Part 7 (1/2)
”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.