by DiAnn Mills
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Cole woke to the heavenly smell of chili and corn bread and the hacking sound of Max coughing. Life and its reminders of the mountains and valleys. He hoped Janie could talk some sense into the man.
Cole hurt all over, but he was alive and healing. A vindictive spirit had attached to his heart. The Hermanos de Pistoleros had nearly killed Tori and him. Who was paying them? He wanted to make the arrest.
Max stood in the doorway. “How are you feeling?”
“Furious at whoever is responsible for these crimes. Furious at myself for not figuring it out. Furious at this body that it isn’t what it used to be.”
He grinned. “Good. ’Cause I’m in the mood to talk.”
“Not before he eats,” Janie called.
“I can do both.” Cole sensed optimism creeping into his brain.
“A man who can multitask,” she said. “Rare.”
“Don’t forget it. I can be scary. Maybe not today.”
Her laughter was sweet. No wonder Max acted more human around her. He positioned a chair at Cole’s bedside. “I recorded Tori’s account of what happened.” Max pointed to his phone. “Mind taking a listen while you’re eating?”
“Great idea.”
A few moments later, Janie brought in a heaping bowl of chili that made Cole’s taste buds go crazy. A huge hunk of corn bread dripping in butter and a steaming mug of coffee added to the feast. Janie left them alone while he ate and listened. Obviously Tori had plenty to offer about what happened after the explosion when he’d been knocked unconscious. She regretted the death of the security guard—another innocent victim.
When the recording concluded and the food had disappeared, he turned to Max, who was champing at the bit to talk. A little amusing.
“Anything to add or seen differently?” Max said.
“I counted six men in the van, and three are dead. All identified as members of the Hermanos de Pistoleros?”
“Yes. Law enforcement are running down leads to pick them up for questioning. So far, none have been located.”
“A good friend of mine from the US Marshals has an informant. He found out the person calling the shots is male. What I can’t figure out is why the gang didn’t attempt to get us while I was in the hospital or on the way here.”
“Been thinking about it. Agents are posted outside your door, and Tori has protection at the Moores’, but we both know how that can go south. So are they waiting for an opportunity, hiding out until the timing’s right? Doubt they’ve been paid since you two are alive.”
Cole finished the last of his coffee. “The mastermind hired them, and he’s not happy.”
“Or she.”
“We’ll see. Can you get my laptop? I think better when I have a screen in front of me.” Cole motioned to the top of his dresser, and Max retrieved it. “Do we have reports on Nathan’s business dealings in Europe?”
“Just legal documents. The sellers are legit, wanted to unload their oil rigs, and Nathan bought them. The attorney on file is Liam Canters, located in London. Canters’s background is clean. We have the addresses of the new office, flat, and bank in London. Tori requested camera footage.”
Max snapped his fingers. “Learned the call Nathan made outside his home on the eve of his death was to Liam Canters. The man admitted it when questioned by our people in London.”
“Nathan must have been friends with him to share personal information.” Cole closed his eyes as a stab of pain swept through his body. “I want to know who gains the most from his death—the million-dollar question.”
The doorbell rang and he saw the time. “Manny and Lacy are here. You and Janie are officially off the caretaker role. Thanks for being here. You two are a great team.”
“We used to be. I’d like to think we could be again.”
“Is she pushing more treatments?”
Max blew out his irritation. “Like a mule. But any extra time with her . . .”
“I’m on your side.”
Max shook his head. “I know it, even when I can be meaner than a skunk.”
Cole stayed awake the remainder of the day, deliberating facts and fighting the aftereffects of Saturday’s attack. Manny and Lacy had arrived in separate cars. In a couple of hours, she could return to their children. Manny hadn’t uncovered anything—yet. Exhaustion and pain meds sent Cole to sleep.
Gunfire jarred him awake. His clock read 10:00.
“Stay put,” Manny growled from outside Cole’s bedroom. “You’ll get us both killed.”
Cole ignored him and grabbed his Glock from the nightstand. “My house, and they’re after me.”
By the time Cole made it to the foyer, it was pitch-black.
Another exchange of gunfire alerted him to someone inside. Too close.
He fought to clear his head. Calling out to Manny would give away where Cole stood in the shadows.
Movement to the far left caught his attention.
“Cole, look out!” Manny’s voice came from the right.
He dropped to the floor, and a bullet flew past. He fired to the left, a grunt and thud telling him a man was down.
The front door burst open and agents raced in. Someone flipped on a light.
“Cole,” Manny said. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” Cole moved to the downed man, who was closer to him than the agents or Manny. A jab of white-hot pain hit him hard as though the adrenaline had temporarily masked his body’s condition. Bending to the man who was bleeding out from the stomach, Cole felt for a pulse. Faint. “He’s alive.”
One of the agents requested an ambulance.
The man wore a black hoodie matching the attackers from the previous day. Cole pulled it off . . . A Hispanic with a tattoo of a snake running up his left shoulder, a Hermanos de Pistoleros. “Who sent you?” Cole said in Spanish.
The man groaned, and Cole repeated his request in Spanish and English. He leaned closer to discern a faint whisper.
“Pra . . .”
“What? Who?” Cole said, but the man had breathed his last.
MONDAY MORNING, Cole pried himself out of bed and made it to the office by 8:48 a.m. Having an FBI agent escort him inside the building was downright embarrassing. He plodded along like an old man, stopping to rest far too often. Last night’s break-in had caused him to use muscles that needed to heal. Agents had seen a truck speeding away with at least two other shooters. License plates were from a stolen vehicle, a habit for the gang. Another dead man, and his last utterance was puzzling. The pra sound didn’t sound like Krantz, Lawd, Sally Moore, the execs, or anyone else. For all Cole knew, the man could have been calling out to a loved one.
Cole craved sleep and his shoulder was a mass of fiery pain, but caffeine offered a jolt. His whole body had taken a beating. Where were the days when he managed an all-night stakeout, got into a fistfight, and didn’t flinch driving to work the next day? The tail end of his thirties hit a man hard, and this morning his body confirmed it. Max would have a field day.
Sitting in the interview room, temporarily his office, he concentrated on Nathan, the man no one seemed to know. He’d arranged his life to suit himself, every detail manipulated for his purposes. The first incident that surfaced was the affair with Anita Krantz and the photos taken in Vermont. Later, while his new office building was being designed, Sally insisted on his adding a bedroom for those late nights when she worried about him driving home. Nathan initially refused but, after he was robbed, agreed to her wishes.
Robbed.
HPD would have a report of the crime.
He phoned Detective Hernandez. “Would you have the records of a robbery involving Nathan Moore in October 2013?”
“Give me a few to pull it up.”
Cole closed his eyes. Numbing meds weren’t an option, which was why he had to be working.
“Got it,” Hernandez said. “Send it to you?”
“Yes. First tell me what happened.”
“Nathan Moore called 911 at 11:45 on the nig
ht of October 16. He’d been held up at gunpoint in the garage of his office. The previous building, not the new one. His wallet and a few credit cards were missing, along with five hundred dollars cash. An artist’s sketch led us to a man by the name of Vince Greene, who’d been arrested six months prior for a DUI. None of Moore’s possessions were recovered, but Moore refused to press charges.”
“Why?”
“Good question.”
“Do you know where I could find Greene?”
“No. No arrests since then.”
“All right. Thanks.” Cole swung his laptop into action. He contacted the US Marshals and requested a history on Vince Greene. Tori and Max would have used the FIG, but they weren’t there. Tori was in the ASAC’s office reviewing her report about Saturday’s incident, and Max had an early morning doctor’s appointment and should arrive shortly.
After reading e-mails, Cole checked in with Manny for any updates. Nothing.
How did the trip to London fit into Nathan’s murder? Sally claimed no knowledge of those plans, but was she telling the truth? True, someone had tossed a rock through her window, but a carefully planned murder took into consideration every detail. He ran his fingers through his hair. Admit it, Cole. Though the odds continued to stack up against Sally, his gut told him she had nothing to do with it.
Another reason he wanted to be at the reading of the will. Had Nathan provided for his mistress? For that matter, was Anita Krantz aware of the London venture?
He got Anita on the phone. When she answered, he identified himself.
“I recognized your voice. How are you feeling?”
“Better than Saturday.”
“Shouldn’t you be resting and letting someone else conduct the investigation?”
“Appreciate the concern. But I can’t turn calendars off when a case hits. It’s get the job done before more innocent people are hurt. I won’t take much of your time, but I have a question.”
“All right.” The reluctance in her voice told him she wanted this over.
“Were you aware Nathan planned to leave for London the day after he was murdered?”
“Since he’s gone, does it matter?”
“Ms. Krantz?”
“He told me about the trip and said he was telling Sally that night. Planned to be gone four days. I assumed he was conducting business with a German company.”
“He’d already purchased oil rigs in the North Sea. No partners. Rented office space, hired staff, purchased a flat.”
She sobbed, but he refused to be duped. “I don’t understand what he was doing.”
“How could he have made the transactions without your knowledge?”
“I suppose Jacob Farr handled it.”
“Actually Liam Canters in London is the attorney on record. Is the name familiar?”
“No, sir.”
“Let me get the facts straight, Ms. Krantz. You’d had an affair with Nathan Moore since 2012, but you were not privy to his decision to open a second office?”
“Correct.” Her voice trembled. “Was Sally aware?”
“No.”
“Then don’t bother me.”
If Nathan were alive, Krantz would have motive to kill him—unless she was lying now. “How do you feel about the new information?”
“Nathan’s business. I resigned, or have you forgotten?”
“Thanks for your time.” He ended the call and sent texts to Tori and Max.
Cole’s next move was a look at the timeline of incidents. He started a new file after realizing that the brainstorming bubbles had been a waste of time due to the intricacy of evidence and those involved.
Nathan gets involved with Anita Krantz. Office bedroom added to his plans for new site after robbery.
EPA files suit and loses.
Nathan receives threatening phone calls and texts.
Drill site bombed in Texas City.
Preston Ustach has information regarding bombing.
Anita Krantz pregnant. Resigns from Moore Oil & Gas.
Nathan killed when pacemaker is hacked.
Rock thrown through Moores’ home window.
Ustach murdered by sniper.
Nathan’s second office in London verified.
Jose Aznar found dead at rig site.
Tori and Cole in firefight with Hermanos de Pistoleros.
Cole attacked at his home by the same gang.
Max walked into the interview room and sat across from Cole. “Are you sure you need to be here?”
“That’s priceless, considering.”
“Feeling okay. Things in my life are looking up.”
Max and Janie must be talking. Cole breathed in and sensed the need for a couple of Aleve. “I have a hunch about our case.”
“Sally Moore may be our killer?”
“Hope not. What if we’re looking at two separate crimes?”
“I think you’re fishing in shallow water.”
Cole would ponder his idea while continuing to view the crimes from all sides. “Max, where are you on this? We need to weed out the truth.”
Max smiled, no doubt remembering the remark he’d made about Cole pulling the weeds in this case. “Two things could split this case wide open—the reading of the will and the security footage from London. The company Moore kept there, either male or female, has the potential of shoving facts into the case. By the way, Sally’s financials are in order, although every account was jointly held with her husband.”
“Let’s say she’s Nathan’s killer or funded all the crimes—where’s her bankroll?”
“Overseas account.”
“But we’ve done the research, and nothing surfaced. I have a difficult time believing she’s devious.”
“You didn’t think her husband was either.”
Irritating when other people were right. “Dig deeper, see if that’s a possibility.”
Tori walked into the room. “What’s a possibility?”
“That Sally could be devious.”
She slid onto a chair. “I hope not.”
“Cole here thinks we could be looking at two separate cases—the bombing and other crimes related to the oil rig and Nathan Moore’s murder.”
She crossed her arms and stared at Max. “I disagree. The crimes are related, which says to me one person is calling the shots, someone who has the money and skills to make it happen. Only a coincidence would bring their occurrences within a few days of each other.”
The MO of Nathan’s death did not fit the violence seen in Texas City. “It’s a theory. Period,” Cole said. “But beyond that, I want to talk to Mrs. Aznar this morning. She may know what we need to end these crimes no matter how they were done.”
“I agree she needs an interview,” Tori said. “But not the two separate crimes theory. The pain meds are fogging your brain.”
“Over-the-counter ones, not heavy-duty. What else do you have for us?”
She smiled. “The techs are still on the London aspect, but they haven’t found any red flags.”
Max got her attention. “Do any of the reports about Moore’s calls incorporate the London transactions?”
“No. Which brings us back to why he chose to leave Anita and his executives out of the London office decision. To the best of our knowledge, he’d not broken the law. A few moral codes, but nothing that would give him jail time.” She turned to Cole. “Was Anita upset when you asked her about the trip?”
“She did the burst into tears thing.” A stab of pain raced through his wounded shoulder, and he held his breath until it subsided. “In her background, do we have any acting? High school or college? And I want a DNA test to make sure Nathan is the father of her child.”
Max nodded. “I still think she’s waist-deep in this.”
“As I said before, we need evidence.” Cole typed one-handed on his laptop. “Who are her friends? The surveillance team indicated she was a loner, but her position required more of a social personality.” Anita was probably jus
t a woman used and spit out like Sally.
“Then let’s find out for sure.” Tori glanced at her watch. “Anything else before we talk to Mrs. Aznar?”
“Yes,” Cole said. He relayed what Detective Hernandez had told him about Nathan’s robbery and the man behind it. “I have an address where Vince Greene works as a mechanic.”
Max had a coughing spell, but once he stopped, he said, “Where are you going with this?”
“I’d rather wait until we talk to Greene.”
An update sailed into their phones, info about Jose Aznar’s murder investigation. Neither Aznar’s cousin César Vega nor any members of the Hermanos de Pistoleros had been located.
“Aznar was executed,” Cole said. “No tattoo, so he wasn’t a member. I suspect he set up Ustach, but that’s speculation unless Mrs. Aznar gives us insight.”
Max displayed his keys. “I’m driving.”
“No thanks,” Tori said. “You two old warhorses can’t be trusted behind the wheel.”
Cole refused to relinquish the possibility of separate crimes. It stayed fixed in his mind, and he intended to ride it out—even if he was an old warhorse.
TORI DROVE the two men first to a mechanic’s shop near Houston Baptist University. She parked outside the garage entrance and settled back in the seat.
“Why is this stop important to you?” she said to Cole.
“If it proves, one more time, Nathan lied, then we have another lead to investigate. Possibly another person of interest.”
“Good call.” Max opened the passenger door in the front seat. “I’m behind you.”
Cole might be right on this one.
Greene was the head mechanic, an African American in his fifties. Trim build. Bald. Cole introduced the three and asked to speak to him privately.
Greene eyed them. “What’s this about?”
“Nathan Moore.”
He sighed and led the way to a cramped office that left Cole and Max standing. Greene squeezed in behind a metal desk to a chair, and Tori took a seat in front of him.
“Look, I got in trouble with Moore some years ago. Nothing since then. I saw he was killed, and I’m real sorry. He gave me a second chance at life, and I never forgot it.”