Two Bits Four Bits (19 page)

“I’m hoping this will take
some of the focus off of Kandy,” Donnelly said, nodding toward the
newspaper. “At least they didn’t give the reporter anything about
the hanky-panky going on between the three of them.”

“Well, it’s not over yet,”
I said. “Every good reporter knows to follow the rumors, and there
are plenty them out there about Russell Chilton and his weakness
for the ladies.”

“I’ve told Kandy she
should consider getting away, at least until things can quiet down
some. She’s going to Dallas with her girls for a few
days.”

“That’s probably a good
idea,” I said. “Did Kandy’s revelations about the threesome with
Eva surprise you?”

He glanced around the
restaurant before answering.

“Not really. I’d heard
stories that Russell and Kandy had been involved in some swapping
of partners, but it was always just rumors. You can’t keep secrets
for very long in a little town like Elmore.”

I noticed the trio of Jake
Sutton, Louis Rogers and Sid Fuller approaching us from across the
room where they’d been watching us talk.

“This should be good,” I
muttered.

“Good morning, gents,”
Jake said. “Interesting development in the Chilton murder, isn’t
it?”

“Morning fellas,” I said.
“You all know John Donnelly?”

“Of course we do,” Jake
said. “Good to see you John.”

“You too, Jake,” he
answered.

Jake pointed at Eva’s
picture on the front page of the newspaper.

“You know that bank is
right there close to my house,” he said. “And I always thought
there was something going between that lady there and one of the
uppity-ups at the bank. I’d go in there sometimes and it would just
be the two of them in there alone and I could tell there was more
going on than just banking.”

“Let’s go Jake,” Sid said,
nudging Jake towards the door. “Can’t you see they’re
busy?”

“No, I was just leaving,”
Donnelly said, standing up and picking up his newspaper. “I’ll talk
to you later Buddy.”

Jake stood watching
Donnelly as he left the restaurant.

“Now there goes another
guy who’s always getting his name in the newspaper,” he said. “Just
food for thought.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,”
I said. “Where you boys off to this morning?”

“Jake’s taking his wife to
Midland to do some shopping,” Sid said. “Louis here has to go home
and clean up his bachelor pad. And me, I feel a nap coming
on.”

“Sounds like you got the
better deal,” I said.

“Bullshit,” Jake said.
“He’ll be mowing the lawn or painting the house as soon as his wife
notices he’s back home.”

Louis started toward the
front door.

“Come on you two. Let this
man finish his breakfast in peace.”

After The Three Amigos were
gone, I sat sipping coffee and looking around the half-empty
restaurant. I had eaten at Lita’s Little Mexico in two different
locations, during days of boom and days of bust in the oilfield.
Presently, Elmore’s economic status was somewhere in-between, with
the price of oil not quite high enough to justify much new drilling
in the area, but not so low enough to shut things down
completely.

During the most recent
boom, Lita’s had moved into the building where they were now, which
was much larger and would allow for expansion to accommodate the
hundreds of oilfield workers who flocked into town for lunch each
day. But, not long after the move, the price of oil plunged and
things slowed down, forcing Pete and Manuelita Rascon to scrap the
expansion plans. Instead they walled off only as much space as they
needed for the dining room and kitchen and left the rest of the
building unfinished.

Being a private detective
with an office inside a Mexican restaurant might not be something I
could get away with in Austin, but here in Elmore it had a certain
West Texas style to it. Of course my clients would have to tolerate
leaving my office with the smell of fajitas lingering on their
clothing, something they might be able to overlook if they had free
chips and salsa while they waited to see me.

As I drained the last of
my coffee, Pete Rascon emerged from the kitchen pushing a rolling
cart with a plastic dishpan on top and began to bus the empty
tables around me.

“Hey Pete,” I said. “You
got a minute?”

* * * *

CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE

I wasn’t really sure what
to do next on the Russell Chilton investigation. Clemmer and
Puckett were still looking for Eva, but Eva wasn’t coming out of
hiding until she talked to Sandy Doyle. Kandy had told all she was
going to tell, whether she knew more or not, and had probably left
town like John Donnelly had advised her to do. Jay Bradley at the
bank had promised to keep me informed if Darrell Swain or Sandy
Doyle’s lawyer Dayton Clark showed up at the bank again. There was
not much to do but wait for something else to happen.

It didn’t take long. I was
on the thirteenth hole of the Elmore Municipal Golf Course with Ray
Garcia when my cell phone interrupted Ray’s putt.

“Do-overs!” he yelled as I
flipped my phone open and saw from the prefix that the call was
coming from an Odessa number.

“Buddy Griffin,” I said,
shaking my head at Ray as he moved to reposition his
ball.

“Mr. Griffin, my name is
Dayton Clark. I’m an attorney representing a corporation in Odessa
that needs some help with an internal security matter. I understand
that’s your business.”

“That’s right,” I said,
remembering the cover story I had used at the WTEG building in
Odessa. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you deal with all
sorts of security matters, or do you focus only on oilfield
theft?”

“Well, the oil companies
are my bread and butter, but I work with all sorts of businesses on
security, employee screening, theft investigations, that sort of
thing.”

“Excellent, excellent. The
corporation I represent is looking for someone to investigate a
defalcation that took place recently. Would you be able to meet
with me in my office in Midland later today?”

Dayton Clark gave me the
address of his office and I agreed to meet with him at three-thirty
that afternoon. He hadn’t mentioned Sandy Doyle’s name, or any of
Sandy’s companies, but I had little doubt who had asked him to
contact me.

* * * *

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR

I found it mildly amusing
that Sandy Doyle used an attorney located in Midland, even though
his home and businesses were all in Odessa. The two communities had
enjoyed a long rivalry and each developed singular reputations in
the region. Midland had achieved a status as being
business-oriented and many professionals chose to live there, while
Odessa’s population was traditionally more blue-collar. People from
Odessa and Midland interacted freely enough, since those dressed in
starched shirts and ties in the shiny office buildings of the major
oil companies located in Midland depended on the dirty hands of the
coverall-wearing oilfield workers in Odessa to make things happen.
Sandy Doyle had built his empire on the vices that attracted the
latter. But having an attorney with a Midland address apparently
carried a cachet that Sandy couldn’t resist.

Dayton Clark’s office was
located in a gleaming five-story building near downtown Midland.
The elevator smelled of oranges and patchouli. Or, the scent may
have been coming from the white-haired refined looking gentleman
who rode up with me.

Clark’s receptionist was
attractive in a way that I would have paid more attention to
fifteen years ago, but that now just seemed superficial. One of the
benefits of getting older I guess. She behaved with a slightly
disdainful air designed to help the clientele understand that only
through her good graces could they gain access to one of the most
brilliant legal minds in West Texas.

After making me sit in the
waiting area long enough to be sure I noticed the quality of
magazines they subscribed to, the receptionist ushered me into
Dayton Clark’s finely appointed office and offered coffee. I
accepted her offer, partly to see how she reacted to performing
such a menial task and partly to see what passed for coffee in a
high-class Midland law firm.

Dayton Clark wasn’t in his
office, but as I sat in the expensive leather chair in front of his
desk, I could hear the unmistakable sound of someone urinating into
a nearby toilet, followed by the predictable sound of the same
toilet flushing. I waited for the sound of someone washing their
hands, but instead heard one side of a muffled conversation
concluding. Only following the sound of a cell phone snapping shut
was I relieved to hear the much-anticipated hand-washing
sounds.

A door to the side of a
bookcase containing about three billion law books opened and a
compact nattily-dressed man emerged and introduced himself as
Dayton Clark, after which he dropped his cell phone on the desk and
took his seat in the power position behind the dark cherry wood
desk.

“I’m so glad you could
come in, Mr. Griffin,” he said, sliding around a little as he tried
to sit up a bit taller in his slickly-finished leather chair. “As I
told you on the phone, my client is looking for someone to help
them with a security matter and they asked me to interview you to
see if you would be a good fit.”

“A good fit? Are we
talking about putting me on their payroll or letting me help figure
out who raided the petty cash box?”

Clark gave an irritatingly
fake laugh.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing
permanent, but my client likes to screen all vendors before making
a business commitment with them.”

“I’m guessing that must
get expensive at your hourly billing rate.”

The irritating laugh
again.

“Well, if my client does
decide to do business with you, I think you’ll find that they are
not averse to paying a little more to get what they
want.”

“I like the sound of
that,” I said. “So, how does this screening work?”

“I’ll just ask you a few
background questions to get an idea about whether my client can
work with you.”

“You keep saying ‘my
client’. Just who exactly is your client?”

He raised his index finger
and waggled it at me.

“Not so fast, we’ll get to
that eventually. First, I’d like to get some information about your
experience. Do you have a background in law
enforcement?”

“I do. I recently retired
from the Austin Police Department after twenty-three years on the
job.”

“Street cop?”

“When I started out.
Homicide the last twelve years.”

“Homicide. That’s
exciting.”

“It’s not anything like it
looks in the movies or on TV. Mostly just talking to people and
filling out forms.”

“Ah, I think you’re just
being modest, Mr. Griffin. Don’t most police departments usually
promote their best and brightest to the Homicide
Division?”

“I was the exception to
the rule.”

More of the irritating
laugh.

“So, now that you’re no
longer a public servant, how do you feel about cops?” he
asked.

“What do you mean? How do
I feel about my former employer, or a particular police department?
I’m not following you.”

“Let’s say law enforcement
in general.”

“Well, I guess I’d have to
say I’m in favor of it, although there never seems to be a cop
around when you need one.”

The irritating laugh
again. I was going to have to learn to curb my sense of humor
around this guy.

“Tell me this, Mr.
Griffin. When you were in law enforcement, did you ever have
occasion to consider supplemental sources of income?”

“Not really, some of the
guys did security guard work on the side, but I didn’t.”

Clark leaned forward and
put his fingertips together delicately and lowered his
voice.

“I was referring to more,
um, unorthodox types of income.”

“Oh, you mean bribes,
graft, payoffs, that sort of thing.”

Clark involuntarily
glanced around the closed office as if I might be overheard by
someone. Then, he looked at me expectantly, raising his
eyebrows.

“Oh, no. Never,” I said.
“Of course being in Homicide we didn’t get a lot of those
opportunities. Sometimes being the best and the brightest can work
against you.”

Thankfully, that line
slipped by Clark without eliciting another irritating
laugh.

“I see,” he said. “Well,
let’s move on—“

“I’m just curious,” I
interrupted. “Why would you ask something like that?”

“Well, it’s just to get an
idea about how you view different situations.”

“Did I pass? Or were you
looking for somebody who had some experience with looking the other
way.”