I rolled up into my driveway twenty minutes later. I’d been thinking all the way home from the bank about my lunch with Johnson and his interview. All very smooth. If he and Betty were good friends, he sure didn’t seem all that upset over her death. Could be that Carroll Johnson was wearing a mask, hiding the real Carroll Johnson. On the other hand, he might just be cold and hard, like most investment bankers. Cocktail time at least for me, but today a front had blown through, pushing temperatures to the low fifties, too cool for hanging out in the gazebo.
Carla rushed up as I got out of the car, excited and radiant. “What’s up?” I said.
“I did a pregnancy test a while ago, and it says we’re going to be parents! Congratulations, Dad!”
“That sure didn’t take long!” I said awkwardly. I didn’t know what else to say, so I hugged her and congratulated her. My mind was reeling. I calculated that I’d be sixty-three when this one got his or her driver’s license. After the excitement abated, Carla put two big potatoes in the oven, and I was deputized to grill steaks. Carla wouldn’t even have a glass of wine, but I feasted on a whole bottle of Becker chardonnay in celebration.
The next day, I turned to taking care of city business. Being the Blanco city attorney involves two things: municipal court prosecutions and advising on the city’s business stuff. The latter involves contracts, employment issues, municipal law rules, and most importantly taking heat for the mayor and city council on controversial issues. Easy work, but it didn’t pay much. I think of what I do as my civic duty.
The mayor wanted to meet. To get a little privacy, we lunched at the Blanco Bowling Alley Café, sitting in the back next to the lanes where no one could hear us. They don’t make many like Mayor Jim Roberts. Jim’s a great guy, devoted to the city and his family. His day job as athletic director at the Comal County High School gave him time to address city matters. He was pushing fifty-five, and his hair, what was left of it, was still dark brown. He had the physique of a thirty-year-old. Energetic and personable, everyone liked him, but he had a certain toughness of mind that allowed him to get things done without pissing everyone off. A great coach for his football kids. Like most men in their fifties, he carried a bit more weight than he should have, in part because he was devoted to Miller Lite as his main source of fluids and potassium. Not that he drank to excess. I never saw him affected by his beer.
“I could spend my whole day, every day, handling problems here at the city, but my school job won’t let me,” Jim said. “My biggest city problem? Some fool in the distant past figured we needed a comprehensive building code, so the city council passed the ‘Uniform Development Code’ without thoroughly vetting it. Turns out it was a carbon copy of the code for Katy, Texas, a suburb of Houston, and it has all sorts of things wrong with it. There’s no end of disputes over what types of homes can go on property — trailers the most controversial — and how many homes can go on one piece of property. It’s the Planning and Zoning Commission’s job to take flak for me and the city council. They’re supposed to make recommendations, but lately, facing controversy, they and the council have been tossing the decision-making to me. That’s not making me popular.”
“Couldn’t we set up a task force to review and revise the UDC to fit our small town?” I asked.
“That’s the practical and reasonable solution, but the P and Z won’t take it on, and if we set up a task force, it’ll be populated by the town’s busybodies, retired people who’ve moved in here and have big city ideas.”
I laughed. “Do what our Presidents and governors do then. Duck and delay the issues and leave them for the next poor soul in your office.”
Jim groaned and looked at me with an air of resignation. “Good advice, but the people who want my job would be terrible for the city.”
As Jim talked, we heard major siren blasts from the fire engines leaving their building, not a block away. Sounded like every available vehicle in the Blanco Volunteer Fire Department. “I wonder what that’s about,” I said to Jim.
“I’ll check.” He called city hall. “A fire south of town. Big building. Outside the city limits.”
•••
Blanco is so small that nothing that happens here ever hits the evening news on the Austin TV stations. This one was different. None other than Blaise’s Cowboy Church had burned. I found out later that his church, three thousand square feet, had been built by church members themselves, with the materials costs provided by Betty Longstreet. Bob called me after the fire and related the details of the fire just as Carla and I were getting ready for bed.
“Doesn’t take a forensics team to tell what happened,” Bob said when he called. “The building was made almost entirely out of wood—two by fours, wood planking exterior, that sort of thing. Pier and beam deal with wood flooring. The fire started in the back of the building near where they put their trash. We found an empty metal gas can at the back, burned up with the rest of the place. Literally everything that wasn’t metal burned up. Blaise arrived not more than ten minutes after the fire trucks came to the scene. He had trouble controlling himself from crying, saying, ‘First Betty and now this. How am I going to get along?’ Seemed sincere. I had a hard time not believing him, but this could be an insurance fire he started himself.”
“Blaise looks worse as a suspect in Betty’s killing with this happening,” I said. “He counted on Betty funding his church operation. With her arguing with him about God and the church, with her threatening to cut off her funding, it could be that he had to find a way to close out his deal and move on.”
“My thought exactly. We’ll get Blaise back in for another interview.”
After the call, I added up all the loose ends and the numerous suspects Bob had to deal with. We hadn’t made any progress. The next morning, however, I had an epiphany. We needed more information on each of these guys, so I called Ed Crowe of Crowe and Cassidy Private Investigations. Ed had been a critical player in Houston helping Larry and me sort out the people I was dealing with after four people died. Thanks to Ed, we discovered that one of the supposed suicide victims we dealt with had a serious criminal history. It changed the whole direction of our investigation.
After exchanging the usual pleasantries old friend do, I launched in. “Ed,” I said, “I’ve got another assignment for you. I understand Larry’s been doing PI work for you off and on, and he’s already been digging around on the one I’ve got up here for entertainment. Our sheriff, Bob Hauffler, is a close friend, and I’m the executor of the estate of a wealthy woman named Betty Longstreet, who was murdered two months ago in her mansion here in Blanco County.”
Ed laughed. “You don’t have to tell me anything more. I know all about it. Not from Larry, mind you. It’s been in the Houston Chronicle over and over again. The reading public loves to follow unsolved murders involving rich people.”
“I can’t distribute any of the money until we find out who killed her. Our problem’s simple. All the beneficiaries have made the suspect list. I need you to do in-depth searches and records on each of them to see what makes each one tick. The prime suspect right now is Charles Blaise, who claims to be a minister, but his church just burned down, and we think he had an especially close relationship with Betty. Then there’s her husband Carroll Johnson, who’s been mentioned in the papers and lives in Houston. Finally, we need to have information on four minor characters, Gus Binion and Jake Saunders, the ranch managers; Paul Scranton, Betty’s son by a first marriage; and Matthew Middlecoff, a cousin of Carroll Johnson. Off the record, we think Betty had physical relationships with at least Blaise and Binion, and maybe Middlecoff. Scranton lives on the ranch and follows what might be called an alternative lifestyle. Rumor has it that he’s into drugs. I’ll send you as much data on each as we can find — social security numbers, previous addresses, and so on. I’d appreciate your getting this done quickly. I understand that with so many people to look up, the searches will take a while. Larry may be able to nose around HPD to see whether there’s any information on Johnson, and Betty for that matter.”
“Sounds like you have your hands full. I’ll get my partner, Bill Cassidy, involved,” Ed said. “We’re getting a little long in the tooth, but we’ve kept up with technology. We can do a lot of this online now. We’ll check with HPD and, if it’s okay with you, we’ll chat with Hauffler to see if any of the candidates up there every got into trouble.”
“Sure. I’ll give Bob a heads up. When you talk to him, tell him we’ll share any information we dig up with him.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell Larry you called and brief him. This should take no more than ten days.”
“Okay. Appreciate the help.” I felt a wave of relief knowing that Ed and Bill were on board.