CHAPTER 13
THE GOLF PRO
Stan’s disappearance made the headlines in the Dallas Morning News and was the lead story on all the local TV newscasts. There were several reporters waiting outside for me when I got to the office. I talked with them briefly and then went inside. When I walked by Stewart’s desk, he handed me a thick pile of telephone messages from clients, friends, and other reporters who had called for information or to express their concern over Stan’s disappearance.
“Oh, God. I hate all these distractions. I don’t have time for this,” I moaned.
“Sorry, Paula,” Stewart said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yes, let me dictate a short statement and you can return these calls for me.”
“No problem. I’ll be glad to do it.”
There was a large stack of mail on my desk. I sifted through it and noticed several handwritten letters. I opened the first letter and read
Dear Ms. Waters,
Sorry to hear of your partner’s disappearance. I know for a fact the government is behind it. They will do anything, including murder, to protect their revenue sources even if those sources are illegal and unconstitutional. You and Mr. Turner are very courageous for standing up to the IRS and our Congress that have betrayed the American People. We all pray that Stan is safe and soon will be back on the job helping you defend Dusty Thomas. God bless you.
Yours truly,
A. Wester
The other letters were similar. It seemed many members of the CDA had come to the erroneous conclusion that Stan and I supported their cause. I felt like writing them back and setting them straight, but I had more important things to do. Now that I had gotten a vote of confidence from Dusty and his wife, I pulled out my notebook to see what witness was next on my list. It was Frank Milborn, a professional golfer from Allen, Texas. The contact information I had on him indicated he was a pro at the Bent Tree Country Club. I called ahead and made an appointment to see him. Since the Watsons had spotted a Mercedes out at the Double T Ranch around the time of Agent Tuttle’s death, I decided to pay close attention to what each witness was driving. There were a black Lincoln and a Ford Mustang out in front of the clubhouse when I arrived. I went inside and introduced myself to the man at the counter. It was Milborn.
“I wasn’t shocked to hear of Agent Tuttle’s death, actually. The way he treated people it's no wonder it didn’t happen sooner. ”
“So, how did he treat people?” I asked.
Milborn looked at me thoughtfully. “He treated everyone who owed taxes like they were criminals. I explained to him that my mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer and needed money to pay for her treatment. She never worked, and when my father died she couldn’t afford to keep up his medical insurance. She was too young for Medicare. I gave her the money I had set aside for the taxes. But he didn’t care. He was rude, insolent, and unrelenting in his efforts to destroy me.”
“That must have angered you.”
“Yes, it did. But, there wasn’t much I could do about it.”
“Did Tuttle ever come out to your club to harass you?”
He nodded and sighed. “Oh, yes. Many times. He looked for opportunities to humiliate me in front of my customers or friends.”
“So, did you just take it or did you fight back?”
“There wasn’t a lot I could do, but I did call his supervisor and complain about his tactics.”
“Did that do any good?”
He shrugged. “For a week or two and then he just put more heat on me. I didn’t dare complain again for fear he’d retaliate even more.”
“Are you married?” I asked.
“Yes, I am. Lorraine is her name. She's a nurse. We’ve been married eight years now.”
“Did Agent Tuttle harass your wife as well?”
Milborn made a fist.“Yes, the bastard garnished her wages. She was humiliated at work. I could have—”
“Killed him?”
“Well, not literally. But I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind.”
“Did you know Agent Tuttle had a hit list?”
“A what?”
“A list of taxpayers that he targeted for special attention. You were on the list along with Dusty Thomas and several others.”
He shook his head. “That figures.”
“So, did he ever collect anything from you?” I asked.
“Unfortunately. He got a couple of my wife’s paychecks, almost a thousand from our bank account, and he seized my bass boat.”
“Please don’t take offense, but I have to ask you some delicate questions.”
“Like what?” Milborn asked warily.
“Like, do you own a shotgun?”
“Sure, I do a little dove hunting each year.”
“A Remington?”
“I’ve got a Remington and a Winchester.”
“Have you ever been to the Double T Ranch?”
“No.”
“Do you remember where you were on the afternoon of July 11?”
He grinned. “Watching your partner on TV just like everybody else.”
“Where was the TV?”
“In my office at the clubhouse.”
“Were you alone?”
He nodded. “Unfortunately. I wasn’t giving any lessons so I was catching up on paperwork.”
Milborn had ample motive to kill Agent Tuttle but he didn’t seem angry enough to do it. Of course, at the time his wife’s bank account was garnished his attitude might have been different—particularly if his wife was the emotional type. Whether Milborn was guilty or not, his lack of an alibi could create some reasonable doubt. It occurred to me that his wife could have done it too.
“Did your wife ever go hunting with you?”
“No. She didn’t like killing animals—strictly skeet shooting for her.”
“What kind of a car does she drive?”
“A Mercedes”
“Gray?”
“No, silver.”
It didn’t seem likely that Lorraine was the killer, but she did drive the right kind of car. In my experience as an assistant DA, I had learned that women didn’t kill as often as men but, when they did, a shotgun wouldn’t be the weapon of choice. They would more likely go for poisoning, a knife, or a small hand gun. I did make note that I needed to find out Lorraine's whereabouts when Agent Tuttle was killed. I thought of Monty and wished he were around to help me with some of this legwork. There was way too much for one person to handle. I should have hired another investigator already, but that would have given the appearance that I had given up on Stan and Monty’s safe return. That would have upset Jodie and Rebekah, and they didn’t need any more trauma right then.
For the umpteenth time I asked myself—Where in the hell could they be? Why hasn’t the kidnapper called and asked for money? Something just didn’t add up. What it was, I didn’t know, but I did know I couldn’t afford to lose my focus. I couldn’t let anything distract me from my primary objective of proving Dusty Thomas innocent.