Deadly Distractions, page 7
Juan pulled out a small pad of paper and started doing some calculations. After a minute he said, "$16.00 U.S."
I nodded, handed him a $20 bill, and said, "Keep the change." He thanked me and left with a promise to meet us at 9:00 a.m. the following morning. Before going upstairs to our room I stopped by the front desk and showed everyone on duty Tex’s photograph. I wanted to know if anyone remembered him. One of them remembered him vaguely, but didn’t know much about his stay at the hotel. Apparently he had stayed there only one night and hadn’t made any friends. They suggested I check back in the evening when the rest of the staff would be on duty.
We were beat after getting up at 5:00 a.m., a nine-hour plane ride, and two more hours to finally get to our hotel, so we decided to go to bed. It was only 9:00 p.m. but it felt much later. Before we crashed I called Rebekah, as I had promised to do, to let her know we had arrived safely. She was greatly relieved to hear from me as she worried incessantly when I traveled. I promised her I’d call her again the following day.
When my head hit the pillow, I fell into a dreamless sleep and didn’t stir until the glare of the sun woke me the following morning. I stretched and then looked over at Monty. He was snoring. I fumbled for my watch and was shocked to see it was already 8:30 a.m. "Jeez!" I exclaimed as I stumbled out of bed. Monty opened his eyes and looked over at me.
"Time to get up. Only 30 minutes until Juan gets here."
Monty moaned and rolled over. I laughed and headed for the bathroom. Miraculously, at 9:00 a.m. we were downstairs drinking a cup of coffee when Juan showed up. We asked him if he wanted to join us for breakfast. He declined, stating he’d already eaten with his wife and family. After promising him we’d be only ten or fifteen minutes, he went back outside to wait.
"So how are we going to play this?" Monty asked.
"I don’t know. Should we be honest and straightforward or play it close to the vest?"
"I don’t think we should tell him we know about the scam or the money. Let's just ask him if has seen Tex and see what he says. We can play it by ear after that."
"Okay, I agree," I said. "I’ll go tell Juan we are ready to go."
The ride to the bank was as exciting as a roller coaster ride at Six Flags. Traffic was brutal and Juan darted through it, tailgating the cars in front of him, slamming on his brakes and changing lanes continually. I breathed a sigh of relief when Juan pulled up in front of the United Peoples Bank of Ecuador and parked. We all got out and walked into the bank. The lobby was spacious with a high ceiling supported by thick wooden beams. It looked like it had originally been built as a church. Juan stopped at the reception desk and spoke with the receptionist. She got up and walked into an interior room. A few moments later she returned followed by a short, thin man with a mustache. He was wearing an expensive suit and a Rolex watch. The man shook Juan’s hand like he was an old friend and then Juan turned to us.
"Gentlemen, this is Senor Lantz."
We all shook hands and I said, "It’s a pleasure to meet you. This is a beautiful facility you have here."
"Thank you," he said smiling. "It was once a monastery. The bank bought the building when the monks moved to the countryside in 1957."
"I see."
Juan excused himself and went out the front door. He said, "So, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"
I looked at Monty and then said, "Well, I’m an attorney from Dallas and I'm searching for a client who seems to have disappeared." I pulled out the picture of Tex and showed it him.
Senor Lantz looked at the picture and nodded affirmatively. "Yes, I know this man. This is Dr. Wells’ brother from Texas. Dr. Wells was a longtime customer. His death was so tragic. Did you know him?"
"No, Tex never mentioned him."
"He was actually a half brother. They were not close apparently. It's unfortunate that you never met him. You would have liked him. He was a most honorable gentleman."
"I bet I would have," I said. "When did you last see Tex?"
"A week or ten days ago. After he wired his inheritance to his bank in the Cayman Islands, he left to go back to America."
"Was there some kind of probate procedure or something that he went through before you turned over the money to him?"
"Of course. He had the appropriate papers to prove he was the next of kin and sole heir of Dr. Wells’ estate."
"Did you handle the transaction?" Monty asked.
"No, Victor Alfaro handled it. He was our assistant cashier."
"Is he around?" Monty asked. "Tex might have told him something that would help us locate him."
"Of course, but unfortunately Senor Alfaro is no longer employed by the bank."
"He’s not?" Monty said.
This wasn’t a shock to me as had I suspected Senor Alfaro wouldn’t want to be around when the bank found out they’d been robbed. Besides, he had to go collect his cut of the inheritance. I wondered if he’d gone to the Cayman Islands. That might be the next place to look for Tex.
"No, he resigned to take a position with another institution," Senor Lantz replied.
"Do you have a home address for him?" Monty asked.
"Yes, but I’m afraid I can’t give that information out."
I said, "Senor Lantz, I understand your reluctance to give out personal information, but my client is missing. His wife is sitting at home worried sick about him. Victor Alfaro may know where he is. We need his address and the name of the bank where the money was wired."
"Okay, I’ll give you his telephone number but not his address. The name of the bank is no problem."
"Thank you. We really appreciate your cooperation."
"I’m only helping you because I was very fond of Dr. Wells. He was a true comrade and if I can help you find his brother, then, of course, I would want to do that."
"Of course," I said.
The bank was called NCB. It was an old bank that had been around since 1886. We borrowed a telephone and called the number that Senor Lantz had given us but the number had been disconnected. We thanked Senor Lantz and went back to the hotel. There was a message from Paula to call the office so I did.
"Paula?"
"Stan, I’m so glad I caught you. Are you two all right?"
"Yes, we’re fine. How’s everything there?"
"Okay, listen. Tex called here a few hours ago. He’s in jail at a police station in the Old City. You need to get there soon. He says they plan to move him to the Garcia Morena Prison in a few days. He’s been told once he’s moved there he may never get out."
"Why is he in jail?"
"I don’t know. He only had a minute to talk. That’s all he told me."
"They must have figured out he wasn’t Dr. Wells’ brother."
"God, I hope not," Paula said. "Is there anything I can do here?"
"No, just tell Toni that we’ll do everything we can to get him out of prison."
"All right. I will."
"How’s your investigation going?"
"Fine. I’ve been interviewing witnesses trying to find out who else had a motive to kill Tuttle."
"Any luck?"
"Yeah, he wasn’t Mr. Popularity. I’ll tell you about when you get back."
"Sure, I’ll call you if anything positive develops."
"Please keep in touch. We are all worried about you."
The news that Tex was in jail hit me like a Mack truck. How in the hell was I going to deal with a client in prison in Ecuador for bank robbery. How was I going to explain how I ended up with the loot? A loud banging on our door interrupted my contemplation.
"Policia! Abra la puerta! Policia!
The door burst open and half a dozen armed policemen stormed through the door. Two of them grabbed Monty and slammed him against the wall. A third tackled me and pinned me to the floor. Terror swept through me as I felt the cold steel of handcuffs around my wrists. We were both rudely jerked to our feet and escorted downstairs to a waiting police van. Monty looked at me with anguish in his eyes as he stepped inside and took a seat. I felt like I needed to puke.
9
THE JEALOUS AGENT
I was glad I had been able to get in touch with Stan. Now at least he could find Tex and perhaps talk to him. It sounded like Tex was in serious trouble and would need a local attorney to defend him. I was sure Stan could find him one and then get his butt back home to help me defend Dusty Thomas. My investigation was just getting started and there was lots of work to do. I needed his help desperately. In the meantime, I had to keep moving because the clock was ticking. Although no trial date had been set, I knew the Justice Department would be anxious to get this case over with. The CDA was getting lots of publicity from their involvement in the case and that had to be giving a lot of people in Washington ulcers. In fact, Raymond Farr, the president of the CDA was to be interviewed on 20/20 that very night.
I flipped open my notebook and looked at my witness list. The name of Donald Hurst jumped out at me. He was the revenue agent who didn’t like Bobby much. Although I doubted the animosity between them would be enough to cause Agent Hurst to gun down Bobby in cold blood, I couldn’t ignore the possibility. He certainly would have been in a position to know about the tractor seizure and the history between Dusty and Bobby. If he didn’t have an alibi, he’d have to go to the top of our list of suspects. Either way, he certainly would have a lot of dirt on Bobby and probably wouldn’t mind sharing it with me in light of the bad blood between them. I called Hurst and made an appointment that afternoon.
His offices were downtown in the Earle Cabell Federal Building. The CDA picketers were still out front trying to stir up support for their position that the income tax laws were unconstitutional. One of them stuck a pamphlet in my face as I walked by. I looked at it and was shocked to see it was all about Dusty Thomas and his battle with the IRS. I tucked it in my purse and entered the building. I looked up at a smiling picture of Ronald Reagan hanging on the wall. It suddenly occurred to me that he would probably be getting weekly briefings on the Dusty Thomas case. The thought of that nearly took my breath away. Wow! I had moved up in the world in a hurry thanks to Stan. Suddenly I became sick with worry. I wished Stan had never gone to Ecuador. It was such an unstable country. There were frequent riots and talk of an impending coup according to the magazine articles I found at the Dallas County Library. Damn you, Turner! Why did you have to go?
As I entered the IRS collection's office, I felt a little uneasy. I had never had a problem with the IRS myself, but I had heard enough stories of lives being ruined by overzealous revenue agents to be a bit nervous. I signed in at the front desk and waited. Ten minutes later a door opened and a man walked out and surveyed the reception area.
He looked at me and asked, "Paula Waters?"
I stood up and walked over to him. We introduced ourselves and he took me back to his office. Agent Hurst was a middle-aged man, short and trim with dark hair. He looked like he could have been a wrestler or swimmer in college. His office was a mess with piles of loose papers, files, and books scattered around the room. He cleared off a side chair so I could sit down. He remained standing.
"So, did you see the army of dissidents you and your client have unleashed upon us?"
"Yes, I’m really sorry about that. I had no idea they would take advantage of the situation like they have."
"Oh, you thought they’d fork over a quarter million dollars for the sake of justice."
I shrugged. "Honestly, I was just worried about Dusty getting a good defense. In retrospect, I guess I was a little naive."
"Naive? No, I don’t think so. You knew exactly what you were doing. Greedy is the word I think would apply here."
I stood up. "I beg your pardon! Murder trials are expensive. Stan and I are not going to get rich over this. We just need enough capital to put up a good fight. I’m sure the government will out spend us ten to one."
"No, little lady—more like a hundred to one." Hurst laughed. "You don’t know what you got yourself into. Your messing with revenue stream to the federal government here and you’re not going to get away with it."
I took a deep breath. The interview had gotten off to a bad start and I wondered if I was going to be able to ask any questions. Hurst obviously hadn’t agreed to the interview to answer my questions. He was using my visit as an opportunity to vent his hostility toward Dusty Thomas, lawyers, women, and everyone else he obviously hated. I struggled to keep my composure.
"Agent Hurst, I can understand why you don’t like me and that’s fine. It’s a free country. But as I told you, I came here to ask you some questions about Bobby Tuttle, if you don’t mind."
Agent Hurst threw up his hands then sat in his chair. He settled back and said, "Shoot. What do you want to know?"
"Thank you. I’ve heard you and Bobby didn’t get along very well."
"We weren’t friends, if that’s what you mean."
"Were you enemies?"
"No. I wouldn’t say that. It’s true I didn’t like Bobby too much. He was a know-it-all and always had to run the show, but that was just a personality conflict—nothing more."
"Other than being a know-it-all, what was it that made you hate Bobby?"
Agent Hurst gave me a thoughtful look. I wondered if he was going to level with me or tell me to get lost. He had no reason to cooperate since whatever he told me might come back to haunt him. It was a long awkward silence. I was about to give up and terminate the interview when he finally said, "Bobby’s father is a former District Director of the Internal Revenue Service. He and I started with the Service about the same time, yet Bobby moved up the ladder much faster than I have because of his father’s connections. That kind of pisses me off, to be perfectly honest with you."
"I see. I appreciate your candor. So, for the record, where were you at the time Bobby was murdered?"
"I was on a special assignment in Fort Worth."
"Doing what?"
"Pouring over business records that had been subpoenaed in a tax fraud case."
"Were you alone?’
"I was in a lawyer’s office. They set me up in their conference room with 22 boxes of records. It was so much fun."
"So you were alone in the conference room?"
"Yes, except for a few visits from the receptionist. She brought me coffee. I didn’t have time to drive to Farmersville," Hurst snickered.
"Are there others in the IRS who might have had a grudge against Bobby?"
"Sure, he wasn’t a very popular guy. Try Laura Blair. She accused Bobby of sexual harassment once."
"Really? Does she still work here?"
"She’s on maternity leave."
"Really? Is it Bobby’s baby?"
"How should I know? Neither one of them confided in me."
"Can I get an address or telephone number?"
"Sure, why not? We at the IRS always aim to please."
After Agent Hurst gave me Laura Blair’s address, I went back to the office. Hurst was a true blue SOB. I didn’t know what to make of him. He certainly had ample animosity toward Bobby Tuttle, but his alibi seemed pretty tight. I reached for my purse to get a Kleenex when I noticed the brochure that had been handed to me by the CDA picketer. I began reading.
Dusty Thomas
vs.
The United States of America
Will David bring down Goliath?
As Dusty prepares his slingshot the IRS trembles.
I chuckled and turned to the second page. There was a picture of me conferring with Dusty before his bond hearing. It wasn’t a bad shot, but I wished I’d worn a better outfit. I made a mental note to pay more attention to my wardrobe since there apparently would be lots of cameras clicking wherever I appeared. The caption read: "Dusty Thomas talking to his street-savvy co-counsel Paula Waters." Street savvy? I wondered where that came from. I read on.
Dusty Thomas’ Long Battle With The IRS
In 1972 Dusty Thomas was a rancher raising cattle and growing hay to feed them. To make ends meet he also operated a bulldozer and was helping to clear land for a new housing development in McKinney, Texas. He worked sixty hours a week just to feed his family and pay the bills. While on the job he learned from one of our members that the federal income tax was illegal. He talked to his co-workers on the construction site and found out that very few of them paid taxes. Convinced that the federal government didn’t have the right to tax him, as the sixteenth amendment had never been ratified, he didn’t file a tax return for 1972.
Three years later he was contacted by Revenue Officer Bobby Tuttle. Tuttle rejected his claim that the income tax was illegal and filed a tax return for him and assessed him taxes of $7,322.47 for 1972, $6,311.42 for 1973, and $5,742.14 for 1974. Barely being able to pay his bills and keep food on the table for his growing family, Dusty was unable to pay the nearly $20,000 taxes illegally assessed against him.
