What's Left is Right: Book two of The Detective Bill Ross Crime Series (6 page)

They finished their drinks and headed to the parking lot to load up their vehicles and head home.

~

As Jimmy Rodriguez walked out the front door of the golf club he waved to a waiting black Lincoln Town Car parked off to the right of the parking lot. It started up and pulled over to the front of the entrance.

The driver jumped out grabbed Jimmy’s clubs and loaded them into the trunk. He then ran around the vehicle and opened the rear door for Jimmy to get in. As he did so his stylish black leather jacket fell open, flashing its Hugo Boss designer label.

Elaine was preparing her famous chicken chili with homemade cornbread when they all arrived back at Bill and Elaine’s home after their day at Whispering Hollow. As they walked in the house was full of the aromas of onions, chili, cumin and cilantro, the perfect meal for a cold November night.

“So how was your day?” said Elaine as she lifted the steaming cornbread out of the oven. “Dinner in half an hour, so get what you need to drink from the fridge.”

“Want a beer, Marie? How about you, Shelly, can I get you something?” said Tommy, pulling a couple of Coronas from the fridge.

“I’ll have a Corona,” said Marie.

“I will too,” said Shelly.

Bill emerged from his bedroom. He had discarded his golf cloths and had freshened up. He now wore a pair of dark blue sweats with the Kilmarnock FC logo. He poured himself a glass of Glenmorangie and sat down at the dining room table. Tommy and Marie sat down next to him while Shelly took Claire off to give her a bath before dinner.

“Okay, a few minutes of debrief from our day before we settle down for dinner,” said Bill. “Elaine hates me talking shop around the dinner table, so let’s make it quick.”

“Did you see all the construction going on ever there?” said Marie.

“I did, Marie. There is some serious money being pumped in to those projects. The guys at the golf course today talked about the Chinese but I doubt they are doing this alone. My guess is that Garrison McMullen is in it and there are others for sure. One action item we need to take from today will be to look into the construction projects and the folks involved.”

“I agree, Dad,” said Tommy. “Marie and I talked to about fifty residents today and over half of them work on those construction projects; that’s why they weren’t home the other day, they were out on the site. They weren’t gone into Austin as the retired folks had said the last time we were there. They are all working right there at Venture Point.”

“So what did you find out about the death at Whispering Hollow?” asked Bill.

Marie pulled out her notes and gave him the report.

“Most of the folks we talked with gave us the disinformation story, that a homeless guy had set himself on fire and accidentally burned to death. There were a few who said that something needed to be done about the people who slept in the park. The vagrant problem seems larger than we first thought. I think we need to get down to the park at night and see who sleeps there. There may be homeless people still living there who might have seen something.”

“As Tommy said, we talked with over fifty people. The community is split into single-family homes and condos. We talked with three guys in the single-family homes who work as tradesman on the construction sites. Two of them were carpenters and one was an electrician. They saw nothing that night other than the fire trucks when they arrived.

“The person who made the 9-1-1 call was Sally Sessions; she lives on Point View Way overlooking the lake and Whispering Hollow. She and her husband, Jeff, have two young boys—Billy, who is sixteen, and George, who’ll soon be eighteen. Sally works in a bank in Lago Vista and Jeff works for a computer software company in Round Rock. Their boys attend the new Leander High School that was just built.

“She said she did hear a lot of men shouting and the sound of trucks revving up their engines, but she assumed it was just kids letting off some steam. Then she saw the flames. She went to get her cell phone to make the call and then returned to the window. She saw two trucks speeding out of the park and, although it was dark, she thought they were white in color. She had thought at the time that they may have been from the power company or one of the construction companies, but she’s not sure. That was pretty much it.”

“Don’t forget about the guys in the condo, Marie,” said Tommy, jumping in.

“Oh, yes, sorry I missed that!”

“We talked with a number of folks who lived in the condos. There was one condo in particular that gave Tommy and me the creeps. The guy who answered the door seemed stoned. We couldn’t smell anything to suggest that they were smoking weed so we had no reason to ask to enter the property. There seemed to be a lot of people in the house and the guy said that they were just playing cards and that they all lived in the neighborhood. One other guy did come to the door, and he gave his name as Fernando Cazarez and that he lived on Apache Court. He said that they all work for Rodriguez Construction. We checked Cazerez out later and he checked out as legit. We just felt the place was a little strange. They knew nothing and saw nothing the night of the killing, or so they said.”

“What did your day on the links reveal, Dad, anything?” asked Tommy.

“I met a guy that we need to check out for sure. His name is Jimmy Rodriguez; he lives in a big house overlooking the lake. This Cazerez guy you mention might work for him. He is a loudmouth, throws his money around and cheats at golf. According to another one of the residents, he employs teams of tradesmen and contracts them out to the developers. When we finished golf he was picked up in a chauffeur-driven black limo. The driver wore a black leather jacket that had a Hugo Boss label. The same make of leather jacket that Raul Hernandez purchased from Martha Goldman.”

“Okay, so we need to check out both Rodriguez and his chauffeur,” said Tommy.

~

With the police work discussion over, they all sat back as Elaine brought the chili and the cornbread to the table. Shelly had emerged from the guest bathroom with Claire wrapped up in a huge bathrobe. Shelly had her in her arms and dried her off. She then dressed Claire in her Dora the Explorer PJs and sat down beside her at the table.

With their bowls full of chili, and after they had taken a few bites of the cornbread, Bill raised the topic of the late Jack Johnson.

“A few days ago I was telling Marie that Jack’s death has had a major effect on my life and that I’ve still not come to terms with it. I wake up in the night thinking about it and I need to work at putting it behind me.”

“Wow, I feel the same, Dad!” said Tommy, taking his father’s lead. “We’re all in law enforcement and it does come with the territory; however, we are human and we can’t just ignore how we feel.”

Realizing that Bill had set the scene, Shelly jumped right in.

“Marie needs to find another line of work! I just can’t take the stress of worrying about her every minute of the day. I see no other way. She needs to get out of the line of fire and find alternative employment or our relationship is in danger of collapse. I’m sorry to just blurt it out in this way, but we have talked about it. Y’all are a close team working together every day, but I find that it’s almost impossible to function in my job worrying about Marie. How is it for you, Elaine? You’ve been dealing with this with Bill for a lot longer than I have with Marie.”

“You just have to get used to it, Shelly. That was the way it was for me at any rate. No, I should say that’s the way it
is
for me because it is still the same today! I knew that if I had tried to have Bill leave the police force he would have done it for me, but the Bill that would have been left would not have been the same Bill that I love and married. It would have been like him chopping his right arm off. There would have been a negative lasting effect on him both physically and mentally.”

Just as Shelly was about to respond Marie’s cell phone rang.

“Marie Mason.”

“Detective Mason, this is Latisha Williams of the Austin
Statesman
.”

“I know who you are, Latisha. What can I do for you and how did you get my number?”

The name Latisha had an immediate effect on Tommy and Shelly, as they both knew who she was.

Latisha Williams was the chief crime reporter for the Austin
Statesman
and had the reputation of a rabid Rottweiler. When she got her teeth into a story she would not let go and had no concern whatsoever for any collateral damage that her tenacious reporting might cause.

“What’s going on over at Whispering Hollow? Are you looking into the death of the homeless guy who torched himself last year? You’re asking a lot of questions and costing the taxpayers a lot of money for some guy that no one gives a crap about! So what’s the real story? I got a call from an old girlfriend of mine that you were snooping around. I think we should meet.”

“Let me talk with my boss, Latisha, and I’ll call you back. Don’t get your panties in a wad right now; it’s not some big conspiracy. The original team asked that we take another look at the evidence, that’s it, nothing more sinister than that. Give me a couple of days to get hold of my boss; he’s out of town for Thanksgiving. I just need his okay to talk with you.”

Marie was just trying to buy some time and it appeared to work.

“Okay, Marie, I’ll expect to hear from you Monday, no later, or I’ll go with a story to flush out the truth! Have a good Thanksgiving, Marie.”

~

“I guess y’all know who that was,” said Marie as the others stared at her.

“I don’t know how she got my number, but suffice to say Latisha Williams shares the same lifestyle as Shelly and me. An ex-girlfriend of hers, probably Cheryl Brown at the golf club, called her and told her we were snooping around. What do you think we should do, Tommy?”

“We have to meet with her and ask her to work with us on this. She’ll want something in return, like exclusivity on the story, but she’s a real loose cannon, and if we don’t get her in the tent pissing out then she’ll piss in all over us.”

“Real nice analogy at the dinner table, Tommy Ross, really nice,” said Elaine, more than a little upset with her son.

“You know that your daughter is sitting right there!” continued Elaine, pointing to Claire. Then the four-year-old came out with a gem, as she often did these days, that had them almost rolling about the floor with laughter.

“The lady should do pee-pee in the toilet, Mimi, shouldn’t she?”

There was nothing more that needed to be said.

They never got back onto the subject of Marie’s line of work. It would have to wait for another time. However, the ice had been broken and there were now no secrets. It was out in the open. It would be an issue that would have to be addressed, however, and addressed soon or it would fester and cause an irreparable rift in the team.

On Monday morning Bill Ross was sitting at the breakfast table sipping on his first cup of coffee of the day and reflecting on the positive progress made over the weekend, when his cell phone rang.

“Good morning, Bill, how’s the weather this morning there in Austin?” said Alex Forbes-Hamilton.

“Forty-three degrees and fog, Alex. My guess is it’s colder where you are though?”

“It’s actually a nice day here, clear skies for a change! The wind and the rain we’ve had for the past couple of weeks is gone and we have at least one day of respite, thankfully. I have some news, Bill!”

The words had an effect like a triple espresso being injected directly into Bill’s brain.

“Let me get to my office, Alex, it’s quieter there, and Elaine can continue watching ‘Good Morning America.’” Bill ran into his office.

“Okay, Alex, I’m all ears!”

“I talked with two chaps at the Hereford SAS HQ who were both members of my unit back in 2003 and are still active duty today. They agreed to do some digging around for me on the QT and they found some interesting stuff.

“There were six hundred and thirty-six members of the joint Special Forces operation in the Iraqi desert in 2003. Over four hundred were American, one hundred and eighty-two Brits and the remainder were a mix of Australians and Polish. There was one team of six that made a particular name for themselves, taking out eight potential scud site installations and engaging with the enemy in six firefights.

“This team of six was nicknamed
The Spirit Riders
. It was made up of four Americans, a Brit and an Aussie. The Brit’s name is Martin Peters and he is now retired from the service and lives in Leeds. The Aussie was Carl Conrad from Ballarat, Victoria in Australia, and the four Americans were Joe Nichol, Jimmy Martinelli, Mike Muguara and Raul Hernandez.

“As it happens there was only one man named Raul Hernandez in the entire operation in the Iraqi desert, so this might be the Raul Hernandez you’re looking for, Bill.”

Alex Forbes-Hamilton paused to let Bill process all of this.

“Incredible!”

This one word was all that Bill could think of, astounded that he might have now actually confirmed the identity of the body found at Whispering Hollow; however, his elation was short lived.

“There is a piece of bad news, however, Bill. Raul Hernandez and Jimmy Martinelli were both killed before the desert operation was concluded. They were exploring a disused culvert when they tripped an IED. They died instantly.”

Bill almost threw up. His gut tightened and his head pounded.

“Damn, I thought I had him!”

“Thanks for doing this, Alex, and thank your colleagues for sticking their necks out. I know that they took a risk in getting this info, so I do owe you
and them
on this one. Don’t really know where to go from here now. I’ll just have to think on it a bit.”

“You might want to try Special Operations Command Europe. They’re located in Stuttgart, Germany. That was the center of operations for the American contingent that took part in the Iraqi Desert campaign. I can also give you the contact details for Martin Peters. I talked with him and as a favor to me he agreed to talk with you if you wish.”

“Thanks, Alex. I wish you and your family a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and the next time I’m back in Scotland I’ll give you a head’s up and dinner is on me.”

~

“Long face, honey,” said Elaine as she saw Bill walk into the kitchen after his call with Alex. “A bacon butty will cheer you up!”

Bill couldn’t resist, as the entire kitchen smelled of grilled Irish bacon, Bill’s favorite. Elaine had found a local source in Austin and it was a breakfast treat for them every so often. It was a godsend that morning, and Bill grabbed another coffee and had his first mouthful of breakfast roll and bacon with HP sauce, the British equivalent of A1 steak sauce. He felt a hundred times better.

He stared out over his backyard as the morning fog was beginning to clear, wishing he could find a way for the fog to clear on the Burning Cross investigation.

~

“Martin Peters.”

Bill had sent an email to the retired SAS commando to set up a time for the phone call and referenced the discussion with Alex Forbes-Hamilton. Martin Peters answered in his thick Yorkshire accent.

“Thanks for agreeing to the call, Martin!”

“Aye, that’s all right, how do you know Colonel Forbes-Hamilton then?” said Martin.

This was a man who wasn’t going to worry too much about the social graces; he was right in Bill’s face from the off.

“It’s a long story,” replied Bill. “I found the two boys who killed his father a few years ago and we’ve been friends ever since.”

“Oh aye, I guess that would do it. Still breathing are they, the two boys?”

“They’re locked away for life in Peterhead prison.”

“Aye, no doubt they’ll get out for good behavior.”

It was obvious that Martin didn’t approve of Britain’s abolishment of the death penalty, and he would have gladly volunteered to save the British taxpayer the cost of keeping the killers incarcerated.

“So what do you want to know about the Iraq stuff then, Bill? It’s been a few years ago now and my memories are fading a bit.”

“Tell me about
The Spirit Riders.
There were six of you, I understand, four Americans, you and an Aussie. What was it like to be part of that team?”

“Best time o’ my life,” said Martin and the tone in his voice suggested that he would go back again tomorrow if asked.

“Of all of the operations I was part of over the years, this was by far the best and I was the only Brit. I loved Carl Conrad like a brother, the mad Aussie git. He’s back in Ballarat now, retired and taking tourists around the sheep-shearing demonstrations. He’s drunk most of the time on Ballarat Bitter, the local beer, and loving life. We keep in contact and send each other a postcard once a year.”

“What about the Americans? It must have been devastating when two of them were killed by a land mine.”

“Part of the job, mate! We’re in the killing business. We want to kill them and they want to kill us. I’ve seen many boys cop it right there in front of me. If it’s your time, then it’s your time. Can’t let it affect you too much; the job needs to get done, enough said, end of,” replied Martin.

“Did you like the Yanks, Martin?”

“They were just like me and Carl. We all were peas from the same pod. We had similar training, almost identical, to be honest. We respected each other, had shared experiences and, most importantly, didn’t get in each other’s face. Tough to be the big dog in a small group when you know that any one of the other dogs knows just as much as you do and could kill you in an instant. Tends to level the playing field, no egos, no room for them.”

“What was Raul Hernandez like?

“Ah, the silent assassin. He was a little pit bull was Raul Hernandez. He was a rich kid, the son of some bigwig banker in Houston, Texas. He reminded me more of a street fighter like that Mexican César Chávez. He was five-seven, hard as nails and never quit. It would have had to be a bomb that would take him out, doubt he would have lost mano-a-mano. He probably never felt a thing!”

“He was only five foot seven?”

“Yes, he was five-seven. We were all pretty stocky. The tallest was Mike Muguara, and he was six-one.”

“What happened to him? Is he out of the service now?”

“Don’t know, never kept in touch with Buzz. Don’t know where he is, if he is alive or dead. Even if he’s dead he’ll still be with us!” laughed Martin Peters, showing the first bit of genuine emotion since the call started.

“His nickname was Buzz, why was that, Martin?”

“He wanted to be called that, his choice. He told us that he was a Native American Indian and that his tribe was part of the Comanche. They were called the Penateka and he explained that it meant
honeyeaters
in the Comanche language. So he wanted to be called Buzz, like the bees, I guess it was his little joke.”

“Why do you say -
Even if he’s is dead he’ll still be with us
?”

“It’s the same reason we were called
Spirit Riders
. Buzz explained that Muguara meant
Spirit Talker
and he would sit off on his own in the desert at night and stare up into the stars and
talk
with his ancestors. Our team got the reputation that our success in engaging with the enemy and finding the scud missile sites was because Buzz talked to the spirits and they guided us in our work. When other teams would try to wind us up with talk of spirit guidance, Buzz would just smile and walk away. Good man, Buzz!”

“I read about the Native Indians in World War II who communicated with each other using a code based on the Navajo language. I also saw the movie that was made about them called
Wind Talkers
,” said Bill.

“Buzz was nothing like that. The only conversation he had in his native language was with dead people, the spirits of his ancestors.”

“And Joe Nichol ever hear anything about him?”

“Another pit bull was Joe! He was Scots/Irish from Boston. Haven’t kept in touch with him either. He’s probably breaking heads in some Irish bar in Boston, and good luck to him.”

That was all Bill learned from Martin Peters. He ended the call and there were no niceties at the end, no offer to “call again if you need more information.”

Bill concluded that Martin would probably not even take another call. He wanted to be left alone with his memories. He had taken this one call because his ex-commanding officer had made a specific request.

Bill sat back in his home office and stared at the ceiling. There were originally six members of the
Spirit Riders
and two were now dead. One lived in Britain, one in Australia and the other two, who knows? They could be living somewhere in the U.S. or elsewhere or they could be dead also. One of them, a First Nation Native Indian, could have met his demise on a cold night at Whispering Hollow on the shores of Lake Travis.