by Eddy Rogers
“Did Carroll know the details of your relationship with Betty?”
“Probably so, but I haven’t talked to him in months and I certainly wouldn’t have mentioned the physical relationship to him. He knew we were wine touring, since I invited him the last time I talked to him. Betty must have told him we’d been together, although I doubt she gave him any detail.”
“Did you guys ever argue or get into fights?”
“Betty had a strong personality, with strong beliefs. We always argued over politics, since I’m pretty much of a libertarian, and Betty was pretty liberal. Nothing serious, though. We quit as soon as we saw we couldn’t agree.”
“Did she try to break up with you?”
“I don’t know what you mean by that, but, no, we stayed close.”
“Did she act unusual in any way? Did anything seem to concern her?”
“Nope. I went to visit her at her ranch the week before she died. Just the normal Betty.”
Not getting any new hard information, Bob was ready to wrap up the interview. “Any questions, John?”
“Not really. Matt, did she ever mention her estate plans or her kids?”
“We mostly steered clear of that. She sure talked about Paul and the other son, Frank. She didn’t know where Frank was, and she suspected that Paul was into meth and weed pretty heavy, but she had no idea what she could do to stop that. Since I never had kids, I couldn’t help her on that score. I was married for twelve years a decade ago but lost my wife to breast cancer before we could have kids. As you know, chemo rules out any future possibility of having children.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Bob said somberly.
“Betty and I never talked about where our money would go if we died. I’m in a quandary myself, but I have several first cousins. No telling what Betty had in mind.”
“All right,” Bob said. “Matt, thanks for coming in to talk with me.” The two stood up, shook hands and Matt left. After he left, Bob and I noodled on where we were. “I vote to scratch Middlecoff from our suspect list,” I said.
“Agreed. That leaves Johnson himself and Blaise. I’d like to re-interview Scranton, however. If he was deep into drugs, no telling where that could lead.”
“I didn’t think about that,” I said.
“I’ve bored you with this before, but you know we have a big drug problem here in Blanco County. Mostly meth and weed, but our biggest fear is that fentanyl will find its way up here. That stuff’s deadly. Especially when even a little of it is mixed with meth and heroin. There’s a group of local young guys, between twenty and thirty-five, into that stuff. Lost souls. They work only when they are out of money. No skills, no careers. They just get along. They do drugs and party hardy. Weed and beer. More than a little meth. Our deputies know every one of them since we get to bust up their late night parties two or three times a month. I didn’t tell you before, but Paul’s been at most of those bustups. May not be a charter member, but with what Matt said, Scranton’s a druggie, using his art stuff as a cover with his mother. We’re working on interdicting the group’s dealer.”
“We’ve got to go out to the ranch to look at the cut up fence anyway. Should we drop in on him without calling him and see what he can tell us? We might get a better fix on his attitude toward his mother that way.”
Bob was thinking the same way that I was. He said, “We could get a better idea of him as a suspect if we don’t set up another formal interview. Let’s plan on that. Confidentially, our department is part of a task force made up of ATF specialists, Texas Rangers, and the FBI, along with the police in Blanco and Johnson City. We’re aware of a tight-knit band of drug dealers, every one Hispanic. They’re not part of any cartel we don’t think, just a group of guys who supply meth, weed and heroin to local first-level drug dealers. One of our prime suspects is Ernesto “Bruto” Rivera, the guy Blaise mentioned. Rivera’s got a record a mile long. Small stuff except for an attempted murder charge that got dropped. Our goal is to get him on a major federal drug charge. He moved into the area three years ago, and we think he’s the one who supplies Paul’s little group. I don’t need to tell you how amoral Bruto and his kind are.”
Too early for lunch, Bob and I said our good-byes. Back to the paper mill grind.
9
Tuesday morning I got an email from Ed Crowe. “Attached is our report. Please review and then call me to discuss.” I couldn’t wait to download the report. It was revealing. What a cast of characters. It read:
This report and its contents must be held in confidence and cannot be disclosed without the written permission of Crowe and Cassidy and the Estate of Elizabeth Longstreet. We have prepared our report on behalf of the Estate. While Crowe and Cassidy has made every reasonable effort to insure the accuracy of the information contained herein, since information has been obtained from numerous sources, Crowe and Cassidy cannot guarantee the accuracy of any information in this report.
The following information has been obtained on the persons named:
Carroll Johnson. Johnson is a partner in Corbin and Streeter Associates, LLC, a Houston-based regional investment banking firm specializing in energy companies. He’s 46 and was born and raised in Chicago. He graduated from Washington and Lee in 1992 with honors in economics and received an MBA from UT in 1997 after a two year stint in Houston with an investment banking firm. He owns a home in River Oaks in Houston worth $3.2 million (no mortgage recorded) and has a mid-eight-figure net worth, according to confidential information obtained from banking sources. He has no criminal record. River Oaks police have stopped him twice on suspicion of DUI. He cleared a breathalyzer on both occasions, and the arresting officer on one occasion said that he thought Johnson was under the influence of drugs. A confidential source with HPD suggested that Johnson may be doing cocaine, as he was caught up in a drug sweep on Dowling Street in Houston six months ago in possession of a small amount of cocaine, which he said he bought from a street drug peddler whose name he did not know. Police chose not to charge him due to his prominence in Houston. HPD’s drug team also arrested Orlando Pena near Johnson’s home a month ago. Pena’s a known major drug dealer and has a long rap sheet, including several assaults with a deadly weapon. He’s also a suspect in several murders, all drug-related. When arrested, Pena refused to talk, and after a search of his vehicle, no drugs were found, so he was released. Police called Johnson, and he claimed not to know Pena and denied any connection with any drugs.
Augustus ‘Gus’ Binion and Jacob Saunders. Gus Binion, 45, has a clean record other than minor traffic violations. He has a college degree from Kentucky State, class of 1993. He moved into the Blanco area in 2008 from Kentucky, where he worked on thoroughbred horse farms as a trainer and assistant manager. He has been a ranch manager since his arrival. Before he moved to the Lucky Strike ranch after Gerald Alexander’s death, he lived at six different places, each time being asked to leave due to his failure to keep up his place of living. He partnered with Jake Saunders around 2010, and when free rent became available at the Lucky Strike, Jake and Gus moved into the western barn. Like Gus, Jake has a clean record and very little reported history (no owned real estate, no voting record, multiple rented addresses, and no credit history except for one credit card with a $1000 limit). He’s a native of the area, born and raised in Kendalia, a small town near Blanco, and has been ranching since graduating from Blanco High School. Based on input from local police and deputies, Gus and Jake have not been involved in any criminal activity, are hetero and don’t have any known history of drug use or possession.
Charles Blaise. Blaise is more interesting. He was born and raised in Biloxi, Mississippi in 1970 and attended Mississippi State for several years. He moved to Houston, Texas, when he dropped out of college, in 1990. He’s had multiple occupations. For four years after attending college, he sold used cars for a car dealer, and then worked as a stock broker for a small penny stock
broker in Houston. He has kept his securities broker registration license active. In 2008, he moved to Richmond, Texas, forty miles southwest of downtown Houston and opened an evangelical church that grew to thirty or forty regular Sunday attendees. He also started a prison ministry at the State prison in Sugarland, Texas, close by where he had his church. His people registered the church with the State, and we contacted the man who signed the incorporation papers. He said the church closed when Blaise moved to the hill country. Blaise closed the church and moved because attendance had gradually declined. Our contact related that many members were turned off by Blaise’s constant requests for money and by his approaches to women. Significantly, the man said that several couples left the church after Blaise touched the female involved inappropriately and made innuendos that a preacher shouldn’t make. He also said that a few parishioners grumbled when several prisoners who’d served their time joined the church. With what resources he had when he arrived in Blanco, he opened the cowboy church in 2014 and built up a small congregation. We contacted the man who filed financial reports with the State for that church, and he said that Blaise’s primary attraction was his message that God forgave all transgressions and wanted his children to work hard and seek wealth and happiness. He said that the forgiveness thing was the main attraction since many in the congregation regularly sinned in many ways. Blaise has a spotty credit history and has no credit cards. His bank account is below $1,000. He has a sparse criminal history, including two DUI’s and one arrest for public intoxication. He also was arrested once for alleged sexual assault, but that charge was dropped for lack of prosecution, which usually means that the victim refused to testify. Blaise is not certified by any church organization and has no history of religious studies that appears of record.
Paul Scranton. Scranton is twenty-eight. He was born and raised in Houston and attended Kincaid, the widely known and expensive private school. He attended Rice University and graduated with a degree in fine arts. After college he worked for the Houston Museum of Fine Arts as an attendant while pursuing graduate studies in modern art. Gus Binion says that he has talent, having seen a number of his paintings. Gus says they are colorful abstracts that he has trouble appreciating. Scranton is another story with the police. He has been arrested multiple times for possession of drug paraphernalia. According to a deputy with the city of Blanco, Paul Scranton runs around with a group of seven guys who work as needed when they are out of money, but who spend most of their time doing drugs and partying. Based on our discussions with local sources, we have concluded that he has a serious drug problem.
Frank Scranton. We were told that that Betty thought he lived in Atlanta, but we have not found him. We believe he might have changed his name and is off the grid. May be homeless. No police record on him and no reports of credit or banking.
Matthew Middlecoff. Middlecoff is forty-eight, born at, and a long-time resident of, Stonewall, Texas. He graduated from Texas A&M in 1992. He has no siblings. In 1999, he inherited a two thousand acre ranch from his parents. In 2007 he sold fifteen hundred of those acres, fronting on US 290, to a California vintner that has established a winery and vineyard near the highway. He’s engaged in cattle ranching and, like many other ranchers, rents out his ranch during hunting season to supplement his ranching income. Middlecoff rents back a thousand of the acres he sold to raise hay and for his cattle to graze. He married in 1994, but his wife died in 2006 of breast cancer. He has no children. He has a low eight-figure investment account with a major investment banking firm and an excellent credit history. No criminal record, not even minor traffic violations. Local authorities stated that he has an excellent reputation.
Quite a thorough report. An excellent report on the characters we had to deal with. I sent it along to Hauffler. At least we confirmed that we could scratch Middlecoff from our suspect list. The report on Johnson troubled me. I called Larry to make sure he had gotten a copy of the report. “Hey, John. I had you on my call list. I want to come back, if it’s okay, but I have a few things to work up here in Houston. Ed Crowe is pushing me a bit on my spending so much time on the Longstreet thing when his firm could be charging you for it and I could get a little compensation out of it.”
It was true and hit me hard. “I’m sorry. I should have considered that. When we started this, I didn’t think your time investment would be very large, and I hoped we’d identify the culprit right away. Since this has dragged on, and since the estate can pay you, let me know what the charges would be and give me a feeling for the time you’ve put in so far. I’m hoping you won’t be charging me when we’re drinking beer on the gazebo talking through the case.”
Larry laughed. “Not ever while I have a beer in my hand. Besides, I won’t write down half of my time. Ed wants me to charge a hundred an hour. Is that okay?”
“Sure. That’s more than fair. What’s up in Houston?”
“We heard from one of our jailhouse snitches that word’s on the street about one of the major Houston drug runners killing a rich woman and stealing her gold. Too similar to Betty’s murder to be ignored. I’m trying to get more detail, but that ain’t easy.”
Intrigued, I said, “You think it’s true?”
“Could be. The major drug runners make fifty grand for each round trip to Mexico, but they don’t want to set a pattern. The suppliers make them lay off for a month or two at a time, and the runners get bored and look for things to do. Most of them are violent and ready to beat people up and even kill for peanuts. Like ten grand.”
“That’s crazy.” That kind of information got my mind running in a bunch of different directions.
“Yep. The rumors I have are no good if we don’t have names. Let me see what I can do. If it’s okay I’ll plan to be up there next Monday. And keep this information quiet. Not supposed to be leaked outside HPD.”
“Gotcha.” This murder keeps escalating in complexity.
•••
Deputy Charlie Becker and Gus surveyed the hole in the game fence the next day. Like many peace officers, Becker was older, in his fifties, and quite rotund. When I’d met him, I’d wondered what impression he made on people he stopped for traffic violations. Suspects wouldn’t need to have worried if they ran away from him, as hot pursuit on foot for Becker wasn’t on his skill list.
Gus had given him a short tour before they looked at the fence. “This is quite a place Mrs. Longstreet had here,” Becker said, taking in the expanse of the ranch and main house.
“To say the least. Let’s get in the Polaris and head over to the break in the fence.”
Instead of going through the ranch, Gus left through the main gate and drove down county road 423 several hundred yards. “I came this way so we wouldn’t disrupt any evidence of a vehicle going through here. I came out a week after the murder to look from the inside. As you can see, the area on the other side of the fence is limestone rock with no vegetation, so I couldn’t see any evidence of either human or vehicle tracks. On this side of the fence I could see the tracks of either a small truck or large UTV going up to the fence where they cut it. The rain that we had ten days ago doesn’t help things. This time of year the grass and weeds are dry, so when somebody drives or walks over the stuff, it gets bent down. When rain comes, however, the grass springs back. Now there aren’t any tracks, but since Betty was killed almost a month ago, I’m not surprised that there’s nothing here now.”
Becker walked over to the fence, looking for any evidence of disturbed grass or dirt. Then he opened the fence by himself after taking several pictures with his phone and walked through the opening, examining the ground. Gus stayed nearby, fiddling with his iPhone. After ten minutes of walking around, Becker returned through the fence, replaced it and got in the Polaris.
Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “I don’t see anything. Can’t tell one way or the other.”
“Yep. I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever did this cut the fence
, bent it back, then got cold feet and put it back. I presume that Jake and I can repair it now so no one can come through here.”
“Yes,” Becker said. “Go ahead and repair it.”
10
Bob called to relay the results of the foray to the break in the fence. “No real information. Whoever cut the fence could have gone through there on foot or on a four-wheeler. Then again there’s no real evidence of anyone or anything going beyond the fence.” He was obviously aggravated. “This investigation pisses me off. I wish we could find hard evidence for a change. My deputies also interviewed the three motels in Blanco and the two in Johnson City, asking about their guests around the time of the murder, and none of them could give us any useful information. Seems that all the motels have single males who stay there from time to time. Many Hispanics, most without IDs, paying cash. They check in for one or two nights and then move on. They’re probably day workers. None of them unruly.”
After the brief call, I went back to my work, choosing to find other clients to work on since, frankly, I tired of the quest for Betty’s murderer. Johnson called in the afternoon. “John, I’ve been thinking. The murder investigation hasn’t yielded any results as far as I know, and both Blaise and Scranton have to be running low on funds. I may regret it down the road, but we don’t want either of them going anywhere right now. Would you send each of them a check for five thousand out of the checking account you set up for the estate? That should take care of them for a while.”