The Rented Mule (32 page)

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You need to get right with God, you need to get right with Kelly, and you need to start spendin’ time with dem precious chirren. Don’t matter hows much money yous got, you can’t buy back time. You been worrin’ ’bout all da wrong thangs.”

“I had no idea we’d bounced checks to you, Miz Millie.”

The quickness with which she pushed back and out of her chair and then stood caused Cooper to nearly choke on his biscuit.

Millie was wide-eyed. “That’s the least of your problems, child! Ain’t you listenin’ to me?

“Yes, ma’am, I’m listening.” Cooper let out a deep sigh. He knew that she was right. What he didn’t know was if it was too late.

“And another thang, Cooper, now, it ain’t none of my bidness, but I pray to baby Jesus you ain’t got no woman on the side. That really complicates thangs. You can’t be havin’ no outside woman and be tellin’ her ’bout your problems at home. She’ll learn right quick what ya need to hear, and that’s what she’ll be tellin’ ya. It ain’t fair to Miz Kelly. You understandin’ me?”

She’s wise
, he thought and said, “It may be too late, Miz Millie.”

“I hope it’s not. Dear Lord, I pray it ain’t.”

“Cooper? CNN’s goin’ live from the Montgomery
police station. You may wanna watch this,” Haywood said, turning up the volume.

“And I gots one more thang to say,” Millie declared, running her hand over her worn Bible. “I ain’t so sure you oughta be buyin’ my land.”

WEDNESDAY—DAY 4

“O,
have you established a motive?” the commander asked as she nervously sipped coffee and handed the district attorney a package of cream.

Detective Obermeyer was not a fan of the DA. They had clashed many times. The attorney thought the detective was too hung up on following procedures, and the detective thought the DA was using certain cases to climb his own political ladder.

Obermeyer chose his words carefully, “Yes, ma’am, I think so… I need to make a few phone calls to solidify it. Driving back to the office… I remembered something his secretary had said, and I followed up on it. A Realtor tried to call Mr. Dixon. Apparently, Cooper’s trying to buy an expensive hunting property.”

“How much money are we talking about?” she asked.

“Dixon told the guy that he needed it to appraise for $1.1 million or more for the loan formulas to work.”

“If he had a loan in place, why all this?”

“He didn’t have the loan. At least two banks denied him. I found the papers in his desk.”

“You really think that’s the motive?” the commander asked, shaking her head. “I don’t buy it.”

“It’s the only angle I have so far. We know folks who have done a lot more for a lot less.”

The district attorney weighed in, saying, “That’s kinda weak. People invest in land all the time. You gotta dig deeper. I’m not arguing something that thin in front of a judge. We don’t actually have proof that she’s been kidnapped. And if we get that, then the FBI steps in. Let’s keep this in the family for as long as we can. For now, the only indisputable fact we have is that Kelly Dixon is missing.”

“You’ve seen the e-mails.”

“They’re very incriminating, but they are not evidence of a crime. I need facts and a
plausible
motive to build a solid case.”

“We may never know the
exact
motive, but what I’m offering is
plausible
,” Obermeyer explained.

Silence filled the room for a few seconds as they tried to ascertain Cooper’s motivation. Both the commander and the DA wanted to comment that being married to a nut job would be a sufficient motive, but neither did. Obermeyer lacked a point of personal reference.

The commander, shaking her head, said, “So he’s too cheap for a divorce or didn’t want the embarrassment at church or whatever, so he hires some criminals to kidnap his wife? It doesn’t pass my smell test.”

“Go back through your notes, Detective. Maybe you missed something,” the DA requested.

Detective Obermeyer said, “Look, think about it. Cooper Dixon doesn’t have the money to buy this land that he wants bad—he’s been eyeing it for years and has already fixed up
one of the shacks as his huntin’ camp, and for years he’s been managing the land for big deer—but he now has a new million-dollar life insurance policy on his ole lady. A million dollars goes a long way toward paying off this place. I’m tellin’ y’all, I know it sounds crazy, but this is his motivation. Also, consider this: If he didn’t have his ball and chain of a wife hangin’ around his neck and he owned that property free and clear, he’d sell the Wynlakes house and haul the kids out there to live in a heartbeat. Plus, with his take from his business sale, he’d be set for life.”

“He kills the mother of his children for a piece of property? No way. I mean, I don’t buy that at all. Is he having an affair? That smells right,” the commander offered as an alternative theory.

“Killed? You don’t think she’s alive somewhere?” the DA asked, watching CNN reporting live from the Dixon home. He was deciding if getting in front of the camera would further his political aspirations.

“I don’t know. Probably. I do know that we need to get Cooper in here and interrogate the hell out of him,” the commander stated.

“I just spoke to him, and he’s not coming in on his own.”

“Any idea where he is?” the DA asked.

“No, sir.”

“Well, O, what about the possibility of him havin’ an affair and wantin’ his wife out of the way to keep from gettin’ drained in a divorce? This I can see… it’s almost predictable,” the commander offered as though she had firsthand experience.

The big detective shook his head. “I’m diggin’. I did learn that he’s been spending some time with an artist who doesn’t work there. If he is, I’ll find out.”

The DA said, “Okay, let’s make Cooper Dixon’s world
a lot smaller. Leak that we’re convinced he’s responsible for his wife’s disappearance, trace his phones, monitor his credit cards, and ask the public for assistance. I want him off our streets right now. I’ll use the detective’s theory to get the necessary warrants, but I’ll probably have to call in a few favors to do it.”

The detective nodded his understanding and was relieved that the conversation was ending.

The commander added, “Dig into Dixon’s greasy partner. He may be involved. The FBI’s lead investigator for their Racketeering Task Force is on his way over. He said he has some information we need. He mentioned Gates Ballenger by name. I’ll let y’all know what he says.”

“Let’s find Mrs. Dixon. With any luck, she’s still alive,” the DA said as he started out the door, heading to his hair stylist.

Detective Obermeyer said aloud but mostly to himself, “It’s been three days already. Statistically, this won’t end well.”

T
he blonde national newscaster stared into the studio camera with a frustrated, disbelieving look. Countless times she had seen the details slowly unfold, revealing suspects, who, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, continually deny guilt or involvement. Shaking her head slowly, she began what she did best—asking questions, holding on tenaciously for truthful answers. More times than not, that pressure ultimately helped reveal the truth, serving justice and her ratings. The newscaster often used her platform to speak for victims. Tonight was no exception. She was repulsed by the facts as she spoke with the field reporter.

“Now, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that this guy, a business owner, possibly kidnapped and probably killed his own wife, the mother of his two young children, for her insurance proceeds? And he planned to use that blood money to buy some hunting land? Did I understand you correctly?”

“Yes, that’s correct. That’s what our anonymous source within the Montgomery Police Department confirmed this
afternoon,” the male field reporter answered over the constant drone of dog-day cicadas.

“Do they have any idea where his wife is now or even if she is still thought to be alive?” she asked, rolling her eyes in disbelief.

“No, in fact, that’s the big question. Kelly Dixon has been missing since the weekend and her husband, Cooper Dixon, has been named a person of interest. But the police are not going as far as to formally announce that Kelly’s been kidnapped. Mr. Dixon, apparently, is on the run, and law enforcement is reaching out to the media to get his face on TV in hopes that someone will recognize him and turn him in,” the reporter replied, glancing down at the small monitor, noticing with satisfaction that Cooper Dixon’s driver license photo covered the screen.

“When we had Mr. Dixon on our show just a few days ago, he seemed sincere and genuinely concerned. It just goes to show that you have to trust the facts,
not
what someone tells you,” she replied with disgust. “Typically, when we learn that a woman is missin’… isn’t it almost always her husband or boyfriend who’s involved?”

The reporter held the earpiece in place and shook his head as he waited to respond to what was a sarcastic comment rather than a question. The actual reason he was shaking his head was because he was thinking,
Not all men are bad.

“One more question, before we break, is there another woman in this crazy scenario?” the newscaster asked with a cynical sigh.

“Yes, there is rumored to be ‘another woman’ as you put it,” he said with a smirk. “Every day we are learning something new about this guy. As you can imagine, these are things that people go to extremes to keep private.”

“Well, those details won’t be private for long! Okay, America, let’s have another look at this questionable character, Cooper Dixon. This is his DMV photo. He hasn’t been seen in several days, and the police really wanna get their hands on him. Pretty normal-looking guy, but who really knows what’s in his cold, dark heart or head. He has two wonderful children, who he evidently doesn’t care about, and his beautiful wife has been missing for at least three days now. We do know that the longer she’s missing, the less likelihood we have of her surviving this nightmare. Here’s her photograph. She’s close to my age, a beautiful soccer mom who’s active in her community.”

She added, shaking her head, “This is just sad. It’s really unbelievable. All for a place to hunt and fish when there’s thousands… literally hundreds of thousands of acres of public lands available to this guy for free. America, help us find Cooper Dixon.”

“Our thoughts and prayers are with Kelly Dixon and her darlin’ children. We pray that she is alive and well and that soon she will be reunited with her kids. We’ll be right back.”

G
ates sat at his desk, knowing that his world was on a razor’s edge of collapse. All his life, he only did enough to get by; he never developed any strength of character through hard work. He had bribed several of his high school teachers in order to graduate. He even counterfeited his college diploma. Gates had never done anything that required persistence or honest work. He had managed to get everyone else to do the heavy lifting. He considered Cooper a brother, but this time Gates had crossed a line that he never knew was there, and he needed money, no matter how it came or who it hurt. However, with all the drama surrounding Cooper, the sale was slowing and could possibly be derailed. Gates hadn’t fully considered that scenario.

Earlier in the day, Don Daniels told Gates that he was waiting to see what happened with Cooper. Gates knew that his days were numbered. He was tired of looking over his shoulder. He tried not to think about it, turning his attention to the newspaper and the lines for the weekend games.

“Gates, you have a call on line three. It’s CNN!” Mrs. Riley paged excitedly.

“Okay,” he answered as though CNN called every day.

He sat up straight, cleared his throat, and punched the blinking telephone line button, “Ballenger.”

He listened to the voice on the other end and finally said, “Yes, yes, of course, I know him well. We’re business partners. Yes, you could say ‘best friends.’ Okay. I’d be happy to be interviewed tonight. What time and where?”

He jotted down the details, smiling at such a fortuitous opportunity. He wondered if he had enough coke in his cigar tube to help him through the interview.

C
lassic rock pounded as the Client sat inside the shrine. He stared meticulously at the images of the endless slide show, slowly fueling his desires. A strobe light helped amp the mood.

The various illegal drugs he’d been enjoying for several days made him feel invincible, which was being counteracted by his natural psychotic state since he stopped taking his prescriptions. His face, still stained with the purple cattle medicine, added to his crazed appearance. He was running on meth-fueled adrenalin from his latest heinous crime, the imminent elimination of Cooper, and his orchestrated opportunity to have the object of his demented mind’s desire. He was on the cusp of full-blown mania.

His mind was racing with ideas, all of them bad and completely out of sync with the plan he meticulously worked through months ago. Hearing Cooper on TV begging to pay whatever ransom was asked gave him fresh ideas about monetizing this unanticipated development.
Hell, I might as well
make that final payment to my hired boy
. He chuckled.
I won’t hafta worry about his big ass gunnin’ for me. I’ll just squeeze Cooper for five hundred large. Halfa-mill has a nice ring to it… and that’s a damn fine return on my investment
. That thought made him laugh out loud.

He devised what he thought was an ingenious improvisational second act. Smiling as he sipped a cold beer, he slowly closed his eyes and envisioned exactly what he wanted, needed, and felt he deserved.

Picking up the small cell phone the kidnappers had given him, he looked at its call history. Only one recent incoming call. With the remote control, he turned down the music and then hit Return Call. As he put the phone to his ear, he bounced both feet to a beat only in his mind.

Clarence was lying on the couch with the old air conditioner blowing on him when his cell phone rang. He sat up, noticed the number, and swore under his breath. He hit the button to accept the call.