CHAPTER 17
PEOPLE'S MISSION
The People’s Mission operated out of an executive suite in Carillon Towers in North Dallas. The receptionist told me to have a seat and she would tell Mr. Davidson that I was there to see him. I knew nothing about Reverend Riley Davidson other than the official IRS view that he was nothing but a tax evader. I wondered how people like Riley Davidson figured they could ever get away not paying their taxes. They must live in a cloud of self-delusion or something to think that the government would just let them off the hook because they were self-proclaimed ministers of God. Mr. Davidson was a thin, wiry man in his late thirties. He reminded me of Woody Allen.
“Ms. Waters?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to intrude but I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. I guess you know I’m an attorney and I represent Dusty Thomas.”
“Oh, bless you, my child. Now there’s a man who needs all the help the Lord can give him.”
“Yes, he does indeed. . . . I understand you and Dusty Thomas have something in common.”
Davidson looked at me curiously. “What’s that?”
“Your dislike of Agent Tuttle.”
Davidson smiled. “Praise the Lord. Actually I loved Agent Tuttle, as misguided a man as he was. I only hope that he is in heaven on the right side of the father—although I fear he may be in the pits of hell, actually.”
I laughed. “I appreciate your honesty, Reverend. Why do you suppose agent Tuttle had you on his hit list?”
“His hit list? Did he really have such a list?”
“Yes, so I’m told.”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose because he was an atheist he couldn’t understand how anyone could be so immersed in the Lord’s work.”
“Or he didn’t understand how you figured you didn’t have to pay taxes.”
“Do the Catholics pay taxes—the Baptists, or the Lutherans?”
“I suppose not, but aren’t you also a stockbroker.”
“Only out of necessity. I would much prefer to do nothing but preach the word of God, but unfortunately I have to eat and pay my rent.”
“I see. So you didn’t have any animosity toward Agent Tuttle, even though he was trying to make your life a living hell?”
“No, not at all. He was a misguided spirit that I tried to reach but couldn’t.”
“Just for the record. Where were you the day of his murder?”
“Training some fellow ministers of the word.”
“Other persons who had been ordained in your church?” I asked.
“Yes. Our church is growing rapidly and we need ministers to reach all of the heathens.”
“So, the people you were training can back up your story?”
“Yes, of course.”
It appeared Reverend Davidson had an alibi but there were others in his organization who I was sure didn’t. The only problem was finding time to interview each an every one of them. I doubted Reverend Davidson would be anxious to help but I did manage to get a roster out of him. When I got back to the office, I mentioned to Jodie my problem with a lack of manpower.
“I have the same problem. With Stan gone I’ve had to do a lot of things he would usually do.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Well, today I had to go to a creditors' meeting for one of his bankruptcy clients.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yeah, the trustee knows Stan is missing so he hasn’t complained about me standing in.”
“Well, if you need me to do anything, just let me know.”
“Okay, I will probably need you to come to court with me tomorrow.”
“Oh really, what’s going on?”
“GMAC is trying to take away a client’s car and Stan is scheduled at a preliminary hearing. I could do it, but I’m not an attorney.”
“Gee. I have no clue—”
“It’s all right. I’ll tell you what to say.”
I laughed. “Okay, whatever. Did Stan teach you all this stuff?”
“Yes, he trained me to do all the paperwork and took me to court a few times so I could see exactly how the process worked. He thinks I should go to law school.”
“Well, maybe you should.”
“I’m thinking about it.” Jodie said. “I only have one more semester before I graduate from college.”
“You work full time and go to college too?”
“Right. Stan lets me work a flexible schedule so I can attend classes.”
“Sounds like you have a great boss.”
“He is. I just wish I could do something to help find him.”
“Me too.”
“Anyway, Stan sometimes sends me out to interview people and do investigations. Maybe I can help you with the People’s Mission. Just tell me what you are looking for and I’ll be happy to interview some of the members.”
It was an interesting idea and I certainly needed all the help I could get. Jodie was certainly a smart girl and she was attractive enough that the other members of the People’s Mission would be anxious to talk to her. I figured it also would be good for Jodie as it would take her mind off of Stan for a while. I opened my briefcase and pulled out the roster Reverend Davidson had given me.
I handed the roster to her and said, “Okay, we’re looking for someone who was particularly angry at Agent Tuttle, angry enough to want to do him harm. Check each person's alibi and find out what kind of car they were driving—make, model, and color.”
Jodie smiled and took the roster. “No problem. This will be fun.”
When I got home that night, my beeper was flashing on my answering machine. It was a message from Bart telling me he’d be over at 7:30 to take me to dinner. It was 6:15 so I just had time to take a bath and change into something more appropriate for the evening. While the water was running, I turned on the evening news.
“Now here is Troy Dungan with the Channel 8 weather report,” a reporter said.
“Hurricane Bonnie has changed direction, picked up speed, and is heading toward Cuba as we speak. It’s expected to make landfall sometime after 8:00 p.m. Winds have been reported at 118 miles per hour and the Cuban population is bracing for the worst. We’ll keep an eye on Bonnie and let you know if it poses any future threat to the Gulf coast.”
“Thank you, Troy. In other news, still no word on attorney Stan Turner, missing now for more than two weeks. It was reported yesterday that Turner had phoned home to tell his wife he was about to board a commercial airplane out of Quito, Ecuador headed for Miami. But that’s the last anyone has heard of him. A spokesman for the CDA claimed Turner and his companion, a private eye named Monty Dozier, had been taken into custody by U.S. officials and flown to an undisclosed location. The State Department denies that Turner is in custody but confirms that, according to airport records, he did take off from Quito last night in a small jet. There is no word on who owned the plane and where it was headed.”
“What a bizarre story. Let’s just hope that plane wasn’t headed anywhere near Cuba,” the reporter said.
I shut off the TV and headed toward the bathtub. There is nothing better to soothe a tired, worn out body than a hot bath. I removed my clothes quickly and climbed into the water. The heat immediately began to relax me, and the fragrance of the bath oil I had generously poured into the water filled me with energy. I was looking forward to a night out and the companionship and lovemaking that lay ahead. I closed my eyes and drifted off.
But it wasn’t Bart who was in my dream. It was Stan knocking at my door. I ran to it quickly, flung open the door, and rushed into his arms. He put one arm around me, swept me off my feet, and carried me to my bed. We undressed quickly and—the doorbell interrupted my fantasy. I opened my eyes in frustration and looked at the small crystal clock on the counter. It was 7:25.
“Damn it,” I moaned rising from the tub. I grabbed a towel and quickly dried myself, then I put on a robe and went to the front door. Peering out the peephole, I saw it was Bart and let him in. He frowned.
r /> “Sorry, I ‘m running a little behind. Get yourself a drink and I’ll be right with you.”
He smiled. “No problem. Take your time.”
Luckily I had already laid out a short black cocktail dress to wear for the evening and all the necessary accessories so it didn’t take me long to get ready. Bart had finished off a bourbon and was about to pour another one when I made my appearance.
“Oh, wow!” he exclaimed.
“You like my dress?”
“That too,” he said with a wry smile.
He was so sweet, always throwing out compliments at every opportunity. Bart escorted me to the parking garage and we got into his silver Mercedes. Seeing his car startled me. I had forgotten he had a silver Mercedes.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but we found a witness who saw a car just like this one shortly after agent Tuttle was shot.”
“Oh, am I a suspect now?”
“No, of course not. There are a lot of these cars around, I would imagine.”
“Probably.”
“The one seen near the Double T Ranch had its driver's side mirror severed.”
“Really?” Bart said.
“Yes. I wonder how it happened.”
Bart chuckled. “Well, I happen to have some experience in that regard.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, you know I have that old antique Model T parked in my garage that I’m restoring. It takes up a lot of room so I have to park far to the left in my garage. One day I was in a hurry pulling out and knocked the frickin' driver's side mirror right off. I had to take the car to the dealer and have them install a new one. They had to take the whole door apart to do it.”
I laughed. “Brilliant, Bart. I bet you were pissed.”
“Tell me about it.”
Bart drove us north on Highway 75 to Richardson and a restaurant called the Swan Court. There was a small band playing and the atmosphere was perfect. We ordered cocktails and listened to the band play. Despite my desire to get my mind off of work, I couldn’t help but think of the news report about Stan. Why had he switched planes?
After a while, we went into the restaurant and ordered dinner. We talked about a lot of things and intentionally avoided anything to do with work or the Dusty Thomas case. It was a pleasant evening that ended in Bart’s bedroom. But even while we were making love, my mind was on Stan and I pretended I was making love to him. As long as it was dark it was easy to sustain my fantasy, but when the light of dawn illuminated the bedroom, it was Bart sleeping peacefully beside me. It was stupid, I know, to obsess over Stan. Even if he returned safely, I knew couldn’t have him. But I couldn’t help how I felt and the more I tried to put him out of my mind, the more my heart ached for him.