Black Monday, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 7 Page 11

  Chapter 11

  The Key

   

   When I got to the office the next morning, I called Luther Palmer again, hoping that I'd just missed him the last time I had called. This time I asked the overseas operator to tell me Luther's location. She said it was Tehran. That shook me up as Huntington had told me he was in Beijing. I wondered why he had lied to me? He obviously didn't want me to think he was exporting to Iran. Beijing or Tehran, it didn't matter, I still had to assume Luther was in trouble.

  There still was no answer. I racked by brain trying to think of a way to find out what had happened to him, but I didn't have much to go on. We didn't have a U.S. Embassy in Iran anymore, since the last embassy delegation had been kidnaped and held hostage for 444 days. I decided to look for an embassy of another country, one friendly to the U.S. Great Britain was the obvious pick since they spoke English and was a U.S. ally. The Embassy was located in Teheran. The operator put me through to a low level public relations officer. I explained the situation.

  "We don't keep track of U.S. companies operating in Iran. Frankly, there aren't many of them these days."

  "Can you look into it; Mr. Palmer's life may be in jeopardy?"

  "I will, but I suggest you contact the International Red Cross. They are much better at this sort of thing than we are."

  That seemed like a good idea so I called them next. They took my inquiry and said they'd look into it. I looked at the clock and noted it was 8:30 and time to go see Detective Besch. After a tedious bumper-to-bumper trek to the police station, I spent the rest of the morning telling Besch everything I didn't know about Robert Huntington. I know he thought I was withholding information, but I really wasn't. Huntington hadn't told me much about himself or his business. Besch told me to contact him immediately if I heard from Huntington or anyone associated with him. Then he switched gears.

  I understand you're the executor for Lottie West's estate."

  I nodded. "Yes, I am."

  "Well, I guess you and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. I've been assigned that case as well."

  "Oh, really."

  "Yes. I need to find out what you know about the victim."

  "Not much. I met her a couple times when she retained me to do her will. I guess somebody was after her money, huh?"

  "It looks that way," Besch said, "From what I've been told it was a miracle they didn't find it."

  "Yeah, it was right in plain sight under the house. Had the killer known it was there, he could have just crawled under there and taken it. Pretty good hiding place, actually."

  "Filling the house with gas was a pretty tricky way to kill everyone. One spark and the place could have blown up."

  "Yeah, but it was a good way to get rid of the dogs and Lottie. I imagine the killer opened all the doors and let the gas clear out before he started his search."

  "Maybe," Besch said. "I wonder if he knew what he was looking for and, if so, whether he found it?"

  "I don't know. What do you think?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "I was hoping you'd find that out."

  I laughed. "Me? I thought this was your investigation."

  Besch smiled. "As Mrs. West's executor, don't you have an obligation to find out who killed her too? What if the killer found something of great value and stole it?"

  He had me there. Locating and gathering the estate's assets were my responsibility. Since there was a possibility that the killer had taken property of the estate it was my job to investigate that possibility. Fortunately, the estate now had assets to fund such an investigation. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. All I needed were two murder investigations going on at the same time. Rebekah was going to be beside herself when I told her. I didn't want to go home and give her the bad news.

  Since I had prepared the will, I knew the probate would be a pretty simple procedure. All I'd have to do was file the will with the Court, get sworn-in as Independent Executor, and file an accounting. There would be no court supervision under Texas' simplified probate procedure. The accounting would be the most difficult chore since we didn't know the extent of Lottie's assets. Another difficult task would be finding her heirs—particularly since she had denied that she had any. As it stood the SPCA stood to get everything unless an heir contested the will. That would likely happen with so much money at stake. If there were heirs, they could contest her mental capacity at the time she executed the will, particularly since she had forgotten she had heirs.

   The first step would be to go through all her personal records and property that we'd found in her house. The police had taken it all, but Detective Besch had made arrangements for me to have access to it. Later that afternoon Derek and I went over to a police storage facility to go through it. Derek had volunteered to help, so I took him up on the offer. He knew Lottie better than anyone, so it made sense to have him around.

  We each opened one of the dozen or so boxes the police had packed everything into. Derek's box contained photos which he began going through. I told him to check for anything written on the photos or other clues as to the identity of the persons in the photos. I pulled out a stack of letters from my box and began reading. They were love letters exchanged between a new bride and her husband who had been called off to war. They were dated between February and April 1945 when Lt. William Tidwell West was stationed in Berlin.

  There were the expected proclamations of love between the two and Lottie's expressions of worry and concern for her husband's safety. The letters also described Lt. West's participation in the occupation of Berlin after Germany's defeat, but there was nothing to shed light on Lottie's death. As I continued to dig through the property I found a small wooden file box. Inside there were index cards with names and addresses on them and at the bottom of the box there was a key. "Look at this," I said and held up the long thin key.

  Derek looked at me. "A safety deposit box key."

  I nodded. "Yes. It has a number on it—A327."

  "Huh. I wonder where it's from."

  I turned the key around and around examining it carefully. "I don't know. There's no name on it."

  "Well, if we find any banking records they may shed some light on that question."

  We kept digging through the boxes of records and found an account at Republic National Bank. The branch Lottie patronized was in Oak Cliff. I added a visit there to my list of things to do. From the index cards and photographs we came up with twenty-one names of people who somehow had been a part of Lottie's life. Unfortunately, tracking these people down wouldn't be easy. The addresses looked to be very old and the likelihood that any of these people still resided at the addresses listed was remote.

  "I think I'll let Besch check these names out," I said. "He's got better resources than I do for this kind of thing."

  "What about the safety deposit key?" Derek asked.

  "I think I'll run that lead down myself since whatever is in that box belongs to the estate."

  It was late when we finished up at police headquarters. I took Central Expressway north toward Richardson. Along the way I noticed a car behind me. It seemed to be following me. At first I thought I was just being paranoid so I made some random lane changes. The car made the same changes. I began to feel uneasy so I made an unexpected exit off the expressway and down a side street. The car followed me. My pulse quickened as I now had no doubt I was being followed.

  The car was a white Chevrolet Impala with a big CB antenna mounted on the roof. There was a lone white male with dark hair driving. He didn't try to pass me but just kept right on my tail. I saw a busy gas station ahead so I decided to pull in and get gas. I didn't figure the man would try anything around a lot of people. In fact, I was pretty sure he'd just go on by pretending not to be interested in me. To my surprise when I turned in and pulled up to the pump he followed and pulled up behind me.

  I just sat there stunned looking in my rearview mirror. Neither one of us moved. Now what? Should I get gas and ignore
him? Confront him? Get the hell out of there? I could feel my heart pounding as I pondered my next move. Suddenly, I found myself getting out of the car and walking straight toward the stranger. As I approached, he frantically started his car, backed up, and tore out of the gas station like a scared rabbit. His tires let out such a squeal that all heads turned to watch him go. Who was this guy? I'd never seen him before. The only thing I did know was that he'd be back.

  Fortunately, I had got a clear look at his license plate—ZPG 973. It was a Texas plate with a frame advertising Friendly Chevrolet. I called Detective Besch when I got back to the office and told him what happened. He told me he'd check out the license number and let me know who it belonged to.

  After I hung up the phone, I studied the safety deposit key. It had nothing written on it but the number A327. No hint as to what bank housed the safety deposit box. I pondered how I could figure that out. Lottie West didn't have a car, so I figured the box must be in a bank within walking distance of Lottie's house. I got in my car and drove over to Lottie's neighborhood.

  There were three banks within walking distance of her house—Cullen Frost, First National, and Guaranty. Unfortunately, they had all closed at noon since it was Saturday. On Monday morning I stopped at each bank, went inside and showed them the key but Lottie's key hadn't come from any of those branches. I wondered if the key would actually open a box somewhere or if it was just an old key that opened nothing. Then I remembered Lottie had an account at Republic National Bank in Oak Cliff. I stuck the key in my pocket and headed for Oak Cliff.

  The bank was situated in a tough neighborhood. Guards with shotguns were stationed at each entrance. I went inside and asked a secretary where to find the safety deposit box manager. She pointed to a thin, black lady sitting at her desk. I walked over to her and introduced myself. Then I showed her the key.

  "This isn't one of our keys. Did Mrs. West have an account here?"

  "Yes, she did. That's why I thought she might have rented a safety deposit box here."

  She stood up and said, "I'll go check our records."

  Ten minutes later she returned and advised me that William West at one time did have a box in the bank, but that it had been closed when his will was probated in 1980. I left the bank a little disappointed. Finding Lottie's safety deposit box had turned out to be more difficult than I'd anticipated.