Deep Extraction

by DiAnn Mills

  Aznar had texted someone on the way. At the Ustach home, he’d requested to see this friend’s bedroom, said he wanted to spend a few minutes there alone. How had Cole not seen it? “Let’s bring in Jose Aznar for questioning. Run prints on him too.”

  “I thought he was a weasel.”

  Cole studied him. “You might be right.”

  ALBERT DROVE to the huge nondenominational church for Nathan Moore’s funeral, a service he looked forward to attending. The marquee outside the church brought on a snicker. All were welcome.

  A nondenominational church for a nonspiritual man.

  Albert had arranged for a nurse, a woman who specialized in home health care for MS victims. He preferred Franc, the nurse from St. Luke’s, but he worked the day shift. The nurse hired for the day would sit with Erik until around nine tonight while Albert and his longtime friend James finished dinner and shared a much-needed talk. The nurse had his phone number in case of an emergency, yet pangs of conscience assaulted him for leaving Erik. Once everything legally had taken place, his son’s health would be restored. Until then, Albert had to stay fixed on the future.

  Tori Templeton hadn’t given him an opportunity to use the chloroform in a fatal dose. He feared she’d stumble onto something and destroy any hope of Erik getting the money owed him. Albert had driven to her apartment in a rental car, dodged the security cameras, and worn a hoodie until he got to her door. But the FBI agent stayed in her apartment. He thought for sure she’d let him in. No compassion for an old man who showed signs of dementia. Later tonight he’d come up with another solution to get rid of her. After all, if he’d been drunk and ordered Nathan’s death, he needed to protect himself and Erik. His son’s request to get rid of the bitterness stomped across Albert’s mind, but forgiveness came at a price, one he wasn’t willing to pay.

  Deputy US Marshal Cole Jeffers, who’d been Nathan’s friend, would be harder to eliminate. Not impossible, just took more planning. Max Dublin, the lead man, stayed away from the Moore home. Dublin didn’t bother him like the other two who doggedly worked the murder case.

  Inside, the room reeked of sickeningly sweet flowers, overpowering perfume, and far too many people sandwiched into one space. Nearly made him sick with his claustrophobic tendencies. Sally Moore should have limited those attending the visitation and funeral. But nobody asked for his opinion.

  A keyboard set replicated an organ and filled the room with religious music Albert faintly recognized. The funeral dirge sounded as phony as the dead man. A dark-suited usher handed him an order of service that opened in the shape of a gate. The only entrance Nathan found when he faced death was hot and fiery. Albert noted the family requested guests contribute to the American Heart Association. Good call since Nathan’s heart had rotted years ago.

  A colorful photo of Nathan was arranged near the casket with other photos of him and his family. Liar. Cheater. The accolades made Albert physically ill, and he was there explicitly to gain energy from the mourners.

  He forced sorrow into his demeanor and stared at the casket. Comments of how handsome, young, and the incredible loss met Albert’s ears.

  You played and you lost, Nathan. I gave you one chance after another until you insulted my son beyond redemption. He did an internal knee jerk. What good was Nathan’s death?

  Templeton seemed surprised to see him. She acknowledged Albert as though nothing had transpired this morning.

  The US Marshal working with her was one of the pallbearers. According to the order of service, the others bearing the load of the dead man were Moore Oil & Gas executives.

  Anita Krantz arrived just before the service started—he recognized her from the media. She sat in the rear of the church, but as if on cue, Sally turned to observe her. How did she feel about her husband’s mistress attending his funeral? A bit ironic. By now everyone in the room realized the man they loved was disgusting. Thank you, media. Somehow Albert endured the PowerPoint presentation of the loving family man and successful business executive. A pastor gave the eulogy, praises for a worthless man. No one from the family spoke. Not even Tori Templeton or Cole Jeffers. Their agencies must not permit an investigator to speak on behalf of a victim. At the closing hymn, Albert left the church. He’d considered joining the others for the graveside service until he realized he had a voice mail from Erik’s nurse.

  Trembling, he contacted her, but his fears were a false alarm. She only wanted to report his son was sleeping peacefully.

  After treating himself to shrimp and jalapeño grits at a popular seafood restaurant, he headed to a 1:30 appointment with an attorney, a man he’d researched online as being successful in a well-known firm, having recently won a case against a doctor for malpractice. By now Nathan Moore’s files should have revealed his deception. What puzzled Albert was why he hadn’t been notified of Erik’s funds. Unless Moore’s attorney concealed the information.

  Albert found a parking lot downtown near the attorney’s office and cursed the cost. Even the underdog made his buck. He emerged from his twelve-year-old Toyota and drew in the rancid smell of downtown. Stale, like old socks mixed with alcoholics who drank their lunch and caffeine addicts who scrambled into coffee shops like roaches heading for the dark. The tattered homeless mixed with three-piece suits and short skirts, hotfooting it to moneymaking destinations, breathing in exhaust fumes, and listening to whatever was going on in their earbuds. He could unload a .38 on himself, and no one would hear, notice, or care.

  Life’s potholes had turned him into a cynical old man. He’d change soon.

  He crossed the street and stared up at the stone-and-glass building housing the firm with the answers. The next hour would cost him plenty, not just dollars but the heartache of exposing what had been done to his son. Still, hope shone like a beacon. He had to keep believing it. His wallet held a twenty-dollar bill, his driver’s license, and a maxed-out Visa. Everything had gone to the hacker. The jerk wouldn’t get another penny for more reasons than Albert cared to list.

  Inside the black-and-gray marble-floored building, he took the elevator to the eighth floor. What if the attorney required payment up front? If so, he’d ask for a senior discount or better yet a pro bono offer due to Erik’s condition. Stiffening his shoulders, he opened the door to the attorney’s office.

  A matronly receptionist with a tattoo of a red rose on her neck escorted him to an office where a young black man dressed in a tailor-made suit greeted him.

  Albert took a seat and played the role of the bereaved old man, which didn’t require much acting. “My name is Albert Weiman, and I’m here on behalf of my son, Erik, who is dying of advanced progressive relapsing MS. We’ve been awaiting approval from the FDA for a drug that has been used successfully in Europe. Except time is running out. Our last chance at surviving the disease is for him to make a trip to Germany for treatment.” He bored a sorrowful gaze into the attorney’s dark eyes. The young man in turn offered a sad smile, which boosted Albert’s endeavors. “I know there’s nothing you can do regarding my son’s deteriorating health. The funds to accomplish remission are tied up in a situation that occurred nearly twenty years ago involving my son and the late Nathan Moore. They were business partners.”

  The attorney pulled out a legal pad and pen. “You said Nathan Moore?”

  “Yes, sir. He owned Moore Oil & Gas. His funeral was this morning. Erik and Nathan were friends throughout high school and college. Peculiar friendship when they were constant rivals academically and even with sports. They both obtained geology degrees and planned to be partners. Erik developed a means of fracking that was not only environmentally safe but also economical. It created more fractures, more spiderwebs to give greater coverage than what was done at the time. Nathan stole the patent and dissolved any further discussion of a partnership. If you study the method Moore Oil & Gas uses, you’ll see it’s Erik’s design. That’s how Nathan became a multimillionaire.” Albert thought better of mentioning how Nathan took Sally away from E
rik.

  The attorney pressed his lips together, reminding Albert of a man hungry for fame. And that’s what Albert was banking on. “Do you have proof?” the attorney said.

  “I have Erik’s original development of the method. It’s dated. Nathan would have the same documentation in his files.”

  The attorney leaned back in his chair. “Have you or your son discussed the business arrangement with legal counsel in the past?”

  “Erik refused. I talked to Nathan a few months ago. Requested he financially take care of what was due my son.” He aimed his frustration at the attorney. “Nathan threw me out of his office. Said I didn’t have a legal leg to stand on, and his documentation was patented and binding.”

  “Mr. Weiman, this has the potential of being a costly venture. My firm would request a ten-thousand-dollar retainer to pursue the allegations.”

  “Even with Erik’s original paperwork?”

  “Depends if he filed the papers with a patent or copyright office.”

  Defeatism was a terrible foe, and Albert sensed it weighing like an iron yoke. “The paperwork never proceeded beyond Erik’s possession.”

  “Then we’re looking at a lengthy court battle. How would you like to go further?”

  Albert stood. He ached all over, and he had no fight left in him to maintain his disillusion. “Sir, you’re a feeble excuse for a human. A man comes to you for help, and you ignore him when his son’s life is at stake.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, but our firm doesn’t do pro bono work. I recommend legal aid.”

  Albert’s blood pressure spiked. “A down-and-out free lawyer doesn’t have the skills to win this case. Pardon me for bothering you this afternoon.”

  When Nathan had denied owing Erik anything, Albert found a way to punish him. The attorney just sealed the fate of Sally Moore and her teenage sons. He would get the money due Erik, no matter what it took.

  AFTER NATHAN’S FUNERAL, Cole met Manny at his landscaping business. The projects were under the supervision of a capable man, but overseeing the business was still Cole’s responsibility. Once the project manager had the specifications and scheduling down, Cole would relinquish much of his control.

  “Having you on an FBI task force isn’t how I envisioned you back in the program,” Manny said.

  Cole propped his feet on the desk. “I’m okay with it. Nathan’s death sent me back to where I belonged, and I’m glad to be a part of the team.”

  “How are the FBI partners?”

  Cole considered a dose of complaining, but it would get back to the other Marshals, so he feigned a grin. “A team from violent crime. We’re making progress. You’ve heard it all. Uncovering more about Nathan than I wanted to know. But anyway, Max used to work the bomb squad, and Tori is a solid member of the task force. A real go-getter.”

  “What are you not saying? Is she out to prove her skills are better than a man’s? Problems with husband and kids?”

  “Not at all. She’s single, and she’s fine.”

  “Fine as in you can investigate together or fine as in she’s a looker?” Manny chuckled. “That’s it. She has you distracted.”

  “Did I say she was attractive?”

  “Sure. It was in the way you said her name. What’s up with that?”

  “Nothing, Manny. I like the way she handles herself, and she has a terrific track record. If—and I say if—I considered asking her out, it wouldn’t happen until the case is solved. Not sure about her faith.” Cole had purposely omitted his and Tori’s discussion at the restaurant.

  “No need.”

  “What?”

  “No reason to date her before you find out about her faith because you see her twelve hours a day. Lacy and I have always said it would take a woman as tough as you are to shove you into a wedding vow.”

  “Shove? As if marriage is a downhill slope on a pair of skis?”

  “So you’re thinking about this woman a lot?” Manny acted as if he had insight into Cole’s love life.

  “Conversation ended. I have questions for you on a professional level.”

  Manny pulled his phone from his pocket and started to type. “At your service.”

  “I’m looking for a person or persons in our records who have connections with Moore Oil & Gas. Could be in prison, someone in the judicial system, etc. A solid informant. There’s something going on with this case that has flown over my head. Between you and me, when arrests are made, Nathan’s family will need counseling for a long time. With his affair and the woman’s pregnancy, a can of worms is the least of my worries.”

  “Are you sure staying on the task force is a smart investment of your time and energy?”

  “I’m committed. Plus, Tori and Sally Moore have been close friends since college.”

  Manny shook his head. “How is Tori handling that?”

  “Like me. We’re determined to uncover the truth, no matter how much we despise it.”

  “What about the other agent?”

  Cole toyed with how much to say, but Manny could be trusted. “This is personal, okay? Max is a buffer.”

  “What do you mean? The friendship you and Tori have with the Moores is interfering with your objectivity?”

  “Not exactly. He keeps Tori and me on our toes. Max is battling lung cancer. He claims this is his last case, but I think he has more strength than that. And this stays between us. I’d appreciate your putting an unspoken request on your prayer chain.”

  “Sure.” Manny grimaced. “Tough one. I’ll do all I can. Tomorrow, I have prison transport, so give me a couple of days. I have a cousin in prison. Got himself in a cartel and killed a man. Doing life. Operating from the inside. His wife is our informant, and she’s given us leads on a couple of cases. On the surface, she’s visiting him and playing the role of a caring wife. I’ll check with her.”

  “One more thing: see if the name Jose Aznar means anything. His background cleared, but I’m curious.”

  “On my list.”

  “Thanks. Are you up for burgers and fries? I’m buying. I’d like to catch up on Lacy and the kids.”

  Manny grabbed his cap from Cole’s desk. “Great. Little Manny is playing T-ball, and . . .”

  LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Cole joined Max at the FBI office. Tori was with Sally and might not return for the remainder of the day. The funeral had been emotional, and guests lingered at the Moore home long after the luncheon.

  Cole and Max met with the tech agents to examine security camera footage from the Moore Oil & Gas complex. They’d used their equipment to pull the surveillance videos directly from the recorders, preserving the footage in its original state.

  A tech agent navigated to the correct footage. “Our instructions were to check for three persons—Preston Ustach, Franc Lawd, and Jose Aznar. Early this morning the request to capture all images of Anita Krantz was made.”

  Max narrowed his gaze at the tech. “What have you got?” He dragged a chair beside the computer screen, but Cole remained standing.

  The tech clicked on an image of Ustach entering the building alone the day before the drill site bombing. Time stamp of 4:30 p.m., which meant he’d finished work before his arrival. “Hallway images show him getting on an elevator and off on the fifth floor. He entered Nathan Moore’s executive suite and left the building thirty-five minutes later.”

  “Did Nathan learn something from Ustach?” Cole said. “I’m contacting Krantz now to see what she has to say about the visit.” He pressed in her number and initiated the speakerphone. “Ms. Krantz, this is US Marshal Cole Jeffers. Agent Dublin and I are viewing security footage from Moore Oil & Gas. We have a couple of questions. With your permission, we’d like to record our conversation.”

  “You have my permission. Anything to get me off your suspect list.”

  “Preston Ustach met with Nathan the day before the bombing.”

  “Yes, and the afternoon before his death. I told you that previously.”

  “The second vi
sit is not in the security footage,” Cole said. “Neither is Ustach listed on the guest register.”

  Nothing but silence.

  “Ms. Krantz, is there something you’d like to tell us?”

  “I’m at a loss for words. What I can say is Nathan must have requested someone delete the images and the man’s name from the list of visitors entering the building. But he didn’t tell me.”

  “Why wouldn’t he want a record of Mr. Ustach’s offer of information?”

  “I honestly don’t know. But maybe Mr. Ustach had an idea of who’d bombed the rig.”

  Was Krantz covering up something? Or had Nathan received important info from Ustach and eliminated any trace of the meeting? “You stated in a previous interview that you weren’t privy to any of the conversations.”

  “Correct. I remember the afternoon of Nathan’s death, Mr. Ustach seemed troubled. Nathan had me escort him to the suite’s observation deck, where there are no cameras or recording devices. I had an upset stomach and went home soon afterward.”

  “Is there a reason you failed to mention this in previous interviews?”

  “Honestly, I’m a hormonal mess, stemming from his death and my pregnancy.”

  Innocent or attempting to keep a few steps ahead of the investigation? “Is there anything else you can remember that might be pertinent?” When she said no, he ended the call and turned to Max. “Two dead men went to their graves with evidence.”

  “She knows more. I can tell it in her voice.”

  Max irritated him, but he could be the spokesperson of wisdom. “Then put together more questions for her.”

  “Trust me, I will.” Max peered at the screen. “Any images of the others?” he said to the tech agent.