Pursuit of Justice (9 page)

“Not me,” Bella said.

“Or me,” Lydia said. “He needs to be in bed.”

Carr turned on the water. “I’ll take him a washcloth and a glass of water.”

Bella let his words sink in. Carr pulled a cloth from a kitchen drawer, held it beneath the faucet, and wrung it out. He filled a glass with water and walked outside. Carr Sullivan was either a clever liar, pretending to care about Darren Adams, or he was genuine. She’d like to think the latter. “I’d better get to work.”

Bella kept checking on Darren. But he repeatedly vomited until Carr finally convinced him he should be at home.

“I can take him,” Bella said. “The deputies are busy, and I need to stop at the sheriff’s department afterward.”

“No way,” Darren managed. “Carr, you take me. I don’t need a woman to nurse me. One of the other deputies can drive my car back to the station later.”

Bella asked Lydia a few questions and then found Jasper in the stables. Their stories matched what Darren and Vic had reported. In the beginning she wanted to believe the two were covering for Carr, but her instincts, including all of her training, sensed they were innocent. Yet she’d proceed with caution. Trust had to be earned, not handed out like candy.
Candy . . .
Bella made a mental note to check into Jasper’s alleged diabetic status. While sitting on the front porch swing, her new office, she wrestled with what she knew about the crime and the possibilities.

The victims’ wives and Kegley’s fiancée termed the men’s interest in the Spider Rock treasure as a hobby, an obsession, and a diversion from the mundane—in that order. The women knew of no danger and were equally shocked and upset, including Walt Higgins’s ex-wife. Bella needed to talk to them one-on-one and question them further. Once the funerals were over, they might remember important information. Bella wanted to ask them about Brandt Richardson. He changed his identities like women changed lipstick, but the man had a raspy voice that could not be masked.

Midmorning, Vic arrived and found her on the front porch. She relayed her evening and the newest findings.

“Who do you think is after you?” Vic leaned against the porch railing.

“You mean your bed didn’t have a guest?”

“I’m not as lucky. My theory is still that Sullivan and someone else are working together. Possibly Richardson.” He shrugged. “Whoever our killer is doesn’t care for women. Or maybe he doesn’t like women FBI agents.”

Or maybe an old vendetta is still alive.
“How do you feel about a day trip to Waco and Austin to interview the families again? I have a few more questions.”

“Sure. Right now, I want to inspect the crime scene. I want to find out who did the fingerprint sweep.” He glanced around. “Where’s the sheriff?”

“He got sick shortly after I arrived. Carr took him home.”

Vic frowned. “You let our suspect drive a sick sheriff home? Smart move for the lead agent. Did you hand him a few thousand for expenses?”

His sarcasm miffed her, but maybe she did need her brains jarred loose. “If Carr doesn’t return, then we have our answer.”

“You think he’s innocent.”

“The jury’s still out.” She tilted her head. “But it’s leaning farther away from him.”

“Don’t let his charm fool you.” He started to say something else, but he must have changed his mind.

Bella studied the man before her. Granted his over twenty years of experience meant she should listen to him, but what she should have done and what she sensed was the truth didn’t match.

“When you’re ready, let’s take a drive to Ballinger and see if some of our reports are in,” Vic said.

“I want to talk to the county coroner.”

He nodded and left. Special Agent Vic Anderson didn’t care for her, but it wasn’t the first time a male agent disrespected a female agent. Maybe he was right. The investigation was going nowhere. She’d had more productive cases in Houston, where the criminal made stupid mistakes or a witness came forth with the truth.

The sound of robins and a lark piqued her attention. A mourning dove moaned its lonesome song, and she thought how very much it mimicked her life. The lark crooned again. Before her mother died, she used to tell Bella the lark sang “pretty, pretty.” Warm remembrances swept over her of sea green eyes peering into a little girl’s face while gentle hands stroked her hair. A lump formed in Bella’s throat, and she thought she’d gone far beyond a child’s grief. The lark sang out its tune again. It had to be the birds . . . and this part of Texas . . . and thoughts of her family.

The screen door opened, but not with the creak she remembered from the rickety farmhouse of her youth. Lydia stepped out with a cell phone in her hand. Her lips quivered, and tears pooled in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Bella said as a hundred sketches of more tragedies beset her.

“It’s Carr. He wants to talk to you.” With a trembling hand, Lydia held out the phone.

Bella held it to her ear, her attention focused on the woman. “This is Bella.”

“I’m at Ballinger Memorial Hospital.”

“With Sheriff Adams?”

“I’m afraid so. He’s dead.”

Chapter 9

Brandt Richardson toyed with a pen on his desk, the anticipation of treasure swelling his mind while frustration with the lack of progress filled his belly, like chasing a shot with a beer. He’d make the call in a few minutes. Some things were worth the sweat, especially those things that propelled his search. Another glance at the clock on his computer showed 2:56.

Good things come to those who wait.

He had the satellite imagery and topography of the area memorized. At three o’clock he walked outside and drove six blocks to a convenience store. After purchasing a Dr Pepper and getting change for the pay phone, he ambled outside and flipped the top on the can.
No police cars. Good.
Neither did any people loiter around the phone.

A pickup slid in front of the store. He glanced away and took a long drink of the Dr Pepper while the woman and child exited the truck and made their way inside.

“Handsome boy you have there,” Brandt said.

“Thank you,” the woman said.

He turned and slipped coins into the phone.

“I’m here,” the man answered.

“Good. Did you take care of the little matter we discussed?”

“It’s handled.”

Ah, good news.
“We’re going to be very rich men, but it has to happen according to the plan,” Brandt said. “Any screwups, and we’ve lost it all.”

“I understand. The plan’s working. Our man’s about to be charged with four counts of murder.”

“Maybe more.” Brandt took another long drink. “Where’s the map?”

“In a safe-deposit box at First National Bank of Ballinger.”

“Did you make a copy for me?”

“It’s there too.”

“What about getting access to his land?”

“I’m working on it. Sullivan won’t have much of a choice with this one.” He laughed.

“I’ll be at our normal meeting place at six thirty. Bring the map, and I want to hear more about how we’re going to dig. I’m not against getting rid of him, Lydia, and Jasper. But we have to wait until the sheriff’s department and the FBI clear out.”

“Can’t make the meeting. I have a six o’clock appointment.”

Stupid fool.
“This is more important than your golf game. You can buy your own course when we’re finished.” He disconnected the phone and crumpled the empty can in his hand. Tossing it into the trash, where flies buzzed around the garbage, he nodded at a tattooed kid who walked his way.

“Finished with the phone?” the kid said, his eyes glazed over like doughnuts.

“All yours.” With that, Brandt walked back to the temporary junk heap he used for errands. The next item on his agenda had him driving south of town to another convenience store.

He would not lose this time. Six men knew the plan; four of them were dead.

Chapter 10

Bella handed the phone back to Lydia. News of Darren’s death had jolted her and left her numb. Judging by the pale look on Lydia’s face, the woman felt the same shock.

Bella glanced down at her notes. “I had a list of questions for Darren.” Was it only yesterday he’d asked her to call him by his first name? She whipped her attention back to Lydia standing before her. “That’s not what I mean.”

“How . . . how does a man die from flu that quickly?” Lydia slumped into the swing next to Bella.

Unless it wasn’t flu.
“I’m sure there’s a good medical reason.”

“He and Carr have been good friends for five years, and I’ve never known him to be sick.” Lydia’s words sounded flat. “Tiffany must be paralyzed with grief. They have three boys—the oldest will be a senior in high school.”

“Are you going to her?”

“I can do no less. She has a large family, and the church will rally to her and the children’s side. But I can’t stay here when I can be doing something. But first I must tell Jasper.”

“I’m so sorry.” Bella stood and reached for her shoulder bag stuffed between her and Lydia. The bag slipped between her fingers, its contents spilling out like a sacrifice to a man who had given his all to the community.
Daredevil Adams. What a legacy.
She stuffed her keys, phone, recorder, and makeup bag back inside along with her standard gear. However, the gathering helped her gain control from the devastating news. She offered a slight smile. “I’ll tell the deputies before I leave.”

“Thank you. Make sure Wesley at the crime scene is told. He’s Sheriff Adams’s nephew. They’re close.”

“I will. Do you need some help?” Bella started to reach out for her, but they weren’t friends. Not when Bella looked to charge Carr with murder. Lydia grieved for a real friend, and with her sorrow came the turmoil of the past few days.

Lydia shook her head. “I need to be busy with my hands.”

After Lydia disappeared into the house, Bella hoisted her shoulder bag and approached the two deputies in the barn. They’d soon be finished going through all the contents of the outbuildings and stables.

“Hey, fellas. Got a minute?”

“Sure,” said Deputy Roano, the man who had driven her and Vic to retrieve her car.

She glanced at the two men, regretting what she had to say. “I have some bad news. Carr just called and said Sheriff Adams died.”

Deputy Roano took a step back. “Died? What happened? He was vomiting before Carr helped him into the truck, like he’d gotten food poisoning—”

“All I know is Carr took him to the hospital in Ballinger, where he died.”

The other deputy stared at the dirt. “I don’t remember Sheriff Adams ever taking a day off from work.”

“Yeah. He was on duty before anyone else and there long after the others on his shift went home.” Deputy Roano’s face looked more like granite. “Something about this isn’t right.”

“I’m sure we’ll have the doctor’s report soon. I’m on my way there once I inform a few more people. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Roano cursed. “He has a family. We were all family.”

Bella didn’t respond. Like Lydia, the deputy grieved for a highly respected man. She left the two men and walked to her car.

Deputy Roano made his way to her side. “Death number four and again Sullivan looks guilty.”

Bella still didn’t believe Carr was guilty—not really. “It’s too coincidental.”

“Go figure. Darren’s wife and family need support more than I need this job.” He cursed again, relaying how he felt about Carr.

She left Roano and drove to the crime scene to tell Deputy Wesley Adams.

“He’s dead?” The young man’s eyes pooled, and he blinked. “I talked to him this morning. We arrived here at the same time.”

“He became suddenly ill. I’m driving to the hospital now.”

“Wish I could go.” Grief etched his face. “Sure seems strange my uncle dies while investigating a triple homicide.” He glanced away, then back to her. “I’m going to find out what happened to Uncle Darren, and I won’t stop until I find out the truth.”

Bella had the same sentiments, and the scenarios mounted.
Darren said he wanted to think about a few of the things he uncovered. Did he discover vital information?
“I’m sorry. Lydia said you two were close.”

“Darren recruited me, then mentored me through my training and then on the job. His three words of advice for all of us were to be conscientious, diligent, and caring. He said a good deputy settled for getting the job done. An excellent deputy went over and beyond what was necessary. Everyone looked up to him.”

Bella’s insides churned. Yesterday she’d silently made fun of his daredevil feats, downplaying the man because he worked a rural area. “When is your shift over?”

“Three o’clock.”

“Can you call anyone to relieve you?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Today is the last day we were scheduled to stay at the crime scene.”

“Again, I’m sorry; and I hope you’re able to leave your shift early.”

Bella got back into her car and drove to Ballinger Memorial Hospital. She pulled into the small, orange brick facility with its grand total of twenty parking spaces. As soon as she had a signal, she called Vic’s cell phone. No answer, so she left him a message. Time to call Swartzer in Houston. Hitting speed dial, she learned he was not in the office.

“This is Bella Jordan,” she said. “We have another problem. Sheriff Darren Adams of the Runnels County Sheriff’s Department is dead.” She went into what happened a few hours before. “I’m on my way inside the hospital to find out more about how Adams died. You can call me there.”

Carr was with him before I arrived, supposedly drove him home, and then he died.
That was too obvious. A setup. If Adams’s death was not a natural cause, then suspicion exponentially mounted toward Carr, and attention shifted from the real killer. How long had the killer, whoever he was, planned his every move and made provision for any alternative? Maybe she could grapple with that until one of the members of the task force uncovered concrete evidence.

The motivation for these murders needled her, and she didn’t want to discount the Spider Rock treasure playing a role. What she knew about the hunters came from eavesdropping on her father and Brandt. The random clues whispered in obscure places and the over sixty million dollars’ worth of gold lured far too many people.

Her cell phone jangled its familiar tune. A quick glance showed it was Swartzer.

“How are you doing?” he said.

“My mind’s racing.” He didn’t need to know about the rattler.

“Two days and you’ve got yourself another body.”

“That’s right. I’m looking into the cause of death. Sullivan’s involved.”

“What’s your take?”

“Setup. Too obvious, unless Sullivan believes his money can buy him innocence.”

“Does he seem like a man obsessed with money—possibly gold, as in the Spider Rock treasure?”

Bella formed her thoughts before speaking. “He’s either up for an Oscar or he’s genuine.”

“Trust your instincts and keep probing. In the meantime, I’ll send additional people to assist the task force.”

“I think I’m okay without more help. The sheriff’s department is doing a good job.” She didn’t have substantial leads, but no point in admitting her assignment was not proceeding as fast as she would like.

“I believe in your skills as an agent. Keep me posted, and be safe.”

“Thanks. I will.” Encouragement always helped. She should have told him about the rattler, but for sure he would have sent more agents to help. In her opinion, it discounted her ability to lead out the investigation, and she desperately wanted to prove Swartzer had not made a mistake.

Shaking off the rule book, she focused on the questions to be directed at Carr Sullivan. So where did the former party animal, now Christian advocate for at-risk teen boys, fit into the case? Did she dare trust her instincts that he was being used as a scapegoat, or had he become so fanatical about the Spider Rock treasure that he resorted to murder? Her hunch led her to Brandt, but had Carr thrown in with him too? Now she needed to find where either of them might have slipped up. But the first thing she needed to do was find out how Sheriff Darren Adams had lost his life.

She exited her car and entered the hospital. Unfortunately, due to the nature of the deceased’s unusual death and connection to Carr, she needed to order an autopsy, including toxicology tests.

* * *

Carr watched Tiffany from across the waiting room at the hospital, where she hadn’t moved since the doctor pronounced Darren dead. They’d spoken briefly when she first arrived at the hospital with her three sons. The four were in shock, in disbelief that a beloved husband and father was gone from their midst. Carr remembered what Darren had said when the two drove away from the High Butte.

“I’m not supposed to be sick. I’m the sheriff who’s investigating three murders. I have more important things to do than throw up.”

“You can resume the investigation later,” Carr had told him.

Darren had moistened his lips. “This is bad. Worse than what you could imagine.”

Carr knew Darren was not referring to the flu. When his friend felt better, he’d planned to ask what he meant. Too late now.

A voice over the intercom requested a doctor and pulled Carr back to the present. He glanced at Tiffany surrounded by family and friends who had arrived initially to pray for a man to be healed; now they offered sympathy and comfort. Soon they’d be arranging a funeral. Too many well-meaning people shoved their way through the crowd and intruded on those offering condolences. Carr would rather sit back and pray, then make his way to her when the others parted.

Tiffany took Pastor Kent’s hand and bowed her head. Her graciousness to those around her seemed to exceed the sorrow of losing her husband. She was a role model for all men and women who walked through similar losses.

Darren’s oldest son stood and walked into the hallway. Carr caught the boy’s eye. Too young to be fatherless. Too young to have the responsibility now resting on his shoulders. The boy nodded and stepped into the restroom. No doubt to cry where no one could see him.

The cause of death ate at him like acid. Darren had the same symptoms as flu or food poisoning—severe vomiting, fever. But as Carr drove him through Ballinger and north of town toward his home, the man had begun to convulse.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.” Carr had whipped the car around and stepped on the gas.

Darren didn’t respond, and shortly thereafter, Carr realized he was unconscious.

He never understood why so many prayers went unanswered. He hadn’t known God when Michelle lay dying, but he’d prayed for
something
,
someone
, to save her. When he and Jasper discovered the bodies of those men, Carr prayed for them to have a spark of life. But it had been too late. A few hours ago, he prayed for Darren to fight whatever had attacked his body. He died too. Perhaps the words spoken to the great Healer weren’t the right ones.

Carr walked down the hall to the drinking fountain. His thinking bordered on ludicrous. A man’s prayers were heard because of the condition of his heart and his relationship to God, not his choice of words. Yet the grieving for Darren brought back Michelle’s overdose and the raw ache of finding the murdered victims on his land earlier in the week.

God, when will this end?

Deputy Roano followed Carr into the hallway. “What happened once you left the ranch with Sheriff Adams?” He leaned on one leg and crossed his arms. Hostility oozed from the pores of his skin.

The hospital was not the place to argue. “He continued to vomit and then began to convulse. When that happened, I rushed him to the hospital.”

Roano’s fiery gaze raked him. “Don’t you think it’s odd Sheriff Adams has been working the murder case and now he’s dead?”

Carr understood how the deputy felt. “Darren Adams was my friend too. And yes, I’ve thought about the implications. I’m sure an autopsy will be ordered to satisfy all of us.”

“You’d better hope there’s a good explanation for his death, and it had better come fast.”