Color of Murder

by John Foxjohn

  David nodded but didn’t reply. He’d known this all along, but he should have called to make sure. At least Melissa was thinking. “Thank you.” He turned to Martinez. “How long can we use you?”

  He shrugged. “Lieutenant told me to get over here and interpret. Didn’t say anything else.”

  “Morgan, I want you to take Martinez with you to the house where Estevez lived and bring those people to the police station. We need to see if we can get them to tell us where she is.”

  Morgan straightened his coat. “Yeah, they more than likely lied about that.”

  When Morgan and the patrolman left, Andy came out of a back room where he had talked to the two who spoke English.

  “Get anything?” David asked.

  He shook his head. “Only thing any of them know is what that one woman told them. They can’t describe the woman who asked to go into your room, and as far as they know, never saw her.”

  David leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Another dead-end unless they could find Estevez, and he didn’t like the odds of that. This mess had taken a new turn. He had no doubts that this woman placed the bugs in his room. Had to be, but this was the first time a woman had shown up in the picture. Probably a girl friend or wife, but he needed to keep this in mind. He didn’t like surprises like this, especially this late into an investigation.

  Someone was behind all this and it had to do with money. The more people involved, the less the take for everyone, and the more chances of things getting out. The police had a ton of Crime Stopper calls, but nothing panned out. Someone kept a tight lid on this. Crimes of this magnitude swept the streets like wildfire, but someone was able to kept it quiet.

  If things ran true to form, the woman who placed the bugs wasn’t long for this world. Someone either killed them off for what they knew, eliminated them so the split would be less, or both. If he had to bet, he’d put his money on both.

  Melissa tapped him on the shoulder. “How long do you want us to keep the employees here?”

  David turned to face her. “Have we got everything we need?”

  When she nodded, he told her to send them home and meet in his room. When he walked into his room, the phone rang. Morgan told him that they arrived at Estevez’s house but the occupants had fled before they got there.

  When he hung up with Morgan, he sat with face in hands. Dead-ends everywhere. Just when they thought they had a break, like a puff of smoke, it disappeared. Their best hope lay with Joe Don Hensley, who would probably die. Even if they found this Estevez woman, all she could really tell them at this point was that she didn’t let Beth into that room. Hell, he already knew that without her. He had to remember to get a hold of John and see what was going on with that. Crap. He needed to call Beeker, too, but didn’t have anything to tell him. Well, he could tell him he had failed again. Someone had out-smarted him again.

  He’d investigated homicides for a long time—had some perplexing cases before, but never like this. A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts. Melissa and Andy strolled in, but before he closed the door, Morgan trooped in. Without speaking to the others, David called Melvin’s room and told him to come on down.

  David rubbed his hands together. “What do we have?”

  John and Melissa shook their heads and Morgan shrugged. Melvin cleared his throat. “Not much to tell on the bug and stuff. Definitely homemade and cheap. Nothing about it that couldn’t be made with stuff bought from just about any store.”

  David dropped his head. “Another dead-end.”

  “Ah—David, when we were talking before I got the impression you would like for the killer to not know we have found the bugs and things.”

  “Yeah. That idea is out the window.”

  “Maybe not.”

  David’s head jerked up. “What do you mean?”

  The receiver holds a simple recording device.”

  “Yes, but our conversation is on that recording device and if we return it and they pick it up they will hear us talking about it.”

  “Not if we erase that part of the tape.”

  “What are you two talking about? How long does the tape record?” Melissa asked.

  “Eight hours.”

  While Morgan and Melvin talked about erasing the tape and putting it back, David leaned back with his eyes closed. Melissa knew he wasn’t asleep, but thinking, and at this hour, it was a wonder they all hadn’t conked out. Somehow they needed a break and she thought she saw one. She debated whether to tell David in front of the others, or get him alone and let him take the credit. But that was stupid. David didn’t care about credit and if she did wait to get him alone, if the idea worked he’d tell everyone she thought of it anyway. “David I have an idea. It might be a dumb one, but…”

  He straightened in his chair as Melvin and Morgan stopped talking, and he half-smiled. “I don’t know if it is a dumb one or not, but even a dumb one is better than what I have come up with.”

  “Someone needs to come every eight hours or so and retrieve that box. Right?’

  After David nodded, she continued. “If we watch the box, we may see who bugged the room.”

  David’s hand slapping on the table made everyone jump. He jumped up and paced as all eyes followed him. “You’re right. I should have seen that.”

  He continued to pace, but no one said anything. He had more experience in homicides than all the agents on his team put together, but his experience differed from the bureau. These types of stakeouts didn’t occur in police departments. They didn’t have the manpower or money for that matter to do it. They showed that stuff on TV, but for the most part, it was fiction junk.

  He spun around. “How could we do it?”

  Melissa, who stared at the carpet, looked up. “Find a room directly across from this one and take turns watching.”

  David sat and tapped on the chair arm for several long minutes. “Morgan. Have you done this before?”

  He seemed surprised that David asked him, but nodded. “Usually have a camera and take pictures. One person watches.”

  David thought a moment, and then asked Melvin if they could get a camera.

  “Sure, I can get one in the morning and with a telescopic lens. All we need is a place to set it up.”

  David nodded. “I’m going to let Melissa take charge of this. What do you need us to do?”

  She turned to Morgan. “What do you suggest?”

  Without the arrogance he had before, he thought a moment. “This is just a suggestion. What I’d do is get a room from the motel manager without anyone else knowing. Only him and the agents. Two of us set up and keep watch. No one else involved. Too much traffic in and out of the room would give us away.”

  David nodded. “Melissa, could you and Andy handle that? I’m going to need Melvin and Morgan. We need to get some sleep then get started. Melvin can get the camera set up and show you how it works.”

  David rubbed his gritty eyes and took a deep breath. “In the morning, Melvin, get that contraption together and working. Morgan and I are going to the police department and see if we can find a damn link to the people we know about. There has to be one somewhere.”

  When the others trudged out, David lay on his back on the bed. A fleeting thought played with his mind. He’d heard something that didn’t fit—someone told him something that was wrong. Like an itch he couldn’t reach, the longer it went, the more it bothered him. Although he couldn’t remember what it was, his every instinct told him that it was an important detail. This made it even more frustrating.

  He had another perplexing question to add to this puzzle. Who was the woman?

  * * * *

  David might have slept all day if the phone hadn’t rung. He groaned, glanced at his watch, and groaned again. Beeker’s abrupt voice didn’t surprise him.

  When he explained all they had come up with, silence controlled the phone for several strained minutes. “David, you took this case on my recommendation. My butt’s on the
line in this, too. The director wants this over with. He is catching a lot of heat, and the heat is rolling downhill to me. Is your team too inexperienced to handle this?”

  David rubbed his face with his free hand. Beeker wasn’t asking about his team—he was concerned over whether David could handle it. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. He needed to be careful how he responded. He didn’t know how they expected him to find this killer when he didn’t have anything. “Sir, we’re doing all that can be done at the moment. If my team is given the time and support, we will find the people involved in this. I honestly believe we’re close. My team is about to drop from exhaustion, but we’re turning over every rock that we can find. There’s no way anyone else can come in here and do more.”

  “Okay. Understand that time is running out. The director is going to need to make a decision soon on this. I’ll do what I can from this end.”

  When David hung up, he decided to let his team sleep and took a cold shower. With a cup of coffee in his hand, he answered the knock at his door. Melissa forced a half-smile. “Good morning.”

  David frowned. “You should have slept longer.”

  She stepped in. “I could say the same thing about you.”

  When she sat, he told her about the call from Beeker.

  Her lips thinned. “Dammit. What do they want from us?”

  With his head hurting, he closed his eyes. “Results and fast.”

  CHAPTER 32

  David and Morgan went by the Lufkin police department and talked to Chief Spears, but the department hadn’t come up with anything the team didn’t already know about. If the mall parking lot held any evidence to begin with, rain had washed it away.

  As they sat in the vehicle outside the police department in silence, David removed his spiral and pen. When Morgan asked him what he was doing, David stopped. “I am trying to make a timeline. Justin’s death started all this on December 17, then Deputy James, Whistlam, and now Hensley.”

  Morgan frowned and reached into his pocket for his spiral, flipped a few pages, and looked at David. “You may have skipped one.”

  “Who?”

  “Rebecca Jo Farley, the bank clerk. If they killed her like we think, she is a part of this and died on Monday morning, December 16.”

  David popped his forehead. “Forgot about her.” He tapped both hands on the steering wheel as minutes passed by, then started the car and pulled out. When he hit Timberland and turned left, Morgan asked him where they were going.

  “To Nacogdoches to talk to that bank president.”

  “Think that will help?”

  David adjusted his rearview mirror and sped up to the left lane, whipping by slower vehicles. A strange sensation floated over him that he couldn’t explain, and a tingling crept up his back. He took a deep breath. “Don’t know if it will help or not.” Without any animosity in his words, told Morgan if he had any suggestions he was more than ready to listen.

  When Morgan didn’t respond, they continued in silence. David still had the odd sensations and for the life of him, he didn’t know why. Halfway paying attention to his driving, he thought about Beth. He missed her and wished she were there. He could talk to her, bounce things off her. She didn’t know much about investigations but she was smart, and more important, a great listener. He debated whether he should call her and ask her to come up here for a few days.

  He rejected that notion as soon as he thought about it. He needed her, but he didn’t want her near this mess. No telling how things would turn out.

  When David parked in front of the bank, hairs tingled on his neck when he heaved himself out of the car.

  The bank, located on Main Street in Nacogdoches, sat on the north side with businesses on both sides. This area of Nacogdoches was one of the most unique places David had seen. The streets and square were made of red bricks.

  Across the brick street, a library occupied the center of the square with other businesses almost surrounding it.

  Morgan watched him, hands on hips, as David scanned the area. David’s hand inched close to his shoulder holster under his left arm.

  When Morgan asked him what was wrong, he took a deep breath and shrugged. “Let’s go in.”

  Entering the bank, the sensations left David. He wished he knew why he had them, but his thoughts disappeared when a receptionist asked if she could help them. Minutes later, she escorted them into Felton Taylor, the bank president’s office. He stood, extending his hand. In his mid-forties, dressed in a conservative business suit, he had an athlete’s body and a firm handshake.

  When they told him why they had come, he nodded, turned in his chair and retrieved a folder from the shelf behind him. “I figured you would be back. I have followed most of this in the papers, and I’m not pleased that our bank has any part in this mess, but it looks like it does.”

  David crossed his leg. “Tell us about Rebecca Jo Farley.”

  He opened the folder he had set on the desk. After scanning the contents, he looked up. “She was a good employee. Worked here for seven years. She started where all our employees do—on the window—and worked her way up to new accounts. She worked well with the other employees and the customers. We never had a complaint about her from anyone, and her supervisor loved her.”

  David scratched his head, thinking about how to ask the next question. “Did she do anything wrong with the account that Deputy Milam supposedly set up?”

  He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “Outwardly, no, she did everything by the book. We have examined it from every angle. Our auditors looked over it and she made no mistakes. When Deputy Milam or whoever it was came in, she did the paperwork and brought it to me. I looked it over and went and talked to the deputy myself and I approved the deposit.”

  Morgan asked, “You call him Deputy Milam. Did you know he was a deputy sheriff at the time?”

  David tapped his foot while Morgan asked the question. It was a good one and he was going to ask the same one, himself. Morgan knew his business. No doubt about that.

  “No, I only knew him as Justin Milam. We didn’t know—or at least I didn’t know—he was a deputy sheriff until the first time agents came in to talk to us. If I had known that, we would have flagged that account.”

  While the president talked, David stood and looked out his window with hands shoved in his pockets. A green stand of pine trees contrasted with dead grass beneath them. David turned when the president’s intercom rattled, telling him he had an appointment in fifteen minutes.

  David sat and rubbed his face. “I know you’re limited on time, but could you run down this process for us?”

  Taylor rested his elbows on his desk, fingers steepled. “Deputy Milam, or whoever it was, came in on a Friday afternoon. I don’t know the exact time, but I do know it was after two. He opened the account with a check. Becky Jo did all the paperwork, got my approval and I talked to him for a couple of minutes.

  “The next Monday morning as the bank opened, he came in and told us he had decided to close the account.”

  David nodded. They had known all of this. “How did he get his money back?”

  “Since we had not processed the account, we simply gave him his original check back. You do understand that banks do not allow access to funds from new accounts until the money they originally deposit clears and we know funds are available.

  “Since he came in after two on Friday, we would not process the check until Monday. We hadn’t done it before he came in Monday morning.” Taylor took a deep breath. “Becky Jo did everything right on this, but one thing she did do that she shouldn’t have, she didn’t process everything Friday after he left. She should have made a copy of the check and got it ready to send in Monday morning.”

  David tugged on his lip. Because she didn’t copy the check and they gave the original back, there was no way to trace the check. It was mighty convenient that this man came in after two on Friday and closed it out at the start of the day Monday. That conve
nience also took into account the bank employee not making a copy of the check or processing it—not to mention the fact that someone killed her Monday afternoon.

  When Taylor glanced at his watch, David got the hint. “One more question and we’ll let you get to your meeting. Can I walk in here and open an account without showing any kind of identification?”

  “No. Identification is required on all accounts. There is no way someone can walk into this bank or any bank, and deposit two hundred thousand dollars and not show proper identification. Justin Milam was no exception. I personally examined his driver’s license and before you ask, I am one hundred percent sure that the driver’s license I examined belonged to Justin Milam. It was not a fake.”

  David’s eyes widened. He gave them new information and the agents should have asked it earlier. David and Morgan stopped on the sidewalk outside the bank. Morgan scratched his eyebrow with a thumb. “I screwed that up.”

  David didn’t answer. Deep in thought, tingling exploded up his back, snapping his attention to the present. His mouth dried.

  Morgan yelled, “Oh Shit!” as he slammed into David.

  David flew sideways from Morgan’s impact. A shot reverberated over traffic noise.

  David slammed into the sidewalk on his shoulder. His hand streaked for his gun as people screamed and yelled nearby. With gun out, he rolled onto his stomach and swiped at hot liquid on his face. He didn’t know how badly he was hit, but felt no pain, not even the impact of the bullet striking.

  He trembled, but not from the cold pavement. Where had the shot come from?

  As he glanced around, he found Morgan lying on his back, his body convulsing.

  Before he could move, Morgan’s movements ceased.

  David closed his eyes for a moment, hollowness gripping his throat and chest. Voided bowels and tangy blood made David’s stomach turn as sirens blared in his foggy mind, wailing and rushing toward him. His eyes snapped open. He could do nothing for Morgan, but where did the shot come from? More important, where was the shooter?