by Harry Hoge
"Why the separate rooms?" Frank asked,
"As I said, much of my collection is imported. Some require unique environments. The poly vinyl walls allow me to maintain conditions better suited for plants preferring specific climates."
"Do you have a specimen of Cinchona ledgeriana T' Frank asked.
Rankin shot him a surprised look. "I'm impressed you know of that tree, Detective. I don't recall any mention in your file that you suffer from malaria. The plant is named for Countess Cinchona, wife of the Spanish Ambassador to Peru during the sixteenth century. The story is, she suffered from that common ailment and was cured by a local medicine man, and so had the tree imported to Spain."
Rankin ushered them into one of the walled off rooms with condensation on the walls. Inside, the humidity was nearly intolerable, even for a Houstonian.
"If this plant grows in the Andes, and in Europe, why does it need this sort of environment?" Frank asked.
"I imported this tree from India, and I've been having trouble with it. Gus helped me transplant it in here to see if we could save it. It's not working, I'm afraid."
"I understand Cinchona is a common source of quinine," Frank added.
"Yes, it is. A drug that spread via Madrid to Europe around the end of the 'Thirty Years War,' as I recall."
"It has multiple curative uses, as well as quinine water for mixed drinks."
"That's right, but it has to be used with care."
"What's its toxicity?"
"It's rated four, but an overdose can cause death after several hours of agony. Not a nice way to go." Rankin looked up, with an expression Frank couldn't read. Curiosity, maybe?
He fixed his host with a glare. "Your protégé, Nguyen Qui Mang went out from an overdose of quinoline." There was no doubt about Rankin's expression this time - shock.
Frank waited for Rankin to say something, but after the man recovered from the shock of this "news," he focused on the tree and nothing. Remember, he's an actor, Frank told himself, and then asked out loud, "Do you know of any other Cinchona ledgeriana growing in Houston?"
Rankin shook his head.
"Near by?"
Rankin turned his head, still looking unsettled. "Murphy Gardens in Galveston maybe, I don't know."
Frank glanced around. "Where do you grow your peyote?"
The question seemed to catch Rankin by surprise.
"What? Peyote? I don't have any peyote. That's a controlled substance."
"I see," Frank nodded. "In that case, I've seen all I care to in here. Let's have a look at the garage."
"Of course," Rankin agreed, and spun his chair, wheeling back the way they had come. Once they had left the arboretum, Chad asked if he could use the bathroom. Rankin waved him permission, seemingly more concerned about what Frank had told him than about Chad's bladder problems. "If you have any trouble finding what you need, Gus is around somewhere. Have him show you the way."
Chad hurried off as Frank and Rankin headed for the door to the garage. During the migration, Rankin resumed some of his jovial demeanor. "What in thunder do you want to look at in my garage?"
Frank didn't answer.
"I'm curious," Rankin persisted.
"Why didn't you tell me your real name is Sullivan?"
"I haven't used that name in years. It never occurred to me that you wanted to know."
"You knew you were a suspect in a murder investigation. I would have thought you would rather tell me, than to let me find out, and add that to my suspicions."
"Come on, Detective, lots of people change their names for non-nefarious reasons. Isn't that so, Senor Francisco Riojas?"
Frank didn't answer, fighting to keep a grin off his face. Touché.
The door from the house to the garage opened onto a concrete platform with a metal handrail and a ramp down to floor level. Rankin remained at the top of the ramp while Frank walked down the ramp. There were no cars in the garage, and Frank barely glimpsed at the bay where he knew Rankin parked the Mercedes. In the second port, he knelt down and peered at stains on the floor. None remained wet, but one was damp, like it had originally been a small puddle. Frank glanced up at Rankin before pinching the sticky substance, rubbing his finger and thumb together, and sniffing his fingers.
"One of your cars has a transmission leak, Mr. Rankin," Frank said, and slowly brought his eyes up to watch the reaction. Rankin's face moved from curious through the formulation of a distant thought to anger. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he got it out, the door opened and Chad came from the house in the company of Gus. Chad nodded to Frank, telling him he had found something. Frank stood. Rankin finally found his voice.
"This visit is over." He punched a steel disk on the wall by the door, and the garage door hummed upward. "Both of you detectives will leave now. If you want anything further from me, come with a warrant and please call ahead so I can alert my attorney. Good day."
He spun the chair and entered the house before either Frank or Chad could respond. Gus framed himself in the door, his arms crossed, and a scowl on his face.
Frank shrugged. "Come on Chad, we're done here." He walked out the open garage door as he wiped at his greasy fingers with his handkerchief..
Chapter 23
"What did you find in the bathroom?" Frank asked once they were in the squad car and moving.
"Funny. I found that cretin, Gus, waiting at the top of the stairs. He directed me to a bathroom in the guest room; I mean, we walked past two facilities along the way. When I looked under the basin, I found new makeup, slightly used, and a pamphlet showing various ideas for clown faces. The faces on the two bodies we have were both there."
"What's bothering you?"
"It's too easy. I think it's a plant."
Frank considered Chad's idea, wondering if all was not friendly between the two brothers. He remembered what Gretchen Sullivan had said about resenting the hand that fed you. Was Gus rolling over on Reuben?
"Where are we headed now?" Chad asked.
"HPD. I want to check in with the task force and visit the lieutenant. She'll have to approve a warrant after what we found out this morning."
"Search warrant?"
"I'm going to ask for an arrest warrant. Motive is a little shaky, but we have probable cause, access, and possession of the murder weapon, the Cinchona tree."
"No peyote for the Lowe murder."
"I'll settle for a conviction on Nguyen." Frank thought for a moment. "I'll tell you what, you go straight to the task force and I'll scope out the lieutenant. When I get her approval, we'll go for Rankin as the murder suspect and Gus as an accessory. If we can get those two in custody, Gerry will be safe. Then we'll see."
"I still don't like how easy I found the makeup evidence."
"You sound like me. My old partner always said I tended to reject evidence as being 'too easy.' I'll admit I have lingering doubts, but I really think Rankin is our man, and he had to have help. I like Gloomy Gus for the accessory."
Frank and Chad split up, and Frank made his way to the lieutenant's office. He found Sheridan Barker on the telephone. She waved him in and motioned for him to sit, casting an inquisitive glare as she listened to whoever talked on the other end.
"Okay, Grace."
Captain Holloman's assistant, Grace Villalobos, Frank decided.
"Detective Rivers just entered my office. I'll come up as soon as I'm finished here." She hung up and leaned back in her chair. "So, Frank, bring me up to date. How's the undercover assignment going?"
Frank filled her in on what had happened since their last briefing, starting with Gerry and Roger being followed and the sighting of Rankin's Mercedes at the motel, the progress of the task force and his search of Rankin's house with Chad Sherman. She sat back in her chair and listened without interruption, stippling her fingers, her eyes never wavering from his. When he finished, she leaned forward, placing her arms on the desk.
"So what's next?" she asked.
Frank t
hought the next step obvious. Maybe her question was a test. "I want an arrest warrant for both Rankin and Gus," he stated.
"Why Gus?"
"Rankin couldn't have done this alone. He's confined to a wheelchair. He had to have had help. It seems to me he has a strong hold on his brother, and is forcing him to act against his will; however, that doesn't excuse him as an accessory."
"According to what you've told me, the person who followed Gerry and Roger last night moved quickly and with agility. That doesn't sound like Gus. You have no motive for Reuben to have killed Nguyen or Lowe. You can't connect Reuben with any of the peyote deaths. Any information you gained from the search this morning is unauthorized and inadmissible. In short, you're on a witch hunt. You decided early on that Reuben was your man, and have bent everything in that direction. If I sign an arrest warrant with what we've got, it'll blow up in our face. I'm aware that Reuben Rankin retains one of the best lawyers in the city. He'll have Rankin out before the ink's dry on the booking."
"You aren't going to approve my request?" Frank couldn't hide his shock and disappointment.
"I -" The telephone rang. She looked angry as she grabbed the receiver. "Lieutenant Barker." Her eyes flitted; she sat up straight in her chair. "Oh... hi... wait, you must be crazy... Don't do that..." She covered the receiver with her hand. Frank saw panic in her eyes. "Frank, this is something I must handle right now. Excuse me. I'll meet you downstairs as soon as I can."
Frank pulled himself to his feet and trudged out the door, aware she was watching him fight his displeasure at being dismissed. He heard her re-engage the caller as he pulled the door closed behind him. "All right now. Let's talk sense..."
Frank stood for a moment outside the lieutenant's door, trying to get his mind around what had transpired. It never entered his thoughts that Sumbitch would argue against his request for arrest warrants. Her points were valid, but they had arrested suspects with less evidence than he had against Rankin. Granted, he didn't have anything on Gus Sullivan except association and circumstances, but someone had to be helping Rankin.
As he walked to the stairway, a thought hit him. Barker had talked about Sullivan and Rankin by first name, sounding familiar rather than official. She had kept up with the case, of course, and she hadn't become lieutenant on her good looks and personality alone. She was a good cop. Maybe he was looking for a dent in her armor to salve the rebuke he had suffered by her put-off. He shrugged and continued down the stairs to the task force room. It was buzzing when he walked in.
Chad and Olivia Stanton stood side by side in front of the white boards. Chad had filled the other detectives in on what he and Frank had discovered earlier, and both boards were covered with notations. He heard Olivia Stanton suggest they should either get more writing space or redo what they had, so it was easier to read. George Foster sat at a desk with a telephone to his ear. Aaron Fox was sorting through a pile of three by five index cards, shifting them with an expression of studied curiosity as if he was sorting the suits of a newly dealt bridge hand. Arnold Grisham peered at a computer monitor, his hands unmoving above the keyboard, hovering like a bird of prey intent on not missing a single suspicious fluctuation. Everyone turned their attention to Frank. No questions, only lingering curiosity and observation of his body language.
"The lieutenant will be down after she handles a phone call. She seems reluctant to sign an arrest warrant with what we have. So, what's new since this morning?"
Aaron Fox was the first to speak. "Arnold and I have been tracing the evidence on the peyote deaths. There's a conspicuous pattern that follows an MO, and time-line like a blazed trail from Las Vegas to Houston."
George Foster hung up the telephone and stood, flipping back and forth between pages of his notebook. "I just talked to John Magruder, a homicide detective in Galveston," he said. "Magruder was surfing the net and came across our data on the peyote deaths. He decided that one of their inactive files, a Jane Doe, bore too much similarity to be ignored." He walked toward Frank, still studying his notes. "About two years ago, Magruder couldn't recall the exact date, they discovered a white female floating nude in the reeds of Offat’s Bay near the 61st Street causeway. She'd been in the water too long to produce an accurate artist's sketch for ID, but they've got DNA and prints. No connection on either." He looked up at Frank. "Here's the kicker. The autopsy showed COD to be an overdose of peyote."
"Some coincidence," Frank noted.
"It was ruled an accidental death, and filed away until he saw our case file review. He's going to reopen the case and send us anything we might be able to use."
"Good work." Frank turned to Aaron Fox. "You too. How would this new victim fit into your time line?"
"Like a glove. I was worried about a gap between the last one out of town and Laurie Lowe, but the Galveston body tightens up the scenario."
"Do we have any more on the suspects associated with the comedy clubs?"
"Grisham's working on that now."
"Arnold?" Frank asked.
Grisham spun his chair away from the monitor and grinned. "Most of what I've been able to determine isn't useful. I've got the details outlined in the file, if you want to go over them. But..."
Frank allowed himself a smile while he watched Grisham milk the moment. Finally he said, "Yes?" and raised his eyebrows.
"When Chad came in with what y'all found up in River Oaks, I decided to dig into the affair in Las Vegas that left Rankin paralyzed."
"Good," Frank smiled. "The stuff I got at the library was really sketchy."
"Gus Sullivan was involved in a major drug ring and brother Reuben cooperated with the local narcs to break it up." Grisham handed a printout to Frank. "You can read the details, but the bottom line is, Gus was assigned to put a hit on Rankin and blew it. The locals broke the ring and when Rankin got out of the hospital, he had his lawyer intervene for Gus, promising to take responsibility for his brother's rehabilitation with the proviso that if Gus ever relapsed, he would serve the rest of his life in prison. Don't know how the hell they worked a deal like that. You can bet some big bills changed hands."
"That certainly gives Reuben a strong hold on Gus, and provides a reason for resentment," Frank agreed, glancing at Chad. "Might explain why he would want to help put his brother away."
"Rankin has no problem with nepotism," Grisham noted. "Sammy Sullivan has a fabricated job as janitor and bouncer, his wife, Rankin's sister-in-law tends bar, and Gus is Rankin's lackey. Makes one wonder who else in the employment pool owes their livelihood to Rankin's Good Samaritan policy."
"I agree," Frank nodded. "What do we know about Rankin's life before the shooting?"
"Not much. He married young, but about the time he was making a splash in Vegas, there was a nasty divorce. His wife drops off the map after that."
"Any children?"
"Yeah, two daughters: twelve and three at the time of the divorce, but what happened to them is shadowy. I'll see if I can run anything down on them." Grisham returned to the computer.
Frank read the printout Grisham had retrieved from the Internet and was turning to say something to Olivia Stanton when the door to the room burst open, interrupting his thoughts.
Captain Holloman marched in, glowering more than usual. "Detective Rivers," he barked. "We've got a problem. Lieutenant Barker just barged into my office and resigned from the force."
Chapter 24
Gerry opened her eyes and rolled over in the bed. Roger stood in front of the window, his fingers holding the drapes in such a way that he could see out without opening a major gap. She hugged herself and felt a broad grin cover her face as she took in the magnificence of Roger, a strong, muscled brute of a man whom she knew had a heart as big as Texas and a gentle disposition, except when he was in pursuit of some scumbag drug pusher or on the tail of an effete motorist driving recklessly in a controlled zone.
"What you doing, Roger? Looking for an escape route?" she asked.
He didn't turn aroun
d, kept peering out the window. "No. I'm counting my blessings and trying to figure a way to make this assignment last a long time." He looked at her and smiled. "Only problem is, the department don't take kindly to sexual interaction between officers. Wrong folks find out, we could be in deep doo-doo."
"The way I figure it, Sumbitch booked the rooms. She didn't want us sleeping together, she shouldn't have specified adjoining rooms. Shit's on her is my thinking."
Roger rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to the gap in the window curtains. Gerry crawled out of bed and stretched like a lioness getting ready for a night's hunt. It was Roger's turn to admire his partner, a tall, well-toned feminine figure capable of causing a man to lose his sense of decorum.
"You best get in the shower and put some clothes on or we aren't ever gonna get to work."
Gerry flashed a provocative look and posed with her hands on her hips. "You like what you see, big guy? Even the morning after?"
"I've liked seeing you ever since we first met. It gets better every day. Now get out of here." He forced himself to turn back to the window.
Gerry grabbed up her clothes and sauntered into the bathroom. Roger waited until he heard the water running before he went to his own room to get dressed.
Frank and the other officers of the task force stared in disbelief. Chad Sherman was the only one able to mouth a response.
"What?" he asked. "Why on earth would she do that?"
"I'm not absolutely certain about her explanation," Captain Holloman replied, "but she claims she can no longer carry out her duties without jeopardizing either her integrity or her oath of office."
"I was just talking to her," Frank commented. "Then, she got a phone call and ran me out, saying she would be down momentarily."
Holloman walked over and hunched a hip on a desk, staring at the white boards, and spoke more to the chains of evidence than to anyone in the room. "I talked to her earlier this morning and she didn't strike me as having a problem. Must have been that phone call." He looked at Frank. "You got any idea who it was from or what it was about?"