Part 6 (1/2)
”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.