Black Monday, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 7

  Chapter 9

  No Show

   

  On Friday morning I got up at 6:00 a.m. since I knew it would take better than an hour to get down to the Federal Building by 8:00 a.m. Over the years I had become a night person, so getting up that early was a real chore. Rebekah fixed me breakfast and I drank an extra cup of coffee to help wake me up. The drive down Central Expressway was a nightmare this time of morning. At 7:57 a.m. I pulled into the parking lot just west of the Earle Cabell Federal Building. It was five after eight when I stepped into the IRS field office on the 9th floor.

  The room was deserted. I looked around at the decor— matching salmon sofa and love seat, glass coffee and end tables, and two coral lamps—not bad for the IRS. Then I noticed a single table with a book and a sign that read: "Please sign in and take a seat."

  I signed the book and then sat on the love seat. I looked at my watch and saw it was 8:10 a.m. Where was Robert? After another ten minutes a door opened and a short bald man appeared. He scanned the room and then looked at me. "You're alone?"

  I stood up and said, "Yes, Mr. Huntington should be here any moment."

  The man looked at his watch, shrugged, and said, "I'll check back in few minutes. I hope he gets here soon. I don't have much time."

  I nodded and replied, "I'm sorry he's late. I can't imagine what has happened to him."

  He shrugged again and closed the door. I went out in the hall and found a pay phone. Our staff didn't get into the office until 8:30 so there was no use calling there. I got Huntington's telephone number off the file and dialed it. There was no answer. With no place else to call I went back into the IRS office and waited. Five minutes later the baldheaded man appeared again and frowned when he saw I was alone. "Still no client? he asked.

  "No, something must have happened. Listen, I know you've got to go into a meeting so let's get started without him. I've got a power of attorney and the returns, so I can go through them with you."

  He nodded and replied, "Okay. Come on in."

  I followed him into a room full of private cubicles. He picked the first one and took a seat at a round table. I joined him and opened my briefcase. We introduced ourselves and then I gave him the completed tax returns and we went through them together. He acknowledged that the company did indeed appear to have lost money but indicated he didn't know if the collection division could turn loose of the money without at least a review of the return. I reminded him of the importance at getting the funds released immediately.

  He said, "Give me a minute. I've got to run this by my supervisor. While I'm gone, you can see if your client has arrived."

  "Okay," I said and then got up and went back out into the waiting room. Huntington was nowhere to be seen. It was now nearly 9:00 a.m. so I went to the pay phone and called the office. Jodie answered.

  "Jodie. Have you heard from Huntington?"

  "No, isn't he supposed to be with you?"

  "Yes, but he's not here and it's a little difficult convincing the IRS agent of the urgency of releasing the garnishment when my client can't even make it to the meeting on time."

   "I'm sorry. He hasn't called. I checked with the answering service and the only one who called is Luther Palmer."

  "Luther Palmer? That's Huntington's partner."

  "Really? Hmm. Well, the connection didn't sound too good. I thought maybe he was calling from a cell phone."

  "Did he say what he wanted?"

  "Yes, he needs to talk to Mr. Huntington immediately. The message said he's been trying his home number but there is no answer."

  "I know. I've been calling that number too."

  "I wonder why he doesn't answer?" Jodie said.

  "That is strange. Maybe I'll drop by his place on the way back to the office. He might be sick or something."

  "Good idea. Should I call Luther back?"

  "Yes. Tell him we're looking for Huntington and will let him know when we find him."

  When I got back to the conference room, Barton was filling out a form. I sat down and said, "Sorry, I took so long but I was trying to locate Huntington. He seems to have disappeared."

  Barton shrugged and replied, "Well he'll probably surface pretty quickly when he discovers his account has been released."

  Barton signed the document he was working on and handed it to me. He said, "Here's your release. It seems we have to presume a tax return is correct until it is tagged for auditing. That takes some time."

  "Well, thank you, Mr. Barton. I certainly appreciate your help straightening this matter out."

  "Oh, don't thank me. Had it been my decision you would have had to wait your turn to get a release considered. Lucky for your client he's a friend of Congressman Manning."

  After Huntington had dropped Manning's name, I did some research on him. He was a conservative Republican and a key member of the House Banking Committee. No wonder the IRS jumped when he asked them to consider Huntington's request immediately. The question now, however, was the whereabouts of Huntington. If we couldn't find him soon, we couldn't wire the money to Luther. Once the deadline had passed, there was no telling what might happen to him.

  Huntington lived in a townhouse just off of Northwest Highway near Preston Center. I opened a wrought iron fence gate, walked up to the front door, and knocked. There was no answer so I knocked a second time. The drapes were drawn so I couldn't see inside. I went around the back and into the backyard. It was a mess with garbage cans, old boxes, and lots of weeds. There was a doorbell on the back door so I pushed it. Chimes could be heard from inside, but there still was no answer.

  After a couple of minutes of pondering the situation, I went to a neighbor's house and knocked. An elderly lady with thick glasses appeared at the door.

  She squinted at me and said, "Yes, what do you want?"

  "Sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for Mr. Huntington."

  "Who?"

  "Your neighbor, Mr. Huntington."

  "Is that his name? I've never talked to him. He's not a very friendly man."

  "Really? Well, have you seen him today?"

  "No, haven't seen him since yesterday afternoon. He left about 5:30 with another man."

  "Can you describe the man?"

  "I don't know. I wasn't paying too close attention."

  "Was he tall or short—black, white?"

  "He was Spanish lookin'."

  "Someone from Latin America?"

  "Right. Kinda short, dark hair, dark skin."

  "Whose car did they leave in?"

  "They left in a taxi."

  "A taxi? What kind?"

  "One of those Golden Cabs, you know, like you see at the airport."

  "Right. Did you hear them say anything when they left?"

  "Yes, but they weren't speaking English."

  "Spanish?"

  "No, it didn't sound like Spanish. Something similar to Spanish."

  "What was their tone? Was it friendly?"

  "It sounded like they were arguing. They were yelling at each other."

  "Hmm. Well, thank you very much for the information. I really appreciate your help."

  It didn't make much sense that Huntington would run off voluntarily when we were on the verge of freeing up his money. I had bad feelings about his disappearance. The thought occurred to me that some answers might be inside the townhouse. The thought of going to jail for breaking and entering didn't appeal to me, so I decided to call a detective I knew, Bingo Besch, at the Dallas Police Department. It took a few minutes, but I finally got through to him.

  "Sorry to bother you, but one of my clients is missing. He missed an important meeting this morning and he's not answering his telephone."

  "So, maybe he got lucky last night and spent the night with a broad, got drunk, you know."

  "No, this was way too important a meeting. Lots of money was at stake. He's either too sick to call or someone has kidnapped him."

  "So, you want to come down and fill out a missing person's report
?"

  "No, I want to go in his townhouse and look around."

  "I don't know. It's probably premature to do that."

  "What if he's sick or someone shot him?"

  "Did you see any evidence of that?"

  "No, but—"

  "Call me when he's been missing twenty-four hours. Then I'll send someone over to take a look around."

  "Did I tell you he's a friend of Congressman Manning?"

  "No, you didn't mention that."

  "Yeah, the Congressman had something to do with this transaction that I was working on. Like I said, this was an important meeting that Huntington wouldn't have voluntarily missed."

  "Okay, I'll meet you over there in thirty minutes."

  "Thanks. I really appreciate your help."

  After I hung up, I wondered if bringing in the police was a wise move. What if Huntington was doing something illegal? If he was, he should have told me about it. Since he didn't, I had to assume everything he was doing was on the up and up. Detective Besch showed up right on time with another officer and, after knocking hard on the door, told the officer to pick the lock. It only took him about two minutes to get us inside.

  The room was dark and sparsely decorated. There were a few old newspapers and magazines but no books, knickknacks, or photographs to be seen. I went into the kitchen and Besch headed for the bedroom. The refrigerator had a half gallon of milk, a carton with three eggs in it, and jar of strawberry jelly. In the cupboards were a few dishes, cups, and glasses but not enough to host a dinner party. The pantry had only a half a loaf of bread and a box of Frosted Flakes. I joined Besch in the bedroom where he was examining the closet.

   "It doesn't look like your guy planned to stay here long," Besch said.

  "No, apparently not."

  "What kind of business is he in?'

  "Exporting. I think he travels a lot."

  Besch closed the closet and looked at me. He said, "Looks like he left in a hurry."

  I nodded. "It appears so."

  "Detective! Come here. You need to see this," the officer said.

  We walked quickly through the kitchen toward the back door where the officer was standing. I looked around the room. There was a broken pot that had been knocked off a window sill. Drawers were half opened. A box of Tide was on its side with its contents spilled out onto the floor. The officer was examining the back door. The inside latch was broken and there was splintered wood from where it had been torn from the door frame.

  "Looks like there might have been a little scuffle here. Perhaps Mr. Huntington didn't leave with his Latin friend voluntarily after all."

  "I don't think he did," I said. "It looks like he was persuaded to leave."

  Detective Besch nodded and said to the other officer, "Let's get us a crime scene unit up here."

  There was nothing I could do at Huntington's place while the crime scene unit was working, so I went back to my office to call Luther and talk to him. Jodie tried to get him on the line but there was no answer at the number he had left. Had we been too late? Then I realized it was nighttime in China. We'd missed the deadline. I thought about the money sitting in the account I'd managed to get the IRS to release. How long would it be before it disappeared? I put in a call to Metropolex's attorney. His name was Arthur Lott. I'd met him while serving on a committee for the Dallas Bar Association. He answered and we chatted a minute about Chamber activities then Art asked, "So, your partner is defending Jimmy Bennett?"

  "Yes. We got lucky. It turned out Jimmy was a friend of one of my old clients."

  "Well, I met Jimmy once or twice. He seems like a decent guy. I can't see him killing Don, but you never know about people these days."

  "No, anything's possible I guess. How is everyone at Metroplex taking Don's death?"

  "Not well. It came at a bad time with the regulators breathing down our throats. I guess you've read in the newspapers that if we don't come up with two million by the end of the month, they may shut us down."

  "Yes, I read about that. You think you'll find the money?"

  "Maybe. There are several groups of investors looking at it seriously."

  "Good. . . . Listen. I'm calling you about the IRS garnishment of the Continental Exporters’ bank account."

  "Okay."

  "I've got a release to send you.".

  "Good. How did you pull that off?" he asked.

  "My client called in a few favors from some friends he had in Congress."

  "Your client must be an important man."

  "Yeah, apparently so. Unfortunately, he's disappeared. There may have been foul play."

  "Really?"

  "So, I think I'll sit on this release a while so that the money in the account doesn't disappear. . . . That is, if you don't mind."

  "No, but I've got to warn you it's only guaranteed up to $100,000 and, like I said, Metroplex is hanging on by a thread."

  "Oh, Christ. I don't know what else to do. I don't have the authority to move the money."

  "Well, nothing is likely to happen in the next 10 days."

  "Good. Hopefully we'll find Mr. Huntington by then. Let me know if anyone inquires about it, okay? If my client has been kidnaped or killed, the persons responsible may try to access the money."

  "Sure, no problem. You'll be the first to know."

  "Thanks, Art. I really appreciate it."

  After working a few hours, I put a call into Detective Besch back at his office. I wondered if the crime scene investigators had found anything. I doubted they would, but you never know. He wasn't back yet, so I left a message. Before I left to go home, he called.

  "Stan? You called?"

  "Right. Did your crew find anything?"

  "No, everything had been removed and the place was wiped clean."

  "Anybody other than the lady next door see anything?"

  "No, no other witnesses."

  "So, what are you going to do now?"

  "I'm going to need you to come down and tell me everything you know about this guy and help our sketch artist draw a picture that we can send out to other law enforcement agencies. Tomorrow we'll contact the FBI."

  "Really? Well, I'll be happy to come down there anytime. Just let me know when."

  "Drop by first thing Monday morning, okay?"

  "Nine o'clock okay?"

  "Yes, I'll see you then."

  All I needed was to waste a day with the Dallas Police department when I had so many other things to do. I wasn't relishing the idea of talking to Besch anyway, since I had the attorney-client privilege to worry about. If I came clean with Besch, I could be violating my professional responsibility. If I withheld anything though, it might hinder the police in their investigation and delay them in their search to find Huntington. If he was in trouble, any delay could endanger his life.

  Paula was going to be pissed off too since Huntington hadn't paid me a red cent and probably never would. I cursed myself for taking the case without a retainer. Then I remembered I did have a check for $5,000 and an IRS release. All I had to do was give the release to the bank and I could cash the check. But then the account would be vulnerable to the thugs who had Huntington. I thought about Mo and wished I could call him, but he made it clear he couldn't talk to me about anyone that the Company sent my way. Now I was getting a little glimpse of what it was like to be a CIA agent and I wondered why anyone would ever make that career choice.