Fatal Greed (25 page)

“Check this out.” I waved my hand to get Marisa’s and Stu’s attention. “Sounds like Tiffany could be giving us the motive for her murder.”

“The sex with Tony is getting rougher and rougher, boosting his ego, but scaring me,”
Tiffany wrote in her diary.
“If he ever sees this notebook or the data I’ve found on OG, the cruel, repulsive monster would kill me.”

I set the notebook on the table and turned away. Tiffany’s feelings now appeared to be a premonition. There had to be incriminating evidence on OG buried somewhere in her notes.

“I think I found what we need,” Stu said. He held up several loose pages he’d pulled from the bottom of the lockbox.

None of us was an expert in the gas exploration business, but we could see the papers were official, internal reports from Omaha Gas. Each had “Confidential” stamped on the bottom in red ink. One said the level of benzene in the air was more than three times the allowed amount at one gas well. It also stated the soil and water supply were full of contaminates and presented a major health risk to people living in proximity to the gas well. We found fifteen similar reports, six of which named Tomball Gas, a subsidiary of OG, as the owner of the wells.

“Count them. In each of the Tomball Gas memos, the well located near Rosemary’s old home on
Pocoshock
Lane was specifically identified,” I said. “It’s in black and white. They can’t deny it.”

I pumped my fist like I’d just hit the winning shot for the NBA championship. Marisa caressed my neck. I gave her a relieved smile, then clasped my hands together and laid them across my forehead. I felt a great sense of relief.

“Take a look at this.” Stu gripped a piece of paper with both hands. “This is an email from Chuck
Hagard
, the CEO, to the regional manager in Stillwater.
Hagard
is approving cash payments to three local government officials in Stillwater if they guarantee the EPA would not be called to investigate pollution issues at the OG wells. And if for some reason the federal agency was brought in, the local officials must ensure OG isn’t implicated.”

“Yes!” Marisa squeezed her eyes shut. “That son of a bitch will finally get what he deserves.”

Stu looked at Marisa with a blank expression.

“We’ll explain that more later, Stu,” I assured him. “Marisa’s had some experience with
Hagard
and Tony both.” One angle still didn’t make sense to me. I took out my cell phone and dialed Pop’s number.

“Hi, Pop. Are you enjoying the company of your guest?” I stood up and stretched my legs and stiff back.

“Rosemary’s a real sweetheart. She’s been talking my ear off,” he said. “You never know, she might even turn me into a Democrat.”

We both chuckled, knowing that was never going to happen. I asked Pop to put Rosemary on the line. I told her about the material we had discovered.

“I want to ask you about Tiffany’s personal life.” I paused and hoped my words wouldn’t upset her. “In her diary, Tiffany mentions someone named Karina. I believe this might be Karina Silva, a friend of ours. I saw her up in Stillwater when I visited you, but I haven’t been sure what role she played in this. Do you know her?”

“Michael, I wasn’t completely open about Tiffany’s life, because I didn’t want anyone to think less of her,” Rosemary said. “I met Karina twice in the last weeks before Tiffany was killed. She was a nice young lady. I could see she and Karina cared for each other a great deal. Through the years, I had wondered if Tiffany liked women more than men. Tiffany’s happiness is all that really mattered to me.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

We hung up, and I sat back for a moment. Hearing Rosemary’s take on their relationship was comforting. But it didn’t exonerate Karina’s involvement in the murder. In fact, it just legitimized the deep feelings that existed. If Karina later found out that Tiffany had also initially set her up, she might have felt completely betrayed and then lost it on her former lover. Passion can fuel rage almost as easily as it can fuel affection—if certain buttons are pushed.

I was distracted by Stu talking on the phone with Arthur, explaining everything we had learned from Tiffany’s treasure trove.

“I think we have enough significant information to fill the entire newspaper,” Stu said.

“Michael, these are bad people.” Marisa touched my arm while Stu spoke with Arthur. “I want everyone to understand how they destroyed my life.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Don’t you want us to sit on it and think about it a while?”

“No. We have all this evidence on the people who run Omaha Gas. They murdered Tiffany, ruined her mother’s health, and took away four years of my life. I want them to pay for it.”

“I think Tiffany would be pleased with you speaking out about what happened to you.”

Marisa gripped my hand, kissed it, then held it against her cheek.

Tony propped his size-sixteen combat boot on the back bumper of his rusted, white 1998 Chevrolet Impala. He’d left his apartment in a rush, knowing authorities and the newspaper were uncovering too many details of the operation. The apartment manager had been a necessary accomplice, but only after threatening to take his best friend, a fluffy collie, and slice it open to bleed to death while the old man watched. But that was
Tony’s
forte—making it appear nothing ever happened, whether it was a bloody mess or a simple everyday misunderstanding.

Once, when the vice president of the United States visited a hunting lodge in the Texas hill country, the portly, self-proclaimed sharpshooter accidentally shot and killed one of
Tony’s
coworkers. The VP’s top aide asked Tony to take care of the body. Tony dropped his dead friend in an area disputed by drug gangs. He planted a bag of cocaine on the corpse and shot another bullet through his skull. The next day Tony found five thousand dollars in cash in his duffel bag with the note:
Thank you. You are a great American.

The brother of the vice president’s aide sat on the board of directors of a prominent technology company with Chuck. Hired initially to “silence” a woman claiming Chuck sexually harassed her, Tony became his go-to guy for anything Chuck’s regular security detail wasn’t equipped to handle.

The Gulf War veteran thrived when his survivor instinct was challenged. As the sun hid behind the trees, deep shadows overtook his camp. He’d spent hours setting up a secure perimeter. If anyone ventured within a hundred yards, he’d know, and they’d seriously injure themselves. Serves them right.

The series of events over the last several days was unfortunate. That asshole, Michael, just couldn’t keep his nose out of their business. And his slutty girlfriend, Marisa, hadn’t followed through on her promise. He should have never trusted the woman. He should have just screwed her then made her disappear. That would have diverted Michael’s fucking attention. Then again, Chuck wouldn’t be happy because it would bring unwanted interest from meddling people and government agencies.

Tony warmed his coarse hands over the roaring fire. The chill in the air would turn colder when the sun set completely. He was waiting for an important call from Chuck, who would provide instructions on
Tony’s
next move after Chuck met with his so-called “brain trust.” He wished that snooty bitch, Victoria, would stumble into his camp. He would hang her upside down from a tree, chop off one finger each hour, and watch the blood drain from her body. Then, he’d dump her remains near wild dogs, who’d tear apart her flesh until nothing was left except a mangled skeleton. His heart pumped faster.

Tony knew there was a possibility he’d be asked to pull out, possibly leave the country. He hated retreat. He’d rather disobey orders than run away like a goddamn pussy.

He imagined what he would do to Marisa, given the chance. He hadn’t tasted a woman in weeks. He fantasized about bending her over and ramming her until she cried for mercy, then calling her dirty names and smacking her around like a piece of meat. It made him think about his prized conquests, like Tiffany. That blond-haired bitch could really get down and dirty. His blood rushed. He craved for a release.

He looked off into the leafless trees and saw visions of Tiffany on her last night on the earth. First the erotic sex, then the bloody scene after he found her notes. How could she have double-crossed him after everything he and Chuck had done for her? He had to make her pay for it. She gave him no option. Her creamy, white skin had turned shades of blue after he choked the life out of her. He’d planned to have sex with her after he killed her, but there wasn’t enough time.

He wasn’t as desperate now as he was when he was stationed in Kuwait. He had controlled his urges for weeks. Then, one night after a drinking binge, he broke down the front door of an apartment and raped a twenty-three-year-old recent college graduate while her mother begged him to stop. Afterward, he stripped off the mother’s clothing and dropped her in front of a mosque, knowing she would be humiliated and possibly stoned to death. On his final day of tour, he chased down and raped two more girls, including one who was no more than thirteen.

His only regret was how he disposed of Tiffany. He’d chopped off her arms and legs and stuffed her inside a large garbage bag. The storm that night was so strong he didn’t see that he’d missed the dumpster where he’d thrown her from the back of his trunk. He had underestimated how light she was, probably no more than a hundred ten pounds. The exhilaration of killing again had stimulated his adrenaline, causing him to propel her body farther than needed. His careless mistake had opened the door to people prying in their business.

He hated nosy people.

Tony paced around his camp, thinking of inventive ways to maim, kill. When a victim was under his control, he considered himself a situational killer, depending on the needs and desires of those who’d hired him. He tried not to make it personal for himself.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t make much of a living. He’d only kill for pleasure.

Chuck sucked the ice from his second drink of the night, then walked to the bar on the opposite side of his lavish home office. To the left, the swinging pendulum in the one-hundred-fifty-year-old French grandfather clock captured Chuck’s wandering mind. Despite its age and having traveled from Europe to Oklahoma ten years ago, the clock remained consistently reliable. Visually stunning and mechanically sound, Chuck thought. He wished people were equally as predictable as the historic clock.

Chuck couldn’t have foreseen every misstep of this operation. But he’d found a way to minimize damage and twist the perspective of desperate situations into positive ones. He desired perfection, but he now recognized this clandestine operation was on the verge of crumbling.

As he poured another
Chivas
Regal Scotch, he realized
Turug
, Victoria, and brother David had been listening to elevator music for fifteen minutes while he determined what to tell them and how to communicate it.

Chuck used his four-hundred-dollar ballpoint pen to dial the conference number, and joined the fray.

“Victoria, gentlemen, we’ve hit a snag in our operation. As you know, the
Times Herald
has learned about the connection between OG and Tiffany. We can’t undo what has come to light. The question is what to do now.”

Chuck wondered if Victoria, obviously the alpha of the group, would jump in with her sharp tongue and piercing wit. The more he worked with her, the more he believed God had put her on Earth to punish him for his most distasteful indiscretions. Deceiving those who trusted him might be his most egregious fault. He’d lied his way out of jams all his life and was damn good at it. He learned at a young age that honesty was a tool, one which had its place, in the right setting, at the right moment. It was only a tool, certainly not a personality trait he desired to possess.

 
Turug
cleared his throat. “Chuck, they haven’t linked OG to the J&W property, correct? And we still have Tom Newhouse pushing through the zone change. So this Tiffany connection is the one that hurts us,”
Turug
said, logical as always. “The mention of Tony by name is a problem, especially when it’s connected to his intimidation techniques. Now this Reinaldo Silva claims he didn’t kill Tiffany. Are we sure the newspaper has uncovered everything that could hurt us?”

Chuck thought about the question for a moment. He’d known about
Tony’s
propensity for overreacting to emotional situations. Tony hadn’t admitted to killing Tiffany, but Chuck had wondered. Reinaldo being arrested for her murder might have been sheer luck. Chuck had then stepped in to quicken the pace of justice. The police chief had made some strides toward convicting the Brazilian J&W employee, but Reinaldo changed his tune after a second visit from the pest, Michael Doyle. For now, he kept his thoughts on Tiffany Chambers’ real killer to himself.

“I believe they have,
Turug
,” Chuck said, attempting to maintain a rational tone on the call. “I’m not a gypsy, so I can’t predict they won’t uncover something I’m not privy to, but we believe the worst is behind us.”

“How close are we to getting the final paperwork completed through the zoning office? How quickly can we start the drilling process?” Victoria asked.

“Because of a motivated Tom Newhouse, we should have the green light to proceed in just a few days. From there, it could take up to six weeks, depending on a number of factors, including how quickly
Turug’s
team can empty the building,” Chuck said.

“Six weeks? That’s intolerable,” Victoria shot back. “I’ve watched you men do everything in your power to take my plan and screw it up. I’m the architect of this entire operation, and you know it. I expect accountability at all levels. Delays like this are unacceptable.”

“Victoria, we know you don’t get another dime until we start pulling gas from the ground,” Chuck said. “None of us do. We all signed the same personal services contract. We know this could be one of the largest gas reserves in the region, so a little patience will allow all of us to reap the rewards.”

Victoria wouldn’t let it go.

“
Turug
, it’s your company that’s taking so long to vacate the property. Why can’t you speed up the process?” Victoria asked.

 
“My dear Victoria. I have an international technology business to run. We know the faster we can adjust the cost structure of J&W, the faster we at PHC can turn a profit, which, in turn, further helps this operation by vacating the targeted property,”
Turug
explained. “You may not have the aptitude to understand the process, but I assure you we’re moving at a quicker pace than anyone on the J&W side is aware of.”

Chuck could envision Victoria’s nonverbal response. Her stare could burn holes through steel. His two scotches almost allowed a chuckle, but he held it back.

“We don’t need to snipe at each other like we’re siblings,” Chuck said and forced a chortle. “We’ve each brought different strengths to this effort, so let’s try to be respectful and not make personal attacks on each other.”

Chuck wasn’t sure how far he’d have to go to squash the threatened exposure of his spirited bunch. He wrapped up the call without further arguments, although it was apparent the group’s collective anxiety was growing.

“Team, I look forward to seeing you in person as part of the OG board meeting next month. Until then, we’ll have calls like this one as needed. Thank you for your support,” he said.

***

Harrison waited until he heard the others hang up, then he followed suit. His hands trembled, causing him to fumble with his
iPhone
as he attempted to press
stop
on the recording app. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard as he huddled next to his bed in the family mansion.

He would not allow Aunt Victoria and these men to soil his family’s reputation. He pondered with whom he should share the recording.