Deadly Encounter

by DiAnn Mills

  Ric studied a glass display case of antique oil lamps, an assortment of sizes and shapes. “I assume many trips to Israel?” he said.

  “Three times a year.” Rabbi Feldman beamed. “Gentlemen, take a look at the treasures unearthed below Jerusalem.” He led them to another long glass display case where plates, bowls, and wooden goblets rested on black velvet.

  Alex bent to look at an etched goblet. “You have quite a collection here. Impressive.”

  “It’s taken me over two decades, and I’m always looking for new pieces.”

  “Do you collect scrolls?” Ric said.

  The man smiled. “Facsimiles only, but I have several.”

  Since when was Ric an Old Testament scholar?

  “My great-grandmother on my father’s side was Jewish. My dad has her journal. Interesting legacy.”

  “What a rich heritage,” the rabbi said.

  “Absolutely. I regret I can’t read Hebrew, an endeavor I intend to accomplish one day.”

  “You’ll not be disappointed. When you’re ready, I can introduce you to a couple of fine teachers.”

  Alex had never heard about Ric’s heritage. New respect for his friend and partner mounted. The rabbi pointed to volumes of books, old and new, that were stuffed into a floor-to-ceiling bookcase.

  “This is amazing.” Alex peered at the books, all in Hebrew. Many appeared too fragile to touch.

  “Thank you, but you didn’t come to admire my obsession with antiquity,” he said. “Todd’s unfortunate demise has many of us grieving. Sit down, gentlemen, and we’ll discuss what’s on your minds.”

  “The woman who found Mr. Howe’s body would like to pass on her condolences to his wife. I have her phone number if you feel it’s appropriate.”

  The rabbi nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  Alex handed him a slip of paper with Stacy’s contact information and her quote about love.

  After they were seated on brown leather chairs, the rabbi pulled one from behind his desk and took an unassuming pose. “You want to know my perspective?”

  “Yes, sir,” Alex said. “We’re looking for his killer and could use your insight.”

  He studied his hands as though contemplating how to begin or possibly praying. “What I’m about to say is not news to Bekah, though she’d not offer anything derogatory about her husband. Neither would she lie.” He paused. “If you should choose to talk to her further, form your questions carefully, and please wait until the seven days of mourning are over.” He smiled. “We Jews protect those we love.”

  “Are you saying her husband abused her?” Alex said.

  “Oh no.” He waved away his response. “I’m talking about his business practices.” Rabbi Feldman leaned back in his chair. “A man wants to support his family in the best way possible, but not at the expense of offering others a decent living or treating them humanly.”

  The man confirmed the earlier manager interviews. “We heard he went through managers frequently.”

  “All employees. To say the least. At times one of our youth would apply for work, but it never lasted long.”

  “Can you give us specifics?”

  He sighed. “My daughter worked for him until I asked her to quit. She didn’t object.”

  Now he had Alex’s attention. “What happened?”

  “I’m speaking as a father. She was to work four hours on her first day. But when it came time for her to leave, Todd informed her of extra training which consisted of cleaning the women’s and men’s restrooms with a scrub brush until the areas met his approval. That was the first night. The second night, she was told to stay after closing to clean and disinfect the kitchen. The job took over two hours. The third night he told her the kitchen didn’t meet his expectations from the previous night, and she had to clean it again. She called me. I picked her up. Todd refused to pay her for the extra hours, stating it was part of her training. My daughter said the other employees went through the same initiation.”

  “Do you think his business practices could have gotten him killed?”

  “I’m not law enforcement. But the employee always had the option to quit. He paid minimum wage, and I understand he deducted bathroom breaks, chatting times, whatever he could.” He smiled. “Trust me, I wanted to level him.”

  Not what Alex presumed from a rabbi. “Can’t blame you.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

  “Honestly, Agent LeBlanc and Agent Price, Todd was faithful in attendance and generous in giving of his time and money to the temple and his family. He may have weighed heavily on the scales of fair business practices, but nothing that I know of to warrant murder or a threat to airport safety. I assure you, he wasn’t involved with terrorists.”

  MONDAY MORNING, shortly before 8 a.m., Alex met with Ric at the office. Reports flowed in from Todd Howe’s friends’ and neighbors’ interviews while updated information on known extremists garnered their attention, but nothing concrete surfaced.

  Ric took a long drink of coffee. “The murder and stolen quadcopter have sent us scattering in opposite directions, sort of like roaches when the lights flip on.”

  Alex nodded slowly. “Todd Howe, Stacy Broussard, a downed quadcopter, and a stray dog simmering on low until they blend together into something that makes sense.”

  He chuckled. “Gumbo on Saturday night made roux of your brains. Or is it the woman?”

  Maybe the latter added spice, but he’d not let his partner know. “Everything about her, including college and work history, seems legit.”

  “Here’s my theory. Stacy doesn’t have a scratch on her. Whoever was behind the drone and murdered Todd hightailed it out of there without cleaning up their mess.”

  “Let’s dig deeper to see if he had connections to Fort Benning. So far, their investigation hasn’t revealed who stole their quadcopter. Low priority until we started digging.”

  Ric finished a breakfast bar and tossed the wrapper in the trash. “The Army’s CID will be a driving force now that we’re involved. But we need who’s responsible now.” Dark eyes peered into his. “Todd Howe looks like an innocent victim, but what sticks in my mind is that he rode into a restricted area. Was it random or did he have business there?”

  Alex weighed his words. “The case is homegrown domestic terrorism, but I have another thought. Military extremists are usually anti-Semitic.”

  Ric ran his fingers through shortly cropped hair. “People can always be bought. And note he’s dead. If I understand anything, it’s prejudice. We’ll see who’s right when arrests are made.”

  “My focus has been on Bekah and Todd Howe—their backgrounds. Both are clean at this point. Our victim was a restaurant owner, ambitious and despised by his employees. Nothing in his records indicates unlawful activities. The only derogatory info we have on him are his managers’ and Rabbi Feldman’s testimonies.”

  “But motive could be there. People have killed for less,” Ric said. “Financials are in order. Nothing suspicious for the past ten years. What else do you have?”

  “I examined the Howes’ cell phone records. Bekah’s calls are okay. None of Todd’s have our attention. Go figure, though. He’d left his phone at home on Saturday morning, and his contacts and calendar information have been erased. However, his phone records didn’t raise anything suspicious, which makes me wonder why he erased them. To protect himself or his family?”

  “Hard to say. He could have been having an affair,” Ric said. “His business calls will take a few days to sort out. What’s up for this morning?”

  “One of the Green-to-Go managers has my attention.” Alex positioned his computer screen for Ric to see. “Todd liked to party without his wife. This was posted by one of his managers who works at a Green-to-Go located around the corner from his office on San Felipe.”

  Ric took a look at Todd toasting a scantily clad blonde in what appeared to be a bedroom. “Bekah misjudged her husband.” He glanced up. “Or maybe she knew about
his extracurricular activities. Anything in her background or her parents’ that we missed?”

  “I didn’t read anything but grief. Early this morning, I had her parents checked out, and they’re clean.”

  “I’ll spin a few cycles on this, but Saturday has more stamped on it than a Jewish boy who liked to party and met up with a bullet.”

  Alex nodded. “Believe me, I’m right there with you.”

  An hour later, Alex and Ric entered the Green-to-Go restaurant on San Felipe, where the breakfast crowd still lingered over coffee. The female manager whose photo appeared on Facebook stood at the counter, blonde and built. She was talking to a young man taking orders, who wore a green T-shirt with the name of the restaurant in white letters.

  Alex walked to the pair. He displayed his FBI creds. “I’m Special Agent Alex LeBlanc, and this is Special Agent Ric Price. We’d like to speak to Elle Vieson.”

  She tossed a skeptical look their way. “What about?”

  “Todd Howe.”

  “I’ve already spoken to FBI agents. Don’t you guys compare notes?”

  That hit Alex’s frustration button. “We do, but some interviews require extra attention.”

  She flushed red. “We’re in the middle of a rush. Later would be more convenient.”

  “Ma’am,” Ric said, “murders are never convenient, at least not for the victim. Perhaps due to the sensitivity of this conversation, it should be held in privacy.”

  His partner wasn’t always so talkative, unless annoyed.

  Ms. Vieson led them to a small office in the rear of the kitchen. Once inside, she closed the door. “Have a seat. I assume this is about the Facebook post?”

  “Would you show Ms. Vieson the photo she posted early this morning?” Ric nodded at Alex, which meant he wanted to observe and analyze the woman’s responses.

  Alex swiped to it on his phone and turned the screen for her viewing. “Is this you?”

  She swallowed hard. Slumped in her chair. “I didn’t post this.” She tapped the screen. “It is me, but it’s not.”

  “Please explain your answer,” Alex said.

  She dabbed beneath her eyes and closed them with a sigh. “I’m mortified. The embarrassment is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.”

  An old expression from his Cajun roots surfaced at her drama-queen antics: C’est tracas comme ça tous les temps. It meant she was a pain when they needed answers now.

  “Agents, I deny having an affair with my boss. Todd Howe was insufferable, and I’d never lower myself to his level or help him cheat on his wife.” She leaned across her desk, revealing plenty of cleavage. “The miserable excuse of a man loved his wife.”

  “Love and having an affair are two different things.”

  “Not with Todd. Demanding. Egotistical. Cheapskate. But not a womanizer.”

  “Your Facebook post says otherwise,” Alex said.

  “Anyone can stick pics up there and make them look like me. See for yourself. I outweigh her by fifteen pounds, and that’s just above the waist.”

  Alex pulled up the pic again. The body shape didn’t match. “Are you implying the pic was photoshopped?”

  “Duh. Read my lips.”

  Alex flashed his anger. “Excuse me? We’re investigating a man’s murder.”

  She dragged her tongue over her lips and scooted back in her chair. “I apologize. Gentlemen, I’m a recovering alcoholic and the woman in the pic is holding a glass of booze. I have a boyfriend who is already giving me a hard time about this. I tried to delete the pic, but someone hacked into my account and everything is frozen. Facebook told me the problem would soon be resolved, and then I could remove it. I have an idea who posted it but no proof.”

  “Who?”

  “A kid who works here. He’s been bragging about hacking into computers and playing tricks on people.”

  “We’d like to talk to him.”

  “Please, I’d rather handle it. Once I have confirmation, I’ll call you. Todd had as many enemies as friends, which I’m sure you’ve learned. But even then, this is an attack against Bekah, and she doesn’t deserve the backlash.”

  “So you’re a friend of Mrs. Howe’s?”

  Ms. Vieson shook her head. “Only by reputation. Sometimes she came in with Todd or just with the boys. Very much a lady. Drop-dead gorgeous too.”

  Alex glanced at Ric, who made notes. “You mentioned he had enemies. We’d like those names.”

  She held up both hands, palms out. “When the other agents were here, I didn’t mention anything about Todd’s enemies. The man’s dead, and I don’t plan to join him.”

  Ric cleared his throat. “This is in strict confidence, Ms. Vieson. If you believe you’re in danger, we need to have the information before someone else is killed.”

  “He was horrible to work for. But I don’t know of anyone who’d want him dead.”

  Ric continued the interview. “What do you mean, he was horrible to work for?”

  She hesitated. Why? Afraid or massaging the truth?

  “Demanding and always adding to the manager’s workload. At first, he asked for details of how many customers showed up at every meal and separate numbers for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the after-eight crowd. Then he had us break it down to men, women, and children. Last week he added how many customers requested refills on beverages and which beverages included water. Once a week I had to stay late to ensure inventory matched his ordering records. All the restaurants have considerable turnover. The waitstaff’s trial period is filled with unreasonable extra hours. I’ve been here for six months waiting to apply for a restaurant opening down the street from where I live.”

  No surprise Howe’s employees despised him.

  “Thank you.” Ric typed into his phone. “Anyone threaten to do him harm?”

  “You don’t give up, do you?” She snorted out a laugh. “We thought he should be put out of his misery, but nothing spoken. He paid a bonus to those who reported other employees not doing their job.”

  “Are you saying any employee could be a suspect?”

  She pressed her lips together. “I suppose.”

  Ric turned to Alex. “Agent LeBlanc, what additional questions do you have for Ms. Vieson?”

  He showed her a pic of Stacy on his cell phone. “Have you seen this woman?”

  “No.” Not a muscle moved to indicate deceit.

  “Did Todd receive any visitors here or did anyone ever stop in and ask for him?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and appeared to ponder his question. “Other than an occasional vendor, I’d say no. His office is located around the corner, but you probably already know that.”

  “Do you have an interest in drones?” Alex said.

  “Are you kidding? I work all the time.”

  “What about your boyfriend?”

  Irritation seared her features. “The only hobby he has is me. What are you looking for?”

  Alex smiled. “Are you or your boyfriend antigovernment?”

  “Freedom of speech is guaranteed by the Constitution. I might complain about the current administration, but I’m not out to make a statement.”

  He reached into his jacket and placed a business card on her desk. “We’ve posed a number of questions, and we appreciate your cooperation. If you hear or see anything that can help us, please contact us immediately. Don’t forget informing us of your findings about the Facebook post.”

  She nodded. “Am I a suspect?”

  “Not at this time.” Alex considered saying those who had motive were all under suspicion.

  “I have an alibi. I was with my boyfriend.” She jotted down a man’s name and where they were when Todd was killed. “There is something more.” She wrung her hands. “It’s probably nothing. But Saturday night around midnight when I locked up to leave the restaurant, I saw a man standing on the corner facing Todd’s office. I drove away, then circled back around. Not sure why, except I was suspicious after his death. The
man had walked to the rear of Todd’s office and was attempting to enter. I flashed my headlights, and he took off running.”

  “Did you see his face?”

  She shook her head. “Wore a hoodie. He was a little overweight.”

  “Are there security cameras in the area?” Alex said.

  “The one from Todd’s office should have caught him. I can give you the security company’s phone number.” She opened her drawer and handed them a business card with the contact information.

  “Thanks, Ms. Vieson. Appreciate your cooperation. We may ask you to identify the man.”

  “Whatever you need.”

  While Alex drove from the restaurant to the FBI office, Ric requested a search warrant for Green-to-Go’s security footage. Some companies cooperated without the document, but they had the legal right to ask for it. Within the hour, they had the footage . . . of a man who’d successfully avoided the security cameras.

  A MIDMORNING RAIN riddled the windows of Stacy’s clinic as she typed the previous few days’ activities into her computer. This way she had a journal with stats, including money spent on vendors for the carnival. The event had been fun but expensive. As much as she despised giving up on her subdivision, Whitt needed a safer place to live—so did she.

  The time caught her attention. She should have contacted her attorney by now. Using the clinic’s landline, she phoned Leonard Nardell.

  “Mr. Nardell, this is Stacy Broussard. I have new information regarding the custody hearing.” She relayed the eviction notice for today and Mrs. McMann’s arrest for prostitution. She continued with Ace McMann’s early Sunday morning episode and arrest. “Do you have a court date?”

  “We do. Looks like a week from Wednesday, 9 a.m. at the family court building on Congress Avenue. Afterward, you and Whitt will be able to celebrate. I know the judge, and this hearing will be only a formality.”

  She sighed relief. “Thank you. I want this over and adoption proceedings started.”

  “Matters of law take time. Are you still contemplating a move?”