CHAPTER 9
THE JEALOUS AGENT
I was glad I had been able to get in touch with Stan. Now at least he could find Tex and perhaps talk to him. It sounded like Tex was in serious trouble and would need a local attorney to defend him. I was sure Stan could find him one and then get his butt back home to help me defend Dusty Thomas. My investigation was just getting started and there was lots of work to do. I needed his help desperately. In the meantime, I had to keep moving because the clock was ticking. Although no trial date had been set, I knew the Justice Department would be anxious to get this case over with. The CDA was getting lots of publicity from their involvement in the case and that had to be giving a lot of people in Washington ulcers. In fact, Raymond Farr, the president of the CDA was to be interviewed on 20/20 that very night.
I flipped open my notebook and looked at my witness list. The name of Donald Hurst jumped out at me. He was the revenue agent who didn’t like Bobby much. Although I doubted the animosity between them would be enough to cause Agent Hurst to gun down Bobby in cold blood, I couldn’t ignore the possibility. He certainly would have been in a position to know about the tractor seizure and the history between Dusty and Bobby. If he didn’t have an alibi, he’d have to go to the top of our list of suspects. Either way, he certainly would have a lot of dirt on Bobby and probably wouldn’t mind sharing it with me in light of the bad blood between them. I called Hurst and made an appointment that afternoon.
His offices were downtown in the Earle Cabell Federal Building. The CDA picketers were still out front trying to stir up support for their position that the income tax laws were unconstitutional. One of them stuck a pamphlet in my face as I walked by. I looked at it and was shocked to see it was all about Dusty Thomas and his battle with the IRS. I tucked it in my purse and entered the building. I looked up at a smiling picture of Ronald Reagan hanging on the wall. It suddenly occurred to me that he would probably be getting weekly briefings on the Dusty Thomas case. The thought of that nearly took my breath away. Wow! I had moved up in the world in a hurry thanks to Stan. Suddenly I became sick with worry. I wished Stan had never gone to Ecuador. It was such an unstable country. There were frequent riots and talk of an impending coup according to the magazine articles I found at the Dallas County Library. Damn you, Turner! Why did you have to go?
As I entered the IRS collection's office, I felt a little uneasy. I had never had a problem with the IRS myself, but I had heard enough stories of lives being ruined by overzealous revenue agents to be a bit nervous. I signed in at the front desk and waited. Ten minutes later a door opened and a man walked out and surveyed the reception area.
He looked at me and asked, “Paula Waters?”
I stood up and walked over to him. We introduced ourselves and he took me back to his office. Agent Hurst was a middle-aged man, short and trim with dark hair. He looked like he could have been a wrestler or swimmer in college. His office was a mess with piles of loose papers, files, and books scattered around the room. He cleared off a side chair so I could sit down. He remained standing.
“So, did you see the army of dissidents you and your client have unleashed upon us?”
“Yes, I’m really sorry about that. I had no idea they would take advantage of the situation like they have.”
“Oh, you thought they’d fork over a quarter million dollars for the sake of justice.”
I shrugged. “Honestly, I was just worried about Dusty getting a good defense. In retrospect, I guess I was a little naive.”
“Naive? No, I don’t think so. You knew exactly what you were doing. Greedy is the word I think would apply here.”
I stood up. “I beg your pardon! Murder trials are expensive. Stan and I are not going to get rich over this. We just need enough capital to put up a good fight. I’m sure the government will out spend us ten to one.”
“No, little lady—more like a hundred to one.” Hurst laughed. “You don’t know what you got yourself into. Your messing with revenue stream to the federal government here and you’re not going to get away with it.”
I took a deep breath. The interview had gotten off to a bad start and I wondered if I was going to be able to ask any questions. Hurst obviously hadn’t agreed to the interview to answer my questions. He was using my visit as an opportunity to vent his hostility toward Dusty Thomas, lawyers, women, and everyone else he obviously hated. I struggled to keep my composure.
“Agent Hurst, I can understand why you don’t like me and that’s fine. It’s a free country. But as I told you, I came here to ask you some questions about Bobby Tuttle, if you don’t mind.”
Agent Hurst threw up his hands then sat in his chair. He settled back and said, “Shoot. What do you want to know?”
“Thank you. I’ve heard you and Bobby didn’t get along very well.”
“We weren’t friends, if that’s what you mean.”
“Were you enemies?”
“No. I wouldn’t say that. It’s true I didn’t like Bobby too much. He was a know-it-all and always had to run the show, but that was just a personality conflict—nothing more.”
“Other than being a know-it-all, what was it that made you hate Bobby?”
Agent Hurst gave me a thoughtful look. I wondered if he was going to level with me or tell me to get lost. He had no reason to cooperate since whatever he told me might come back to haunt him. It was a long awkward silence. I was about to give up and terminate the interview when he finally said, “Bobby’s father is a former District Director of the Internal Revenue Service. He and I started with the Service about the same time, yet Bobby moved up the ladder much faster than I have because of his father’s connections. That kind of pisses me off, to be perfectly honest with you.”
“I see. I appreciate your candor. So, for the record, where were you at the time Bobby was murdered?”
“I was on a special assignment in Fort Worth.”
“Doing what?”
“Pouring over business records that had been subpoenaed in a tax fraud case.”
“Were you alone?’
“I was in a lawyer’s office. They set me up in their conference room with 22 boxes of records. It was so much fun.”
“So you were alone in the conference room?”
“Yes, except for a few visits from the receptionist. She brought me coffee. I didn’t have time to drive to Farmersville,” Hurst snickered.
“Are there others in the IRS who might have had a grudge against Bobby?”
“Sure, he wasn’t a very popular guy. Try Laura Blair. She accused Bobby of sexual harassment once.”
“Really? Does she still work here?”
“She’s on maternity leave.”
“Really? Is it Bobby’s baby?”
“How should I know? Neither one of them confided in me.”
“Can I get an address or telephone number?”
“Sure, why not? We at the IRS always aim to please.”
After Agent Hurst gave me Laura Blair’s address, I went back to the office. Hurst was a true blue SOB. I didn’t know what to make of him. He certainly had ample animosity toward Bobby Tuttle, but his alibi seemed pretty tight. I reached for my purse to get a Kleenex when I noticed the brochure that had been handed to me by the CDA picketer. I began reading.
Dusty Thomas
vs.
The United States of America
Will David bring down Goliath?
As Dusty prepares his slingshot the IRS trembles.
I chuckled and turned to the second page. There was a picture of me conferring with Dusty before his bond hearing. It wasn’t a bad shot, but I wished I’d worn a better outfit. I made a mental note to pay more attention to my wardrobe since there apparently would be lots of cameras clicking wherever I appeared. The caption read: “Dusty Thomas talking to his street-savvy co-counsel Paula Waters.” Street savvy? I wondered where that came from. I read on.
Dusty Thomas’ Long Battle With The IRS
In 1972 Dusty Thomas was a rancher r
aising cattle and growing hay to feed them. To make ends meet he also operated a bulldozer and was helping to clear land for a new housing development in McKinney, Texas. He worked sixty hours a week just to feed his family and pay the bills. While on the job he learned from one of our members that the federal income tax was illegal. He talked to his co-workers on the construction site and found out that very few of them paid taxes. Convinced that the federal government didn’t have the right to tax him, as the sixteenth amendment had never been ratified, he didn’t file a tax return for 1972.
Three years later he was contacted by Revenue Officer Bobby Tuttle. Tuttle rejected his claim that the income tax was illegal and filed a tax return for him and assessed him taxes of $7,322.47 for 1972, $6,311.42 for 1973, and $5,742.14 for 1974. Barely being able to pay his bills and keep food on the table for his growing family, Dusty was unable to pay the nearly $20,000 taxes illegally assessed against him.
By June 1976 the tax bill with penalty and interest had mushroomed to nearly $37,000 and Agent Tuttle issued wage garnishments against Dusty and his wife who was working as a schoolteacher. The IRS took over $1,100 dollars per month, leaving them only $900 a month to live on. After nine months of living near the poverty level, Martha quit her job and tutored students for cash. When Dusty’s McKinney job played out, the garnishment of his wages came to an end.
Harassed by IRS Revenue Agent Bobby Tuttle, Dusty, under protest, filed his 1976-79 income tax returns and paid the taxes the government claimed were due. In 1980 Bobby Tuttle seized 800 acres of the Double T Ranch and all the cattle leaving Dusty and his wife, Martha, with only 200 acres and their small ranch house. Despite the wage garnishments of nearly $10,000 and land seizures valued on the tax rolls at over $80,000, Dusty’s tax bill rose to $87,801 by the end of 1981.
In 1982 Dusty and his wife were referred to attorney Stan Turner who immediately filed a chapter 13 bankruptcy to rid them of as much tax liability as was possible. Unfortunately, Tuttle had filed a federal tax lien which remained as a lien against Dusty’s rural homestead. To get these taxes paid the Chapter 13 plan provided payments of $542 per month with $420 going to the IRS. But in 1983 Dusty had a heart attack, couldn’t work for six weeks, and the bankruptcy had to be converted to Chapter 7. The effect of the bankruptcy discharge was to relieve Dusty and Martha of any personal liability for their taxes, but the federal tax lien remained in effect.
Since the value of the Double T Ranch had increased dramatically, Dusty and Martha were reluctant to surrender it to the IRS. In the spring of 1986 Agent Tuttle decided it was time to harass Dusty Thomas one more time. He personally visited the Double T Ranch for the purposes of locating additional properties to seize. When he spotted Dusty’s tractor, he advised them that he was going back to the office to issue an attachment for the tractor. Dusty was outraged and the two got into a screaming match and nearly came to blows. During the altercation, Dusty threatened to shoot Agent Tuttle if he came back to take the tractor.
The story was followed by a commentary lauding Dusty Thomas’ courage and patriotism in putting his life on the line for the Constitution. On the back page of the pamphlet there was information about the CDA, contact information, and a plea to send money for the “Dusty Thomas Defense Fund.”
I shook my head in disbelief. Wait until Stan sees this. I wondered if the CDA realized how much damage this kind of propaganda would do to our efforts to save Dusty’s life. Now I wondered if I’d made a mistake taking their money. “Damn them!” I blurted out.
Stewart walked in and said, “Did you call me?”
I smiled. “No, I’m just talking to myself. This case is getting more and more complicated every day. I wish Stan were here. I’d feel a lot better.”
“He’ll be back soon, I’m sure,” Stewart said with a reassuring smile. “You need a back rub?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got too much to do right now. . . . Later maybe.”
Stewart left and I got back to thinking about the case. I decided to follow-up on Bobby’s girlfriend, Laura Blair. She lived on Turtle Creek Boulevard at one of those ritzy high-rise condominiums that were springing up everywhere. It took me twenty minutes to get there. The doorman rang her room and I heard her over the intercom tell him to let me up.
I took the elevator and, when the door opened, I could hear a baby crying. After knocking on the door, I waited quite awhile. Finally she opened the door and invited me in. She was a dishwater blond, mid-thirties, and not bad looking. She was a bit disheveled and the place looked like she’d had a bad morning. She was carrying the baby in her arms, rocking her, and patting her gently on the back trying to get her to go to sleep.
“I really appreciate you agreeing to see me on such short notice,” I said.
“No problem. Please excuse the mess. The baby is teething and I haven’t got a wink of sleep all week. You don’t want an infant, do you?”
I laughed. “No, not quite yet. In a few years I might be interested.”
She sat down and held the baby on her lap facing me. “Too bad. Today I’d give her away cheap.”
“She is so cute. I think you’d miss her.”
She gave the baby a hard look. “Ah, you’re probably right. I guess I’ll keep her. . . . So, what can I do for you.”
“As I told you over the phone I'm with Turner and Waters and we’re defending Dusty Thomas in the Bobby Tuttle murder case.”
“Right, I’ve been following that on TV.”
“I understand you knew Bobby Tuttle.”
“Yes, unfortunately,” Laura said.
“How did you meet him?” I asked.
“Well, I’m a secretary at the IRS office downtown.”
“Right.”
“Bobby was a revenue agent and I did work for him from time to time. I made the mistake once of agreeing to go out on a date. I knew at the time it was a bad idea, but Bobby had been hitting on me and pressuring me to go out with him for a long time. I really didn’t like him that much but he caught me in a weak moment and I said yes. What a mistake.”
“So, where did you go?”
“We went to a Ranger game and then to a club afterwards. We drank a lot and then he took me home. I didn’t invite him up to my apartment, but he came anyway. I tried to keep him out but I was too drunk to be very effective.”
“Did he rape you?”
Laura didn’t flinch. “Not exactly. I was too out of it put up much of a fight.”
“You didn’t want sex, though?”
“No, I didn’t even like Bobby. If I hadn’t been drunk, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“So, did you go to the police?”
“No. I didn’t want to lose my job and, like I said, I didn’t put up much of a fight.”
“So, did you go out with him again?”
“No. He asked several times but I politely declined. One day he became insistent and I had to threaten him with a sexual harassment charge to get him to leave me alone.”
“Laura, I know this is a rotten thing to have to ask you, but I must. Is this Bobby’s baby?”
“No. No way. I had a steady boyfriend before I went out with Bobby—Chet Conway. We had just broken up. That’s one reason I agreed to go out with Bobby. I was a little depressed because of our breakup.”
“So, is Chet part of your life now?”
Laura smiled. “Yes, we got back together when I found out I was pregnant.”
“Where were you on the day Bobby was murdered?”
She hesitated. “Home, sick as a dog.”
“Were you alone?”
“Just me and the baby.”
I wasn’t convinced that Bobby wasn’t the child’s real father but I didn’t press the issue. Chet had to be added to my list of suspects. If he found out what Bobby had done to Laura, he might have been outraged enough to murder him. Even if I couldn’t prove it, it would give a jury some doubts about Dusty’s guilt. I thanked Laura and left. It was late, so I went straight to the condo. I was gl
ad to see Stewart’s car parked out front as I was tired and depressed. Some food, a good massage, and a little sex would make me feel a whole lot better.
Stewart had dinner just about ready when I strolled in and kicked off my shoes. “Whoever invented high heels ought to be strung up,” I said. “My feet are killing me.”
“Sit down. I’ll rub them for you, love,” Stewart said. “I’m sorry you had a tough day.”
I sat down in a big overstuffed chair and Stewart sat on the ottoman across from me. He put my feet in his lap and started to do his magic. “Actually it wasn’t such a bad day. . . . Ahhh! That feels so good. Ohhh. . . . I’ve got . . . Ohhh . . . two new suspects who had plenty of . . . ahh . . . motive to kill Bobby Tuttle.”
“Wonderful. You can tell me all about it over dinner.”
Stewart and I were lovers but we weren’t in love. We had met in grammar school and been good friends ever since. We had experimented together with sex in high school but more as a clinical study than a passionate love affair. We both had other relationships from time to time, but none of them lasted. We agreed that no matter what happened we’d be there for each other. Stewart was a ceramic engineer, and when he got laid off I asked him to be my secretary until he could find another job in his field. He agreed and had been with me three months now. I was getting used to him being around and I wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable day that he would leave me.
“It was so nice of you to cook me dinner.”
“Anything for the boss. I’m good at kissing ass, you know.”
I smiled and winked at him. “Yes, I know. If you ever need a reference, I’m your gal.”
“Good, I’ll put that down on my resume.”
I shook my head. “You dirty boy.”
He pushed my feet aside and stood up. “Okay, dinner’s ready.”
After dinner we sat on the deck of my condo to talk and finish the bottle of wine we had opened. It was a pleasant night and the stars were bright, at least as bright as they get in the middle of the city. I was thinking about Stan—wondering where he was and why we hadn’t heard from him. Stewart sensed my worry.
“So, no word from Stan?”
“No, not since I talked with him yesterday. I’m surprised he didn’t call. He must have seen Tex by now.”
“Why don’t you call his hotel? It’s only nine o’clock. He’ll still be up.”
I smiled. “That’s a good idea.”
I got up and went inside to my purse where I had the telephone number. After retrieving the number I picked up the phone and dialed the number. The overseas operator came on and took the office phone number so they could bill the call there. I waited for what seemed a good ten minutes before the hotel operator answered.
“I’d like to talk to Stan Turner, please.”
Fortunately, the operator spoke English. She replied. “Do you know his room number, please.”
“Yes, room 224.”
“Thank you. . . . I’m sorry, senora, but Mr. Turner is no longer in that room.”
“What do you mean? Did he check out?”
“He must have. I don’t show him as a guest in the hotel anymore.”
“Can I speak to the manager, please?”
“Yes, senora. One moment.”
After a long minute a man’s voice came on. “Can I be of assistance?”
“Yes, I'm trying to reach my partner, Stan Turner. He was a guest in your hotel. I talked to him yesterday.”
“Oh, senora. I’m sorry to have to tell you this. But Senor Turner and his companion were taken away by the policia yesterday.”
“What! Where did they take them?”
Tears welled in my eyes as I tried to comprehend what had happened. The manager gave me the name and telephone number of the local police. I was beside myself with fear. Stewart heard me crying and rushed in.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Senora, what should I do with Mr. Turner’s belongings?”
I told the manager to keep the luggage for a few days and that Mr. Turner would likely come to get it. If not, I’d send someone by to get it and have it shipped to Dallas. After I hung up, I dialed the number of the police station. The person who answered the telephone didn’t speak English so he put me on hold and left to go find someone who did. While I waited I explained to Stewart what had happened. He shook his head sympathetically. Finally, a male voice came on the line.
“Yes, can I be of assistance?”
“Hi, this is Paula Waters. I’m calling from Dallas, Texas and I understand you’ve arrested a Stanley Turner and Monty Dozier.”
“One moment, please, and I’ll check and see.”
He put me on hold and was gone a long time. My mind whirled as I tried to imagine every scenario that might explain why Stan had been arrested. Did they think he was mixed up with Tex’s scam? Or had Monty been caught with all his guns? I had told Stan not to let him take any weapons, but Stan had insisted that Monty knew his business and shouldn’t be second guessed. Finally the man returned to the line.
“I’m sorry, senora, but there is no one in the jail under that name.”
“But, the manager at the hotel said he was taken there.”
“Forgive me, but I have thoroughly searched our records and he was not brought here.”
Terror swept over me. Where could Stan have been taken? Had the police really arrested him or had he been kidnapped? I grabbed Stewart and looked up in him.
“Oh, Stewart! Somebody has Stan. What am I going to do? Oh, God. How could this have happened? What if he’s been kidnapped? What if they kill him?"