At the bottom, I saw an acknowledgment—“Courtesy of LGL University Press, Professor Elias Timmons.”
I stared at it for a while, but eventually my takeaway was that the geology of the land was important to the leases and that Professor Timmons’ map showed something about it.
I thought for a moment then picked up my phone and called Archie Mack.
“Archibald Mack residence, Susanna Mack speaking.”
I smiled. It reminded me of calling my grandmother when I was young.
“Mrs. Mack, it's Nate Shepherd.”
“Well, good morning, Mr. Shepherd. What did you think of the strawberry shortcake?”
“I think I’m going to be representing you soon, Mrs. Mack, because that shortcake was criminal.”
She chuckled. “Mr. Shepherd, you will turn my head. Do you want me to leave a message for Archie?”
“I have a question about the farm. Maybe you can answer it.”
“Probably. What about that confidentiality stuff though?”
“I don’t think it would matter for this. My guess is you all know it. Has your family ever been contacted by Hillside Oil & Gas?”
“Some time ago, yes. Why?”
“I'm not sure. Do you remember how long it’s been?”
“At least two, maybe three years now.”
“What did they want?”
“Drilling rights of some sort. We weren't interested.”
“Why is that?”
“We want to farm the land, not mine it.”
“Do you remember the name of the representative who talked to you?”
“Goodness no, but I can probably find his name if it's important.”
“Would you mind?”
“Not at all. Will it help Archie?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Only one way to find out then. I’ll send you the information, Mr. Shepherd.”
“Thanks.”
We hung up and I found myself staring at the diagram. Geological maps, oil wells, and organic farms. I had no idea what it meant. But from the outside looking in, it didn't seem to have anything to do with the attack on Abby.
Nothing did. Which is what was driving me crazy.
A little after lunchtime, I received an email from Mrs. Mack with the contact information for Will Wellington of Hillside Oil & Gas. Honest, that was his name. I hopped online and found a bare-bones website for an independent agency which could represent you in all of your sales and acquisition needs related to oil, gas, and aggregates. Judging from the picture, Will Wellington appeared to be a man in his early forties projecting in all earnestness that he truly did want to buy or sell your oil rights.
I thought about it and decided there really wasn't a downside to calling him. So I did.
I got an automatic operator that encouraged me to press two if I wanted to speak with Mr. Wellington, which I did and got the voicemail of Will Willington of Hillside Oil & Gas who was anxious to reconnect with me just as soon as he was available. I left a message saying who it was, that I was a lawyer, and that I was calling about some property acquisitions.
My phone buzzed three minutes later. I answered.
“Nate,” he said. “This is Will Wellington of Hillside Oil & Gas. I don't think we've met before.”
“No, I don't think so, Will.”
“So what can I do for you? Are you representing a seller or a buyer that I've been dealing with?”
“Neither actually. I was researching a matter for a client and I saw from the title work and deeds that you’ve secured drilling rights on a number of sites in and around Ash County over the last few years.”
“I have.” Will’s tone was still warm but even through the phone I could hear his caution. “We’ve been fortunate enough to work with folks all over southern Michigan.”
“None of them mention price terms though.”
“No, we aren’t obligated to file those numbers. That’s pretty sensitive information as you might imagine.”
“I can. Can you tell me what some of the standard terms are?”
His tone cooled. “I'm sorry, Nate, I can't discuss anything about any of our partners’ deals or interests or negotiations.”
“How about whether a site was a potential acquisition site?”
The phone became downright frigid. “That information is even more sensitive.” Then he warmed up. “Unless you represent a landowner in the area? I'd be happy to take a look at their site or come out and walk their property to get a feel for it.”
I wasn’t prepared to go that far yet. Plus, it wasn’t true; I didn’t represent the Macks on this. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t. I was just doing some research on another matter.”
“Then I'm sorry, Nate, the oil business is a tough one and the lease acquisition business is even tougher. I can't talk about any deal before it's done and even afterwards I still can’t talk about it.”
“I understand.”
“You’re a local guy though?”
“I am. My office is in Carrefour.”
“Well, if you ever have a client who wants to sell oil rights or if you need someone to assess them for you, please keep my number and give me a call. I'd be happy to help anytime.”
“Thanks, Will. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Sorry I can’t be more help.”
We hung up.
I hadn't learned much from that at all. I was feeling like a spaghetti flinger, standing in the middle of my office whipping noodles around.
I decided to keep on flinging. I got back on the computer, printed out what I needed, and made another call. After being passed from a receptionist to a secretary to a grad assistant to a personal assistant, I was able to secure an appointment with Dr. Elias Timmons, LGL University Professor of Geology and the man credited with creating the illustration that was attached to the lease filing that Olivia and Danny had found.
I got in the car and headed to the University.
18
I don't know what I was expecting in Professor Timmons’ office—dusty rocks, a carving hammer, antique maps. It was nothing like that. Instead, I found a neat, well-lit space with sleek metallic furniture, a glass top desk that was almost entirely clean, and a three-monitor computer setup that an air traffic controller would envy. He sprang up from his desk and came around, offering his hand.
“Mr. Shepherd, please come in. So nice to meet you.”
Professor Timmons was in his late forties. He wore tan pants and a blue patterned blazer that appeared to be made of finely tailored wool. He was lean and his hair was a neatly trimmed brown. Like the office, he was not what I was expecting. He looked more like a company president than a man who taught students about the composition of rocks.
“Nice to meet you too, Professor Timmons,” I said. He gestured and I took a seat in front of his desk. “I'm surprised you could get me in today.”
“Are you kidding?” he said. “I'm a big fan.”
That, as you might imagine, is not something a lawyer normally hears. “Really?”
“Of course. I followed the Braggi case and the Vila case. Matthew Beckman is a colleague of mine here at the University, so it was interesting to follow his testimony.”
“That's right Dr. Beckman's office is in this section of campus, isn’t it?”
“It's a couple of buildings over but we run into each other from time to time. So,” he leaned forward, eyes bright. “What can I do for you? Are you looking for an expert on something?”
“Nothing so glamorous I'm afraid,” I said and pulled out my copy of the diagram. “This was attached to some documents I reviewed recently. I don't know what it means and I saw your name on the bottom. Since you’re right here in town, I thought I’d see if you could tell me about it.”
I saw what I took to be disappointment in his face, then curiosity, then a moment of hesitation as he pulled out a set of no-frame reading glasses and put them on. He frowned and squinted for a moment before his face cleared and
he said, “This is an illustration from one of my textbooks.”
“I see. So you didn't make it for a particular landowner?”
“No, no, this is from a text about the geology of the State of Michigan. Are you familiar with it?”
I shook my head. “I'm afraid most of my higher education went toward reading and useless Socratic reasoning skills.”
Professor Timmons smiled. “It all depends on the arena we know, doesn't it? I'm sure Mr. Braggi was glad that he didn't have a geologist defending him.”
“So this is an excerpt from your book?”
Professor Timmons nodded. “It is. It's actually part of a series of illustrations where we dig down layer by layer through Michigan's strata and substrata. See, what this doesn’t show you are the moraines closer to the surface. The Kalamazoo Moraine extends from Hastings, southeast through Marshall, over to Devil’s Lake where it connects with…” He took off his reading glasses and looked a little sheepish before he grinned. “I find moraines to be terribly interesting.”
I smiled. “My dad always told me that you should never apologize for your enthusiasms.”
“He sounds like a wise man.” Professor Timmons pointed at the illustration with his glasses. “Anyway, this one shows layers that are deeper down, that were created by the plate tectonics of the area. Far older. Like I said, not really as interesting as some of the other areas, more important as a knowledge base for my students than anything else.” His brow furrowed. “What was this attached to again?”
I chose my words carefully. “I was looking at a property description for a client. This was attached to a lease description and I didn't know what it meant, so I didn't want to make a decision without knowing what exactly it was doing in the title work.”
Professor Timmons nodded. “I’m not sure why they would've attached this. What this shows is the types of formations that are typical for the area. It shouldn't matter at all for your metes and bounds or other surface measurements.”
“I see. So this was just a form that someone used from your book?”
Professor Timmons cocked his head to the side. “A lawyer might say that it is a piece of my intellectual property that someone stole from my book and used without paying me.”
“That lawyer would be right. People are pretty lax with copyright these days.”
Professor Timmons shook his head. “The Internet's only made it worse.”
“That’s the truth. So you didn't do this as a special project? Someone just took your illustration?”
Professor Timmons nodded. “For whatever good it would do. Like I said, the moraines are more interesting. I see more people who want to learn about those so they can find places to search for diamonds or pan for gold.”
“In Michigan?”
“More than you would think but less than would make it worthwhile.”
“Right.” Which summed up my day. I stood. “This was very generous of you, Professor Timmons. I really appreciate you taking the time to see me today.”
“Anytime, Nate. May I call you Nate?”
“Of course.”
He pumped my hand. “Any geology angles in your current cases?”
I thought. “It doesn’t look like it.”
“Well, if you ever need an expert on rock formations—”
I pointed at him. “Or moraines.”
He smiled. “Or moraines, you know who to call.”
“I certainly do. Thanks, Professor. Take care.”
“My pleasure. You too.”
I started to leave then held the diagram out to him, offering it.
“Good Lord, no,” he said. “I have fifty students buying that book this semester alone. Keep it.”
I waved it. “Thanks,” I said, and left.
Yet another noodle had fallen off the wall.
I sighed. It was that awkward spot that was too early to go home and too late to go back to the office, so I set out for the Brickhouse.
When I walked into the gym, Olivia was standing behind the front desk. She looked up, a slight smile on her face. “A little early, isn’t it?”
I shrugged. “I worked really hard today.”
She smirked. “I bet.”
“Don’t tell my dad I said that.”
“No promises.”
“I saw the map that you and Danny put together. That was a lot of work.”
“Like you’d know.”
“Probably not. Thanks anyway.”
“You’re welcome. Did it help?”
“Some. You know that illustration that was attached?”
“To the old lease? Yeah.”
“I went and saw the guy who made it.”
Olivia was curious so I described my visit with Professor Timmons. When I was done, she said, “You’re thinking.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I smell smoke.”
“It’s not me. Probably just the brimstone from when you left home this morning. No, I’m thinking about what Abby told me her attacker said before he hit her. Something about gas and the Skip-N-Go.”
Olivia nodded. “The man said ‘More gas than the Albion Skip-N-Go.’”
I raised an eyebrow.
“It was in the report too.”
“She mentioned it to me when I met with her. I’d discounted it but now there seems to be some gas interests around the farm so…”
“So maybe there’s something related. Good point.”
“As long as I’m flinging pasta, I might as well check.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
She shook her head and waved. “Go work out, would you?”
“Going to coach me?”
“No, thanks. Just ate.”
“What if I need coaching?
“Pick a heavy thing up. Set it down. Repeat.”
“What was that last step?”
“Goodbye.”
I finished my workout an hour later. I didn’t see Olivia puke at the sight of it, but I can’t say that she didn’t either. By the time I was done, though, I’d decided what to do next.
I was going to Albion.
19
Albion is a small town that sits right on I-94. It's west of Jackson and east of Battle Creek right before you hit Marshall. None of that means a thing to you unless you're from southern Michigan. If you are, you probably know that Albion is a small town whose main industry is Albion College, home of the Britons. If you’re not, it’s enough to know that it sits on a major US interstate that’s forty-five minutes north of Carrefour and that there’s no direct route between the two.
I drove through country that was mostly rolling hills, woods, and farmland on winding roads that seemed to have no intention of taking me directly anywhere. I was traversing the western edge of the Irish Hills, which meant that there were lakes everywhere, forcing the roads around them. As always, I had to be careful of deer, although, frankly, there wasn't much to do about it if one shot out on the road.
I followed one back road after another until I hit Business I-94 and took that to an offramp of I-94 itself. There, at the Albion exit, I pulled into one of three gas stations, the big truck stop that advertised two restaurants, showers, and the lowest diesel prices anywhere.
The Albion Skip-N-Go.
I wove through the rows of diesel pumps and long parking spaces filled with trucks to one of the regular pumps and gassed up. When I was done, I pulled forward into one of the parking spaces by the store and went in to get some coffee. A woman with a lot of earrings and a healthy scorn for my age and life choices took my money. I grabbed a seat at a table, drank my coffee, and looked around. It really didn't look any different from any other all-service gas station that could be found anywhere along I-75 from Michigan to Florida.
I sat there and finished my coffee and didn't have an epiphany. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, maybe a big sign with an arrow that said, “Clues to Attempted Murder Here,” but I didn't see one. I got up, bought a
nother coffee, and was making my way out to the car when I saw a rack of brochures. It was the typical faux wood holder containing brochures for all sorts of local attractions, ranging from Stagecoach Stop to a mysterious location of visual contradictions where water flowed uphill. I saw brochures to the Michigan International Speedway, a local carry out, a bait shop, and a boat rental agency. Filling up the entire top row were applications for Skip-N-Go cards. There was one for everyone—The Trucker Pay-Back Program, the Frequent Fueler Program, and the Coffee Rewards Program, which gave you a free coffee for every ten you bought. I picked up the Frequent Fueler application and opened it. I saw an ad for all of the amazing things you could buy with your Skip-N-Go points and a list of gas stations where you could earn them. It looked like there were six or seven different brands, all of which had some derivative of “Go” in them, but that's not what caught my attention. What caught my attention was the line at the bottom.
Skip-N-Go. Part of the Hillside Oil & Gas family of companies.
I stared at that for a moment. Then I tapped the brochure on my hand and left.
I had more work to do. It was time to dig deeper into the Mack farm and the time Hillside Oil & Gas had tried to put a well on it.
OIL
20
The next day at the office, I told Danny about my trip to Albion the night before and the potential link of the station to Hillside Oil & Gas. Then I said, “We have two big problems that I can see.”
“That’s less than usual,” said Danny.
“Funny. First, we have no explanation for what really happened that night. None. Abby can’t identify who pushed her and Archie has admitted that he went to the concert but has no explanation for what he was doing back in that part of the Quarry where Abby was attacked. The video has to give us a clue. Have you found anything yet?”
Danny seemed pained just by the mention of it. “I’m about a third of the way through.”
“That’s all?”
“Four cameras. Thousands of people milling around. Looking for any little thing. Yes, Nate, that’s all.”
Blind Conviction (Nate Shepherd Legal Thriller Series Book 3) Page 10