Chapter 4
MONEY TO BURN
On Wednesday, after getting my nails done and having a quick massage, I went to see Jimmy Bennett. Stan couldn't make it as he was at Lottie West's funeral. I hadn't had an opportunity to talk to Jimmy since he had gotten out of jail and we needed to get started on his defense immediately. While civil cases tended to drag on and on, criminal cases usually were put on a fast track as society demanded swift justice and defendants were entitled to a speedy trial. He agreed to meet me at the corporate headquarters of Baker Construction Company located in Las Colinas.
The Baker Construction Company offices took up two of the nineteen floors of the plush Williams Square complex. I parked my BMW in the garage next to the building and took an elevator to the seventh floor. The offices were ornately decorated with original oil paintings and sculpture depicting the American West. I marveled at the collection. The receptionist said Jimmy would be right with me. I took a seat and waited. Five minutes later Jimmy showed up and took me back to his office. I sat on a big leather sofa and Jimmy took a seat in a side chair across from me.
Jimmy's spacious office was neat and tidy and his big natural wood desk was as clean as any I'd ever seen. As hard as I looked, I couldn't find a lick of dust anywhere. It was clear that Jimmy was not your usual cowboy.
"Quite a place you have here," I said. "You've got some pretty impressive pieces of art."
"Yes. They're part of my father-in-law's private collection—works by Paul Kane, Herbert Dunton, Charles Russell, and Thomas Moran plus some Indian art as well. He accumulated them over the past thirty years. Every piece is an original."
"Really," I said, thinking how valuable the collection would be today—more motive for murder.
Jimmy, sensing my mental calculations, looked at me, smiled proudly, and said, "The collection has been appraised at $1.1 million."
I raised my eyebrows, smiled, and replied, "It's a shame Don won't be around to enjoy it."
Jimmy shrugged and then our eyes met. He smiled but didn't say a word. He wasn't a bad looking man but I wasn't the least bit attracted to him. His stare was beginning to bother me, so I looked away and said, "Well, we've got a lot of ground to cover so we better get busy. I guess the first thing I'd like to know is what you and your father-in-law were fighting about."
Jimmy shrugged, took a deep breath, and replied. "Well, the truth is I just got fed up with his shit."
"Fed up?" I asked.
"Taking orders from him. Doing all his dirty work. You wouldn't believe the shit he was in to. You know, there's just so much a man can take."
"What do you mean? What dirty work," I asked. "You're going to have to be very explicit. Remember. I don't know anything about you or your father-in-law."
"Right. Well. . . . Shortly after marrying Betty, Don insisted I go to work for him. Since I worked construction, it was only natural that I went to work for BC."
"BC?" I asked.
"Baker Construction."
"Right."
"He hired my brother too. He said he liked family in the business because you could always trust family, right?"
I nodded and pulled a notepad from my purse.
He continued. "Don and I hit it off pretty well and before I knew it I was a crew supervisor. After work he'd often come get me and my brother and we'd hit a few bars together. Even though I would have preferred to go home to Betty, he'd insist we go out to clubs—strip clubs mainly."
"Really?" I said. "He wasn't protective of his daughter?"
"No," he laughed. "He bought me prostitutes."
"Really," I said, shaking my head in disbelief. "And you went along with it?"
He shrugged. "Reluctantly. I felt lousy about it, but what could I do? He was my father-in-law and my boss."
"Okay, go on," I said.
"Anyway, he paid Betty and I a lot of money—"
"Betty worked for him too?"
"Not really, but she still got a paycheck—$500 a week."
"How much did you get?"
"$1,500 a week plus expenses. Don was making a lot of money and he was used to throwing it around. When we went to a strip club, he would always bring a wad of fifty dollar bills. The girls knew him and when they saw him coming they'd flock to him. We'd often take a couple girls home with us to the condo."
"The condo where the murder took place?" I asked.
"Yeah, the company owned it. We used it for private parties or for guests to stay at."
"What kind of guests?"
"Friends, customers, potential investors, politicians—you know—anybody Don needed in his pocket.
"I see. So, you'd take your guests and the girls there and—"
"Party, smoke a little marijuana, you know, whatever we felt like."
"How often did you do that?" I asked.
"A couple times a week," Jimmy replied. "Amanda lived there during the day. Don stayed with her at night."
"So Amanda was a steady girlfriend?"
"Yes, an expensive steady girlfriend. He paid for her apartment, provided her a new Mercedes, lots of jewelry, and an allowance."
I'd heard stories of corporate executives living this way, but I had never actually met someone involved in that kind of game. It sounded like fun, but obviously was a very dangerous way to live.
"Wasn't Don married?" I asked. "How did he get away with doing all this?"
"Margie, his wife, is a zombie. He could have brought Amanda home and done-her on the living room sofa while Margie was watching TV and I doubt Margie would have noticed."
I laughed. "How long has Amanda been his girlfriend?"
"A year or so."
"And Margie didn't know about her?"
"Seriously. She is blind and deaf—or at least pretends to be. I guess, when you have so much money to spend, it's easy to get distracted. Most of the time she was at Buffalo Ridge anyway."
"Buffalo Ridge?"
"Yeah, the company has a thousand-acre ranch near Abilene—The Buffalo Ridge Ranch. She spends a lot of time there with her horses and their trainer."
"Their trainer?"
"Earl. Earl Modest. It's never been a big secret that she and Earl were lovers. She tries to act like she's the faithful wife, but everyone knows the truth."
"What did Don think about Earl?"
"He was glad she had Earl. Earl kept her out of his hair."
"I see."
I didn't see. It all sounded pretty screwed up to me, but I figured I'd sort that part of the story out later. Right now, I wanted to find out what happened on the day of the murder and Jimmy seemed to be avoiding the question.
Okay, so you were fed up with the mandatory weekend carousing with your father-in-law. Is that what you were arguing about?"
"More or less. Don had some people coming in from Washington and he wanted me to wine and dine them, take them to a club, get them drunk, and then take them to our condo."
"What people?"
"Potential investors who supposedly could bail out Metroplex."
"So, you didn't want to take them out?"
"No, the feds were snooping around and Betty was getting sick and tired of me supposedly working every night. She wasn't as oblivious to the world as her mother. She suspected there were other women and she was beginning to get a resentful attitude. I figured if I didn't take a stand, my marriage would be over."
"Okay—"
"Besides I'm thirty-five years old with three kids that I love. I was becoming an alcoholic and half the time I couldn't remember what I had done the night before."
Jimmy stood up and went to the window. He looked toward DFW Airport. A big American Airlines Jet was gliding in for a landing. I could understand how he might be fed up with his life, but there was obviously more to his sudden attitude change—there had to be.
"So, when you told him that, I take it he didn't like it?"
"No, we argued and he said I was an ungrateful son of a bitch. He threatened
to fire me. I wanted to beat the shit out of him, but out of respect for Betty I didn't touch him. I just left and took a drive to cool off."
It sounded like a plausible story but I wasn't sure it was the truth. If Jimmy was about to get fired, it was convenient that Don was killed before that happened. With Don gone Margie would likely turn the business over to Jimmy to run. Then Jimmy would have all that money to throw around. It sounded like a pretty good motive for murder.