CHAPTER 44
THE VISITOR
The caller rang the doorbell again and then pounded hard on the door. I looked in the peephole and panicked when I saw it was Don Harris. Backing away from the door I stumbled over a coat rack and nearly fell to the ground. Harris kept banging and screaming. Then there was a loud thud as he tried to break the door down. I ran into my bedroom and got the revolver that I kept for protection. After making sure it was loaded, I returned to the front door.
"Let me in, you bitch!" Harris yelled. "I'll have you arrested for kidnapping."
"Go away! She's not here."
"You better tell me where she is or I'll break this door down."
"I've called the police," I screamed. "They're on their way."
Harris didn't respond and after a minute of silence I went back to the peephole. I saw him retreating to his pickup. He took off with a screech. I turned around and took a big breath trying to calm down. A second pounding at the door nearly gave me a heart attack. I turned and looked in the peep hole again and saw Bart. I opened the door with the gun still pointing straight ahead.
"Hey, girl. I give up. Point that thing somewhere else."
I laughed and then set the gun down on the table near the door. "Sorry. You missed the son of a bitch. He nearly broke down my door."
"Oh, God. I'm so sorry, Paula. I came as fast as I could."
"I would have killed the sorry piece of shit had he got in."
Bart nodded and replied, "I can see that."
"I guess he was pissed that I got his wife to leave him."
"Yeah, that's a safe bet. Is she going to help you?"
"I don't know. Stan's meeting with her right now. . . . That reminds me. I'd like to tender her car to the crime lab. Don Harris used it in the murder of Bobby Tuttle."
"Whoa there! Aren't you jumping the gun a little bit? You don't know that for sure."
"Yes, I do. You think Don Harris came over here for a social call? He knows we're getting close to nailing him and he's worried."
"Or he's just pissed off because you turned his wife against him."
"What? I just talked to Harris' ex-partner and you know what he told me?"
"No."
"Harris is an arms dealer and he uses S & T Packing as a front for his operation. He supplies weapons to Latin American guerillas, drug lords, and the 18th Street Gang. Mr. Garcia lied in court. We know now he is one of Don Harris' goons. Harris is responsible for Monty's death and setting me up. You ought to tell your FBI friends to get off their asses and do their job."
"Does he have personal knowledge of all that?"
"He wasn't a co-conspirator, if that's what you mean. He overheard telephone conversations and saw guns and military hardware in Harris' warehouse."
"That doesn't prove anything."
"So, what's it gonna take—a signed confession? Or, maybe if you find me dead with a bullet in my head, then you'll believe me."
Bart shook his head. "No, come on now. I believe you. If it were up to me, I'd launch a full scale investigation of Don Harris and S & T Packing. But the FBI and the DA are not going to lift a finger to help you prove Dusty Thomas is innocent. You know that."
"But if we can prove Don Harris is guilty, what's the difference? They'll still avenge the death of their agent."
"Not necessarily. All you have to do is prove reasonable doubt to get Dusty off. They have to prove Don Harris is guilty beyond all reasonable doubt. That might be difficult even if everything you say about Don Harris is true."
I folded my arms and looked at Bart. "Fine. We'll do the DA's job. We'll prove beyond all reasonable doubt that Don Harris killed Bobby Tuttle. And when this is all over maybe I'll run for D.A. I might as well get his salary if I'm going to do his damn job."
Bart laughed. "Good, I hope you do. I'll definitely vote for you."
We embraced and I closed my eyes finally feeling safe—at least for the moment.