The Gold Coin

by Eddy Rogers

  “Okay.” We left things at that.

  Bob’s deputy retrieved the coin carefully, and I took the cigarillo butt to the sheriff’s headquarters in Johnson City. Bob forwarded both to the State forensics lab the next day, putting an “urgent” note on the analysis. Still, best case, the results would take several weeks. That’d give me time to catch up on stuff I’d put off with other clients. Resolution of Betty’s murder would have to wait.

  Ten days passed without incident. Then Bob called. “The DNA results came back. Your intuition’s right on track. The coin had Bruto’s DNA on it, the sample you got from his cigarillo. Then, understandably, Betty’s DNA, and a third sample not yet identified. No telling who that belongs to. Maybe the coin dealer.”

  “Are you going to pick Bruto up on suspicion of murder?” I questioned.

  “I’m torn. You know the old saying that what’s important is not who shot the bullet but who paid for it? Somebody besides Bruto is involved. Could be that whoever started this picked up on an innocent remark by Blaise or one of the maids about Betty having a gold trove in her closet. That could be how Bruto got involved. But he’s not the kind of guy who could pull off a murder as complicated as this by himself. I’d bet someone else put him up to it. Gotta be Blaise. I’ll have to think how I can get Bruto to come clean. He’ll be up for murder one. Keep this under your hat for the time being till I can figure out the next step.”

  “Okay.” How stupid Bruto was to leave the one coin as an “up yours” signature. Now to find out why he killed her. I emailed Bob to see whether another session with Blaise was in order. If he’d told one of his flock, such as Bruto, about Betty handing out gold coins or if he gave a gold coin to one of them, that person might have figured out how to get the gold. Then, again, he denied that he told anyone where the gold coins came from. Maybe I was naïve, but to me, Blaise‘s whole demeanor in his two interviews pointed to his not being the killer.

  12

  Hauffler called the next afternoon, laughing. “I decided to hit this thing head on. I told the force to be on the lookout for Bruto and to bring him in on suspicion of murder. One of my deputies saw him hanging around the bar on the 360 bypass and engaged him. Bruto started bitching the deputy out, claiming he was being harassed and discriminated against, so the deputy arrested him on the murder charge. Bruto was shocked and refused to say anything else. When we booked him in Johnson City, he called his lawyer, Chad Gordon, who told him not to say anything to anybody. So there we stand. Next step is to interview Pastor Blaise again and then Bruto, with Chad present, to let them know about the DNA. Wanna sit in on the visits?” I could tell that Bob wanted to get to the heart of the matter and that he figured Bruto was the key to that.

  “Of course, but I should sit in the observation room, out of the way. I know Larry would want to be there too. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll let you know when they’re set up. Should be interesting.”

  I’d given Larry the background on Bruto, his DNA sample, and the results. Pretty incriminating. Hauffler called the next day to tell me to show up at 9:30 on Thursday. The Blaise interview was set for 9:45, with the Rivera interview at 10:30. Bob figured that the interview with Blaise would be short, and that there’d be plenty of time for Blaise to leave headquarters without Rivera or his lawyer Gordon knowing that we’d had multiple conversations with Blaise.

  Chad Gordon, like all the lawyers in Blanco County, took on anything and everything that would bring in a fee. I’d met him several times in municipal court, and once in a while he’d set up a jury trial when his client insisted on his innocence. Hard to make money at that since the maximum fines are almost always less than a thousand dollars even for multiple offenses, and defendants only stood for heavy attorneys’ fees if they thought principle was involved. Chad, that is, really Charles, presented well. In front of a judge or jury, he always came in a cheap suit with a white shirt and out of date tie. He also wore a straw Stetson to make sure that everyone knew he was one of them. The rest of him was quite average…average height and build, plain round face, thinning brown hair. Late forties. Juries adored him. Once in front of a jury, his demeanor and the way he talked changed dramatically from normal upstanding lawyer to poor ol’ country boy with a deep Texas accent.

  Larry and I arrived early and were immediately shuttled into the observation room by Bob. Bob told us to watch body language. As usual, Blaise arrived right on time.

  Hauffler began interviewing Blaise with his usual reminder that he was under a Miranda warning and didn’t have to do the interview. Blaise showed no concern.

  Bob jumped right in. “We haven’t been able to solve the church fire yet, pastor, but we’re focusing in on one of your church members. Bruto Rivera. Tell me about him.”

  Blaise sat, unperturbed. “I can’t tell you much. I do know that he served hard time in the Sugarland State prison for drug running and attempted murder. Something concerning a busted drug deal. I’ve counseled him over the past year, and he claims to be drug-free. He says he repairs cars for a living, buying wrecks in Houston and San Antonio and then taking them to Mexico for repairs. He says by buying them cheap and repairing them in Mexico, he can make good money.”

  “Has he ever offered you drugs or indicated that he has been selling them?”

  “Heavens no.” Blaise remained relaxed and curious about the focus on Rivera.

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Not really. Somewhere south of Blanco.”

  “Okay. Have you ever gotten Bruto to do anything for you?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Car repair. Handyman stuff?”

  “No. Bruto comes to church and enjoys our lunches after the service, along with the fellowship. I don’t see why Bruto would want to burn down my church. He’s always been nice to me.”

  “Did you ever tell Bruto, or anyone else for that matter, that Betty had given you gold coins? When you gave a parishioner one of the coins, did you tell him or her where the coin came from? Did you ever give a coin to Bruto?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Not to Bruto. The ones I gave the coins to didn’t know what to do with them. I had to tell them where they could sell them. I presume they did.”

  “I’m outta questions. That’s all, Reverend. Thanks.”

  After Blaise left, Bob came into the observation room. “Either he’s a great actor or he’s not in league with Bruto. Totally relaxed. On to the main event with Bruto.”

  Larry and I stayed in the observation room. We worried when the appointed time came and went. Around ten forty-five, Gordon and Rivera came into the interview room with Bob. Bob read the full Miranda warning to him, and explained once again the reason for video taping the interview. Gordon asked that he be sent a copy of the video, to which Bob quickly agreed.

  “Before we start,” Gordon said, “I don’t see any reason for this interview. I’ve instructed my client not to say anything, which is his right. So why are we here?”

  Hauffler nodded and gave Gordon a weak smile. “We wanted to put our cards on the table. We know Bruto killed Betty Longstreet and we want to know the details, including who else was involved. Just so you know, we have a sample of Bruto’s DNA and we compared it with the DNA on the gold coin left in Betty’s bedroom. There was a match. As you know, DNA results are ninety-nine and ninety-one-hundredths accurate. So, Bruto, what were you doing in Betty’s bedroom when she was killed?”

  The color drained from Gordon’s face. Both he and Bruto looked shocked. “I didn’t kill that lady!” Bruto almost shouted. He looked down. Gordon turned in his chair toward Bruto.

  “I told you not to say anything!” Gordon shouted. Then silence. I thought it lasted an eternity, but no more than a minute or two had passed.

  “All this information is new to me,” Chad said. “I have to confirm the DNA report before we go any further. A
lso, I need to talk to my client in private.”

  Hauffler smiled. He held all the cards. Bruto fidgeted in his chair, looking very nervous. “I understand. You can talk to Bruto in one of the jail’s rooms for visitors, where you’ll have privacy. The room’s soundproof and there aren’t any cameras in there. From this point on you will need to work with Jane Semang, the DA. Perhaps you can cut a deal with her.”

  The interview adjourned, and Rivera and Gordon were escorted to one of the visitor rooms. Then Bob came to our room.

  “They sure were a bit surprised,” Bob said.

  “That’s an understatement. If he’s smart he’ll come clean and work a plea deal so that he won’t get a ticket to death row.”

  As we expected, Gordon spent close to a half hour with Bruto. When he came out of the interview room, he’d regained his composure and asked Bob to take him through the DNA evidence. Knowing that the DNA would be a part of any murder trial, Bob told him the entire story, including my part in getting the sample from Bruto. Looking distressed and downtrodden, Gordon left headquarters, telling Bob he’d be in touch with Semang.

  •••

  Since Bob had other fires to put out, he declined our offer of a free lunch, saying that his first order of business was to get Bruto back to his cell. Larry and I decided to pick up barbeque and share it with Carla. Two pounds would take care of the three of us. Carla was delighted. “I have an interesting secret for you.”

  “Are we going to have twins?” I said playfully as I put my arm around her waist.

  “Interesting that you should say that. Sorta. Amy called this morning while you were gone, and she’s not only pregnant but planning to have your grandson in August. Your new son will have a nephew just a month younger than he is!”

  Larry rolled his eyes. More strange feelings sweeping over me. I felt weird. Could it be from embarrassment — or guilt in not spending enough time with my daughter, and Andy for that matter? I needed to spend more time with Amy. She’d been the rebel in our family, but college had straightened her out a little. She’d majored in childhood development and child psychology, and the best part of her education was her finding herself and understanding who she was. Returning from Texas Tech to Houston, she taught at Lamar Elementary and became friends with the Lamar High teachers. From there she met Andy Jones, a basketball coach and history teacher. Seemed to be a good guy, but neither I nor the two of them had taken the time to get close. That had to change.

  I called Amy. “I can’t believe the news! Congratulations! How are you feeling? I’m excited for you. And you know it’s a boy?”

  “Yes. Due August fifteen. Say, Dad, we haven’t seen each other for a while. Is it okay for Andy and me to come up next weekend?”

  “Sure. I want to see you for sure. And Andy.”

  “By the way, when we found out we were having a baby, we marched down to city hall and got a marriage license, then we got a judge to do the formalities. So now we’re married!”

  “That’s great honey. You’re more than welcome up here. Come as soon as you and Andy can and stay as long as you want.” What a surprise. Great news. I hadn’t felt this good in months.

  13

  Amy’s pending visit could have caused complications, but as soon as I announced that Amy was arriving for the weekend, Larry said he needed to return to Houston to get things in order there. We told him that Amy and Andy would be staying in the other bedroom, but Larry persisted, then left mid-morning that Friday, giving us just a few hours before Amy and her husband arrived late that afternoon.

  It felt wonderful seeing Amy. We settled down in the gazebo, just the two of us. She looked radiant, and our together time reminded me of the good times we had had as a family as she grew up. We’d only met Andy a couple of times and then only for short visits, but early on Andy met with our approval. He’s tall, six feet and good looking with blue eyes and light brown hair. Like most young men, he sported a stubble. I wish that the younger male set would either be clean-shaven or grow a beard. Half way makes them look disheveled. They don’t realize how they look. Amy, our blond and blue-eyed wonder, measured in at five-five, so Andy towered over her. Their kids would be good looking. I cooked steaks on the grill to go along with some baked yams and a salad, and we spent the evening visiting, getting closer, talking about the two pregnancies and then reminiscing. A great time.

  Around three in the morning I heard a scream coming from Amy’s bedroom, then saw flashes of light by the garage at the back of the house. I ran out the front door to see flames coming from the far outside wall of the garage. I went back and called 911, put on my shoes and ran outside. I grabbed a garden hose at the side of the house and turned it on in the hopes that I could slow the fire down. After Andy ran out after me and took charge of the hose, I opened the garage door and noticed that the heat in the garage was still tolerable. I went back into the house, grabbed my keys, and nimbly pulled the cars out of the garage. Then more water on the flames. Fortunately we’d covered that side of the house with rock facing, so the fire had trouble spreading quickly. As the flames started spreading into the roof, the Blanco volunteer fire department arrived. All three units, including a water truck, critical in the hill country. I remembered that when I ordered up insurance on our newly-built home, the agent asked how far I was from the nearest fire hydrant. “About nine miles,” I said. Must have driven my premiums up even with water trucks showing up at fires.

  Within a half hour, the flames were out and the garage doused with water. What a mess! Grant Moore, the fire chief, strolled up with a concerned look on his face. “This fire is an arson fire,” he said. “Leave everything as it is since the sheriff’s boys will want to be here in the morning. Come over here.” He directed me over to the side where the fire had started and took out his flashlight. “See there,” as he shined the light on a gas can. “That’s the accelerant whoever did this used to start the fire. Smelled like diesel. The gas can looks a lot like the gas can that fired up that pastor’s cowboy church south of town.”

  Chills went through my spine. The truth might be coming out on who murdered Betty, but whoever it was didn’t want me to know more. Bruto was in jail. Did whoever set this fire want to kill me and my family? Was it nothing more than a threat? Whoever it was could have gotten rid of me in other ways.

  Moore said, “I’ll let Bob Hauffler know. I’ll recommend that he send a deputy out here right away to keep watch, at least until morning sun-up.”

  “Excellent! What a way to start a Sunday.”

  •••

  Bob Hauffler and his team arrived Monday morning to digest the burn scene, right as Amy and Andy were packing to return to Houston. “Sure has been a nice, restful weekend,” she said. I laughed. “Amy, regardless of what’s going on here, it’s been great being with you two. We have to do more of it. Next time I’m in Houston I’ll give you a call.”

  “Dad, let’s both do better keeping in touch.”

  “I promise.” And I meant it. It’d been a long time since I’d felt like a family man.

  Hauffler broke up the tender little good-bye scene, pulling up in the driveay in his squad car.. “There’s no reason anyone would do this to you if you weren’t wrapped up in the Longstreet murder and Bruto’s arrest. He obviously didn’t do it since he’s lolling around in my jail. Given how this was started, the gas can, and the late hour, whoever did this must have torched the church as well. The only suspect I can think of is Blaise.”

  “Yep. I’ll lock my gate from now on, not that that will keep anyone from breaking through my fence and coming in anyway.”

  “Can’t hurt. Just be aware. Tell Carla and your guests too.”

  “Thanks.”

  After Bob left, I called Carroll Johnson’s office to bring him up to date. His secretary said he was travelling but she’d get the message to him that I’d called. Next I tried Larry, and he answered im
mediately. “The plot’s thickening, as they say,” I said. Larry laughed.

  “No telling who the pyromaniac is, and without a direct connection, Hauffler can’t go out and arrest Blaise. Everything points to him though.”

  “We must be getting closer to the truth if someone wants to kill me, or at least send a message. By the way, Amy and Andy left this morning, so it’s okay for you to come back up here if you think your talents will help get to the bottom of this.” Even though I enjoyed my time alone with Carla. I somehow missed having Larry around.

  “I’ve got a hunch that I need to follow up here. After I do that, I might come up Wednesday if my hunch pans out. I’m happy you had a good time with the family. Wish I had that.”

  “Well, you’re family now too. It’s been good seeing Amy. I feel strange that I’m going to become a father and a grandfather around the same time.”

  “That’s weird all right, but the two kids should be great fun when they’re together. Adios for now.”

  Within five minutes the phone rang. Johnson calling. “Hey, John. Haven’t talked to you in a while. I’m in New Orleans right now. What’s up?”

  First I told him the details of Bruto, his DNA and his arrest. Carroll was silent. Then I told him about the fire. I could hear him breathing into his phone.

  He let out a little whistle and said, “John, I didn’t want you to get involved in something that puts you in any danger. It’ll be better for you to back off and let Hauffler and the DA take charge of this.”

  “I certainly intend to do just that.”

  “And your friend Larry too. Don’t want him hurt.”

  That last comment gave me pause. Carroll’s statement almost sounded like a threat. Maybe my paranoia was getting the best of me.

  Then I asked, “When are you coming up next?”

  “Probably next week. I should check on how things are going with Gus and the other help.”

  “Just let me know when, and we can go over what I’ve done for the estate inventory and all that boring stuff.”