Sarah Armstrong: Blood Lines Part 17

"Hi, Magpie. Alls well here. Warrior and Emma Lou are both doing just fine," I said. "We got the colt on that new vitamin supplement Doc ordered."

"Thats good. Tell Warrior I miss him, okay?" she said.

"Youve got it," I said.

"Mom, I think Ive got it figured out. You know that photo you sent me?"

"What did you see?"

"Well, the thing is, the sky changes depending on the time of year," she explained, very seriously. My daughter talked about someday being a teacher, and I had the distinct impression she was practicing her lecture skills on me. "Different constellations come into view while others drop away as the earth tilts on its axis."

"Okay, I understand that," I said. "So what did you see in the photo?"

"Well, its not the best picture," she said. "Its not all that clear, but . . ."

Twenty-five.

The Big Dipper, it would turn out, was the key. In the winter, this easily recognized constellation hangs low in the East Texas sky. In the photograph, Maggie had no trouble spotting the Dipper, high in the heavens. "It cant be winter," she said. "This photo was taken in the summer."

"Youre sure?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said, sounding excited by the challenge. "Is that all you need? Do you want me to do more investigating?"

"Thats exactly what I need, Magpie," I said. "I love you. Alls well here! Tell Gram I love her, too!"

"I love you, too, Mom," she said. "Good night."

"Good night, Magpie," I said. "And thank you, again. Great work."

"Nice getup, Mr. Wagner," I said to the old man seated across from David and me. We were in his parlor where Id been two days earlier, but this time it was after dark and he wore a flannel bathrobe over thermal pajamas and a knit cap covered his head. "Drafty in this big old place? You should consider downsizing."

"Its easier to catch a cold when youre my age," he said. "Another thing thats easier is speaking your mind. I thought wed disposed of all this. Why are you back?"

"Agent Garrity and I are following up on the interview I had with you on Billie c.o.xs homicide," I said. "Some of your answers, it appears, werent truthful. Like when that photo of you at the Stanhope Field was taken."

The old guy a.s.sessed me out of the corners of his rheumy eyes and puckered his wrinkled mouth. He would have been a natural for the part of Scrooge in A Christmas Carol. I wondered where the ghost of Christmas past was hiding. David and I could have pa.s.sed for the ghosts of Christmas present, since wed arrived with a large shopping bag, bulging with items wrapped in brown paper. Wagner kept staring at them. I hoped he noticed they werent tied with ribbons and bows.

"Thats not a nice thing to say to an old man, Lieutenant," he said, surveying my face and then staring yet again at the bag. "Particularly when its not true. I happen to know that my old partner, d.i.c.kson, told you exactly the same thing I did. You got other information, its wrong."

"Lets take a look at the photo again," I suggested. Id put David in charge of my props. The first thing he pulled out was an envelope. He handed it to me, and I slipped out a copy of the photo in question.

"To start, Im going to tell you how I know you lied, Mr. Wagner. First, I talked to your attorney, Jimmy McBride, the third man in this photo," I said, pointing to the younger man in the picture, the one with his back to the camera. "And what he told me is that this was taken not eight years ago in December but just this past July, last summer, when you and Mr. d.i.c.kson hired him to represent you on the sale of the oil field."

"That mans mistaken," Wagner said with a snarl. "You know lawyers. They can never keep anything straight."

Shaking my head as if perplexed, I leaned forward and tried to hand him the photo, but the old man merely sat back in his chair and shot me a look that warned Id better be careful. "Youve got my word and my partners word against McBrides, so hes outnumbered. That ought to be enough for you."

"Only thing is, look right here," I said, taking a pen out of my pocket. Since he refused to hold the photo, I gave it to David who held it up at Wagners eye-level, as I traced the outline of the seven stars that made up the constellation. "Thats the Big Dipper. Know whats interesting about that?"

"No, but Im bound to have the misfortune of having you explain it to me, I suppose," he said. "You know, Lieutenant, Ive already lived a long life. I dont like being manipulated. It wastes my time."

"This wont be a waste of time, I give you my word," I said with a smile. Had to admit, I was enjoying every minute of this conversation, so much more than our first. "Whats interesting is that in winter the Big Dipper is low over this part of Texas. The earth has shifted on its axis, and the Dippers close to the horizon. The only time its this high is summer, like in July, which just happens to be when Mr. McBride told us the three of you were there. Which proves, as I mentioned, that you lied to me, Mr. Wagner."

He thought about that a bit, and then smiled. "Well, maybe it was last summer. Im an old man and Im forgetful. Maybe Ive got some of that dementia stuff my friends are all coming down with. Cant see any other explanation. Why would I lie about something like that?" he asked, with an exaggerated scowl. "Seems pretty silly."

"I wondered about that, too," I said. "Then I realized that admitting the photo was just months-old made it too easy to figure out that you were involved in the sale. And since yall falsified that report and lied about there being oil in the field, you had a reason not to want me to learn the truth."

"Is telling a lie a jail-able offense? I dont think so," he challenged, his wispy white eyebrows knotted together, giving him a disheveled look. "Leave me alone. This is baloney. Youve got no crime here."

"Ah, but I do. You know as well as I do that a lie told to bilk folks out of cash is fraud. Bet you also know that the punishment is up to ten years behind bars," I said, with a self-satisfied grin. "Still, at your age, you probably would have gotten off pretty easy, as little as a year or even probation. Mr. Wagner, you should have let it ride, come clean and settled your losses. It would have been the smarter move, even for an old wildcatter like you."

With that, Wagner dismissively shook his head. "I dont know what youre talking about," he scoffed. "I havent heard any convincing evidence of anything, nothing to be of any concern."

"Ah, but Mr. Wagner, you should be very concerned," I said, with a wink. "Theres more."

David pulled my second prop out of the bag, something rolled up in a brown paper cylinder. On the side, it read: c.o.x MURDER: EVIDENCE NUMBER 327. BEDROOM RUG.

"Whats that?" Wagner asked, looking just a speck unsettled.

"Thats the Oriental rug out of Ms. c.o.xs bedroom, the one to the left of the bed," David explained. "I a.s.sume youd like to know what the Lieutenant and I have discovered about this particular item?"

"Spill it," the old man said. "Then get the h.e.l.l out of here. Its late. Im old and tired, and Ive had enough. So say what you will, and then leave."

"Whats interesting about this particular piece of evidence is whats not on a section of it," David said. "Billie c.o.xs blood."

Wagner snorted dismissively, as if he saw no importance.

"You see, in a suicide, blood spatter exits the wound covering everything around the person in an uninterrupted pattern," I explained. "But on this rug, which was on the floor directly next to the body, on the side of the entrance wound, theres blood on the sides but not the center. Why? Because someone else was in the room when the shot was fired, and instead of hitting the rug, that section of blood spatter landed on the murderer."

"What does this have to do with me?" Wagner challenged.

"Im getting to that," I said. "Whats important for you to understand is that the murderer got blood on his clothes, and if we find the clothes, especially the shoes, which very few killers remember to throw out, a speck or two of blood will undoubtedly still be on them. The guys in our lab are really good at this."

"Whats that?" Wagner said with a scowl. "s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up?"

"Not usually," I said. "Usually they dont have much trouble pulling out DNA. We already have Billies processed and ready to compare. Once we find a match, we just have to trace the clothes to their owner and weve found her murderer."

"You think that scares me? You have my permission. Search this d.a.m.n house. Search to your hearts content," the old man said with a smile. "Take every piece of clothing I own to those Neanderthals who staff that lab youre so proud of. I promise that you wont find Billies blood. Not even a speck. I didnt kill that woman."

"Oh, but you misunderstand, Mr. Wagner. I dont think you pulled the trigger," I said. "But before we get to my theory about the role you played, Ive got just a few more things to show you."

"This is starting to feel like show-and-tell in kindergarten," he said, with a tight laugh. "Have at it, Lieutenant. This isnt getting you anywhere. As far as Im concerned, Billie committed suicide. If you can prove she didnt, you should be chasing the SOB who murdered her, not bothering an old man at bedtime."

"Ah, but we are chasing the SOB," I said. Then I whispered, "Mr. Wagner, thats why were here."

"You said you didnt think I pulled the trigger," he said, his anger rising.

"Thats right. I dont. Im sorry if you find this confusing," I said. "Itll all make sense soon. I promise."

David pulled out our next prop, a chart Id made with copies of receipts attached. One had Ty d.i.c.ksons name and MasterCard number on it, payment for lunch at the El Camarero Mexican restaurant, not far from Century Oils offices. The receipt was dated the afternoon after c.o.xs murder, and the waiter noted that three people dined.

Wagner looked it over, then I handed him the next credit card receipt, this one for parking at the same building for the same day, the same time, on Grant Robertss Visa.

"So whos this Roberts guy?" Wagner asked.

"You know who he is," I said. "Its Billies brother-in-law, the one she was having an affair with. The one who was furious at her for breaking it off. Hed been counting on her money to make him rich. Too bad for him, she had second thoughts. Maybe she hated to hurt her sister. Or maybe Billie figured out that Roberts is pond sc.u.m."

"Oh, is that the man she was bedding? How embarra.s.sing," Wagner said, with a forced laugh. "Bet her sisters not going to be delighted to hear that. But Im confused. What in the world does any of this have to do with me?"

"Look at the final sheet of paper," I suggested.

He did. It was a computer printout Id called the Harris County Toll Road Authority to get on a hunch, after Id zeroed in on the two credit card receipts. The record they faxed proved that on that same afternoon, while Billies body was in the process of being autopsied at the morgue, Wagners toll tag, the one on the black Cadillac sedan parked in his garage, left the Sam Houston Tollway at the exit closest to the restaurant in question just five minutes before Roberts parked his car and an hour before d.i.c.kson paid for the three Mexican lunches.

"That doesnt prove a thing," Wagner said.

"No. I only brought all of this along for fun, because I truly enjoy showing others how we piece evidence together. This is the only item I needed," I said. Out of my purse I pulled a DVD. A Post-it note on the top of the see-through plastic case read: c.o.x MURDER, SURVEILLANCE TAPE: EL CAMARERO RESTAURANT.

"Have you got a DVD player, Mr. Wagner?" I asked. "Id like to play this for you."

"Why?" he replied. "Is that a good movie?"

"I think youll enjoy it. Agent Garrity and I certainly did," I said, with a grin he must have found infuriating. "Its a video of you, Ty d.i.c.kson, and Grant Roberts at El Camarero the day after Billies death. We cant hear what youre all saying, but theres a lot to see, a lot that explains why you were all there the day after Bil-lie died. You had a bit of business to finish up, didnt you?"

I put the DVD on the table, where he could look at it. Wagner didnt say anything, just focused on the silver disk as if it were a bill from the I.R.S. The old man wasnt grinning any longer.

"Now its time for you to start talking," I suggested. "There are three of you involved in Billies murder, and this is the day after. Not hard to see on this tape that what were looking at is a payoff."

"You cant prove that!" the old man snapped. "You cant even hear what were saying."

"Not yet, but the jury will be able to see for themselves how delighted you all were on the day after Billies death. Maybe we can get someone who reads lips to interpret. You know, whats so lucky is that the camera was pointed right at your face," I said. "I bet well be able to figure out every word you said that afternoon. That is a stroke of luck."

"We were discussing the weather," he said. "Youll never be able to prove what we were talking about. I dont believe it."

"Maybe not. But the truth is that I wont need to prove it, Mr. Wagner," I said. "Im doing you a favor here. Do you think for even a moment that your old friend Ty d.i.c.kson will go to prison to protect you? Do you have any doubt that if Id gone to him first he wouldnt have offered you up to get on top of this thing? You know him. Hes old and sick. How eager is he going to be to spend his few remaining years rotting in a cell?"

Wagner glowered at us, furious. "How dare you?" he said, spitting out the words.

"What the lieutenant is suggesting, Mr. Wagner, is pretty obvious," David said. He appeared to be enjoying our sit-down with Wagner as much as I was. Why not? Its exciting to close in on murderers. "In case you need a translation, heres one: whoever is the first, you or d.i.c.kson, to make a deal is the one who comes out of this the cleanest. Take too long and odds are that youll die in prison."

"After all, its not like you were the shooter," I said. "Why right now, were getting a judges signature on a search warrant for Grant Robertss house. Right now our people are pulling together everything they need to collect his shoes and all of his clothes. Think were not going to find Billie c.o.xs blood somewhere? Thats all we need. A single drop of blood can put you in prison until the day you die. That lawyer, McBride, is a nice fella. Well, he told me that you and d.i.c.kson were trying to ensure your legacies by building a childrens hospital. Imagine what a life sentence for solicitation of murder will do to your reputations."

"I dont," he bl.u.s.tered. "Im going to call my-"

Before he could lawyer up, I went on, leaning toward him, my right thumb and index finger forming the smallest circle. I held it up so he could see just a speck of light through the center. "All we need is the tiniest, tiniest molecule of Billies blood," I said. "Youve seen those shows on T V. You know what our lab people can do. You have any doubt well find what we need?"

At that, I shut up and let the old codger consider his options.

"Like I said, I want my lawyer," he said. "Now."

"Thats fine," I said, with a shrug. "As a matter of fact, Agent Garrity is going to read you your rights. We want this by the book, so there arent any technicalities to argue later."

"You have the right to . . ." David began, reciting the warning every suspect in a criminal case is required to be told.

"Thats it, Mr. Wagner. Youre done. Go ahead and call your lawyer," I said, when David finished. "Meanwhile, Agent Garrity and I will be on our way across the street to Mr. d.i.c.ksons house. Im willing to bet that h.e.l.l see this our way. h.e.l.l get the deal we were offering you."

That took Wagner back a bit. "What kind of deal?" he asked, squinting at me.

"Ten years, with a recommendation for probation in six," I said. "Weve got a prosecutor lined up to sign the paperwork."

"At my age, Id probably never live six years," he said. "Especially not in one of those h.e.l.lholes."

"Maybe not," I said. "But I guarantee you wont survive a life sentence with a mandatory forty years before youre eligible for parole."

David and I sat and stared at the old geezer, silent, while I left that DVD sitting there, right where Wagner could see it. The old man extended an arthritic hand, the joints swollen and disfigured, and picked it up. He looked at what was written across the top.

"Weve got it all figured out, Mr. Wagner, even your motive. You killed Billie because she threatened to tell everyone in the oil patch about your little scheme. We know because she left a note indicating she planned to fill in Bobby Barker the following Monday. And that could have cost you and your partner millions and, more importantly, it could have landed you both in jail for fraud. My guess is that Billie gave you the weekend to come clean about the scam, before she went public," I said. "And thats when you two degenerates decided she had to die."

The old man looked at both our faces, his mouth twisted into a disgusted grimace. "Who would have figured theyd have cameras in a gawd-d.a.m.n Mexican restaurant," he said, spitting out the words. "Whats this world coming to when you cant even eat refried beans and tortillas in private?"

Two hours later, David and I finished typing Clayton Wagners statement at my office on the 610 Loop. The old man had signed a confession that said he and Ty d.i.c.kson approached Grant Roberts with the plan and then paid him half a million dollars to murder Billie c.o.x. He described the money as chicken feed compared to what they planned to make selling the oil field and Century Oil. Two wrinkled old men worried about a lifetime of cashing in without giving back, they were willing to commit murder to have their names on a hospital faade, as insurance that theyd be remembered after their deaths. Unlike d.i.c.kenss Scrooge, they wouldnt be visited by the ghost of Christmas future and given the opportunity to repent to change their destinies. Theyd sealed their own fates, and I doubted that either would leave prison upright.

Wagners signed statement in hand, I dispatched two deputies to pick up d.i.c.kson at his home and to bring him downtown for booking. Then I called H.P.D. and requested two squads at the Robertss house to back us up when David and I made the third arrest of the night. As we drove through Houstons darkened streets, I dreaded telling Faith that the murderer shed pushed us to find was her own husband. Still, it was the truth, and although the truth could be cruel, in my experience it was pretty much always better than living a lie. Not that I was against the small white lies. Sometimes those came in handy.

"What did you have rolled up in the paper?" David asked. "We both know they wouldnt let you check c.o.xs bedroom rug out of the evidence room to haul around Houston to intimidate suspects."

"A horse blanket," I said. "I was kind of worried Wagner would be able to smell it, but figured hed be too nervous to notice."

"And the surveillance DVD? That was a fake as well, I gather?"

"Blank," I said. "Clean as the day it came off the a.s.sembly line."

"What would you have done if that old man had taken your challenge and popped it in a DVD player?" David said. He was shaking his head and grinning.

"That, Agent Garrity, didnt happen," I said, smugly. "So, youll never know."

Twenty-six.