Once in Claremore, Steve called Emily to let her know they had arrived. He sent another Snapchat message, and shortly after, Emily called him back.
“The phone is still using the same tower as last time. So, whoever this is hasn’t moved in the thirty minutes it took you to get there. Let’s wait ten minutes and try again.”
Ten minutes later, Steve sent another message. When it was retrieved, the small flashing dot showed the phone was once again accessing the same tower.
“In the last ten minutes, I have been looking at the cell tower map more closely,” Emily said. “There are more towers located downtown than there are out in the countryside. Because the towers are positioned more densely, I can reduce the possible location of the phone to a much smaller area. Additionally, since we have now sent three messages and the phone used the same tower every time, I am fairly certain our suspect has not moved locations in the last hour. He or she must be stationary somewhere near one specific tower—the tower on the corner of Cherokee Avenue and Will Rogers Boulevard. Drive around in the intersection and see if you can find a place someone might stay at for a given period of time on a Tuesday afternoon.”
When they got to the corner, Steve and Booger saw exactly what each had already assumed they were looking for—Whitmore’s truck. It was parked outside the Sidewinder Bar at the exact intersection of Cherokee and Will Rogers. They pulled up next to Whitmore’s truck and called Emily from the car’s Bluetooth speakerphone.
“I have Booger on speaker so we can both hear you,” Steve said. “We found Whitmore’s truck sitting outside of a bar at the exact intersection of the cell tower location.”
“Well, isn’t that a coincidence.” The giddy sarcasm was apparent in Emily’s voice as she continued, “I think I found something else pointing to Whitmore, but I want you and Booger to look at it to confirm my thoughts. I am sending you each an email with a PDF file attached. As discussed earlier, we know Whitmore was at the courthouse, but we agreed it was possible someone else was there whom we don’t know about. While you were driving to Claremore, I called a friend of mine who grew up in Rogers County. He told me that the most popular bank in town is the
Will Rogers Bank.”
“How does that help us?” Steve asked.
“Just keep listening,” Emily said curtly. “After talking to my friend, I couldn’t just sit here waiting on you two to get to Claremore. So, I decided to hack into the bank’s computer system. The accounts themselves were highly protected. It would have taken me hours, maybe days, to crack the security protocols, but some of their less-important information was not as well protected. Surprisingly, the loan request files were fairly easy to break into; I guess they felt they have to protect actual customer accounts more than possible customer information. I digress. Anyway, I found a loan application Whitmore submitted for a new truck a few years ago, probably the one he is driving now. Although I am no handwriting expert, when I compared his loan application with the Roach phone application we previously obtained, it looks to me like the same person filled out both applications.” “Interesting,” said Booger.
“Very. The email I sent should be delivered to your phones by now. I sent one of you a copy of the bank loan application and the other a copy of the Roach phone application. Open the files, hold your phones up next to each other, and tell me what you think.”
Steve and Booger got out their phones and each opened the document he had received from Emily. They compared the files as she had directed.
“Wow,” Steve said. “That sure looks like the same handwriting to me.”
“Yes, it seems both applications were filled out by the same individual,” Booger said, “We still have one problem though. We need to get proof beyond what you have found so far, Emily. If we had to turn over these documents to the police and the federal court, I don’t think they would appreciate knowing how you procured it. I’m pretty sure neither the phone company nor the bank gave you permission to search their databases for application forms
they likely claim to keep confidential.”
“I agree. I really don’t want to end up in a federal prison,” Emily said matter-of-factly. “Anyone have any ideas?”
“I do,” said Steve. “Listen up…”
After hearing his plan, everyone agreed it would work. Booger and Steve got out of the car and walked into the bar.
The Sidewinder was dark inside despite it being late afternoon with only a speckle of clouds in the sky. The large plate glass windows facing the street were heavily tinted, leaving only the dim bar lights and the occasional streak of sunlight breaking through tears in the tinting to illuminate the room. Two pool tables were stationed near the entrance. The bar ran along the wall to the left. They saw Whitmore at the far end drinking with three other men. Steve and Booger planned to discreetly settle into a corner booth near the front.
However, when Steve opened the door to walk inside, a beam of sunlight busted through the entrance. Since there was no one else in the place, the bartender was standing directly in front of Whitmore’s crew when the light hit her eyes. She had long brown hair and a white tank top bearing the words “Jefferson Airplane” that showed off her natural assets. The shirt hung loosely so that her pink laced bra could be seen from all angles. She looked up and yelled, “I’ll be down to get your order in a minute boys. I’m the only one here, so give me a little leeway, please!”
“So much for being discreet,” Booger mumbled to Steve as he smiled and waved to the bartender. Still, they stuck to their plan and found a corner of the bar to sit down.
Steve noticed all four men had their cell phones placed in front of them on the bar.
Booger leaned in and said, “Send him the next message. If it is Whitmore, he won’t be able to resist the temptation.”
Steve sent the message they had prepared in the car. This one was a copy of the famous picture of Muhammad Ali standing over Joe Frazier. Along the bottom of the screen, Steve had included the words: “I’m over in the corner. If you have something to say to me, bring it on.”
A few seconds later, Whitmore reached into his back pocket and pulled out a second phone. He nonchalantly checked it without his friends even realizing he was watching a Snapchat message. His head shot up and turned immediately toward the corner where Steve and Booger sat.
Whitmore backed up off his bar stool so quickly that he nearly fell down. The mix of emotions boiling within him, coupled with the copious amount of alcohol he had clearly consumed since lunch, almost brought him to the floor. Luckily, one of his buddies caught him. Whitmore recovered and headed toward their corner, undeterred by the embarrassment burning on his own face.
“Where are you going?” one of Whitmore’s friends asked as he marched away from the bar.
Whitmore shouted, “Don’t worry about it!” without stopping. Despite Whitmore’s order, all three of his buddies got up and started following him. They could tell something was brewing.
When Whitmore neared them, he asked gruffly, “What the hell are you two doing here?”
Steve sat calmly at the table, looked up, and answered, “Just trying to catch a criminal. We know you are the person sending me death threats. You know that is a crime, right? But I guess committing a petty crime like sending threatening videos is nothing compared to murdering your sister?”
Just as Steve finished his question, Whitmore sent a clenched fist across the side of Steve’s face. The blow sent the young attorney falling back against the booth seat. Whitmore moved as if he was going to start pummeling Steve right there at the table. Booger stood to help protect Steve from the assault.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed Whitmore from behind and threw him backward and across the bar. When Whitmore regained his feet, he stormed toward Deputy Blackburn, who was now standing between him and Steve.
As Whitmore closed in again, Deputy Blackburn put one hand on his sidearm and his other hand palm-out toward Whitmore. “Freeze, Brent. You know you don’t want me to have to arrest you today.”
Whitmore’s buddies were near enough to assist. They grabbed Whitmore and held him back. One said, “Sorry, Andy, we’ve got him.” The three men dragged their drunk friend back to the end of the bar where they had been sitting earlier. A few moments later, Whitmore calmed down. Soon, the four men were giving each other high fives and laughing as they talked about what a great shot Whitmore had landed on Steve.
Steve stood up, thanked Deputy Blackburn, and said, “Lucky you were nearby, Deputy.”
“I was across the street, finishing up a traffic stop, when I saw you two park and walk into this bar. I also noticed Whitmore’s truck sitting in the lot. I know he isn’t happy about you guys reinvestigating his sister’s murder. I guess my instincts told me to come check on you. Good thing, or else you and the old man here would have been in for an ass beating from that crew.”
Deputy Blackburn nodded toward Whitmore and his three friends and said, “It looked like your partner here was about to step in to save you. The cowboy code among these guys is to always let two guys fight it out one-on-one. The posse only jumps in if someone from the other gang jumps in first. If the old man here had stepped in, that would have been invitation enough for all of them to start pounding away on the both of you.”
“Thanks, Deputy,” Booger said. “We wouldn’t want that.”
“Do you want to press charges against him for assault?”
“No,” said Steve. “But I may want to press charges for threatening my life and for murdering Ashley Pinkerton.”
Steve explained everything about the death threats. Trying not to get Emily in trouble, he told Deputy Blackburn that they happened to be in town, already working on the case, when they saw Whitmore’s truck parked in front of the Sidewinder. They had recognized the truck from when they went out to Whitmore’s house, the first day they met Deputy Blackburn. Steve explained how they sent a message to the person threatening them to see if Whitmore would check his phone. He further explained how they watched Whitmore get the message from a second phone, before immediately coming over and punching Steve.
“Well, aren’t you two just a modern-day Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson?” Deputy Blackburn said wryly. “Just because he may have sent you some threats doesn’t mean he killed his sister. I told you the scumbag who did that is sitting on death row. However, I will talk to Whitmore about this stuff and see what he says. I am not ready to arrest him just yet. Remember, as far as he is concerned, you two are trying to help the man who killed his sister—which means you two aren’t exactly at the top of his
Christmas card list, if you know what I’m saying?”
“Yeah,” Steve said with a nod. “Plus, I don’t want him arrested just yet, anyway. We need more evidence against him, which I am hoping we can find in your file.”
“You two have been awful busy today, huh?” Deputy Blackburn asked, all humor gone from his tone. “The district attorney called me earlier and said I have to show you our investigative file. I’ve never had to do that before. And to be honest, I am not exactly thrilled about you two trying to make me look bad. What are you hoping to find?”
“At this point, something that points to that man down there.” Steve nodded toward the man seated at the other end of the bar, who was still gloating with his friends. “Would it be possible to meet sometime on Thursday?” Steve asked. “Neither of us are available tomorrow, and I would like to get this done as soon as possible. Especially with that nut out on the loose. I honestly think he might kill me if I give him enough time.”
“Thursday is fine,” Deputy Blackburn replied curtly. “My life is pretty routine. Like I told you last time, I work Monday to Thursday, 6:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. And don’t worry about Whitmore. He likes to throw punches after a few drinks, but I don’t think he is capable of murder. He was always a bit of a wuss back during high school football.”
“Well, I’m not sure how that proves he is not capable of murder,” Steve said. “Anyway, can we meet you earlier in the day this time? It will probably take us a while to go through all of your files and make our copies.”
“Although I come in at six, the office doesn’t open until eight. I would like one of the support staff there, watching you to make sure you don’t take anything you aren’t supposed to take. I have a motto—never trust a defense attorney.” His eyes narrowed at them both.
“We will be there at eight,” Steve said. “Thank you.”
Steve and Booger left the bar. As they got into Steve’s car for the drive back to Tulsa, Booger looked at Steve over the roof of the vehicle and said, “Remember the first day we met? You promised me I wouldn’t get into any trouble or harm. Now look at you, with that bloody napkin up your nose.”
Steve grinned sheepishly. “Okay. Maybe I was wrong on that one. But at least you didn’t get hit.”
“Not this time. And only because that cop magically appeared.”
“Did that seem weird at all to you, that he was suddenly there?” Steve asked as they pulled away from the bar.
Booger snorted. “Only a lot. Especially since he said himself that he gets off at four every day, and it is well past five now.” That was all the investigator said, leaving them both to ponder all that had occurred in the last seven hours.
During the drive home, Booger glanced at Steve and said, “Looks like he got a pretty good lick on you.”
“Yeah, it’s throbbing a bit. By the way, although I am the one that got punched, I would say you were definitely in the path of danger.” Steve handed Booger his wallet. “I guess I lost our bet, and I always pay off my bets.”
Booger took his one-dollar winnings, laughed, and said, “Looking good, Randolph.”
Steve replied, “Feeling good, Mortimer.” They both laughed.
Next, they called Emily to let her know what happened at the bar. After the two men returned to Tulsa, they decided to call it an early night to ensure they would be properly rested for the drive to McAlester and their meeting with Scottie the next morning.