Deadly Encounter

by DiAnn Mills

  She opened the door and smiled. “I hope you have good news, but even if you don’t, I’m glad to see you.” She gestured him inside.

  “Your parents?”

  “At the grocery. Mom wants to fatten me up.”

  “Good idea.” He grinned, and she momentarily forgot the tragedies going on around them.

  “Sit down. Would you like coffee?”

  “I haven’t much time. And I will make or pour any coffee.” He brushed a stray hair from her face. “You look better, but your eyes tell me much of it is an act.”

  How could he tell? “I have a list of things to do.”

  “Napping had better be at the top.”

  “Talking to you is first. What have you learned?”

  “Bits and pieces. The motivation behind Howe’s murder, the unusual relationship between Howe and Connor, and the series of incidents point to a person who is vindictive and calculating. Which brings me to a question. We could be looking at a person who has a history of abusing animals. Does anyone come to mind?”

  “My neighborhood is filled with people who hurt humans and animals on a regular basis. The only person who has entered the clinic and threatened me was Ace McMann.”

  “We’re waiting on a report from our behavioral analysts. Another theory is someone with a military background or a felon versed in street and white-collar crime.” He forced a smile. “We’ll get it nailed. I know you’re worried sick about Whitt. Every law enforcement agency in the city is searching for him.”

  “I know. My faith is taking a beating.”

  “I wanted to give you a quick update before leaving town. Remember I told you Lynx Connor was arrested in LA? Since then, he’s agreed to work with authorities. During an interview, he admitted to some of the goings-on, blamed a few things on Todd Howe, and in short claimed things that require proof. Ric and I want to interview him and the man he’s accused of masterminding the crimes.”

  “A step closer in bringing this to an end.” She smiled. “You and Ric will find the answers.”

  “Hope so. Sorry I wasn’t able to meet your parents.”

  “They’re staying awhile. I hadn’t seen them in thirteen years, and we have lots to talk about. Someday I’ll tell you about it.”

  “At Starbucks, or we can go riding or fishing. You choose.”

  She blinked with watery eyes. “Thank you for coming. Don’t forget to wash your hands. I’m sure my house is flooded with germs.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’d kiss you good-bye, but I’ll save it.”

  “You are crazy.”

  “True. I’ll call or text when I can. I talked to Dexter earlier. He might stop by later. He’s a good man, and he’s committed to ending this epidemic.”

  She nodded and watched him leave. His kindness and strength had touched her unlike any man ever had before. What did it mean? Hope for a family? Could the three of them find happiness?

  The one thing she grasped was Whitt and Xena must be found. If only she weren’t so incredibly weak. For certain she could sleep hours upon hours. But that wouldn’t find her precious boy or help others who suffered with the illness or were worried about their pets.

  God, please bring Whitt home and guide the researchers to find a cure for this horrible disease.

  ALL FLIGHTS TO LAX were booked solid except for the last one at 10:30 Wednesday night. That left a good part of the day for Alex and Ric to weed through Connor’s accusation of Russell Phillips being the mastermind. They met at Ric’s cubicle with one goal: What role, if any, did the owner of Phillips Security play in Houston’s crimes?

  “Connor represented Walter M. Brown Investments.” Alex typed into his phone. “If Phillips and the shell company are connected, we’ll soon know.”

  While they waited for findings, they watched the initial interview with the multimillionaire.

  “His baseline questions laid a good foundation for his truth signals,” Ric said. “His eye contact is good. Voice inflection doesn’t raise. Speaks clearly. Uses hand gestures appropriately. Doesn’t touch his face. Of course he’s a successful businessman, trained to read others and provide body language that doesn’t give away his motives.”

  Alex replayed Phillips’s responses and made notes. “Several significant statements caught my attention. His denial of knowing Howe or Connor appears sincere. He admits his intentions to move his company to Houston but hasn’t located a building site. He refuted the accusations of a water scheme or injecting a dog with a life-threatening disease and claimed no knowledge of how the powerful strain of brucellosis was developed. He offered to sign whatever was necessary for the FBI to search his personal and business records. But what I’d like to research is his possible connection to the stolen quadcopter.”

  “Give me a moment,” Ric said, typing on his computer. “Phillips Security manufactures drones under a subsidiary company called Drone Devices. Primarily government contracts.” He held up a finger. “Bingo.”

  Alex typed a request to the FIG and waited. The results caused him to straighten. “The quadcopter was manufactured by his company.”

  “Right. Coincidence, or is Phillips lying through his teeth?”

  The FIG’s report sailed into their phones. The paper trail for Walter M. Brown Investments led straight to Russell Phillips. Just as Lynx Connor had claimed.

  Alex gazed into the dark eyes of his partner. “Have LA hold him until we arrive for further questioning.”

  Shortly after midnight on Thursday morning, Alex and Ric viewed the lights of LA from the air. They’d managed a few hours’ sleep on the plane, but they were tired and wired—at least that’s the way Alex described his physical and mental condition. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, and his stomach grumbled nonstop.

  As soon as the agents landed and the plane taxied to the gate, they learned Lynx Connor had given another statement. “Interesting hours ahead,” Ric said on the way to hail a taxi.

  “I’ll reserve my opinion until we have a face-to-face.”

  They were alerted of a woman’s death, and three more people, two of whom were children, had been admitted to the hospital. One child wasn’t expected to last the night. Another child showed improvement. Fury stormed though Alex’s body. A steadily worsening situation. En route to the FBI office on Wilshire Boulevard, they continued to scroll through reports.

  At LA’s FBI office, Alex and Ric were given a transcript of Connor’s updated statement as of an hour ago along with Russell Phillips’s recent interview. They reviewed both before entering an interview room where Phillips awaited them. The older man with red hair lightened by gray sat quiet, unmoving. As he should be. Lines fanned from the corners of his eyes, and his two-hundred-dollar silk tie lay loosened against the open collar of an overly starched white shirt. He’d requested his attorney, and the middle-aged African American woman, dressed in a dark pantsuit with a white blouse, joined him.

  Alex extended his hand, and the man and his attorney stood. “Mr. Phillips, I’m Special Agent Alex LeBlanc and this is my partner, Special Agent Ric Price. We’re from Houston, Texas, where we’ve uncovered a series of crimes.”

  Phillips introduced his attorney. “I understand in Houston there’s been a murder, a downed stolen quadcopter with potential to take down an aircraft, a land scheme involving a subdivision’s water supply, and a dog carrying an infectious disease. Many victims. In short, you think all of that is somehow related to me, and I’ve been accused of directing this operation, which I deny. I want to offer my assistance in every way possible.”

  “We appreciate it. What is your connection to Houston?”

  “As I told the LA agents, my company is contemplating a move there. I was enticed by the tax breaks coupled with the near proximity of my wife’s family. Nothing’s been signed. I don’t have a site analysis completed yet.”

  So far this matched Connor’s testimony. “When was the last time you were in Houston?”

  “New Year’s to visit family.” He turned to his at
torney. “Please give the agents my itinerary from January.”

  “Are you working with a real estate firm?”

  “Not yet. We’re in the preliminary stage, which means I want my people researching the best site before going forward.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Those within my company who are on my board of directors.”

  “We’d like their names.”

  Phillips turned to his attorney. “Add this information to the agents’ list.”

  “Are the names Lynx Connor or Todd Howe familiar to you?”

  Phillips neither blinked nor moved a muscle. “The names were mentioned by the other agents. Haven’t you read or seen the interview?”

  Alex ignored him. Everyone teetered on frustration. “What about Dr. Stacy Broussard?”

  He shook his head.

  “Has anyone proposed a specific area for your relocation?”

  “Not to my knowledge. I asked for our search team to narrow their findings and report to the board before approaching a commercial real estate company. I’ve not negotiated with anyone to buy or procure a building site in an underhanded or illegal manner.”

  “Why would Lynx Connor name you as the mastermind?”

  “I’ve asked my staff to determine if Mr. Connor ever applied for employment. At present, we have no one within our company by that name. We also have a photo database of our employees, and none of the images match his.” He dipped his chin and glared at Alex. “The FBI has the ability to view security cams. Check LA and Houston, and you’ll not find a thing incriminating me or my company.”

  “You’re confident of your innocence.”

  “I am. Although my attorney advises me to request search warrants, I’m relinquishing my right in order to validate I’m above reproach in my personal and business practices. Agents here claim Walter M. Brown Investments, a shell company, has my name on it. That, gentlemen, makes me furious. I have in no way ever put together a front or investment or tax haven company. Search deeper, and you’ll confirm my innocence.” Again, Phillips hadn’t touched his face, mouth, or throat. He neither repeated a phrase when responding to a question nor displayed emotion that didn’t match his gestures. Deceit wasn’t there.

  “Thank you. Do you own a dog?”

  “I haven’t the interest or the time. However, my wife has a miniature poodle, a lapdog.”

  Alex was ready to link Phillips to more components of the crime. “We understand you own a subsidiary company that manufactures drones.”

  “Yes. Drone Devices, but you gentlemen are aware of it.”

  “We’d like to hear about the business from you.”

  “The majority of our work comes from government contracts. We also use drones to conduct testing on our alarm systems. We have recently begun manufacturing them for large farms and ranches for added security measures. The owners also use our drones to check fence lines and feed and water levels where it’s too costly to run wire or hire manpower. And . . . we’ve developed a quadcopter for the same use.”

  Could the man be innocent? “Did you murder or order the death of Todd Howe?”

  “No.”

  “Why would Lynx Connor claim he and Howe worked for you?”

  “No idea.”

  “Why would Connor implicate you in a series of crimes?”

  Phillips’s face flushed. “I’d like to pose your question to him myself.”

  Alex focused on Ric. “Would you show him the signed statement from Lynx Connor stating Mr. Phillips hired him to acquire property in northwest Houston by spreading a disease via a dog, claiming it was an issue in the water supply, and then offering cash at a substantially low price to the home owners? It also claims Mr. Phillips engaged an assassin to kill Todd Howe for an undisclosed reason.”

  Ric handed Phillips the document. “This was signed one hour ago.”

  Phillips read the affidavit. The longer he read, the more he reddened and his body stiffened. “Where is this liar?”

  “He’s in custody,” Ric said. “He fears his life is in danger.”

  “And he should,” he mumbled. “I know exactly where I was during the crimes listed on the FBI’s report. Pathetic. If I conjured up a preposterous document like this, I’d hope somebody would put me out of my misery.”

  Ric lifted a brow. “Are you threatening Mr. Connor?”

  Phillips’s attorney touched his arm.

  “No. I’m merely saying those who pass off untruths that endanger the reputation of law-abiding people should be careful.” His nostrils flared. “I’ve built my business on a foundation of honest work and integrity. Connor has taken a couple of facts and twisted them into a horrendous crime. The spectrum of incidents is so incredible that if my name wasn’t on it, I’d laugh.” He pressed his palms onto the table. “Have you investigated the man behind the accusations? What does he have to gain with these outrageous allegations? How do you account for my LA location during critical happenings?”

  Not a muscle moved on Ric’s face. “He didn’t claim you killed Todd Howe. But ordered the crimes. Big difference.”

  “What’s my motivation? I have plenty of money without committing crimes to obtain more. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this entire allegation is nothing more than a theatrical stunt to discredit me. But who or why?”

  Phillips’s attorney cleared her throat. “My client has offered to cooperate with law enforcement in good faith. Instead, you have brought him here under the false pretense of serious charges, including murder. We have nothing more to say.”

  Ric rose from his chair. “Russell Phillips, you are a person of interest in this case as well as Lynx Connor.”

  Anger flashed across his eyes. “Trust me, I’ll have my own investigators getting to the bottom of this with facts, not fabrications.”

  Alex captured his eye contact. “My partner and I will be at your office in the morning to continue our discussion. If you need a warrant, we will have it.” He scrolled through his phone and showed him the photos of the deceased woman and lingered on the two children. “Dream about these. Because of this stunt, they’re sick and she’s dead.”

  SHORTLY BEFORE 5 A.m. Pacific time on Thursday, Alex and Ric discussed the interview with Russell Phillips. He’d sworn his innocence, but that was to be expected. Ric studied the video of the proceedings, no doubt looking for body language or a twist of words.

  “What’s your analysis?” Alex said.

  “His body language was mostly open and direct until he mentioned his board. I noted a few seconds’ lapse in responding. My first reaction is he’s hiding something or holding back information. I want a search warrant before we walk into his offices.”

  “For a company of his size, it will take a few days to run backgrounds and image files.” Alex paused. “I doubt he’s behind it, but stranger accusations than this have proven true. Something’s not right about this case, and it’s driving me nuts.”

  “Me too. We’re missing a segment that ties it all together.”

  Alex’s cell phone rang—Dexter.

  “Have you caught any sleep?” Dexter said.

  “A few hours on the plane. My guess is I had more than you.”

  “I’m heading over to Stacy Broussard’s home around eight.”

  “Any word on a cure for the brucellosis?”

  “The research might take months or longer. The situation has the public in a panic, and I can’t blame them. We’re looking at stats on a relatively rare disease, and only a few of the hospitalized victims are responding to treatment. Everyone is working around the clock with the health department to reach out to the community and search for a solution. None of us here are resting until we have this under control.”

  “Any luck in finding Whitt?”

  “Not yet. I’ve never seen such a twisted case,” Dexter said. “With the years spent in the CDC and now my current position, I shouldn’t be shocked at what people do in the name of causing others pain or gaining a sense
of control.”

  “I’m right there with you. Locating the developer of this strain could lead to a cure. I want an opportunity to punch his lights out. That’s my playbook.”

  Stacy let the shower pour over her. She’d risen early to get started on the day, knowing her body would force her to relax as the hours slipped by. Having Mom and Dad here soothed her heart in ways she never could have imagined. The gap had been closed. Closing her eyes, she thought of Alex in LA. Did they have a future when this was over? When Whitt was found safe?

  She turned off the water. No wasted tears. Just move forward.

  Over a cup of coffee and sweet conversation with Mom and Dad, the doorbell rang. As usual, she feared the worst. Where was her optimism?

  “I’ll get the door,” Dad said. “You sit tight.”

  She watched and listened.

  “I’m Dexter Rayken, a friend of Dr. Broussard’s and the director of the Laboratory Response Network.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. Alex told me to expect Mr. Rayken.”

  Dad ushered him inside and invited him for coffee while Stacy introduced her parents to the director of Houston’s LRN.

  Dexter shook their hands. “My pleasure, and I’d like some coffee. Smells good.”

  “Dark and rich. Do you need breakfast?” Mom said. “Have grits, broiled boudin, and eggs.”

  Stacy smiled. If only food could fix the world.

  “I’m good, ma’am. But thanks.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “Stacy, if it’s all right, your mother and I will take a stroll, not far in this neighborhood. Let you two discuss things.”

  “Thanks, that would be great. Then I want to work on what we can do in conjunction with the health department for the community.”

  “I’m thinking on it.”

  Once they left, Mr. Rayken sat across from her at the kitchen table. He took a long drink of coffee as though considering his words. “I wanted to check on you.”

  A kind gesture, but she’d not reveal how bad she felt. “I’m doing much better. A little weak. Headache. Taking my meds. Close call for me. Not so fortunate for others.”