Joe Dillard: Reasonable Fear Part 6

"Ah, listen, Dillard, about the homicide investigation. I'm afraid we're not going to be able to help out on this one."

I nearly dropped the phone. I'd never heard of the TBI refusing a district attorney's request for a.s.sistance. "It's a little early in the morning to be jerking my chain, Ralph."

"I'm serious. We're going to pa.s.s."

"Since when do you have that option?"

"Since my boss talked to his boss, who went straight to the director. The director called the state attorney general for an opinion. The attorney general looked at the statute and says we don't have to get involved if we don't want to. The statute says you can make a request. It doesn't say we have to honor it. Oh, and by the way, I don't think I have to tell you who the state attorney general answers to."

"The governor."

"That's right, the governor. The man you hung up on last night."

"I appreciate you leaking information about our murder investigation, Ralph. You're a real peach."

"Listen, Dillard, this isn't my call. The governor thinks you're trying to make a name for yourself at the expense of one of his friends. He thinks you're off on some kind of witch hunt, and you didn't help matters any by blowing him off the way you did. Bottom line, it looks like you're going to wind up on your own if you stay on this Lips...o...b..guy. I wouldn't be surprised if Bates jumps s.h.i.+p on you next."

"Bates isn't going anywhere."

"We'll see about that."

"We've got three dead girls at the morgue, Ralph. We need some help."

"Three dead strippers. Good luck with your case."

The line went dead and I sat there stunned, trying to comprehend the meaning of what had just occurred. The TBI refusing a request from a district attorney to join a multiple-homicide investigation? Unheard of. Unprecedented. Impossible. I pulled the Tennessee Code Annotated up on my computer screen and spent the next half hour tracking the law. When I was finished, I clicked the computer off in disgust. It appeared that the state attorney general was correct; the statute that outlines the powers of the district attorney general says he or she can "request" the a.s.sistance of the TBI. It doesn't say anything about whether the TBI has to comply. The legislators obviously left them a loophole.

I pulled Bates's number up on my cell phone and hit send. No answer. I left him a simple message. "Call me as soon as you get this."

I walked down the hallway to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face, seething at the efficiency of this particular part of the political machine. They were attempting to stop the investigation before it got started, they were doing it from the top down, and they were doing so effectively. Governor Donner was manipulating people as though they were marionettes and he a skillful puppeteer. He was selling the idea that I was trying to make a name for myself at the expense of John Lips...o...b.. and I was certain his stooges and cronies were buying without questioning. What had I ever done for them, after all? How much money had I donated to their re-election campaigns or PAC funds? What kind of beneficial influence could I a hick prosecutor from the hills who'd never even been through an election bring on their behalf if the need ever arose?

I finished wiping my face and walked out of the bathroom to my office. Bates was leaning back in one of the chairs in front of my desk with his legs stretched out and his cowboy boots propped on the corner of the desk.

"How's this for a quick call back?" he said without turning around.

"Do you know what's going on? Do you know they're trying to shut us down before we get started?"

"Didn't your mama ever teach you anything about phone etiquette?" Bates asked. He was running the fingers of his right hand around the edge of the cowboy hat he held in his left.

"He was out of line," I said as I walked around the desk and sat down.

"He was out of line when he called me, too, but I didn't spit in his face."

"What'd you tell him?"

"I told him yes, governor, sir, Mr. Lips...o...b..s name has come up in connection with our murder investigation but no, governor, sir, we don't have any evidence that places him at the scene and it doesn't appear that we'll be taking the investigation any farther in that direction. And yes, governor, sir, you can rest a.s.sured that no one from my department or Mr. Dillard's office will mention Mr. Lips...o...b..s name in the same breath as this nasty affair and by all means, governor, sir, I will keep you abreast of anything that may develop in the future that involves Mr. Lips...o...b.."

"So are you folding the tent or did you lie to him?"

"I told him what he wanted to hear. That's the way this game is played. And no, I'm not planning on folding the tent just yet."

"Which means you lied to him."

"I have no doubt that under similar circ.u.mstances, he'd do the same."

"The TBI's out, you know. I just got a call from Harmon. He says the governor thinks I'm trying to make a name for myself. They're refusing my request for a.s.sistance. That's never happened, at least not to my knowledge."

"Don't worry about it. The TBI guys are a bunch of prima donnas anyway."

"What's next, Leon? Where do we go from here?"

Bates pulled his feet from the desk, leaned forward, put his hat back on his head, and took a deep breath.

"What say you and me take a little trip over to the jail? There's somebody I want you to meet."

Chapter Thirteen.

Rudy Lane, the Peter Sellers look-a-like who'd led Nelson Lips...o...b..out to the cruiser during the search of Nelson's condo, found the caretaker. Rudy was one of Bates' best investigators, partly because, like Bates, he was able to pull off the disarming country boy charm routine while possessing the instincts of a bloodhound. He was also determined and tenacious, and when he was given an a.s.signment, its successful completion became a matter of personal pride.

At five in the morning two hours before I received the telephone call from Ralph Harmon telling me the TBI was blowing us off Rudy saw headlights, and a pickup truck rolled up to a gated mansion on Boone Lake. It was also Rudy who'd checked the county tax a.s.sessor's office to see whether John J. Lips...o...b..owned any property in Was.h.i.+ngton County.

"Five-hour energy drinks and diet Pepsi," Rudy would later tell me when I asked how he'd managed to stay awake all night. I knew he'd barely slept since the girls were found nearly seventy-two hours earlier.

A security light came on and Rudy saw a man hold a card in front of an electronic eye. The black, wrought iron gate began to swing open. Rudy turned on his emergency lights and pulled in behind the pickup. He got out of his unmarked cruiser and walked up to the driver's side window. He s.h.i.+ned his flashlight over the interior of the cab, then directly into the driver's face.

"Morning," Rudy said. "Can I see your license and registration, please? And some proof of insurance?"

"Have I done something wrong?"

The man inside the cab appeared to be Latino. His face was chubby and pocked-marked, his eyes dark, and black hair curled from beneath a Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap. A black goatee encircled his mouth.

"What are you doing out here at this time of the morning?" Rudy said.

"I could ask you the same thing," the man said. He produced a driver's license. "I have to open the glove compartment to get the registration and the insurance card. Don't shoot me."

"Do it slow," Rudy said, taking a step back and placing his right hand on the b.u.t.t of his nine-millimeter. "Keep your left hand on the steering wheel."

The man did as instructed, and handed the doc.u.mentation out the window.

"Step out of the car, please."

"What have I done?"

"Listen, friend," Rudy said, "it's dark out here. I'm alone. I don't know you and I don't know what you might have in the truck. Don't make this difficult. Get out, put your hands on the front fender there, and spread your feet."

Rudy pulled the door open and stepped back.

"I'm not a criminal," the man said as he climbed out and a.s.sumed the position.

"Good. Then you and me will get along just fine."

Rudy patted him down thoroughly. He wasn't carrying any contraband or weapons. Rudy reached behind his back for his handcuffs. "I'm going to cuff you now, for your safety and mine. Then I'm going to ask you to sit on the ground right here next to the truck. If everything checks out, I'll take the cuffs off in a few minutes. Do you mind if I look around inside the vehicle?"

"This is hara.s.sment," the man said.

"So sue me. Do I have your permission to look through the vehicle?"

"Go ahead. I'm not hiding anything."

The name on both the driver's license and the registration was Hector Arturo Mejia. A check with dispatch revealed no wants or warrants, and the cab of the truck was clean.

"Sorry, Mr. Mejia," Rudy said as he helped the man up and unlocked the handcuffs. He smiled and patted Mejia on the back. "It's a dangerous world. We've had a couple of reports of prowlers in this area, so we're staking it out. I'm a.s.suming there are some valuable goods in a place like this. Now, back to the original question. What are you doing here at five in the morning?"

"I work for Mr. Lips...o...b.." Mejia said, rubbing his wrists. "I take care of the place."

"Which Mr. Lips...o...b..do you work for? John or Nelson?"

Mejia shook his head in disgust. "I don't work for Nelson. The only time Nelson comes around is when he wants to act like a big shot. But I guess he doesn't have many people he wants to impress, because he isn't here much."

"What are you taking care of at five in the morning?"

"The pool. Mr. Lips...o...b..is very fussy about the pool. He wants it clean at all times. I come out here and clean it in the morning before I go to work. It's cool and it's quiet. I like it here early in the morning. Then I come back in the evening and do whatever else needs to be done. I take care of the gardens, mow the lawn, maintain the place."

"Where do you work besides here?"

"I work for Stengard. I'm a s.h.i.+ft foreman."

Stengard was a manufacturer in Johnson City that built water heaters, a plant that was infamous for low wages and hot, difficult, dangerous working conditions.

"Are you a U.S. citizen, Mr. Mejia?"

"All my life. I was born in Telford and graduated from Crockett high school."

"Who pays you for keeping the pool clean and keeping the place up?" Rudy said.

"Equicorp. Mr. Lips...o...b..s company. I email my hours to his secretary and they send me a check every other week."

"How long have you been working for him?"

"About eight years. My father worked here before me. Can I go now? I need to get started so I'm not late for my other job."

Rudy ignored Mejia and kept talking in his polite, southern drawl. "So I reckon you know Mr. Lips...o...b..pretty well, do you?"

"Why are you so interested in Mr. Lips...o...b.."

"h.e.l.ls bells, Mr. Mejia, he's a celebrity around here. You might as well be working for Elvis. I mean, I've heard he's got more money than the Almighty and that the inside of this place looks like the Taj Mahal or something. It must be pretty neat working for somebody so rich and famous. Now me, I haven't even ever seen Mr. Lips...o...b.. Never laid eyes on the man except for pictures in the newspaper. Does he ever come around?"

"Yeah," Mejia said, "but only once a year."

"Really? When does he come? Maybe I'll drop by and say howdy. I could introduce myself, maybe tell him if he ever needs any private security work done, I'm the man for the job."

"You'll have to wait a year. He was here over the weekend, but he's already gone. But you won't get to see him even then. He doesn't see visitors when he's here."

Rudy felt his heart accelerate slightly. "Well, that's just my luck. Say he was here this past weekend? Maybe that's why we've been getting calls. Maybe somebody drove by and thought he was the prowler."

"I doubt it," Mejia said. "You can't see the house from the road."

"Does he come the same time every year?"

"Labor Day weekend. Him and his lawyer, just the two of them. They come up Sat.u.r.day afternoon and leave Sunday afternoon."

"His lawyer? Do you know his name?"

"Pinzon. Andres Pinzon. He's a nice guy, which is more than I can say for Mr. Lips...o...b.."

"Why you reckon they come up on Labor Day?"

"I've heard them bragging about it. The Friday before Labor Day is the anniversary of Mr. Lips...o...b..taking over some insurance company. He says it made him richer than he ever dreamed."

"Tell me something," Rudy said, lowering his voice and taking on a conspiratorial tone. "How does a guy like that travel? I mean I doubt he gets in his car and drives up here from Nashville, right? And I doubt he wants to fly into Tri-Cities airport with the common folks. Does he have a private jet or something?"

"Helicopter," Mejia said, now relis.h.i.+ng his role as the local authority on John J. Lips...o...b.. "There's a helipad next to the house. He just flies in and flies out. He's a pilot."

"Must be nice to be rich. I'll bet he's got a garage full of nice cars, too."

"Nah, just a Lexus. But he never drives it. I take it out once a month or so, just a few miles, to make sure it's running okay."

"Do you drive him around when he's here?"

"He never goes out. I spend the night in the guest house out back every year in case they need anything. They just stay in the house and drink and tell each other how great they are. If they want food, I go get it and bring it back to them. I don't think anybody else even knows he's here except for Nelson, because Nelson takes them out in the boat on Sat.u.r.day night every year. They stay out all night. I clean up the mess."

"I've heard rumors about those boat trips," Rudy said. He winked slyly at Mejia. "I hear they like the ladies."

Rudy shook his head and spat on the ground. "I've warned them. I've told them you can't keep secrets in this town, especially with someone like Nelson running around."

"Did you see them? The girls?"

"Yeah, I saw them, just for a second when Mr. Lips...o...b..and Mr. Pinzon were getting on the boat."

"How many girls?"

"Three. I saw three."