Monday morning Larry left for Houston and I drove to the office. I thought about Carla. We needed to have some quality time together. We’d been lacking that ever since I’d gotten mixed up in the Longstreet mess. Not an hour passed before Carroll Johnson called my office. “Hey, John. It’s been a while. As you can tell, I’ve been avoiding going to the ranch. I’m coming up to take care of Betty’s estate business and check up on the ranch to make sure everything’s stable out there. Besides that, Sheriff Hauffler called me this morning and asked me to go to his office for an interview. I’m okay with that, but I wanted to make sure that you could be with me when I do that. Can you represent me as well as the estate?”
Knowing the conflict of interest, I told him what he probably already knew. “I can’t do that since I represent the estate. You’re a beneficiary, one who’s a suspect at least with Hauffler. I’ll be happy to be at the meeting as an estate representative. Not sure you need any advice given your experience. If things get serious, we can always get you a lawyer.”
“I’m sorta there already. I talked to a criminal defense lawyer I’m familiar with. Robert Maldinado. He helped me out when I was stopped for a DUI. Got me off scot-free. Good guy.”
“I’ll talk to him,” I said. “I know him from my Houston days. When are you coming up?”
“Wednesday morning. I set up the appointment with Hauffler for one. Want to have a quick lunch in Johnson City?”
“Sure. What kind of food do you like?”
“Let’s go to El Charro. I hope you like Mexican. It’s close to the sheriff’s office.”
“Deal. I hoped we’d go there. See you there at eleven-thirty. We can go over estate details. I need to talk to you about filing deadlines and other boring stuff.”
The next few days passed quickly, and I looked forward to meeting with Johnson, if only to find comfort in his not being the killer. I got to El Charro and sat down in a booth at the back of the restaurant so no one could overhear our conversation. Carroll Johnson’s entry wasn’t what I expected. Amusing. He looked bigger than life, and all heads turned to look at him. He’d tried to dress in local garb, but his neatly ironed Western shirt and designer jeans, along with colorful and expensive looking cowboy boots, made him stand out, along with his six-four frame and handsome good looks. People probably thought he was a movie star or politician. Or a plaintiff’s lawyer.
Hand outstretched, he gave me a boisterous greeting. “Hi, John! How’re you doing? Miss being in the hubbub of Houston?”
“Not really. Very comfortable with the slower life here. Was your drive up here routine?”
“Yes. Lots of State troopers on the other side. They may have been looking for drugs transiting to Houston. Going to have to watch my speed on the way back.” He picked up the menu and said, “Let’s order. I didn’t get any breakfast.”
Johnson ordered a full plate of chicken fajitas with rice and beans. I’d had breakfast, so ordered a couple of beef tacos. While we ate, we talked the usual. Women, politics and the stock markets. Like Austin, Houston’s a liberal Democratic stronghold, but Blanco County’s voters always vote for the most conservative candidates. No room either place for a moderate. Johnson was non-committal about his politics. Could be that he didn’t care about anything except money and investments. He just grunted as he ate when I made a few conservative political comments. Trained to avoid controversy.
“So, John, what’s the process for getting the probate moving forward?” Carroll asked.
“Texas has a very enlightened probate law, one that minimizes legal expenses. You’ve been officially appointed as the executor, so now you’re supposed to do what the most recent codicil and the will say to do, including distributing the net assets to the heirs. Step one requires the estate to advertise in the paper, advising anyone owed money by Betty to file a claim with me. I’ve done that. You or I should go over her checkbook and any business records to see whether she owes anybody any money. Once we make distributions, it’s unlikely that the other heirs will be willing to reimburse you for any liabilities that pop up later. The big issue you’re presented with is what to do with the ranch. The ranch is more than half the value of her estate, but she left her estate in one-quarter proportions. You don’t want to consider having Blaise and his church being co-owners. You could sell it or personally buy it out of the estate. Then again you could leave things the way they are now. If you buy it or sell it through a broker, that has some complexities, for instance, in what to do with Paul Scranton. The other problem, as you know, relates to the killer. We can’t distribute to anyone involved, and until that has been determined, I’d advise not paying out anything to anybody.” I stopped talking to eat my lunch.
“The ranch equation’s tough,” Johnson said, putting on his investment banker hat. “We could list it for sale now at a low market price and see what happens, but if the property sits there for very long, the listing’ll go stale and people will stop looking. Keeping the property going for a year or two may be the best alternative. That’ll let people forget the killings that happened there. We’d list it later, hoping for a buyer who doesn’t care that murders took place in the main house years ago. A simple equation of balancing the costs of keeping the ranch up against the hoped-for increased price we can sell it for in a few years.”
Johnson paused to gobble down the tacos he’d ordered. After taking a long drink of tea, he continued. “If I keep it, I don’t think I’d keep coming up here. Not my thing — I like the tempo of the big city. Since the probate’ll take a while anyway, I’ll hang on to the ranch for now. Besides, I have to figure out what to do with Paul. I can’t kick him off the ranch before he gets his share. I hate to let him continue with his drug problem, but he’s not family. We could give him an advance or even his full share early. No reason to think that he committed matricide. He’s had an easy life and wouldn’t do anything to end that. I just don’t want to deal with him long term.”
“Well, let me get back to the probate process. The mundane part of probating an estate is all the detailed stuff. Each asset, except small value items, needs to be valued. Expenses have to be summed up, including funeral expenses and probate costs. Within a year of Betty’s death we have to file an inventory of the assets and liabilities. I figure you’ll want me to ask the judge to seal the inventory so it’s not public,” I said. Johnson was smart, but I didn’t know how much he’d ever had to deal with probate matters.
“Yeah, I’d want the inventory sealed,” Carroll said matter-of-factly. “As to the detail on the records, I can make speedy resolution of most of this. My secretary is smart and detailed. I’ll take the bank statements and the other records you got from Gus and get her to put everything on spreadsheets, along with an index of documents. We can digitize the documents, as we do in a public offering. We can then search for anything we want in the database.”
I had to remember that the murder investigation was in high gear. “That’s great, but I’ll have to check with Bob if you want to take anything out of the house right now. He may want a deputy to look over the records for clues. Given the size of her estate, there’ll be an IRS audit of her estate tax return. The more they see that we’ve dotted the i’s and crossed our t’s, the quicker that audit will go. One more thing. We need to go to the Blanco National Bank and see whether the diamonds are still in in the safety deposit box. If they are, we need to get them appraised.”
“Agreed.” Johnson replied. “We can run down to the bank after we meet with Hauffler.” Then he furrowed his brow and talked in a low voice. “I need to tell you about Betty and me and our arrangement on the front end here. This has got to be confidential, okay?”
“Sure. I need to know.”
“Betty and I loved each other but in an odd way. When we married, we were lovers and were close. As time passed, I realized that Betty was unique in many ways. She got a lot of wealth from her family, so she didn’t need any financial support from me. Or emotional support either, for that matter,” he said sadly. I felt sorry for him. He continued. “That made her quite independent. Being a wild extrovert, she loved to be in the company of others, particularly other men. Mind you, I’m no angel. I appreciate other women, and I’m exposed to temptation from women almost every day in my business. As time passed, I discovered that Betty had an intimate affair with one of our Houston friends. She also found out that I’d been having my own affair at the office with one of our junior analysts. Believe it or not, she found out through one of her girlfriends whose husband is a client of the firm. Amazing how people talk!”
Johnson finished his plate and pushed it aside. “That happened more than two years ago. Both Betty and I had had enough of the sneaking around. That led to several long discussions about our future. We both realized that a divorce would be the worst outcome since we both cared for each other, perhaps in an unconventional way, so we agreed to live together but lead separate lives. We had already kept our assets separate, so we didn’t need a separation agreement. Not one of those “open marriage” sort of arrangements, but both of us realized that the other was going to have significant others. I hate to say it, but the relationships I’ve had since then have been enjoyable, discreet and easy to break off, since each of my woman friends knew I was married. We just enjoyed being with each other.
“When she moved up to the ranch, according to the help, she started spending a lot of time with several men, particularly a minister and a distant cousin of mine who lives in Stonewall. Matthew Middlecoff. Maybe even Gus and Jake. I didn’t want to know the details. I wanted Betty to be happy. The arrangement worked well, with Betty coming to Houston periodically to show up for a local society bash or non-profit gala. For all that people in Houston know, we were a happy couple with a normal marriage. Believe me, I’m not the only guy in Houston living his life in posh River Oaks the way Betty and I did. Incidentally, I’m not at all unhappy with the way Betty left her money. That was her choice. My will was changed a long time ago leaving my estate to my siblings. But this discussion about our rather unique relationship doesn’t get us any closer to who killed her and why. Hauffler might shed some light on who he suspects.”
Carroll’s soliloquy made me feel good. He’d make a good witness with Bob and, if need be, the probate judge. Everything he said made sense to me. “I’m glad you told me that up front, Carroll,” I said. “Since you’re not in need of money, we can wait on any distributions until we find out who killed her. The main estate question is going to be what you do with the ranch, but we can wait on that.”
“Time to go see Bob Hauffler,” I said. I paid for our lunch and we got in my car, the good one, to go up a block to the sheriff’s office. The interview began routinely. Bob started off with the same Miranda warning he had given everyone else. Johnson didn’t react, remaining relaxed and confident. Being smart and world-wise, he didn’t need me to caution him about anything.
Bob launched right in. “Mr. Johnson, tell me where you were the day that your wife was killed.”
A bit taken aback by the abruptness of the question, Carroll replied. “I’ve thought back. That day, Wednesday, was like most days. I met with two clients, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Both clients were looking for money to do more drilling in the Permian Basin. I had lunch with the clients at the Coronado Club after the morning meeting. Then after the afternoon meeting, I caught up on my emails, texts and a few letters, prepared a few engagement agreements, and then gave it up and went home. Then I changed into casual clothes and drove to the River Oaks Country Club to meet a friend for drinks and dinner. I got home, alone, at nine, watched the news and went to bed.”
“How about the next day?”
“Same old same old. I got to the office a little after nine in my uniform — suit and silk tie, dress shoes, suspenders — you know. That day in the morning I caught up on my reading. A lot’s going on in the oil patch, not only fracking, but cost reductions and automated drilling, this time deeper. Blows my mind. Everything’s becoming digitized and put up in the cloud. Drilling superintendents can direct horizontal drilling from anywhere and don’t need to babysit a well being drilled anymore. Then I had lunch with several of my partners at a nearby restaurant, and in the afternoon at two I played golf with a couple of clients. That evening I went to my friend’s house for dinner. Left her a little after ten. I can give you the names of the people I’ve mentioned if you want them, so long as you keep the information confidential.”
“Please do so,” said Bob. “It sounds like you have a close relationship with this friend. What’s her name? Tell me more about your relationship with her.”
“Cynthia Carter and I are good friends. She’s an investment banker too and doesn’t want to get into a marriage, children and all that. We just enjoy each other socially . . . and physically.”
Bob reacted to the physical reference. He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. Johnson then repeated what he told me of his relationship with Betty, including the implicit agreement that each of them could have extra-marital affairs. Bob seemed skeptical. I knew he was pretty traditional, a church-goer on top of that.
“Those kinds of outside deals don’t lend stability to a long term relationship as far as I’m concerned,” Bob said. “Did you and Betty ever get into arguments, especially physical ones?”
“Not really. Our greatest enemies were independence and apathy. Both of us had separate lives, friends and lifestyles, lifestyles that differed from that of most people. Gradually we both grew apart and went our own ways. If we got divorced, there’d be this stigma for both of us, and we both knew that divorces of high net worth, socially prominent people always turn bitter and expensive. Lawyers promote contentiousness in divorces, not focusing on the need for cordial, post-divorce relationships, especially if kids are involved. The bottom line’s that we had no reason to get a divorce, as far as both of us were concerned, so we kept on as good friends.”
Trying to provoke Johnson, Hauffler asked, “You mean you didn’t mind Betty sleeping with multiple other males?”
Johnson stiffened in his chair and then composed himself. “I’m not sure that’s what was going on. At the beginning I was irritated and angry, but as I said, I’m no angel myself, and as we grew apart, it just didn’t matter. I thought of Betty the same way I would think about a sister or first cousin sleeping around as she did.”
“Okay. Final question. Please don’t be offended. Do you use drugs? Do you own any pistols? Any criminal history?”
Carroll chuckled. “No on all counts, unless you classify alcohol as a drug. I’ve never owned any firearms, especially pistols. I have to be registered with the SEC because of what I do, and they keep a record of everything. You can check it out and run a criminal history on me, but you won’t find anything except a couple of speeding tickets. I got stopped once for DUI but the charged was eventually dismissed. I can’t afford to get in trouble, and the people I know who’ve gotten into drugs end up losing everything.”
Apparently satisfied, Hauffler gathered up his papers on the table. “That’s all I have. Thanks to both of you for meeting with me.”
We adjourned, and Carroll and I drove to the bank to open the safety deposit box. That’s always a hassle with any bank, especially one known for being particular. I gave the teller the death certificate, a copy of the will, and a certified copy showing that Carroll had been appointed as the executor. We finally got into the box, and sure enough we found probably twenty brooches, necklaces, rings and bracelets. They all looked as if they’d been made during the Art Deco period, and most were marked Van Cleef & Arpels. Carroll asked me to take them to a jewelry appraiser for valuation. I nervously accepted but only after we scrawled out a rough inventory of each of the items.
Johnson relaxed then. He felt that his meeting with Hauffler had gone well. He must have felt the same way with me and the estate business. I couldn’t think of anything more we needed to talk over.
“If there’s nothing else, I need to talk to Gus and the help,” Johnson said. “Then I’ll head back to Houston. As you can understand, I’m not comfortable sleeping in the house Betty was murdered in. Boring here too. Thanks for your help. He looked at me straight in the eyes. I hope you don’t judge me too harshly because of the way I live and the way Betty and I got along.”
“I’m the last one to judge people. I’ve had my ups and downs too.”
“Goodbye then.” And with that he was gone.