The Gold Coin

by Eddy Rogers

  •••

  The next Wednesday I called Bob. “Bob, here’s my problem. The beneficiaries under the codicil to Betty’s will are all suspects. I’ve got to hold up distributing anything to make sure that the right people are getting her money, but I’ll bet there’ll be some sort of lawsuit over her estate and the changes to her will whether or not one of them killed her. Greed brings out the worst in people, and I can see a food fight over Betty’s millions between these characters. I’d appreciate your letting Larry and me tag along during the investigation. At least it’ll give me an excuse to explain to the beneficiaries why they’re not getting any money right away. For people like Gus, I’m sure his share will look like a fortune to him.”

  “You’ve got a gravy train going for you,” Bob said, chuckling. “I understand. Tell you what. I’m going to interview each of the other guys, Blaise, Johnson and Middlecoff. I want each of them to come to headquarters. We’ve just finished a state-of-the-art interview room. The room next to it has a one-way mirror so that you and Larry can sit in there and watch the goings-on. I’ll have a list of questions for each on my laptop, and if you think of additional questions, you can text them to me. After the interviews, you can tell me what you think of each one of them and his answers. I’ll be videotaping the sessions for future use, like showing the tapes to a body language expert if the guy seems nervous. I’ll set up the interview with Blaise for next Monday.”

  The weekend passed quietly. Larry sensed that he needed to take a break from us, so he announced that he was off to San Antonio to stay by the Riverwalk and see the Alamo, the missions, and the Menger Hotel. Carla and I felt a sense of relief. As Gus had pointed out a month ago when I checked up on him, a visit is different than a stay. A stay is more than three days, more like a week or two. Stays can bring out the strains that require separate households. A visit is short, a day or two. If you’re on a visit, all’s well, since you’re not to interfere with the good order of your sponsor’s home and hearth unless specifically asked to do something or give your opinion on a matter. A stay invites difficulty. If you’re in another’s household for a week or two, you inevitably disrupt the good order of the family. Every human has his or her own needs, opinions, foibles, prejudices, and general way of doing things, both guests and sponsors. And each shows his or her real life — arguments, politics and prejudices. To add to that, adults develop lifestyle differences in the aspects of daily living, especially eating, sleeping and drinking. Not a good recipe for stays. Stays should be avoided. Larry was an ideal guest, but having him under foot all the time did create a small amount of stress. He had his own foibles, such as his high-fat eating habits, and Carla and I wanted to be alone. Still, his talents and experience could help Bob and me figure out who killed Betty. We celebrated when Larry volunteered to get out of our hair for a while and give us our privacy. He came back late Sunday night after we had had a quiet, restful weekend, just the two of us. The only anxious moments occurred when we talked about raising children….

  •••

  I felt good getting back into the swing of things Monday morning. We got to the sheriff’s office early and chatted with Bob and his assistant. The Reverend Charles Blaise was a one-off. He strolled into headquarters right on time at nine. Seeing our little group, he introduced himself to each of us. Impressive looking guy. Over six feet, muscular, with salt and pepper brown hair, bright gray eyes, and clean-shaven. He wore a shirt like the ones Catholic priests wear, but it was light blue with a round white collar. A large silver cross hung around his neck. The dissonant parts of his outfit were his blue jeans and fancy cowboy boots, which were expensive ostrich leather with a two-inch heel. He shook our hands firmly and looked us straight in the eye, but there was something that made me uneasy. I could see him wondering why I was there with Bob.

  “I’m glad to come in and see whether I can help. We need to find out who killed Betty. What can I do?” Blaise seemed sincere, but after what Gloria and Rosa had said, I thought it might just be a front.

  Bob said, “John and Larry are long-time friends of mine. John’s the executor of Betty’s estate. We were just catching up, but we’re done. We can go into the other room. I need to get a video of our interviews since the crime’s unsolved at this point. Follow me.” They walked into the interrogation room and closed the door. Larry and I took our places in the adjoining room and looked at Bob and Blaise through the one-way mirror. Bob read Blaise the standard Miranda warning.

  “I’m not sure I like this,” Blaise said, sitting upright in his chair. “If I’m a suspect I’d need to know that. Do I need a lawyer?” The self-confidence Blaise showed when he arrived slowly eroded. An Elmer Gantry he was not in the face of authority.

  “That’s up to you. We have an unsolved murder here, and everyone who was close to Betty is a suspect.”

  Blaise hesitated, thinking. “Okay. Let’s get this done.” I figured that he understood that if he refused to go ahead, Bob would be suspicious.

  Bob got down to business. “The best place to start is your relationship with Betty. Also, tell me about your church.”

  Blaise sat up straight in his chair, gaining confidence. “Betty was a dear friend and the rock of my church. We’re a Bible-based, cowboy church, one that serves rural people. Most of us are strict fundamentalists, that is, we believe in the literal words of the Bible. That causes problems with non-believers and more liberal Christians, as you might expect. I hope not with you. We’re not affiliated with any national church or other organization, and a lot of what we do is to bring people together in harmony. Our theme is love and grace, if you know of the concept of the Lord’s grace. Many of our people have had hard times. A few have criminal records, but that doesn’t bother us. It’s an opportunity. I did a lot of prison ministry in Houston when I lived there. I advise my flock to avoid drugs and alcohol. After Sunday services, we always have a pot-luck lunch and socialize. We’re a family.”

  Blaise paused and took a drink from a bottle of water he had brought with him. “Betty made my church possible. She gave the church enough to support me and my mission church. By far the largest financial supporter of the church. Most of our congregation members are lower-income people. You probably know that average family income in Blanco County is half the national average, so there are plenty of people in need. Without Betty’s support, the church wouldn’t have survived, and I’m not sure it can continue now that Betty’s gone.”

  “Tell me more about your relationship with Betty. Did you see her other than on Sundays?”

  “Yes, frequently” Blaise said. “We had lunch off and on, and I normally visited with her once a week. We talked about all sorts of things, as friends do.”

  “Did you ever have a physical relationship with her?”

  Blaise moved around in his chair and looked indignant. “What kind of minister do you think I am? Sure, we hugged occasionally when we greeted each other. Nothing else.” Good thing that the video recorder was on. His body language told me that there was more to the story. I’m sure Bob picked that up too.

  “Did Betty ever talk confidentially to you of her other relationships, for instance, with her other male friends?”

  “If you mean confessions or something such as that, my church doesn’t believe in such things. That’s between God and each person. Besides, if she told me she needed forgiveness from the Lord, I couldn’t tell you. To answer your question directly, though, I know nothing of any other relationships she had with people outside our church family.”

  “Were you aware that Betty kept gold in her house?”

  Blaise chuckled. “I never knew where she got them, but from time to time, she gave me a gold coin. Never at church. Only when I visited her. She always had one ready in her pocket.”

  Bob was suspicious. “How many did she give you?”

  “I’m not sure, since I sold most of them right after I got them. Sold �
�em for over a twelve hundred a piece. Probably got a dozen of them over time. Once in a while I would give one of the coins to a church member in need. That’s one reason why I’m always short of money.” Blaise sat back in his chair, relaxing.

  “Did you and Betty ever get into arguments over the church or anything else?”

  “Heavens, no. I respected her and she respected me. She enjoyed supporting my church and my efforts as a minister.” Blaise looked uneasy and avoided Hauffler’s eyes. If his body language was any clue, he wasn’t telling us everything. Bob honed in on him. I could tell that Bob wasn’t believing Blaise.

  “One of Betty’s maids told us that the last time you were with her, you left in a hurry, your shirt askew. You sure there wasn’t something going on?”

  “That’s between Betty and me. She was in a frightful mood that morning and told me she had re-thought how our church mission should be pursued. She wanted me to grow the church, but recently membership had declined. She felt the church wasn’t going anywhere, but I told her that every church has its ups and downs. While I appreciated her financial support, I couldn’t let her run things. I saw our conversation going the wrong way, so I felt it best to leave and let things cool down.”

  “That does it, Reverend Blaise. You sure there was nothing other than hugging going on? We have your contact information and we’ll keep in touch as our investigation continues. Thanks for coming in.”

  “No. Just hugging. Not a bother at all. See you!” Blaise almost rushed out of the room, obviously relieved that Bob’s interrogation was over.

  After Blaise left, Larry and I got with Bob in the interrogation room.

  “Blaise was too casual, too rehearsed. That can’t be all to the relationship,” said Larry the skeptic.

  “Even if there was more to the relationship,” Bob said, “that’s no reason Blaise would want to kill her. Both Gus and Blaise had gravy trains going for them, regardless of their personal relationships with Betty.”

  “Unless Betty planned to pull the plug on his church or had lost faith in his fundamentalist beliefs,” I countered. “That would threaten his deal.”

  “I didn’t like his evasiveness and don’t believe his saying they just had a casual relationship, nothing physical,” Larry said.

  “Me too,” I said. “I guess you’re going to interview Johnson next. He may have a motive. If he found out about Betty’s little trysts with other men, he might want to do something to her.”

  “But we’ve already established that Johnson was in Houston when the murder occurred, in a meeting that afternoon with a drilling company,” Bob reminded me.

  Larry intervened. “Yeah, but if he found some fool to carry out the murder, it’s logical that he’d establish an alibi by being with somebody when it happened. And then again, it’s not too far-fetched that after his meeting in Houston, he hauled ass to the ranch, less than three hours away, did his thing, then ran back to Houston, all by seven in the morning.” Far-fetched as both those scenarios sounded, I couldn’t stop thinking that Johnson might be involved. I couldn’t tolerate the thought of either of my wives bedding down with other men.

  “Pretty far-fetched,” said Bob. “I’ve seen stranger things. We have to interview him. Okay, which one of you’s gonna buy me barbeque at Ken’s Pit Barbeque today?”

  Lunch was great fun, replete with each of us telling war stories. Bob hadn’t ever heard the details of the multiple murders I’d been involved in when I practiced law in Houston and met Larry. We regaled him with how we eventually stumbled on the killers. Larry always said he’d take luck over IQ any day.

  When Larry and I got to the house, we had a few beers and reviewed the events of the day. In the process, we brought Carla up to date, and she surprised me by her reaction. “Look, guys. No married woman has all those male relationships. I don’t care that one of them’s the ranch manager and another’s a minister of the cloth. More than you’ve been told’s gone on. You need to dig into those relationships. My female instinct. Count on it.” Carla wasn’t normally that forceful. Maybe it was that time of the month.

  Sunday afternoon, as we watched the Houston Texans lose yet another game, Larry said, “I ought to get back to Houston. I appreciate your letting me stay here and noodle over the Longstreet murder. The next step’s to interview Johnson and Middlecoff, but I can always look at the videos Hauffler makes. My sense is that the suspect list will get narrower.”

  “Yeah. I’ll check with Bob and let you know when Johnson and Middlecoff have agreed to an appointment. I need to discuss the estate with Johnson anyway. The ranch is a beautiful place, but since the mansion’s been the scene of three killings over the past seven years, Johnson may want to keep the place until memories fade a bit. That means the estate has to stay open for years. Maintaining the ranch isn’t cheap,” I said.

  Larry laughed, echoing Bob. “Sounds as if you’ve got a nice retirement account going.”

  5

  Monday morning Larry left for Houston and I drove to the office. I thought about Carla. We needed to have some quality time together. We’d been lacking that ever since I’d gotten mixed up in the Longstreet mess. Not an hour passed before Carroll Johnson called my office. “Hey, John. It’s been a while. As you can tell, I’ve been avoiding going to the ranch. I’m coming up to take care of Betty’s estate business and check up on the ranch to make sure everything’s stable out there. Besides that, Sheriff Hauffler called me this morning and asked me to go to his office for an interview. I’m okay with that, but I wanted to make sure that you could be with me when I do that. Can you represent me as well as the estate?”

  Knowing the conflict of interest, I told him what he probably already knew. “I can’t do that since I represent the estate. You’re a beneficiary, one who’s a suspect at least with Hauffler. I’ll be happy to be at the meeting as an estate representative. Not sure you need any advice given your experience. If things get serious, we can always get you a lawyer.”

  “I’m sorta there already. I talked to a criminal defense lawyer I’m familiar with. Robert Maldinado. He helped me out when I was stopped for a DUI. Got me off scot-free. Good guy.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” I said. “I know him from my Houston days. When are you coming up?”

  “Wednesday morning. I set up the appointment with Hauffler for one. Want to have a quick lunch in Johnson City?”

  “Sure. What kind of food do you like?”

  “Let’s go to El Charro. I hope you like Mexican. It’s close to the sheriff’s office.”

  “Deal. I hoped we’d go there. See you there at eleven-thirty. We can go over estate details. I need to talk to you about filing deadlines and other boring stuff.”

  The next few days passed quickly, and I looked forward to meeting with Johnson, if only to find comfort in his not being the killer. I got to El Charro and sat down in a booth at the back of the restaurant so no one could overhear our conversation. Carroll Johnson’s entry wasn’t what I expected. Amusing. He looked bigger than life, and all heads turned to look at him. He’d tried to dress in local garb, but his neatly ironed Western shirt and designer jeans, along with colorful and expensive looking cowboy boots, made him stand out, along with his six-four frame and handsome good looks. People probably thought he was a movie star or politician. Or a plaintiff’s lawyer.

  Hand outstretched, he gave me a boisterous greeting. “Hi, John! How’re you doing? Miss being in the hubbub of Houston?”

  “Not really. Very comfortable with the slower life here. Was your drive up here routine?”

  “Yes. Lots of State troopers on the other side. They may have been looking for drugs transiting to Houston. Going to have to watch my speed on the way back.” He picked up the menu and said, “Let’s order. I didn’t get any breakfast.”

  Johnson ordered a full plate of chicken fajitas with rice and beans. I’d had breakfast, so ordere
d a couple of beef tacos. While we ate, we talked the usual. Women, politics and the stock markets. Like Austin, Houston’s a liberal Democratic stronghold, but Blanco County’s voters always vote for the most conservative candidates. No room either place for a moderate. Johnson was non-committal about his politics. Could be that he didn’t care about anything except money and investments. He just grunted as he ate when I made a few conservative political comments. Trained to avoid controversy.

  “So, John, what’s the process for getting the probate moving forward?” Carroll asked.

  “Texas has a very enlightened probate law, one that minimizes legal expenses. You’ve been officially appointed as the executor, so now you’re supposed to do what the most recent codicil and the will say to do, including distributing the net assets to the heirs. Step one requires the estate to advertise in the paper, advising anyone owed money by Betty to file a claim with me. I’ve done that. You or I should go over her checkbook and any business records to see whether she owes anybody any money. Once we make distributions, it’s unlikely that the other heirs will be willing to reimburse you for any liabilities that pop up later. The big issue you’re presented with is what to do with the ranch. The ranch is more than half the value of her estate, but she left her estate in one-quarter proportions. You don’t want to consider having Blaise and his church being co-owners. You could sell it or personally buy it out of the estate. Then again you could leave things the way they are now. If you buy it or sell it through a broker, that has some complexities, for instance, in what to do with Paul Scranton. The other problem, as you know, relates to the killer. We can’t distribute to anyone involved, and until that has been determined, I’d advise not paying out anything to anybody.” I stopped talking to eat my lunch.