Deadly Distractions, page 6
"This is a dangerous place to eat," I said. "I’m addicted to strawberry cheesecake."
"That’s why I work out every day, so I don’t have to watch what I eat," Maureen replied.
"God, I wish I had the time to work out. It just seems like I’m always under the gun."
"Well, that’s what you get for being a career girl. As for me, I’m old fashioned. I believe a woman’s place is at the mall."
We laughed. The waiter showed up and took our orders. Soup and salad for me and spinach quiche for Maureen. I wondered how to discreetly steer the conversation to Maureen’s deceased ex-husband. She didn’t seem to be in mourning, so I took a gamble that she had gotten over his death.
"Listen, I hate to bother you with a bunch of questions so soon after Bobby’s death, but my client insists he’s innocent. You know how that is. They all claim to be innocent no matter how damning the evidence is, right? . . . Anyway, I’m duty bound to investigate and see if there is any evidence to support his claim. Can’t have an innocent man convicted of Bobby’s death."
"No, but I seriously doubt you’ll find any evidence to support his innocence. From what I understand your client was caught red-handed."
"It does appear that way, but appearances can be deceptive. Let me start by asking you to tell me something about Bobby. Describe him—give me a little background information on him."
"Sure. Let’s see. Bobby was a Leo. He was a leader and liked to be in control. Of course, he was very intelligent, had a big ego, and was exceedingly self-centered. That’s why we’re not married anymore. He treated me like I was his personal love slave—always giving me orders and telling me what I could or couldn’t do. "
"Why did you marry him? That kind of personality is hard to disguise."
"He’s very good looking and can charm a girl out of her pantyhose, if you know what I mean. . . . Anyway, I fell in love and, as they say, ‘love is blind."
"Where did Bobby grow up?"
"California—the Bay Area. His father was a salesman for IBM and his mother managed a bookstore. He joined the Army when he was 17 and, after serving four years as a quartermaster, left the service and went to college under the GI bill. He got his Associates Degree from Richland College and then joined the IRS."
"So, how long were you two married?" I asked.
"Six years. Fortunately, we didn’t have children. It was a joint decision. Neither of us wanted to be tied down. We wanted to enjoy life while we were young. In retrospect it was probably a mistake. Our life never seemed to have purpose."
"So, how did Bobby like his job?"
"He absolutely loved it. He liked wielding power over peoples’ lives. He assumed every taxpayer he was assigned was a tax evader and it was his job to prove it. I personally wouldn’t have had the stomach for the job, but Bobby got off on it."
"Was your divorce bitter?"
"No, not any more than usual."
"What made you finally break up?"
"One too many nosebleeds."
"He beat you up?"
"Nothing serious, but he’d knock me around a little from time to time to show me who was boss. I finally decided enough was enough."
"So, did he knock anybody else around that you know of?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it seems to me a guy like your ex-husband might have made a few enemies over the years."
She nodded. "He had his enemies."
"Do you know who they were?"
"There was another revenue officer, Donald Hurst, who didn’t like Bobby. I never knew why exactly, but I witnessed a few verbal exchanges between them. Bobby would never talk about it, so I can’t tell you what it was about."
"What about taxpayers?" I asked.
"Taxpayers?"
"Yes, did he ever talk about taxpayers that he didn’t like or who might not have liked him?"
"He talked a lot about Dusty Thomas. He was on the top of his ‘hit list’ as he called it."
"Hit list?"
"Yeah, it’s a list of cases that he has where he suspects fraud or criminal activity. He devoted 80 percent of his time on those cases."
"How many are on the ‘hit list?"
"A dozen or so, I think. I didn’t pay that much attention to it."
"Do you know where he kept the list?"
"In his office at work, I believe."
"Do you remember any names that your ex-husband had on the list other than Dusty Thomas?"
"Frank Milborn. You know, the professional golfer. He audited him for the last three years and turned up a lot of bogus deductions. Frank got rather irate one time and his CPA had to intervene to prevent a fight between the two."
"Really? Any others?"
"Well, there was some charitable foundation. I don’t remember the name, but Bobby thought it was a sham and was gathering evidence to prove it. The leader of the organization was a self-righteous ignoramus and was always sending Bobby incoherent letters trying to justify the activities of the organization."
After eating lunch, including a piece of cheesecake, I thanked Maureen and went back to the office. It had been a very interesting lunch and I had learned a lot about Bobby Tuttle. He definitely was a man who had enemies. Enemies who could have killed him just as easily as Dusty. I wrote down more names on my legal pad.
Donald Hurst – revenue officer
Frank Milborn – golfer
charitable foundation – possible front for other entity
It was late in the afternoon and I was tired. As I was preparing to leave, Jodie came into my office. She seemed despondent.
She said, "Did you hear from Stan?"
"No," I said. "Did you expect him to call?"
"Well, Rebekah and Toni have both called several times today wondering if we heard anything. I told them I hadn’t, but that I’d check with you."
"No, not a word," I said. "He got there okay, didn’t he?"
"Yeah, he called Rebekah when he got to Ecuador late yesterday. He told her he and Monty were going to the bank first thing this morning. They were just hoping he might have called."
"Are they in the same time zone?" I asked.
"No, I think it’s an hour or two earlier there."
"Well, I bet he’ll call Rebekah at home tonight. Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it."
Jodie nodded and went back to her office. She stuck her head in a few minutes later and said she was leaving. I told her goodnight and started to gather my things together to go home when the phone rang. I considered whether to answer it or let it be picked up by the answering service. On the last ring I picked it up.
"Turner & Waters," I said.
"This is the oversees operator. I have a collect call from Tex Weller. Will you accept the charges?"
"Yes, of course."
"Hello," Tex said.
"Hello."
"Jodie?"
"No, this is Paula—Stan’s new partner."
"Oh, is Stan there?"
"No, he’s in Ecuador looking for you."
"You're kidding."
"No, where are you?"
"I’m in jail in Quito. They finally let me make a phone call. Would you tell Stan I need his help?"
"Yes, just as soon as he calls. What are they charging you with?"
"Theft, forgery, and a long list of other charges. Please tell Stan I’m in a jail in Quito, Ecuador. It’s in the old city and they say they’re going to move me to a prison nearby in a few days."
"I will. I’m glad you're okay. Stan will figure something out. Don’t worry."
I hung up the phone shaken by the conversation. It hadn't occurred to me that Tex might be involved in criminal activity. Stan hadn't told me much about the purpose of Tex's visit to Ecuador. What bothered me was that Stan had Tex's money. The Feds might think he was involved with him. I had to get in contact with Stan and warn him. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to reach him. I would just have to wait. In the meantime I called Toni.
"Toni?"
"Yes."
"This is Paula Waters—Stan’s new partner."
"Oh, yes. How are you?"
"Okay, listen. I just got a call from Tex."
"Oh my God! Is he all right?"
"Yes, he sounded fine."
"Oh, I’m so relieved. You can’t believe how worried I’ve been. . . . So when will he be back?"
"Listen, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but Tex is in a bit of trouble."
I explained the situation to her.
"I told him not to get involved in any more shady deals. We don’t need the money."
"Well, Stan is down there so just as soon as he calls I’ll have him go see Tex. Maybe he’ll be able to straighten things out."
"Oh, God. He’s got to help him. Should I get on a plane and go down there?"
"No. Don’t do that. Let Stan handle it for now."
"Okay, but I’m so worried. I won’t be able to sleep until he comes home."
"I know. I’ll keep you posted. I’m sure everything will work out."
That was a lie. I had no idea how Stan was going to handle this one. He knew nothing about the criminal justice system in Ecuador, nor did I. Tension was building in my neck and my head was starting to ache. It was time to retreat to the condo and a hot shower. Maybe I’d call Stewart, my secretary, or Bart to come over and give me a massage. I didn’t feel like being alone. They would help me keep my mind off of Stan. Why hadn’t I heard from him? He should have called by now. I prayed he was okay.
8
Policia
As we cruised at 35,000 feet over the Carribean in a big American Airlines jet, I thought about Tex and all the great times we had enjoyed together. Although Tex was twenty years older than I, he had a youthful spirit and a great positive attitude. Many times when he would call he’d find me depressed over a difficult case or poor finances. Each time he would quickly pick me up and have me laughing before he hung up. When I first started my practice, he got me off to a quick start with dozens of referrals and lots of encouragement. Rebekah liked Toni too and always looked forward to our get-togethers over the years. I prayed that our mission would be successful and I could return Tex to his home and family.
Monty seemed excited by the assignment and eager to get to Ecuador. He was a Vietnam vet, an expert on weaponry, and had converted his garage into a gun shop. An ex-Dallas cop, he liked action and wasn’t afraid of anyone. He had lost his job due to his inability to control his temper. The straw that broke the oxen’s back was his assault on a pimp who had beaten up one of his girls. Monty didn’t cut any slack to men who beat up women. He made the pimp look twice as bad as his lady of the night. Internal affairs made him a deal he couldn’t refuse—resign or get fired and charged with assault and battery.
Monty was tired of following unfaithful spouses and dishonest employees. He longed for some real action like what he saw when he was on active duty. As we got closer to our destination, we discussed strategy. I handed Monty a manilla envelope.
"Toni managed to get me some credit card receipts from Tex’s Citibank Visa account. One is for a Café Cultura for about $80, another one for an establishment called Il Grillo for $3.95, and the last one is to a store in Jardin Shopping Mall for $8.99."
Monty opened the envelope and studied the receipts. "This will give us something to do if we strike out with the banker. I can’t believe Tex was so stupid to fall for this scam."
"He’s always been a sucker for this kind of stuff," I replied. "Last year it was a silver mine in Mexico. I thought I had talked him out of it, then I learn he had sent the promoter $10,000."
Monty shook his head. "If he’s been kidnapped we’ll have to find him and break him out."
I laughed. "We? I washed out of the Marines, remember?"
"Right. What I mean is: I’ve got a contact, if need be, where I can get a few mercenaries to help out."
"Really? I don’t think I want to know about this."
"Okay. We never had this conversation."
I smiled and then turned my attention to my carry-on bag where I had stuck our tickets and a travel brochure. As we approached the Quito airport, UIO-Mariscal Sucre, I began reading the travel brochure about Ecuador that I’d managed to get from AAA the previous day.
Quito, the capital of Ecuador, was founded in the 16th century on the ruins of an Inca city and stands at an altitude of 2,850 m. Despite the 1917 earthquake, the city has the best-preserved, least altered historic centre in Latin America. The monasteries of San Francisco and Santo Domingo, and the Church and Jesuit College of La Compañía, with their rich interiors, are pure examples of the 'Baroque school of Quito', which is a fusion of Spanish, Italian, Moorish, Flemish, and indigenous art.
As interesting as the travel brochure was, somehow I didn’t figure we’d have much time for sightseeing. After we deplaned, we were herded into a large room where there were three long customs lines. Armed guards stood at each exit of the building. After an hour-long journey through customs, we were directed to a baggage claim area where all the luggage from the flight had been delivered. More armed guards were strategically placed throughout the airport, which I found a little unsettling. Finding our luggage wasn’t an easy task as hundreds of bags had been dumped in the middle of the room without any attempt at organization. Fortunately I had a distinct SMU decal on my suitcase which made it easier to spot. Monty traveled with a suitcase and golf bag. The golf bag was full of guns and ammunition that I feared might be discovered. If it was, our rescue effort would be ended before it got started. I suggested he buy his weapons once he got down to Ecuador, but he said he wouldn’t trust anything made in South America.
The taxi driver who won a spirited battle with three other drivers to get our business was named Juan. He said he would stick with us during our entire stay in Ecuador. He explained with the current state of unrest in the country that it wasn’t safe to take the trolebus, particularly in the Old City where rebels were known to be hiding. As Juan drove us through the city, I noticed guards armed with shotguns at every bank, every shopping center, and many of the buildings that we passed. Jeeps full of soldiers with machine guns were patrolling the streets and police cars were everywhere. It seemed we had ventured into a war zone.
We asked the taxi driver for a recommendation for a hotel for us to stay in. He surprised us when he said, "Café Cultura," which apparently was a hotel as well as a restaurant. Tex must have gotten the same recommendation. The hotel was a post colonial two-storey building with a white terracotta tile roof. It was actually the former home of one of Quito's older families that had lived there thirty-five years earlier and subsequently became the French Cultural Centre. The building had been carefully restored, with special detail given to maintaining the unique characteristics of the original interior. It was surrounded by a lush garden, with secluded seating areas for relaxing or watching the resident hummingbirds do their thing—at least that’s what the postcard they were selling proclaimed.
After we checked in, Juan took our bags to our room and said he’d hang around the hotel lobby until we needed him. I asked him what I owed him and he said not to worry about it. We’d settle up at the end of each day. Once we were settled, I called home to tell Rebekah where we were staying. She wasn't home so I left a message. Later on we went down to the hotel restaurant, Café Bistro, for dinner. I asked Juan to join us. He declined at first, but finally agreed when I told him I wanted to ask him some questions. After we ordered, I showed him Tex’s picture. He said he hadn’t seen him. We asked him about the United Peoples Bank of Ecuador.
"It’s a big bank not too far from here. I can take you there in the morning," Juan advised.
"Do you know anyone at the bank?" I asked.
"Sí, I drive Senor Lantz to his favorite restaurant once a week."
"Who is Senor Lantz?"
"Why he is the assistant cashier—the second in command of operations."
"Good, we need to meet with Victor Alfaro, a credit officer at the bank. It might be helpful if you introduced us to Senor Lantz."
"Of course, I’d be happy to do so first thing in the morning."
"Good. I think we are done with you for today. What do I owe you?"
