by Joe Nobody
“With all due respect, ma’am, nothing was getting done before you came into this office. If you recall, on the campaign this was one of your primary concerns. The gridlock we see today isn’t any worse than your predecessor suffered for years.”
Nodding her head, President Clifton acknowledged Aaron’s point. “What do the latest poll numbers indicate from Texas?”
“Only 36% of registered voters are in favor of secession. Like I keep saying, it’s not going to happen.”
The small icon on Zach’s cell phone signaled a new voicemail now resided in his inbox. Since there weren’t any missed calls on his mobile, it had to be someone trying to reach him via the Austin office.
He dialed the sequence of numbers required to access the seldom-used feature, a computerized voice announcing that he had one new message.
An unfamiliar female voice came across the line. “My name is Kara Hendricks… well it used to be Hendricks…. Anyway, I found a letter today from my late husband, Abe. I think you were with him at the time of his death. I remember watching you fighting with that other cop on the day he was killed, and somehow I got the impression that you cared. I think this note might be significant. Please call me.”
Zach wrote down the number, his mind racing with the woman’s words. She answered his return call on the second ring.
“Ma’am, this is Ranger Zachariah Bass. I received your message.”
“Thank you for returning my call, Mr. Bass. Are you the same ranger I saw on television when my ex-husband was killed?”
“I am, ma’am. To this day, we’ve not found his killer, but the case has never gone cold – at least not by my way of thinking. Could you tell me about this letter?”
“Abe and I had a beach home down at Gulf Shores, Alabama. After our divorce and then his death, I just didn’t have the heart to visit the place. I rented it out over the summer and finally worked up the nerve to come down here for a few days. Evidently, one of our renters checked the mail and retrieved an envelope addressed to me from Abe. She must have forgotten to tell me about it, because I just found it on the counter in a stack of junk mail.”
“And what does the letter say?”
“Well, that’s just it. There is no letter, just a key and a sticky note. It’s in Abe’s handwriting, and it says, ‘Kara – this is important.’”
Zach rubbed his chin, trying to figure out the next step. “Is there any sort of name or number on the key?”
“Yes, it has the word, ‘Prime,’ as well as a number, 00617134.”
“And you have no idea what this key might be for?” the lawman queried.
“No. Since our divorce, I had only spoken to Abe once. He called me a few days before he shot at that plane and told me he was sorry for everything.”
“Did he own any other properties? A lockbox? A storage bin?”
“Not that I know of. Our house in Houston was spacious, and Abe definitely wasn’t a hoarder. About the only thing my husband held onto over the years was bad memories.”
“Ma’am, I’m going to see if there’s any reference or record for that key. It also might help if you could send it to me. I’d be happy to give you a FedEx account number and my address.”
Kara agreed, jotting down the information and promising to send Zach the package next-day delivery.
After disconnecting the call, Zach dialed one of the lab technicians associated with the Department of Public Safety. “Can you do a database search on a particular key for me?”
The answer came less than an hour later. Abe Hendricks evidently had access to a bank lockbox in Houston – a lockbox that the FBI hadn’t been able to find.
“Yet another wonderful gift you have delivered, Ranger Bass. And it’s not even my birthday yet,” Major Alcorn stated, sarcasm thick in his tone. “Technically, we should hand this information over to the feds and be done with it. However, for some reason, our colleagues in Washington have a hard-on for one of my rangers. I suppose it might have something to do with a public, full-frontal assault that ended up on national television, but I can’t be sure about that.”
Zach nodded, fully understanding his boss’s frustration. He had apologized, more than once, and that was all he would offer.
“I could request the case files from Washington, but I’m sure that would garner unwanted attention as well. Those fellas don’t seem to be a forgiving bunch. Regardless, without that supporting information, I don’t see any judge authorizing a search warrant.”
“Maybe the bank will let me look inside without a warrant,” Zach offered.
“Unlikely,” replied the major. “If it were some bumpkin-based operation out in the middle of nowhere, then perhaps. But this bank is in suburban Houston, and I doubt they’ll be anxious to let you nose around. I think you’re wasting your time.”
Zach pondered his boss’s recommendation but couldn’t let it go. “I feel a sense of responsibility, sir. My path crossed with Abraham Hendricks twice. It’s almost like a destiny or something.”
Alcorn sighed, his frustration evident. “You have some vacation days coming, Ranger Bass. What you do on your own time is none of my affair. But be warned – don’t get stupid. There’s already enough tarnish on your badge. I won’t tolerate any more.”
Alcorn flipped Zach the key, “Report back here tomorrow, Ranger. I’ll dock you one vacation day, and consider this entire matter as personal business. While I’m sympathetic to the frustration you’ve felt over Mr. Hendricks’s death, we’ve got a governor to protect.”
The drive from Austin to Houston was only a few hours, especially when the driver wasn’t worried about the speed limits. On the journey across central Texas, an idea occurred to the Ranger, a thought that might salvage what was sure to be a wild goose chase.
“Detective Temple,” Sam answered, picking up her cell phone on the first ring.
“Hello, Detective. This is Ranger Bass. How are things in the murder capital of Texas?”
“People are just dying to get my attention, Ranger Bass. What can I do for you?”
“I’m on my way to Houston, working on a case that might interest you. How’s your schedule look this afternoon?”
Sam, as usual, was suspicious. “What case would that be?”
“I don’t want to talk about it on the phone, Detective,” Zach responded, knowing she would have trouble letting any mystery go unsolved.
“Okay. I’ll bite. Where do you want to meet?”
Grinning, Zach looked at his watch. “I’ll pick you up at the precinct in an hour.”
With the Bayou City’s traffic, it was closer to 90 minutes before Sam climbed into Zach’s pickup. “How do you people handle this gridlock?” Zach complained. “It’s no wonder there’s so much crime in the inner cities. The bad guys know the cops will be stuck in traffic for two hours before responding.”
“Nice to see you too, Ranger.”
“Sorry,” Zach smiled. “I’m just not used to it; I guess. Austin is bad, but I don’t have to go downtown much. Anyway, I am well, Detective Temple. How might you be?”
“Same old grind, Zach,” she smiled. “So what brings you to my lovely part of God’s country?”
“Abraham Hendricks,” Zach replied, and then proceeded to relay the details of his conversation with Kara Hendricks.
“And why, if I might ask, do the Texas Rangers give a rat’s ass about that case?”
Zach frowned, taking a moment while he chose his words. “The rangers don’t, but I do. That whole morning just eats at me, Sam. I’ve not been able to let it go. A man, innocent until proven guilty, surrendered to me. He was killed before facing a jury of his peers. That’s not what I’m about… it’s not what we’re about.”
Temple didn’t comment at first, her analytical brain sorting through it all. Finally, she flashed Zach an odd expression and said, “You know, after the Hendricks incident, Sal just wasn’t the same. He dove into the investigation, intent on finding whoever shot Mr. Hendricks. Despite
you two having a schoolyard brawl, I think he felt the same way. I got the impression he was getting close, but then all of a sudden, he was promoted and moved back to Washington. Poof! Just like that.”
“I take it things didn’t end well between you two?”
“You could say that,” she replied, a hint of frost in her tone. “The bank is over there… you’d better get in the other lane.”
After parking, Zach pulled his jacket from the backseat and straightened his tie in the mirror. Detective Temple caught on immediately. “You don’t have a warrant, do you?”
“Nope. This one is going to be via pure charm and charisma.”
“We’re fucked,” Sam sighed, and then crossed her arms and feigned anger. “And I should be mad as hell at you for wasting my time on this ill-advised adventure. I thought you ranger-types were pros.”
“Watch and learn, young detective,” Zach grinned, pulling a briefcase from the back seat and opening the door.
They entered the bank, Zach flashing his badge and asking to see the manager. Immediately.
A middle-aged man appeared, introducing himself. Zach couldn’t help but notice the fidgety fingers and sweaty palms as he shook the man’s hand. “I’m with the Texas Banking Commission out of Austin, sir,” Zach began. “It has come to our attention that your operation here hasn’t been adhering to the regulations regarding the verification of customer identification.”
“I don’t understand, Mr. Bass,” the now-perspiring banker responded as he hustled the visitors back to his office. “I assure you that we strictly follow the FDIC and federal banking laws to the letter.”
Zach shook his head, pretending disappointment. “I have evidence to the contrary, sir, and depending on your cooperation today, we may or may not have to bring in the federal authorities.”
Nervousness was replaced by outright fear on the manager’s face. Spreading his hands in helplessness, he pleaded, “Please, Mr. Bass, the past few years have all been so confusing. No one has been in contact with my bank regarding any issues or irregularities. The laws keep changing, and it’s nearly impossible to keep up. Just today, my regional manager described the current regulatory environment as ‘pure chaos.’”
Zach switched gears, shifting from Mr. Hyde to Dr. Jekyll. “I understand. I certainly do. We’re all a little frustrated by the volume of the updates as well. But still, just like you, I have a job to do.”
The manager relaxed a bit, “I want to assure you, Mr. Bass, we want to remain in good standing with both state and federal regulators. What exactly are we suspected of doing incorrectly?”
Zach set his briefcase on his lap. After flipping the two locks, he produced a picture of Mr. Abraham Hendricks, as well as the lockbox key. “Do you know this man?”
The manager studied the photograph for a moment and then nodded. “Yes… he isn’t one of our regular customers, but I do recall his face.”
“And does this look familiar?” Zach asked, holding up the key.
“Yes… yes, it does. That’s one of our lockbox keys.”
“According to our information, you rented this man a lockbox without verification of his identification. His real name is Abraham Hendricks, but I’m quite sure you have no such person on file as having done business with your facility.”
The fear was back in the manager’s eyes as he turned to the computer residing on his desk. With a sad, almost desperate look, he answered a few moments later. “You’re correct, Mr. Bass. We have no Abraham Hendricks on file. I’m not quite sure how this has happened, but I assure you we…”
Zach’s tone growled low and mean as he interrupted the stammering banker, “This is a serious offense, sir. I think it’s about time I introduced Detective Samantha Temple, Houston Police Department, Homicide.”
Sam flashed her badge, her stoic, expressionless face signaling she meant business.
Zach, worried the bank manager was going to have a heart attack right then and there, continued. “What name did Mr. Hendricks use to rent this lockbox?”
The manager’s hands were shaking so badly he had to make three attempts to enter the key’s number into his computer. “Mr. Eugene Smith,” he finally sputtered.
A barking laugh came from Zach’s throat, the outburst causing the sweating manager to jump. “Mr. Smith? Really? Your staff fell for that one?”
“I’m sure our personnel followed all of the appropriate procedures, Mr. Bass. We can’t be held responsible if someone has a fake….”
It was Sam’s turn to jump in, her cold tone stopping the manager mid-sentence. “Google the name Abraham Hendricks, sir. You’ll find about six million results. Compare the man in Mr. Bass’s picture to the images you see online.”
Without hesitating, the banker turned back to his computer. A few keystrokes later, he inhaled sharply. “Oh my God,” the shocked man whispered. “That’s the same man who tried to assassinate….”
“We need to see inside that box, sir. Right this minute. Because of your bank’s sloppy procedures and failure to follow regulations, vital evidence may be have been withheld in this investigation.”
The manager’s face grew pale, his head nodding agreement. “Of course… of course, we want to cooperate fully with the authorities. I’ll have our assistant manager bring you the box immediately.”
Ten minutes later, Zach and Sam sat alone in the manager’s office, peering inside the metal container at a single manila envelope. “Here goes,” Zach said, reaching for the evidence. “I hope Mr. Hendricks wasn’t into ricin or other poisons.”
Sam chuckled, “I’d check it for trip wires… we know he was into those.”
Releasing the tie-string, Zach reached inside and extracted a thick set of documents. A few moments later, the ranger sighed, shaking his head. “These are copies of Mr. Hendricks’s sealed court papers. I don’t understand. Why would he have sent his ex-wife the key and the note? Why go to all the trouble and risk of using a fake ID and renting this box, all just for these?”
“Didn’t you say the note told his wife these were important?”
“Yeah,” Zach replied, apparently puzzled.
“Then there must be something hidden in these documents. Something Mr. Hendricks felt was worth the trouble to hide.”
“Great,” Zach replied. “I was counting on taking you out to dinner for helping me. Now I guess I’ll be reading court papers all night.”
“And what makes you think I would’ve accepted your invitation to dinner, Zachariah Bass?”
“I thought all you big-city girls liked thespians. I figured after my little acting job today, you wouldn’t be able to say no.”
Sam laughed, pointing to the stack of papers. “How about Chinese take-out and the coffee table at my apartment? I am a sucker for a good mystery, so I’ll help you look for the needle in this haystack.”
The two law dogs managed to make a mess of Sam’s usually tidy apartment. Thanks to the cardboard food containers, coffee cups, and stacks of papers, the upscale loft soon looked more like a college dorm room than the dwelling of a professional woman.
The evening’s festivities had begun with reading. Sam, producing legal tablets, pencils, and her laptop, started by organizing her share of Mr. Hendricks’s documents in neat stacks of priority.
Zach, on the other hand, sat with an open beer, quickly making a mess of his portion, randomly searching for something that caught his eye.
Breaking only to consume so-so noodles and insult the other’s fortune cookie message, the duo continued to dig through a monotonous pile of requests, motions, statements, and depositions.
Zach leaned back, rubbing his eyes and moaning. “This shit might have been important to Mr. Hendricks, but for the life of me, I can’t see why. Nor can I understand why the court sealed these files. The police report covering the incident at the house in New Orleans takes a few liberties, but I’ve seen worse. What are we missing here?”
“For once, I agree,” Sam replied, stretchin
g her arms high in the air. “It all looks routine to me. No smoking guns… no skeletons rattling in any closets.”
Clearly frustrated, Zach said, “So where do we go from here?”
Reaching for her computer, Sam set the device on her lap and then passed Zach her share of the papers. “Let’s take every name contained in those documents and do a search. A few years back, I solved a case by doing this. It might help.”
Scratching his chin, Zach agreed, “Sounds interesting. Where did you learn this technique?”
“Watching cop shows on TV. They always cross-reference a database of names,” she teased.