was looking for me, so I went into his office. It was his birthday so Jodie had decorated his office with balloons and bright streamers made of red ribbon. I wished him a happy birthday and sat down across from him. The only thing on his desk was a newspaper and a cup of coffee.

  He thanked me and then began telling me about the 18th Street gang and the probability that they were behind the hit and run scam. I thought of my conversation with Raymond Farr and his theory that the government was behind it. Then he handed me the latest issue of the National Examiner dated August 22, 1986 which I immediately began to read.

  CDA STILL HAS FAITH IN THOMAS DEFENSE TEAM

  Despite mounting legal problems for the defense team of Stan Turner and Paula Waters, Raymond Farr, president of the Citizens Defense Alliance announced today that his organization still stands strongly behind them. He reiterated his charge that the federal government was responsible for Stan Turner's abduction and Paula Water’s recent bizarre hit and run case. Farr further indicated that the organization had recently provided additional funding for Dusty Thomas’ defense and would continue to do so indefinitely.

  Farr called for a national taxpayer’s strike urging citizens to burn their form 1040s and demand the IRS quit collecting the illegal income tax. He indicated the CDA planned a national March on Washington the weekend before the start of the Dusty Thomas' trial and that they expected Dusty and Martha Thomas to lead the parade. They also planned to invite Stan Turner and Paula Waters to participate in the event.

  “Oh, my God,” I said. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Apparently you’ve been talking to Farr,” Stan said.

  “Yes, but just about funding. He didn’t mention the march on Washington.”

  “Is Dusty Thomas really going to lead it?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him about it.”

  “Farr didn’t mention any of this to you?”

  “No, nothing. I’m sorry, Stan. I called him about the money. That’s it.”

  “I thought we weren’t going to take any more money from the CDA. I can’t believe you took more money,” Stan moaned.

  “We were out of funds and nobody else was going to give us any.”

  Stan shook his head and said, “I went to bankruptcy court today and everybody avoided me like the plague. The bailiff wouldn’t let me in the courtroom without being searched, and Judge Sims chewed me out because I was two minutes late. We were just starting to distance ourselves from the CDA and now I read we’re going to be in a damn CDA parade!”

  “I’m so sorry, Stan. I didn't know anything about that.”

  “I know it’s not your fault entirely. But I wish you would have at least discussed the need for money with me. We might have found another source of funding.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I said. “I was just so afraid we’d run out of cash and—”

  “I know. I’m sorry I jumped on you. I’m just a little stressed out over Tex.”

  “You haven’t heard anything?”

  “No, no word from Ecuador yet.”

  “Oh, God. I hope he’s not dead.”

  “If he is, I just contributed $900,000 toward the overthrow of the elected Ecuadorian government.”

  I left Stan looking rather dejected. I wondered how much more of this he could take. I wondered how much more I could take. In retrospect I knew it had been a mistake taking money from the CDA and I wished there was a way we could give it back. The reality was we were in bed with them, and when this was all over, the only clients we’d be defending would be thugs and scumbags like Raymond Farr.