Joe Dillard: Reasonable Fear Part 7

"Did all three of them have blonde hair?"

Mejia's head jerked quickly around. He stared hard into Rudy's face.

"Wait a minute," Mejia said. "Is that what this is about? Those three girls that were found in the lake?"

"You tell me," Rudy said. "Is it?"

"I don't know anything about that. I think you should go now."

"Can't do it," Rudy said. "You see, this little chat we've been having makes me believe that you're either a material witness or you're an accessory to a triple homicide. Either way, I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest you."

Rudy dangled his handcuffs in front of Mejia's face.

"Sorry, Mr. Mejia," he said, "but I reckon you're gonna have to put these back on."

Chapter Fourteen.

Three hours later, after we'd talked to Hector Mejia at the jail and made some hasty arrangements, Bates and I were headed to Nashville. I'd asked Tanner Jarrett, a young a.s.sistant in the office whom I trusted, to help Rita keep things running smoothly while I was away. The trip was perhaps a bit premature, but the circ.u.mstances were such that Bates thought and I agreed we should attempt to confront Lips...o...b..and, at the very least, get him to commit to a story. After talking to Mejia, we knew that Lips...o...b..and Andres Pinzon had been at Lips...o...b..s house on the lake over the weekend. Mejia actually saw Lips...o...b..and Pinzon board the Laura Mae on Sat.u.r.day night, but rather than sleep in the next day and leave for Nashville in the early afternoon as they usually did, Mejia said the helicopter woke him up as it lifted off from the pad sometime after five the next morning. Lips...o...b..and Pinzon left no note and no explanation for the early departure, and when Mejia drove to the marina later in the day to clean the boat, it was gone. He called Nelson to ask where the boat was, and was told that the engine gave them problems on Sat.u.r.day night so Mr. Lips...o...b..hired somebody to remove it from the water and was having it overhauled.

So as we drove west along I-40 in Bates's black BMW, we felt confident that we were on the right track. Nelson had paid for the girls, picked them up, and escorted them to the boat the night they were killed. He was seen getting on the boat with them and driving the boat away from the marina. Mejia could put John Lips...o...b..and Pinzon on the boat the same night, and he said they left in a hurry. Mejia was still being held at the jail. I didn't think he had anything to do with the murders, but I didn't want him contacting John Lips...o...b.. either, so I told Rudy Lane to hold him for twenty-four hours and then cut him loose.

Bates parked the BMW in a garage just off the interstate about five miles east of downtown Nashville and we took the elevator to the ground floor. As we walked out of the garage, the Equicorp corporate headquarters building rose from the ground like the Tower of Babel against a darkening sky. The building was eight stories, constructed of steel and gla.s.s, and the interior lights s.h.i.+ning through the tinted windows glowed eerily. The area surrounding the building was surprisingly desolate. Apart from the parking garage that obviously served only Equicorp, there was nothing but vacant lots within hundreds of yards on all sides of the building. I noticed a sharp, grinding sound and looked to the west. Beyond the vacant lots in that direction was a faded yellow sign with black letters: "A-1 Salvage." It was a sc.r.a.p yard, and the sound I heard was metal being crushed.

A north wind was howling as we approached the building, blowing so fiercely that Bates had to hold his cowboy hat down with his hand. I'd suggested that he wear something besides his uniform, but the idea had been dismissed outright. "The only time I take the uniform off is when I go to bed and when I go to church," he'd said. "I'd feel naked without it."

The foyer on the first floor was opulent. The walls and ceiling were covered in cedar and trimmed in bra.s.s, the floor was granite tile, and a crystal chandelier the size of a compact car s.h.i.+mmered twenty feet above our heads. A bank of elevators was directly in front of us, and on the wall a directory of the building. There were only two offices on the eighth floor John J. Lips...o...b.. president and CEO, and Andres L. Pinzon, vice-president and general counsel. Bates and I got on the elevator and pushed the b.u.t.ton.

"Not exactly what I'd call a secure facility," Bates said as the elevator began to climb.

"I guess they don't have any reason to be afraid," I said.

"That's about to change."

The elevator opened onto yet another glimmering example of wealth and excess, nearly a carbon copy of the foyer downstairs. An attractive brunette dressed in a sharp, navy-blue business suit was walking across the floor to a circular desk in the center of the room. She was obviously the gate keeper, the first obstacle we would have to negotiate before we could get an audience with the king. She smiled sweetly as Bates and I approached. I noticed the nameplate on her desk: Monica Bell.

"My goodness, am I in trouble?" she said, looking at Bates. She had milk-chocolate colored eyes and a smile that s.h.i.+ned like the chandelier above.

"Sheriff Leon Bates, ma'am," he said, extending his hand. "Mighty pleased to make the acquaintance of such a lovely young lady. And this is Joe Dillard, attorney general of the First Judicial District of Tennessee. We're both from the same neck of the woods as Mr. Lips...o...b.. Any chance we could visit with him for just a couple of minutes?"

"Are you a personal friend, sheriff?"

"I met Mr. Lips...o...b..at a political function a few years ago, but I'm sorry to say I can't claim we're friends. It's an important matter, though. We drove over three hundred miles just to see him."

She picked up the phone on her desk, but changed her mind and set it back down.

"Will you gentlemen excuse me for just a moment? Please wait here."

Monica got up from her desk, walked across the tile floor, and disappeared behind a cedar door to our right.

"Watching her walk away was worth the trip down here," Bates said.

"I don't think he's going to want to see us voluntarily," I said.

"Me neither, let's go."

We headed for the same door Monica had gone through. Bates pulled it open and we walked into another office, this one occupied by an older, but no less attractive, woman. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled into a bun, and with her reading gla.s.ses resting halfway up on her nose, she looked the model of corporate efficiency. She scowled at us over the gla.s.ses.

"You can't come in here without an appointment," she said.

I saw a broad door with a nameplate: John J. Lips...o...b.. President and CEO, and hurried toward it.

"This is an important police matter, ma'am," I heard Bates say behind me.

Monica was standing in front of Lips...o...b..s desk. The look she gave me when she heard the commotion and turned around was anything but attractive.

"I told you to wait outside!" Her nostrils flared, and her face suddenly took on the look of a viper. For a moment, I thought she might actually strike and sink her fangs into my neck.

Lips...o...b.. whom I recognized from photographs and television news stories, stood behind his desk.

"It's alright, Monica," he said calmly, "please ask Andres to come in."

Lips...o...b..had the same dark features as his brother, Nelson, and was about the same height, but he had become, to put it mildly, obese. I'd seen newspaper photographs of him presenting checks to the beneficiaries of his philanthropic endeavors, but it had been years earlier. He was heavy even then, but he'd easily gained another fifty pounds. His head had taken on the shape of a jack-o-lantern, and the sheer volume of his girth made his arms and legs look disproportionately short. With his slightly upturned nose, he looked piggish. His hair was black and cut short; it looked like a shoe brush. He was wearing a maroon, silk s.h.i.+rt with an open collar, and he regarded me through dull brown eyes with a smirk. From the research Bates and I had done, I knew both Lips...o...b..and Pinzon were forty-five years old.

"I reckon you know who we are," Bates said.

"Yes, I reckon I do," Lips...o...b..said in a tone heavy with sarcasm. "You are the good ol' boy county sheriff, Leon Bates, and your friend here is Joe Dillard, the incorruptible district attorney general."

"We'd like to talk to you, Mr. Lips...o...b.." I said.

"That's obvious. The question, though, is whether I'd like to talk to you, isn't it? And in light of the fact that you've barged into my office uninvited and unannounced, I don't believe I'm inclined."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," I said, "because based on the telephone calls the sheriff and I have received from the governor, you know we're conducting a murder investigation, and you know your name has come up. We thought the most discrete way to handle the situation was by coming directly to you."

"How considerate of you. Do you plan to arrest me on some trumped up charge the way you did my brother?"

"Where were you Sat.u.r.day night, Mr. Lips...o...b.."

"I was banging your wife. Didn't she mention it? I have to admit it wasn't as good as I'd hoped, though. All that nastiness around the breast. Quite distracting. Not s.e.xy at all."

My mouth went dry immediately and I could feel myself beginning to tremble with rage. No one had ever spoken of Caroline in such a manner, and I didn't intend to let him get away with it or do it again. I took a step toward him and felt Bates' hand wrap around my forearm.

"Easy, brother Dillard," he said. "He's just baiting you." His voice was distant, as though he was speaking from another room.

"Mention my wife again and I'll rip your tongue out," I said to Lips...o...b.. I took another step, trying to get away from Bates. He stepped between us, pressing his chest against me, talking in a clam voice.

"You don't want to go to jail in Nashville," Bates said. "Just breathe easy."

"My, my, aren't we excitable?" Lips...o...b..said. His expression had changed, however, and I noticed he was backing away slightly. The smirk was gone, replaced by a look of fear. He must have been accustomed to saying whatever came into his mind without fear of repercussion.

"You have no idea how excitable I can be," I said, my voice quivering with anger.

I was peripherally aware of the door opening and a man walking in. Lips...o...b..saw him, too, and walked around to the other side of his desk. He moved quickly behind the man.

"This is my lawyer," Lips...o...b..said. "Anything you have to say to me goes through him." He turned and waddled out of the room.

The lawyer was a tall, impressive-looking man wearing a black suit and tie over a wine colored s.h.i.+rt. He had a full, black, impeccably trimmed beard that covered his angular face, black hair that fell to his shoulders, olive-colored skin and eyes as dark as a moonless night. He carried himself confidently, shoulders back, chin up, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He walked straight to me and offered his hand.

"I'm Andres Pinzon, general counsel for Equicorp."

I shook his hand robotically, still staring after Lips...o...b..

"Have I missed something?" Pinzon said to Bates.

"I'm afraid your client insulted Mr. Dillard's wife. He's none too happy about it."

"I apologize on Mr. Lips...o...b..s behalf," he said. "He sometimes speaks before he thinks."

Pinzon spoke with a bit of an accent, most likely Spanish, but his tone wasn't confrontational or sarcastic like Lips...o...b..s. He looked me directly in the eye. "Perhaps Mr. Dillard and I should speak alone. Lawyer to lawyer. No police, no target."

"Who said he was a target?" Bates said.

"We know you arrested Mr. Lips...o...b..s brother, and we know the general nature of the questions you asked him. So please, if you would kindly wait outside, Mr. Dillard and I can talk here."

"Brother Dillard?" Bates said. By this time, he'd let go of me and my breathing was beginning to slow.

"Sure," I said. "Fine."

"I'll just walk on back outside and see if I can patch things up with Miss Monica," Bates said. He sauntered out the door, and Pinzon motioned to a chair in front of Lips...o...b..s desk.

"Let's sit."

The few short moments inside Lips...o...b..s office had been so intense that I'd failed to notice my surroundings. Two of the walls were windows from floor to ceiling, offering expansive views to the south and east. The other two walls, both cedar trimmed in bra.s.s, were covered with oil paintings and tapestries. The floor was a gleaming, dark hardwood, the furnis.h.i.+ngs modern and expensive.

"I take it your foul-mouthed client likes cedar," I said as I sat down in an overstuffed chair that probably cost as much as I made in a month.

"It's Lebanese," Pinzon said. "Very rare. Very expensive."

"I didn't think we did much business with the Lebanese."

"People are always willing to do business if the price is right, but surely you didn't travel all this way to discuss cedar. What exactly can I do for you, Mr. Dillard?"

"You can tell me where you and Mr. Lips...o...b..were on Sat.u.r.day night."

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Because I already know where you were. I just want to see whether you're going to lie."

"How could you possibly know where I was on Sat.u.r.day?"

"We have three dead women in my district, Mr. Pinzon."

"Yes, I heard. Such a tragedy."

"The women were seen boarding a boat owned by Mr. Lips...o...b..s corporation just before dark. They were in the company of Mr. Lips...o...b..s brother. I have information that leads me to believe that you and Mr. Lips...o...b..boarded the same boat a short time later. The women wound up floating in the lake. You and Mr. Lips...o...b..left in a hurry and the boat has disappeared. Given those facts, what conclusion would you draw?"

"What kind of information would lead you to believe that Mr. Lips...o...b..and I were on the boat?"

"The kind that comes from a reliable source. Stop playing games with me. Where were you and Mr. Lips...o...b..on Sat.u.r.day night?"

"Mr. Dillard," Pinzon said, rising from his chair. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, but I'm afraid this conversation is over."

"Short and sweet," I said. I stood and faced him, looking into his eyes. "This is your last chance to tell me what happened on that boat, Mr. Pinzon. If you tell me now, we can try to make the best of a bad situation. If you don't-"

"I don't know any more about what happened on the boat than you do," he interrupted. "What I do know is that you're playing a very dangerous game. It would be best for all concerned if you would turn your attention away from Mr. Lips...o...b..and focus on what you can prove."

"We'll be back," I said, turning toward the door, "with arrest warrants and handcuffs."

"That would be an extremely bad idea," I heard him say behind me. The tone of his voice had changed; the pitch was slightly higher and the words came out much more quickly. Could it have been desperation? "Please," he said as I started to pull the door closed behind me, "just let it go."

Chapter Fifteen.

Over the course of the investigation, I would come to know a great deal about John J. Lips...o...b..and his lawyer, Andres Pinzon. Initially, most of the information came from people Bates and his deputies spoke with family, friends, enemies, business a.s.sociates, former employees. Later, I learned much from Pinzon himself. This is what he told me about how he and John Lips...o...b..met: Andres Pinzon was thirteen years old, standing at a middle-school urinal when he heard the door open behind him and the sound of laughter.

"Clear out," a voice said, and the other students began to scramble.

Andres finished his business, zipped his fly, and turned toward the door. Standing in front of him were three boys, all larger than him. Andres recognized the boy in the middle as John Lips...o...b.. He lived directly across the street from Andres.

"That's the new kid," Lips...o...b..said. He was an inch or two taller than Andres, with dark hair and a ruddy complexion. His eyes were intense as he stared at Andres disdainfully. The other two boys, both blond-headed and green-eyed, looked to be twin brothers. Both of them were a good five inches taller than Andres, and both were built like athletes with wide shoulders and narrow waists.

"He looks like a monkey," the blond to Andres's left said.

Andres felt the fear in his stomach. It was his first day in an American school. Andres's father, a pediatric endocrinologist who had received his medical training in the United States, had moved his family to Tennessee earlier that summer, fearing the escalating violence in his native Colombia. He also feared the influence that the Nadaistas, or "nothingists," as they called themselves, might have on his children. Nadaismo, a philosophy espoused by a Colombian intellectual named Fernando Gonzalez, mirrored the hippie movement in the United States and was sweeping Colombia. Its central theme was "the right to disobey," and the youth of Colombia were expressing their disdain for the ruling cla.s.s in much the same way their American predecessors had done: they grew their hair long, they dressed and acted outrageously, they lampooned their elders in their music, and they smoked dope lots of dope.

Andres had spent much time listening to his father trumpet the virtues of America: the democratic principles, the educational and economic opportunities, the rule of law. He had not, however, been prepared to deal with bigotry on his first day in school.

"You're right," Lips...o...b..said. "He looks like a monkey. Where you from, boy? The jungle?"