His jaw flexed. “I got it.”
Kate stepped back, feeling light-headed, as if she’d just stepped off a wild carnival ride that had zapped her equilibrium. She blinked at Frank, realized she’d lost control. That she’d made a fool of herself. That she should get out of there before she did any more damage.
Squaring her shoulders, she turned and walked away without saying another word.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 8 , 9:45 A.M.
Frank gave her points for not slamming the door. If he’d been in her shoes, he probably would have for the sheer satisfaction value.
He stood there for a full minute, willing his heart to slow, telling himself he hadn’t done anything wrong. He could still feel where she’d jabbed his chest with her finger. He told himself he’d done the right thing by talking to Mike Shelley. But he still felt like hell.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what drove her. He knew it all boiled down to justice. Eleven years ago she had been the victim of a savage crime. All control had been taken from her. She’d been brutalized and terrorized and humiliated. It was like salt on an open wound that the culprit had never been caught. Every case she prosecuted was personal. Every case was about justice.
“Shit.”
Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, Frank walked to his desk and sank into his chair and tried not to feel guilty for the way things had played out. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Kate. She’d looked at him as if he’d thrust a bayonet into her solar plexus.
He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the situation. The only thing he knew for certain was that somehow he had to make it right.
A knock on the door drew him from his reverie. “It’s open.”
The door opened and Mike Shelley walked in. “I guess we fucked that up pretty good.”
“I guess we did.” Frank leaned back in his chair and frowned. “Where is she?”
“In her office. I told her to take the rest of the day off and cool down.”
“I can’t blame her for being pissed.”
“Kate’s a professional, Frank. Once she realizes this was done for the sake of her personal safety, she’ll be all right.”
“I take it you’re going to have someone else watching her?”
“I got the budget okayed for a couple of off-duty officers to park outside her house and keep an eye on things for a few days.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” He tried hard to ignore the jolt of disappointment that went through him at the thought of not seeing her on a regular basis. “You want me to stay on the Ellis case?”
Mike nodded. “Ricardo Cano’s going to ask for a continuance, but we’re still shooting for October. Kate’s going to turn over her files and notes tomorrow.”
“Good,” Frank said, but he didn’t mean it. There wasn’t anything good about any of this. At least he could take consolation in the fact that Kate would have a couple of Dallas’s finest keeping an eye on her.
TWENTY-TWO
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 11:45 A.M.
Kate was still shaking when she parked the BMW in her driveway and shut down the engine. On the twenty-minute drive to the house, her mind had replayed the scene between her and Frank a dozen times, and each time she felt worse about the way she’d handled it. Control was power, and she’d lost any semblance of it the instant she’d marched into his office like some hotheaded intern and proceeded to make a fool of herself.
She’d learned a long time ago there was no place for emotion when it came to her job. It was those lingering emotions that troubled her now, and for the first time she realized not all of what she was feeling stemmed from losing the case.
Frank had disappointed her on so many levels she didn’t know where to begin. She didn’t want this to be personal, but it was. Frank had hurt her. He’d betrayed her. Kate didn’t want it to matter. But it did.
In the few short days she’d known him, he’d earned her respect. He’d gained her admiration. At some point his opinion had begun to matter. She wanted to deny the rest of what was eating at her. But Kate had always believed in facing the truth, no matter how brutal. The truth of the matter was that for the first time in her adult life, Kate had felt a tiny flicker of feminine interest.
The realization shocked her. Made her feel damningly human and more vulnerable than she’d felt in a very long time.
“Oh God, Megason, don’t even go there,” she muttered as she unlocked the door and let herself inside. Toeing off her boots, she set her briefcase on the floor.
She was midway to the kitchen to make tea when her cell phone chirped. Thinking it might be Frank or Mike, she un-clipped it from her purse and checked the display. A number she didn’t recognize popped up in the window. “Hello?”
“Ms. Megason, this is Thelma Jackson. Evangeline’s mama?”
“Hello, Ms. Jackson. How can I help you?”
“I just thought someone important should know those folks Evangeline was workin’ for keeps callin’ and askin’ for her death certificate. I ain’t got no death certificate. I keeps tellin’ them that, but they say they need the ’riginal one and only her next of kin can get it.”
“Ms. Jackson, I wish I could help you, but . . .” She floundered for words. “The case was assigned to another ADA.”
“You mean you ain’t gonna be prosecutin’ that man shot my girl?”
Kate closed her eyes. “Ricardo Cano is the new prosecutor. He’s quite capable, Ms. Jackson.”
“I bet he ain’t as capable as you. You a real go-getter, Miz Megason. So far you the only one who seems to give a rat’s ass.”
Kate didn’t know what to say. “I’ll make sure Mr. Cano gets your message.”
“Y’all are shuffling this case around like it ain’t important. You just watch. The man that done this is gonna walk away free as a bird.”
“Ms. Jackson, I can promise you the DA’s office is going to prosecute this case to the full extent of the law.”
“Or mebbe my girl is just another South Dallas statistic they gonna put in some report that no one reads. My girl is gone and now I gots four babies to care fo’. They already askin’ me about the bad man. What am I ’spose to tell them?”
Guilt was like the stealthy slash of a blade. In her mind’s eye Kate saw the frail old woman standing in the cluttered living room of her little house in a neighborhood where the crime rate was off the scale. She saw four children whose lives had been shattered by violence. She saw a young mother who would not see her kids grow up because her life had been cut short.
Pulling her mind back from a place she didn’t want it to go, Kate focused on the only way she knew how to help Thelma Jackson and her four grandchildren. “What were you saying about the death certificate, Ms. Jackson?”
“A secretary from some place called Quorum been callin’ me, askin’ me for stuff I don’t have. I’m just a grievin’ old woman. I don’t know nothin’ about no death certificate.” She laughed, but it was a sad, bitter sound. “Come next week, we ain’t even gonna have milk and bread.”
Quorum Partners Limited.
Kate remembered the name—the company owned by Ferguson and Rooks. “Ms. Jackson, did the person say why they needed the death certificate?”
“Something to do with life insurance. I swear that gal has called me four times. She ain’t no lady, either. Got a mouth on her. I tol’ her I ain’t got no death certificate.”
Kate thought about that for a moment, found herself wondering why Quorum Partners would need an original death certificate. Usually, the beneficiary was the party who sent in the death certificate in order to receive benefits.
“I’ll give the medical examiner a call and see if I can get the original death certificate mailed directly to you and a copy mailed to Quorum.” It was out of her realm of responsibility, but Kate felt compelled to help the elderly woman. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do. “I hope it will speed things up so you can collect the life insurance benefit you and
the children are entitled to.”
After hanging up, Kate picked up her briefcase and carried it to her office. Sliding behind the desk, she tugged out the brown expandable file marked Bruton Ellis case #BL5335 and set it on the desk. Kate’s mother had always told her she had a difficult time letting things go. Kate had never argued the point because it was true. It was true now, she thought as she slid the manila folder marked “life insurance” from a file she should have handed over to Ricardo Cano before leaving the office.
She’d asked Frank to dig up what he could on Quorum Partners Limited. Sure enough, there was another folder with the name typed neatly on a computer-generated label. Tucked inside was a Dun and Bradstreet report with the company’s basic information, such as address, phone number, tax ID number, and a list of corporate officers.
She called the Dallas County medical examiner’s office. Dick Robey wasn’t in, but Kate spoke to his assistant, who promised to put the death certificate in the mail by the end of the day. Kate thanked him and disconnected, but she didn’t put down the phone.
I’m just a grievin’ old woman. I don’t know nothin’ about no death certificate. Come next week, we ain’t even gonna have milk and bread.
Thelma Jackson’s words refused to leave her alone. On impulse, Kate picked up the phone and dialed the number for the Quick Stop, Inc., corporate office in Oklahoma City. A receptionist answered with an enthusiastic “Quick Stop.”
“This is Kate Megason with the Dallas County district attorney’s office. Can I speak to someone in your benefits department, please?”
“One moment.”
She tapped her pencil as her call was transferred.
“Sue Cramer.”
“This is Kate Megason with the Dallas County district attorney’s office.”
There was a surprised silence on the other end of the line and then a wary, “How can I help you?”
“I’m working on the murder case of two of your employees, Evangeline Worth and Irma Trevino.”
“Oh, yeah. Terrible thing. Just awful. What can I do for you?”
“I need you to fax me the life insurance policy for Evangeline Worth.”
“The life insurance policies are administered out of our parent company, Quorum Partners Limited. I might be able to get you a copy, but it could take a few days . . .”
Kate didn’t think Thelma Jackson and those four children had a few days. “I’d hate to have to go to the trouble of getting a subpoena,” she said easily.
“A subpoena? Oh, well . . . maybe I could call them.”
Kate smiled. “My fax number is 214-555-5667. How soon can you send it to me?”
“Is five minutes all right?”
“Perfect.” Kate thanked her and hung up.
Less than two minutes later her fax machine began to hum. Kate rose and watched the machine spit paper into a slot. She wasn’t sure why she was doing this. She wasn’t even on the case anymore. But it beat the alternative of sitting here and feeling sorry for herself. Or God forbid, passing the time thinking about Frank Matrone.
She skimmed the policy. There was nothing amiss. All the signatures were in place. A state of Oklahoma notary had notarized the signatures, including the single witness. She was about to shove the policy into the folder when her eyes landed on the missing page—and an amount she hadn’t noticed earlier in the week when she’d read the benefit package. A second amount that was much more significant than five thousand dollars. Kate dropped into her desk chair and squinted at the amount in disbelief. A three followed by five zeroes stared back at her in stark black and white.
“What the hell?”
Slipping on her glasses, she read the small print. Upon the death of Evangeline Kay Worth a sum in the amount of three hundred thousand dollars and 00 cents will be paid to Quorum Partners Limited.
“Jesus,” she muttered.
Kate recalled the afternoon she and Frank had met with Jameson Rooks and Belinda Ferguson. She thought it interesting that neither lawyer had mentioned the amount of the benefit. It was possible they didn’t know, but neither of them seemed like the kind of lawyer who would let so many zeroes go unnoticed.
A company collecting a three hundred thousand dollar death benefit on an employee, while the deceased employee’s elderly mother struggled to buy bread and milk for four motherless children, seemed fundamentally wrong. No wonder the practice was referred to as dead-peasant insurance.
Kate was just in a bad enough mood to stir the beehive.
Going back to the information Frank had gathered earlier in the week, she located the phone number for Quorum and dialed. A moment later she was greeted with a terse “Quorum Partners Limited.”
Kate quickly identified herself and, looking down at the signature on the life insurance policy, asked for William Blaine.
“I’m sorry, but he isn’t in. Would you like voice mail?”
“Give me Amanda Price,” she said, going to the next name on the policy.
“I’m sorry, but Ms. Price is no longer with the company.”
Kate made a sound of frustration. A sound that wasn’t lost on the administrative assistant. “Give me your chief financial officer.”
“One moment.”
Once again she was put on hold. A moment later a high-pitched voice accosted her with “Mr. McLaughlin’s office.”
“This is Kate Megason from the Dallas County district attorney’s office. I need to speak with Mr. McLaughlin.”
“I’m sorry, but he’s in a meeting. Can I tell him what this is regarding?”
“This is regarding the deaths of Irma Trevino and Evangeline Worth,” Kate said. “Is the chief operating officer available? Any of the directors?”
“Let me try Mr. Adamson.”
Kate ground her teeth as she was put on hold again. Absently she paged through the folder, landing on the Dun and Bradstreet from Frank. She skimmed the report, her eyes drawn to the names of Ferguson and Rooks dba Endroad Holdings, Inc. A lot of layers for a chain of convenience stores. Calling up the Dun and Bradstreet software, she logged in to her account and entered Endroad Holdings, Inc. She was surprised to see that Endroad owned several companies, most of them franchisees of convenience stores, lowbrow coffee shops, and a chain of pizza parlors.
“Bill Adamson’s office, this is Adrian.”
Jerking her attention back to the matter at hand, Kate identified herself. “I need to speak with Mr. Adamson regarding the deaths of the two Snack and Gas employees.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Adamson is at an off-premise meeting. Is there something I can help you with?”
Kate unclenched her teeth. “Tell Mr. Adamson I need some information for an ongoing investigation. Tell him I’m getting the run-around. And please tell him I don’t like it.” Kate recited her cell phone number. “If I don’t hear from him within the hour, I’ll assume he prefers I get a subpoena.” It was an idle threat, but she knew from experience that it usually worked. “You got all that?”
“I’ll notify him right away.”
She hung up without thanking him.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 7:01 P.M.
Kate spent the rest of the afternoon researching each company that fell under the Ferguson and Rooks corporate umbrella. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Mostly, she was just trying to feel useful. Maybe she was just trying to keep herself from getting depressed.
She brewed hot tea and made an organizational chart of the corporate structure of the Ferguson and Rooks companies. She cruised several search engines, reading, seeking, filling her print tray with information. Ferguson and Rooks. Endroad Holdings. Quorum Partners Limited. Java, Inc. Tuscan Bread Company. Snack and Gas. It wasn’t until she reached the end of the chart that the search engine took her to a story that stopped her in her tracks.
A two-year-old archived newspaper article from the Times Record News of Wichita Falls, Texas, read:
Two clerks at the Little Italy pizza parlor west of downtown were gunned
down in an apparent robbery late Saturday night. Forty-three-year-old Kimberly Getz and twenty-six-year-old Darren Chaney were victims of an apparent robbery gone bad, says Detective Rick Wetzel of the Wichita Falls Police Department. In an interview Monday, Detective Wetzel stated the robbery may have been an inside job because the robber shot out a hidden security camera. . . .
The parallels between the Wichita murders and the murders of Evangeline Worth and Irma Trevino chilled her.
Kate flipped through the file she had compiled and pulled out the Dun and Bradstreet report. Sure enough, twenty-nine Little Italy stores were owned by the Tuscan Bread Company, out of Kansas City, Kansas. The Tuscan Bread Company was owned by Endroad Holdings, which was owned by none other than the Dallas law firm of Ferguson and Rooks.
“Gotta be a coincidence,” she muttered to herself.
Kate expanded her search, seeking similar crimes committed in the last five years. There were two additional murders at Little Italy stores. More digging revealed similar crimes at Java the Cup coffee shops. In the last five years Quick Stop, Inc., the franchisee of over two hundred Snack and Gas convenience stores, had reported six robberies. Five of those robberies had a fatal outcome. Five had had the hidden camera shot out.
Kate was shaking when she finally pushed away from her computer and stood. What the hell had she stumbled onto? Was it coincidental that there had been so many robberies with fatal outcomes? That the shootings were so eerily similar? Were these crimes somehow linked?
As an ADA, Kate knew the importance of motive when it came to prosecuting a case. Who would have something to gain by robbing and murdering clerks? Had she stumbled upon some sort of organized robbery/murder ring? But why would someone risk so much when such a small amount of money was actually stolen?
She considered calling Mike Shelley, but quickly dismissed the idea. It had been Mike, after all, who’d removed her from the Bruton Ellis case and ordered her to take some time off.
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