Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 12 - Murder Among Friends (6 page)

Sprawled on the couch, my old man’s ragged snoring
was a nerve-wracking counterpoint to the blaring TV. I
flipped it off, wishing I could do the same with his snoring,
but I reminded myself, if I disturbed him, he might wake
up, and I much preferred him when he slept.

I wrinkled my nose. He still hadn’t bathed or shaved.

Shaking my head, I went into the bathroom for a bottle
of after-shave lotion, which I sprinkled liberally about
the living room. From there, I headed for the kitchen where
I retrieved a can of sweet tea from the refrigerator and
plopped down at the snack bar to peruse the information
Danny had provided.

Of the forty-two names, he had placed a check mark beside five and, in his inimitable scribbling, made a few
notes on the back of each page. He cautioned me that these
five were the only ones with whom he or his boys had
knowledge.

Now, I’m not naive enough to believe there’s no gambling in Austin or in any other city in the state just because
it’s illegal. The fact it is against the law makes it that much
more exciting. Still, I marveled to myself as I studied the
list, I had no idea illegal gambling was so extensive.

The first name on the list was Mary Louise Smith, one of
the loan officers and a regular at the local but illegal dog
and pony OTB rooms. Two weeks earlier, she had paid off
a fifteen-thousand-dollar marker.

Another loan officer, Rita Johnson, was a two- or threetime-a-month visitor to the gambling boats in Lake Charles,
Louisiana. Sometimes her husband accompanied her.

Then there was Marvin Busby, in charge of business
loans, who currently owed one of the local card games
eight thousand dollars.

The vice president of Finance, Larry Marion Athens, was a
dedicated gambling boat player, sometimes making as many
as half a dozen trips a month to casinos outside of the state.

And to my surprise, the last one was Raiford Lindsey’s
executive secretary, Elizabeth Romero, a ten-year member
of the private club Omar’s. I’d heard of Omar’s. It was one
of those widespread secrets that nobody admits knowing.
Just about any game a person preferred, he could find there.

I gulped down the remainder of the tea and shook my
head and studied the list. Not much, but at least it was a starting place. I yawned and stretched my arms over my head. I
was ready for bed.

On impulse, I stuck my head out the door and called A.B.
No answer. I called again. Still no answer. “Maybe in the
morning,” I muttered, knowing deep inside that next morning there would be only an empty doorstep.

After showering, I plopped down in front of my computer and scanned the list of employees into a file.

Over the years, I had acquired several computer skills
enabling me to run down missing persons with a fair degree
of success, but none of my meager efforts could begin to
match those of Eddie Dyson.

Once Austin’s resident stool pigeon, Eddie Dyson had
become a computer whiz and wildly successful entrepreneur.

Instead of sleazy bars and greasy money, he found his
niche for snitching in the bright glow of computers and comforting security of credit cards. Any information I couldn’t
find, he could. Personally, I figured he hacked into some
kind of national database. What kind, I have no idea, but he
always came up with information, information that suggested his total disregard of the principles of the 1988 Privacy Act.

There were only two catches if you dealt with Eddie.
First, you never asked him how he did it, and second, he
only accepted VISA credit cards for payment.

I never asked Eddie why just VISA. Seems like any credit
card would be sufficient, but considering the value of his service, I never posed the question. As far as I was concerned, if
he wanted to be paid in Polish zlotys or Guatemalan quetzals, I’d load up a couple dozen bushels and send them to
him.

Failure was not a word in his vocabulary. His services
did not come cheap, but he produced. Sometimes the end is
indeed worth the means.

In my e-mail, I requested background checks on the
five Danny picked out as well as the credit union president, Raiford Lindsey and the second vice president, Frank
Cooper. Hesitating, I glanced at the remainder of the list. I
wanted more, but I wasn’t certain just on what criteria to
focus Eddie’s search.

With a shrug, I clicked SEND. I could pull up public records on the others. No telling what I might find.

I glanced at my old man. He was still sleeping. I made a
mental checklist of things to do the next day as I crawled
between the sheets.

I decided to start with Frank Cooper, the second vice
president and the one Edwards shot.

Next morning, Raiford Lindsey’s round face grew red
when I told him I wanted to conduct my interviews on the
premises. I explained that it would be much simpler as well
as much more expedient for me to visit with them at work
than string it out over a couple of weeks. “You want it over
with, and I want it over with. The sooner it’s done, the sooner
I’m gone”

He studied me a moment, and then nodded. “All right.
You can use the conference room at the end of the hall. Tell
my secretary, Ms. Romero, who you want to see” He
picked up the receiver and buzzed her. “I’ll tell her you’re
coming”

At the mention of her name, I decided to interview her
first.

Tastefully dressed in a mauve business suit with white
blouse and lacy collar about her throat, Elizabeth Romero
appeared to be in her fifties, perhaps fifty-five I guessed
as I looked down at her. A few strands of gray accented
her dark hair that lay on her shoulders. She didn’t look like
a seasoned gambler. Though she was seated, I guessed she
was a few inches over five feet and about a hundred and
ten pounds. For some reason, I noted she was smaller than
Carl Edwards.

She nodded to the telephone on her desk and smiled up
at me. “How can I help, Mr. Boudreaux?”

I smiled warmly. “I’d like to visit with you a few minutes, Ms. Romero. Mr. Lindsey said it would be all right”

The smile on her face froze. She shot a puzzled glance at
the closed door to his office. “I know he said to call some
of our employees in, but-”

Giving her my best little-boy grin, I finished her sentence
for her. “But you didn’t know I meant you also, right?”

She nodded, her eyes shifting uncomfortably.

“Look,” I said. “We can talk right here. It’s just that you’re
in this position to know probably more about the credit
union than anyone, Mr. Lindsey included”

She couldn’t resist a faint smile at the obvious flattery.
“Well, yes, but-”

I took a chair beside her desk. “It won’t take long”

Running the tip of her tongue over her lips, she drew a
deep breath. Her face remained taut. “Well, all right”

“Good. Now, all I’m trying to do is find out if anyone has
an idea where Carl Edwards might have gone. Did you
know him well?”

A sense of relief washed over her. “Oh, yes. Carl was a
gentleman, something you don’t find much of today. When
I heard what had happened, I couldn’t believe it. That was
the last thing I would have expected”

“How long have you known him?”

“Over twenty-five years. He was here when I came”

“So, over that time, you got to know him pretty well, huh?”

The tenseness in her face continued to fade. “Yes. And
that’s what puzzles me. Carl seemed content with what he
had. I never once heard him dreaming about a better life. If
he told me once, he told me a hundred times that the good
Lord had blessed him with everything he could desire.
Why, that last day, he was telling me about the birthday
present he was getting for his wife. He could barely talk
with laryngitis because he was wheezing and hacking from
a bad cold, but he had to tell me about the diamond broach
he was getting her” Tears welled in her eyes. She dabbed at
them with a Kleenex and muttered. “I’m sorry”

“Don’t be. Just a couple more questions. Is there anyone
around that he was fairly close with, that he might have
shared a few secrets with?”

Chewing on her bottom lip, Elizabeth furrowed her
brow. “Not really. Well, maybe Marla Jo Keeton” She hesitated and glanced around, and then leaned forward. “She’s
divorced. Been here almost thirty years. She’s in accounting. Like all of us-” She paused and gave me a sheepish
grin. “This is just between you and me, isn’t it? I mean,
confidential?”

I smiled. “Naturally”

She drew a deep breath. “Well, like all of us more mature
people, she had problems transitioning to the computer, but
she did an excellent job. Took her a little longer, but she hung
in there. A couple of years later came her divorce, and she
went off the deep end. Alcohol. About ten years ago, Carl
helped her get into a rehab. It was either that or lose her job
here. She completed rehab successfully” A faint smile
played over her lips. “And thank the Lord, she’s never fallen
back. Carl always made it a point to visit with her.”

“One other question. The armored car delivery. Was that
a special or routine delivery?”

“Just routine”

“So, I could say that everyone knows when it’s due, right?”
She frowned at me, and then nodded. “Yes” She paused,
frowned, and then added. “We always video the transfer of
funds, but that day, someone cut off the video.” I lifted an
eyebrow in question. She shrugged. “It must’ve been Mr.
Edwards”

I wanted to pursue the video, but decided to wait. I rose.
“Thanks”

Arching an eyebrow, she said. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. Painless, huh?” I hooked my thumb down the
hall in the direction of the conference room. “Now, if you
can send Frank Cooper to see me, I’d appreciate it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Frank’s out. He’ll be back later
this morning”

“Fine. Send him then. In the meantime, what about Ms.
Keeton?”

Her smile grew wider. “Right away.”

Marla Jo Keeton was a short, plump woman who might
have topped five feet on tiptoes. I guessed she was a tad
older than Elizabeth Romero. Her hair was pulled back in a
severe bun on the back of her head. She stared at me, her
eyes narrowed in suspicion.

I introduced myself and offered her a chair. Quickly, I explained the purpose of my visit. The suspicion faded from
her eyes. “I’ll be honest, Mr. Boudreaux. That man saved my
life. Even if I knew where he was, which I don’t, I wouldn’t
tell you” She paused.

Chuckling with admiration at her candor, I remarked,
“He must have been a good friend.”

“The best” Her brow wrinkled. “I can’t believe he would
do such a thing. When I heard about it, I figured it was a
mistake”

So far, everyone with whom I’d spoken voiced the same
sentiments, my own sentiments. On impulse I said, “Tell
me something, Ms. Keeton. If this was an inside job, and
Carl Edwards had no part in it, is there anyone else who
might have?”

She looked at me in surprise.

Before she could reply, I continued. “I know there are
some employees who like to gamble. I know there are some
in debt” I paused and waited for her reaction.

The roly-poly little woman eyed me skeptically. “I
thought you were interested only in finding him, not solving the robbery?”

Her perceptive response surprised me. With a shrug, I
said, “The robbery is solved, Ms. Keeton. The police say
it was Carl Edwards” I paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t have
asked the question. If I offended you, I apologize”

She nodded slowly. “Don’t worry about it. All I can say
is that there are some around here that wouldn’t surprise
me if they had a hand in something like that”

Keeping an uninterested expression, I replied, “Oh?
Such as?”

She hesitated. “Understand, I’m not saying he had anything to do with it, but I heard that Marvin Busby is in a
financial squeeze”

I played dumb. “Busby. Now let’s see, he’s in-” I stammered deliberately.

“Business loans,” she blurted out. She glanced nervously
at the closed door, and then added. “He’s been going out
with one of our tellers, Judith Perry. She might be able to
tell you more”

I thanked her. As she left, my cell rang. The call was
from Debbie Edwards Reeves. She and her mother were
meeting a psychic at their home at three o’clock that afternoon. They wanted me there.

Before leaving the credit union, I called Elizabeth Romero
and arranged to visit with Smith and Johnson the next morning. Then that afternoon, I’d interview Athens and Busby. I
had other plans for Judith Perry.

I glanced back over my list of names.

At that moment, the door opened, and a bronzed man straight out of Gentleman’s Quarterly extended his hand.
“Tony Boudreaux? I’m Frank Cooper. Raiford said you
were here. I wanted to meet you”

Everything about Cooper was neat, from his carefully
parted hair to his brightly shined shoes. There was no
doubt in my mind that the crease in his slacks would slash
a careless finger.