Deep Extraction

by DiAnn Mills

  Cole lifted his fingers from his laptop. “Is there anything else you remember from those days?”

  “Nothing, except I wish I hadn’t been so naive. I sound pitiful. Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. Any other friends?” Cole said. “A person or persons we can talk to?”

  “Perhaps I’ll think of someone while going through these pictures and keepsakes.”

  Tori picked up more college photos. “They spent a lot of time with a professor who . . .”

  “Are you referring to Professor Howard? He taught computer and business classes.”

  “Right. Did Nathan keep in touch?”

  “For a while, until he and Erik ended their friendship. Professor Howard advised them in the start-up of their oil and gas business.”

  “Which didn’t happen,” Tori said. “Why break it off when he was an asset for Nathan?”

  “The professor and Erik had been friends since Erik was a little boy. The two enjoyed the outdoors, hiking, fishing.”

  “I can see how backing away from Professor Howard made sense in light of his long-term relationship with Erik.”

  “Let’s see what he’s doing now. Do you remember his first name?”

  Sally hesitated. “James, I think.”

  Cole typed University of Texas into his Google search and scanned the faculty list for Professor James Howard. “He’s still there, head of the business department. I’ll call the university in the morning. See if Professor Howard remembers Nathan. If he spent years with Erik, then he could offer insight into the case. Any information is a help at this point.”

  “Tori told me you two interviewed Albert Weiman last night and earlier today,” Sally said. “Can you give me an update? Erik was extremely upset over his dad’s actions.”

  “Physically Albert will be okay. But he needs counseling. He swears he had nothing to do with the drill site bombing, the murders, or hiring a gang to carry out shootings. I’m inclined to believe him—his priority is Erik, not an elaborate revenge scheme. Albert appears to have acted out of desperation and an unstable mind, not as a man who calculated a series of crimes.”

  “He exhibited the same tendencies when he held me at gunpoint. Both times he came here, he’d been drinking. Do you even think he has the intelligence to put it all together?” Sally said.

  “Yes, but not the heart,” Cole said. “We have a friend who vouches for his story. So who was calling the shots?”

  EIGHT THIRTY FRIDAY MORNING, Cole pressed in the cell phone number for Professor James Howard. When Cole had contacted the University of Texas, he learned Howard was in Houston speaking at a business conference. When the man didn’t pick up, Cole left a voice mail.

  “This is Deputy US Marshal Cole Jeffers, part of a joint task force with the FBI in a case involving the death of Nathan Moore and other crimes related to Moore Oil & Gas. It’s imperative we talk to you as soon as possible. We understand you’re attending a conference at the Omni Hotel on the west side of Houston. We are on our way there now.” He disconnected the call and texted Tori and Max to meet him at the rear of the FBI building.

  As Tori drove to the Omni on the Katy Freeway, Cole grumbled about how much better he felt. Hated to have a woman provide transportation, especially when she’d been wounded too. Max couldn’t drive with the intense meds he was taking, which meant they were a pitiful team. Just when Cole swore off the pain meds at night and the mounds of Aleve in the day, his shoulder throbbed. Weak and bordering on ineffective, but he still had his US Marshal attitude.

  The hotel parking lot brimmed with vehicles. “With the crips in the car, we could try the handicap area,” Max said. “But the car’d get towed.”

  “Rich,” Tori said. “FBI agents cited for parking in a handicap zone.”

  She found a spot in the rear, and they made their way to the hotel’s entrance.

  Inside, Cole phoned Professor Howard again, and the call went to voice mail. He shook his head. “Looks like we find him.”

  At the front desk, Cole greeted the clerk and flashed his badge. “Federal agents. We need to talk to a gentleman by the name of Professor James Howard. We believe he is attending the business conference.”

  The young man handed Cole a brochure about the three-day conference. “We have a leadership session going on currently. I imagine Professor Howard is in attendance.”

  He was listed as a speaker at 10:00. Cole turned to Tori and Max. “According to the schedule, Professor Howard has half an hour until he takes the podium. That should give us time to pose a few questions.”

  “Pull him out of there,” Max said. “Let’s get this done.”

  The young man at the desk made arrangements, and within ten minutes, Professor Howard appeared, an older version of the professor in Nathan’s college memorabilia—tall, trim, with thick white hair and a matching mustache. His navy pin-striped suit fit perfectly.

  Tori approached him first and extended her hand. “Professor Howard, not sure if you remember me, but I was in the same graduating class at the University of Texas as Nathan Moore and Erik Weiman.”

  He smiled broadly. “Yes, you were good friends with Sally Arnold. How very unfortunate to hear of Nathan’s passing. How is his widow doing?”

  “She’s taking one day at a time.” Tori introduced Max and Cole. “We’re investigating Nathan’s death.”

  Professor Howard gave Cole his attention. “I apologize for not returning your call. With so much spam and annoying telemarketers, I thought you were just one more.”

  Cole bristled at the comment, but he’d let it slide for now. He directed the man toward a corner table in the lobby where they could have privacy. “We have a few questions, sir.”

  Professor Howard lifted a brow. “I don’t think I can help you. This conference is demanding, and I have a speech to give.”

  “Shouldn’t take long.”

  Once seated, Cole requested Tori explain how they’d stumbled onto the professor’s relationship to Nathan and Erik. “The photos were a reminder of how close you were to them. Is there anything you can tell us that could lead to finding Nathan’s killer?”

  Professor Howard folded his hands in his lap. He wore a Rolex, and Cole made a note to find out what kind of car he drove on a college professor’s salary. “That was a long time ago, and many students have come and gone. Such is my career. But what I do recall about Nathan and Erik was their competitive nature. Are you implying Erik Weiman caused his death?”

  “No, sir.” Tori stopped while a staff member picked up a newspaper lying on a table nearby. “Erik is seriously ill with MS.”

  “I’m sorry. He was a fine young man.” He shook his head. “I first met Albert decades ago, when his son was not quite two.”

  “And what is your relationship with Albert Weiman today?” Tori said.

  Professor Howard sighed. “I wish I hadn’t said a word. In truth, I’ve been in contact with him over the years. He has a drinking problem.”

  Tori nodded at Cole, and he took over the interview. “Why were you hesitant to mention your friendship with him?”

  “The few times we’re together, he’s inebriated and talks freely. I sincerely apologize for not being straightforward.”

  Cole watched the professor’s body language, confident, and yet his eye twitched. “This is a federal investigation and withholding information is a federal offense.”

  The man stiffened. “Yes, I understand the legal implications, even if Albert is an acquaintance.” He swallowed hard. “He told me Nathan Moore had stolen a plan for fracking from his son, Erik. Nathan used it to make millions. When Erik’s health deteriorated, Albert talked to Nathan about helping out with the rising medical costs, and he refused. Albert told me he wanted Nathan dead and would do anything to make it happen.”

  “How did you respond?” Cole said.

  “I encouraged him to seek counseling and an attorney, but I have no idea if he took my advice. Albert believed if Erik was doomed to a premature d
eath, then Nathan deserved to die. Albert also thought Nathan might have left him something in his will. His plan was to hire a hacker to interrupt his pacemaker.”

  “For a distant friend, Mr. Weiman revealed quite a bit of information.”

  “He’d been drinking.”

  “Why did an intelligent man like yourself encourage the relationship?”

  “Simple. I enjoyed the man’s company, so refreshing from academia.”

  “Mr. Weiman and the supposed hacker have been questioned,” Cole said. “Mr. Weiman is in custody.”

  Lines deepened around his eyes. “What happened to him is inequitably wrong.”

  “Do you mean the situation with Nathan?”

  The professor clenched his fists. “I was referring to the unfairness of his son dealing with MS. There’s treatment for him in Germany, but it’s expensive. Excuse me, but it’s nearly time for my presentation. Do you have any other questions?”

  “Professor Howard, is there anything else you can tell us that might help our case? Anything you remember? We have bombings, murders, and shootings. Who would Albert Weiman have hired to further these crimes?”

  “When he’s drinking, he talks nonsense.”

  Irritation nipped at Cole’s patience. “Did he mention a specific name?”

  Professor Howard nodded. “Franc Lawd. Albert had met him at a hospital where Erik is often under a doctor’s care.”

  Max coughed. “Professor Howard, you’ve helped us tremendously.” In the next breath, he excused himself as the gut-wrenching effects of the cancer gripped his body.

  Cole peered at the professor. “We’ll need a signed statement.”

  “Absolutely. I can drive to your office once I’ve concluded my speech this morning and the Q and A following.”

  Cole checked the time. “We have several minutes before your presentation. This can be handled now.”

  Once the statement was completed, Tori thanked the professor. “We appreciate your time and input.”

  Cole’s impression was the professor had a shady side. First he seemed reluctant to talk about his relationship with Albert, then he recalled conversations with the man and shared dinner with him. “Professor Howard, we have evidence the man Mr. Weiman hired did not complete the contract.”

  “You mentioned the hacker had been questioned. Didn’t he kill Nathan?” The professor appeared taken aback.

  “No, sir,” Cole said. “What restaurant do you and Albert frequent?”

  “Chili’s on the Southwest Freeway. When I’m in town, I have work near there.”

  The investigation was by no means over.

  EN ROUTE BACK TO HOUSTON, Max asked Cole if he could handle the rest of the day with Tori. He’d become nauseous at the hotel.

  Cole agreed but shook his head. Max’s surgery couldn’t come soon enough.

  At the jail downtown, Cole and Tori discussed Professor Howard while they waited for a police officer to escort Albert Weiman from his cell. The older man had been transported there upon his release from the hospital.

  “Doesn’t it seem unlikely the professor and Albert Weiman were friends?” Cole couldn’t wrap his brain around the unlikely pair.

  “Not if you knew Erik,” Tori said. “So full of life and loved everything about the outdoors. Professor Howard enjoyed those things, while Albert preferred a more sedentary lifestyle. The professor and his wife were childless, and Erik could have filled the role.”

  “What about Erik’s mother?”

  “She left when he was a baby.”

  “Unfortunate circumstances.”

  “Cole, what are you thinking?”

  “Erik is the center of Albert’s life. How did he feel about the professor’s interest?”

  “Never thought about it. But if Howard acted more like a father to Erik, I doubt that was ever said in front of Albert.”

  Cole weighed her words, mulling over the relationship between Erik and Professor Howard. “Everything appropriate in the friendship?”

  “I never heard otherwise.” She studied him. “You don’t care for Professor Howard.”

  “That obvious?”

  “Like a book. I see the professor is conducting a keynote after dinner tonight. I’d like to hear him.”

  Now she had Cole’s attention. “Mind if I tag along?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “And I’m running a background on him.”

  “He’s the—” She stopped. “My reservations aren’t based on an investigator’s mind-set. Yes, by all means get a history. I respected him in college, but that has nothing to do with this case.”

  The door opened, and Albert limped into the small room used for questioning. He winced as he lowered himself onto a chair.

  “Mr. Weiman, Special Agent Templeton and I have had a few interesting conversations with friends of yours.”

  “Who?”

  “Franc Lawd, who admitted to keeping an eye on the oil rig for you.”

  “He’s always taken good care of Erik.”

  “Earlier today we spoke with Professor James Howard.”

  His hands trembled. “Why?”

  “His name came up in your son’s and Nathan Moore’s friendship. Claims you and he are friends.”

  “We are. Have dinner when he’s in town.”

  “He says you often meet at Chili’s on the Southwest Freeway.”

  “Right. What does James have to do with why I’m under arrest?”

  “He said you threatened to kill Nathan by hiring a man to hack his pacemaker.”

  Albert dragged his hand over his face. “You know the truth. I planned the murder and paid for it, but it didn’t happen the way I expected.”

  “I see. What about the other crimes connected to Nathan Moore?”

  “Told you before, I have no idea about them.”

  “Who else besides the professor was aware of your scheme?”

  “No one.”

  Cole wanted a connection he couldn’t find. He tried a different tack. “Why did you visit Special Agent Tori Templeton at her apartment last week?”

  He glanced away. “She was getting too close. I . . . I had chloroform to drug her.”

  “You planned to kill me?” Tori’s words were low.

  He glared into her eyes. “I don’t know. . . . Scared me when I saw you were on the case and still friends with Sally. But . . . I’m tired of fighting.”

  Tori shook her head. “Murder is never an alternative to justice.”

  “I understand.” Albert folded his hands on the table. “We’re finished. Those other crimes belong to someone else.”

  Once the door closed, Cole turned to her. “How about lunch at Chili’s?”

  At the popular restaurant, a hostess estimated it would be about fifteen minutes before they could be seated. Tori frowned. She and Cole had more than food on their minds.

  “Do you have seating at the bar?” she said.

  The dark-haired young woman grabbed two menus. “We do. Right this way.”

  Water for Cole and a Diet Coke for her arrived in short order. The middle-aged man serving them was preoccupied with a purple-haired young woman dressed in black at the bar. . . . She could have been his daughter.

  “Sir, we have a few questions.” Tori laid her phone on the bar, and when he turned, she gave him her brightest smile.

  “About the menu?”

  “When you have a moment. We’re federal agents investigating a murder.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes, sir.” She introduced herself and Cole. “Would you be willing to take a look at a couple of pics? We’ve been told persons of interest frequented this restaurant.”

  “Certainly.”

  Tori showed him Albert Weiman’s and Professor Howard’s photos on her phone.

  He stared intently at them.

  “Do you recognize those men?”

  “Yes, they meet here at least twice a month.”

  That was more than Profess
or Howard had indicated. “What can you tell us about them?” She smiled to keep his attention on her.

  He pointed to Albert and handed her the phone. “The older man has a problem with alcohol. Often drinks too much. The younger man takes care of him when it happens.”

  “In what way?”

  “I think he drives him home or calls a taxi. Gotten to be a habit.”

  “Do you ever overhear their conversations?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve heard a few things from the older man when he was drunk.”

  “What was said?”

  He glanced away.

  “Sir,” Tori said, “we have a series of murders to solve.”

  “The older man hated another guy, wanted him dead. And somebody was sick.” He shrugged. “All I know.”

  “Did his friend ever comment?”

  “Not that I heard.”

  Cole slid his phone onto the bar. “I have another photo for you to see.” He showed the server a pic of Anita Krantz.

  “Yes, she’s been here with one of the men.”

  “Which one?”

  “The younger man.”

  “Were they involved?”

  The server sighed. “I’d say yes. They were real regular. Then it stopped.”

  Cole took his phone. “When did it end?”

  “Less than a month ago.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I really should get back to work.”