by DiAnn Mills
Whose house is this?
Carr sucked in a breath. Your house. He kept telling himself God walked beside him, but it sure would be nice if he could feel a hand grip his shoulder or a whisper in his ear. Lydia once told him the Bible said, “This too shall pass,” but he hadn’t been able to find it. All he did have was a thin thread of hope woven with trust. He smiled at Darren and the two agents in dark blue FBI jackets while telling himself when this was over, he’d have a good life lesson to teach at-risk boys.
Standing in the kitchen of the home that once symbolized new beginnings, Carr caught Lydia’s smile and the compassion in her eyes. He saw what he needed to keep going. The woman had more wisdom in each strand of her gray hair than he ever hoped to have in a lifetime. If Lydia ever chose to take on the big city, look out organized crime, drug cartels, and pedophiles. Her no-nonsense approach to right and wrong would have them behind bars in a day.
Carr wrapped his arm around Lydia’s waist. “I’d like you to meet the FBI agents sent to investigate the problem here. This is Special Agent Bella Jordan—she’s the lead on the investigation. And this is Special Agent Vic Anderson.”
Lydia’s wide smile coaxed one from Vic, then Bella. “Welcome to the High Butte. We wish you were here under better circumstances.”
That’s my girl.
“Thank you. Call me Bella.”
“Call me Vic. I apologize for the inconvenience to your home. Hopefully we’ll get this wrapped up today.”
Lydia glanced at Darren. “I have fresh coffee and warm cinnamon coffee cake, plenty for all of you and your men outside.”
Darren leaned on the kitchen counter. “I’ll take a refill on the coffee, but we have lots of work to do. This isn’t a social event, Lydia. I’m sorry.”
Lydia pressed her lips together, and her eyes pooled. Carr walked her to the coffee bar and squeezed her side. “This will be over soon,” he whispered. “Then we’ll go on with our lives.”
“I know. It’s the waiting that’s so hard on all of us. I can’t stop thinking about those poor men. What about their families?”
“It is tragic for them, and they’ve all been notified.” Bella’s voice rang with kindness and sympathy. “A cup of coffee would be nice, but I can help myself.” She glanced around the tiled kitchen. “I like the Southwest flair—more like New Mexico or Arizona. This is beautiful, Carr.”
“I can’t take the credit. When I moved here, I hired a decorator from Abilene. She has great taste.”
Lydia turned to the coffee bar, and Carr pointed to everything the group would need. The leaders of the task force wanted privacy to discuss the case, and as much as he wanted to hear every word, he didn’t make the cut.
“No one brews better Starbucks than Lydia,” Darren said.
Carr forced a smile for Lydia’s sake. “Help yourself. I’ll be upstairs in my library. Lydia will be in her room on the first floor behind the kitchen. Jasper is taking care of things outside.”
“Once we’re finished here, I want to take a ride to the crime scene.” Bella poured a tall cup of coffee. She picked up the bear-shaped container of honey and read the label. “Good. Local honey. I’ll need this to fight allergies.” She measured a dripping spoonful and stirred it into the coffee. “Thank you both for your hospitality. I appreciate it.”
Carr caught her eyes, green edged in gold. They were bright but not with sparkles like his Lydia. Odd, how he used to look at a woman for other characteristics, and now his interest focused on a woman’s eyes and hair. Must be God. Bella’s auburn hair, pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, had lighter shades of red. It shone in the morning sunlight streaming through the window. Strange how he admired her physical attractiveness while she looked for ways to pin him with murder charges.
With a nod, he excused himself and disappeared upstairs carrying a huge cup of black coffee. He’d already started the day with prayer and Scripture, and now he needed to call his pastor. He stepped into his library, which was also his study, a cozy room with floor-to-ceiling bookcases in light oak and a heavy desk in the middle made from distressed oak. His favorite room—other than the barn. With that he chuckled. His sense of humor was still intact despite his world crumbling around him.
He remembered a time in his life when he nearly succumbed to madness and suicide, the night Michelle overdosed. And with what was discovered on his ranch and what was being discussed downstairs, it still did not compare to those days when he didn’t have God to keep him strong and show him the way to peace.
He stared at his desktop, an array of books with his Bible spread out where he’d been studying Paul’s missionary adventures. He’d planned to continue the study on Tuesday evening, which never happened. As he eased down into his massive brown leather chair, his attention swept to the right-hand corner of his desk, where he’d piled files and licensing information regarding the potential home for at-risk teen boys. He refused to remove it from his desk or give up hope. He focused on a Spanish cross sitting on the center of his desk and pulled his cell phone from his shirt pocket.
Seconds later he had Pastor Kent on the line.
“I heard what happened,” Kent said. “Tried to call you a few times yesterday.”
“I know and I apologize. Didn’t want to talk to anyone. Humiliated and angry best described my attitude. Not sure I feel much better today.”
“I understand. How are you doing—honestly?”
“Like a seasoned broker on Wall Street when the stock market hit bottom in 2008.” Carr leaned into the back of his chair. “Kent, I can’t figure out why God would allow this to happen right before we were ready to launch our plan for a boys’ ranch. Why would He do that? It’s an incredible need, especially with the state of our nation and world. I mean, we’ve read the stats with all of the fatherless boys and the climb in drug and alcohol abuse.”
“I wish I had an answer for you, but my comments would all be speculative.”
“Lydia thinks Satan doesn’t want us to continue our plans. Or I’m like Job and need to be stronger. But the truth is, I don’t need to know why as much as I want it all to end. Find the murderer and get the sheriff’s department and the FBI out of my house and off my land.”
“You have all of us praying. How’re Lydia and Jasper?”
“Supportive. Jasper’s not saying much. I think he’s as angry as I am. The news reporters swarmed here yesterday. Like vultures.” Carr stood and walked to his window. “Oh, they’ve returned in full force.”
“I’m really sorry. What has your lawyer suggested?”
“You mean the lawyer who’s been handling the paperwork for turning the ranch into a home for at-risk boys? I don’t want to talk to him about this, especially since his specialty is contracts. Besides, I’m innocent, and that’s what’s going to vindicate me.”
“Are you sure you want to eliminate good representation?”
Did Kent think he was guilty? Carr stiffened. They’d been friends since the beginning. A shiver rose on his arms. “If I’m charged, then I’ll consider an appropriate lawyer. In the old days, I had lawyers on retainer to take care of every rough spot in my life. But those days are gone. I don’t want to go back there. To me, calling in an attorney for this says I have something to hide.”
“I hear the conviction in your voice, and only you know what God is telling you. But remember there are Christian lawyers who could defend you with God and the law on your side. We have a church member who’s—”
“I know, Aros Kemptor.”
“He’s a good man. You know how he drives all the way from Abilene to attend New Hope. And he volunteers to help with projects and folks in need.”
“So you’re thinking I’m being bullheaded about this?”
“No. Well . . . maybe I am. You’re my friend and my hunting and fishing buddy. I want you open to whatever options are tossed in your path.”
Carr had been called stubborn a few times with an assortment of vivid adjectives thrown in. �
��All right. I’ll give him a call. Guess I’d rather talk to a fellow Christian about this than the attorney who specializes in contracts.”
“Would you like for me to come over?”
Carr considered Kent’s request. Did he really want to drag his friend and pastor through the fresh manure? “No thanks. And I appreciate the offer. If you’ll keep remembering me in your prayers, that would be great. The FBI has sent two agents to work on a task force investigation. Looks like a fugitive may be involved with the murders.”
“I saw that in the Abilene newspaper. Brandt Richardson is wanted for several murders. He used to live in these parts, but as far as I know, he and his wife haven’t been seen in about twelve years.”
“I’m going to ask some questions of my own once the meeting is over downstairs.”
“Okay, bud. From where I’m at, looks like you could use peace, guidance, strength, wisdom—for both you and the investigators—and an end to this tragic set of circumstances.”
“Add comfort for Lydia and Jasper. And don’t forget the families of the victims. In fact, would you send out a prayer request for those families?” Carr thought about what he’d just said. “God has to be working hard in my life for me to be thinking about someone other than myself.”
“He’s in that business. I’d like to pray with you, but first I’d like to recommend a few passages of Scripture.”
“Sure. I need all the help I can get. Early this morning I thought of Valium and a bottle of Cutty Sark.” Carr reached for a small pad of paper inside his desk drawer. “I’m ready.”
“Start with 1 Peter 5, verses 6 through 10. When I’m down, these always help me put life into perspective. Then Psalm 23 and Psalm 139 are a good dose of reality. I also like Hebrews 11 to help me understand I’m not the only man in history who has been through hell.”
Carr finished jotting those down. Familiar passages, but powerful. “In the early hours of this morning, Lydia suggested I start a list of things I’m thankful for. Sounded like a childish assignment at first, but it’s starting to make sense. I’m ready for that prayer.”
* * *
Bella sat at the kitchen table in Carr Sullivan’s house, drinking his coffee and discussing a murder he’d probably committed. She doubted she’d be a model of congeniality if in the same situation. Sheriff Adams had a file in his hand, but she guessed she’d already seen most of the findings.
Back at the field office in Houston, the task force would be working shoulder to shoulder to solve the crime. The FBI, Houston police department, Field Intelligence Group, and in some instances the Secret Service would be in a conference room exchanging information. Here she met with Sheriff Adams and Vic.
“The ballistic report states the victims were shot from about five hundred feet, about the same distance as the stand of trees the shooter could have used to blow out my tires,” she said. “Looks like we have a marksman here. Anyone know Carr’s skill?” She directed her question at Sheriff Adams.
“He’s a fair shot. Nothing to brag about.” He jotted down something on a notepad. “He does some hunting with our pastor. I’ll find out and get back to you.”
Bella thanked him, appreciative of the extra step, considering his friendship with the suspect. “I’m wondering about vehicles at the scene. The shooter had to get there by some mode of transportation.”
“We found one set of tracks belonging to Professor Forrest Miller. The SUV is parked at the sheriff’s department and is in the middle of a complete sweep. So far, the only fingerprints were the ones left by the murder victims.” Adams lifted the coffee to his lips. “And we found horse prints about seven hundred feet from there. However, no boot prints were found. Looks like the shooter used a leafed branch to cover his tracks.”
“What entrances could he have used to gain access to the ranch?” she said.
“West side,” Adams said. “And my thoughts are he must be a professional.”
Brandt Richardson spun into Bella’s mind. In the past, he did his own dirty work with perfection and precision. She studied Adams’s body language while she drank her coffee. “Our killer is a man who goes to all the trouble of stealing a rifle and planning his moves. I don’t think we can rule out Brandt Richardson as the shooter or working with the real killer.”
Vic picked up the file folder on the kitchen table. “I disagree. Carr Sullivan is our man. He has motive, the weapon, and a past record that slides him into the murder corner.”
“Or the two could be partners,” she said. “Have you had any other shootings of late?”
“No,” Adams said. “What is the last known whereabouts for Richardson?”
Bella recalled Richardson’s latest report. “A year ago he was seen in Abilene at a bar. He’d changed his hair color to black and added a mustache and beard. A woman was with him, but she didn’t fit the description of his wife. When he started asking the bartender, who was a college student working on a criminal law degree, about the Spider Rock legend, she got suspicious. After Richardson left, she took his glass to the police department. A quirk of circumstances that aided the authorities in trying to apprehend him.” She scribbled a note to have Vic contact the girl again.
Bella saw a deputy’s car drive up. The two deputies who emerged were the men who’d remained at the shooting site to wait for a tow truck. She really needed her car. More importantly, she wanted the bullet dug out of her tire. Vic saw the deputies and rose from the table to meet them outside.
Sheriff Adams took a deep breath. A spark of determination flared in his eyes. “Sure would like to catch the man who brought murder to our community.”
“We all would,” she said. “Any idea what happened out there?”
“Speculation, Agent Jordan. I hesitate to say because I haven’t found a single lead.”
“That’s why we’re working together. What have you done to this point?”
“Interviewed Carr, Lydia, and Jasper. Another man helps part-time, but he’s been in Mexico.”
Probably undocumented. But his citizenship status doesn’t make him guilty of murder. “I’ll want to talk to them too.” She wrote down more memos.
Adams lifted a couple of sheets of paper from his file and pushed them her way. “Here is the transcription of our findings. Oh, I’ve ordered the phone records on the three victims and Carr.”
“Thanks. That will help so I don’t duplicate things. Anything else I need to be aware of?”
“We’ve searched through the house and brushed for fingerprints. We’re working on the barn, horse stalls, and tool shed. I’ve gathered up every bit of trash and assigned a couple of men to that detail. I believe they have some obscure items you might want to examine, but nothing substantial.” Adams sat calm and relaxed. His gestures were not demonstrative, neither did he sit rigid, and he hadn’t touched his face. Eye contact was good but not forced. Unless Sheriff Darren Adams had acting experience, he was not deceiving her.
“You’re thorough.” She met his gaze and hoped he saw the respect. “I’d like to talk to the men who’ve gone through the house and whoever is working trash.”
“Sure. You planning to give trash detail a little help?”
“Actually, I am.”
“Gotta hand it to you,” he said. “You don’t mind getting dirty.”
“Oh, I brought gloves.”
He chuckled and she joined him. She desperately needed to trust Adams, and although all the signs were there to believe him, the truth could bite her in the backside if she wasn’t careful. “I’d also like the cell phone records for Lydia and Jasper—if they have cell phones.”
“I’m sure they do.”
Bella picked up the file, anxious to get started on her part of the investigation. “How soon can we visit the crime scene? I’d like to look around before diving into other areas.”
“Sure. I need to check on a couple of my men first. And I have a call to return.”
“Guess I’ll check with your men about the trash,
see what they’ve put aside for me.”
Vic cleared his throat from the doorway. “Uh, Bella, I’ve got a message from the field office in Dallas. Then I want to talk to Jasper and Lydia.”
“I’ll be outside.” Adams rose from the table. “It’ll most likely be tomorrow before I have the results of the bullet dug out of your tire.”
Bella remembered country time versus city time and the resulting frustration. She’d have to put a little rocket fuel into the investigative engine.
Chapter 6
Bella strode down the back porch steps toward Sheriff Adams, who still had his phone to his ear. While he handled his call, she made small talk with the deputies who were going through trash. The temperature was rising, so she wrapped her jacket around her waist. One of the men handed her a pair of rubber gloves, no doubt thinking she wouldn’t assist. But she pulled them on and laughed about the large size. Her own were in her bag, but this appeased the deputies, and she needed to demonstrate she was a team player. She’d dive into it until the sheriff completed his call.
All of the trash from Carr’s house and barns had been gathered the day of the murders and, according to Sheriff Adams, the men found nothing. Since then, they’d added more green bags with the nifty yellow ties to the growing pile from the house and barn. One of the bags had shredded papers from Carr’s library. She tagged that one to send to the FBI lab in Quantico, Virginia. A special department there would piece it together.
In the heat, the stench from the food waste wafted through the morning air and gagged her. She’d seen a compost heap on one side of the barn and was thankful she didn’t have to go through that. But the findings might add critical evidence to the case, so she continued to work alongside the deputies and echo their displeasure with the task. As she completed each bag and grimaced with the maggots pilfering through them, she wished for once that Frank had been assigned to this case too. Not because this part of the investigation was unpleasant, but because she felt unsure about her assignment. However, she’d not ask for any partner other than Vic, even if it meant working 24-7 to solve the murders in a reasonable amount of time.