Adamant Read online

  “You would think that the business owner would have heard about his store by now and come forward,” Maddox said. “There’s been news coverage.”

  “They could be out of town or just haven’t heard yet,” Disick said.

  “What about the family of the employee?” Beth asked. “He had to get paid from someone. Check stub gives us who is doing the paying.”

  “That’s a good point,” Disick said. “Sounds like we have a couple things to look into.”

  Beth reached into her blazer and pulled out her phone. She glanced at the screen, said the word “Houston,” then answered.

  “What was the gas station’s name?” I asked.

  “Convenient,” Maddox said. “Or at least that’s what the sign and the canopy over the pumps says.”

  “All right.” With the gas station name and the contact information for the company that owned the building, I sent a text to the tech twins back in Manassas. More than likely, they could find out who we needed to talk to in short order. As Beth finished her call, I got a message back from Marcus that he would see what he could find.

  Beth shook her head and slid her phone into her jacket. From the bits and pieces I’d heard of her phone call, it sounded like she was getting some information on the call logs from someone’s phone.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Forensics in Houston processed Heather Serra’s phone. They also got the logs from the carrier. No calls made, and the last internet search was for hair products. They said the phone had a thumbprint fingerprint lock, so unless she unlocked it for Burr, he wasn’t going to be able to use it. Basically, he took it from her and tossed it out the window up the street.”

  “All right.” I paged through the rest of the file before me. There were quite a few photographs of the interior of the burned-out gas station. And while there were indications of where the bodies had been found, thankfully, there were no photographs of the bodies themselves. If for some reason I needed to see them, I would reach out to the medical examiner. A photo caught my eye and made the entire thing even more confusing. Wrapping what remained of the front counter area of the gas station was a bunch of brown, fire-damaged security glass. I pulled the photo from the file and held it up. “So how does the store employee, who should have been sitting behind this bulletproof glass, find himself shot with three others in the main area of the store?”

  “That tripped my radar too,” Maddox said. “Obviously, he came out for some reason.”

  I showed the photo to Beth, who was beside me. She looked at it, furrowed her brows, and went back to her call.

  “And I’m thinking he probably knew he was safe as well. You can see in that same photo, there’s a bullet impact on that glass about head height.”

  I brought the photo closer to my face for a better view. “Sure enough. Yeah, doesn’t make sense.”

  “What’s the plan of attack?” Disick asked.

  I put the photos back in the file and flipped the cover closed. “I’d like to get out to the gas station and just put eyes on it. Maybe we can get the fire chief or an inspector or someone to meet us out there. It’s always good to get someone from the fire department to give their version of what went down, plus if something is unsafe or needs to be investigated further, I want to know before I go trampling in there.”

  “Okay,” Disick said. “We can probably give them a call.”

  “I know Ralph,” Maddox said. “The fire chief. I’ll get him on the horn and see if he can meet us. What time are we thinking?”

  With the investigation heading north and all of Beth’s and my belongings a solid three hours south, we needed to drive back to Houston and pack. The quicker we could put eyeballs on the gas station and wrap up out there, the quicker we could get on the road. “However long it takes us to get over there,” I said.

  Chapter 15

  “What’s up, Marcus,” I answered.

  Beth drove us to the gas station, and Disick was in the car in front of us, Maddox in front of him.

  “Hey, I got a number for you,” Marcus said.

  “One second.” I yanked my notepad from my inner suit jacket pocket and pulled the pen from the binding. “Okay, what did you get?”

  “Well, we didn’t get anything as far as who was leasing the building. Or at least nothing with the name Convenient on it operating from that address.”

  “The local detective mentioned that it had changed names a couple times.”

  “Your best bet may be getting the information from the building owners.”

  “All right. What did you get there?”

  “I found the owner of the company, but I’m not sure how much good that is going to do you.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Because the guy is in California, and this company is huge. Like operating in just about every state east of the Mississippi. A board of directors and CEOs and people with all kinds of huge titles.”

  “The chances of the owner even knowing that the company owns a gas station in Waco are probably pretty slim is what you’re saying,” I said.

  “Pretty much. But I got a number for a guy at their regional office in Dallas.”

  “All right. I’m ready when you are.”

  “The guy’s name is Trevor Gregson. California number, but his title is operations manager for the Dallas territory.”

  “All right,” I said.

  “Not sure what kind of luck you’ll have. The name and number were scraped from a job-listing website,” Marcus said. “The post is a couple of years old. About all that I could find that wasn’t just listed on the business’s website.”

  “The local detective here said he’d tried calling a number listed on their website but hadn’t had any luck getting a callback.”

  “Their business website was the first thing I went through. It doesn’t really show anything other than a generic ‘contact us’ email form, address, and phone number. The email goes to an info-at-Skypoint-Properties email address, so I’m guessing that’s some generic corporate email account that someone is supposed to look at and probably doesn’t. The address comes back to a big office building that has twenty-plus tenants. And I tried the phone number, and it just rings and beeps.”

  “The detective said the same thing about the number,” I said. “Rings and beeps—no voicemail.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know. I’m not real business savvy, but I’ve got to think a phone that doesn’t get answered may be a problem.”

  “I’d think so,” I said.

  “Well, see what you get with the number I gave you. If you need me to dig deeper, just let me know.”

  “Thanks, Marcus.”

  “You got it.”

  I hung up and punched the number into my phone for the next call.

  “What did the twins find out?” Beth asked.

  “They didn’t get anything for a business under the Convenient name. The building is owned by a big company out of California. He found us a local number to try, though.” I clicked the button to call on my phone and immediately got an answer.

  “This is Trevor,” a man answered.

  I was in luck.

  “Hello, this is Trevor Gregson?” I asked.

  “Speaking.”

  “Mr. Gregson, I’m actually calling regarding one of your company’s properties in Waco.”

  “Commercial or residential?” he asked. “Or I guess I should ask if it’s one of my properties or one belonging to Skypoint.”

  “Skypoint, I’m guessing,” I said. “It’s a gas station.”

  “Okay. Sure. Skypoint has a couple there. Was just asking for clarity because I own a pair of duplexes personally around the Waco area. What can I do for you, Mr.…?”

  “Rawlings. Hank Rawlings. I’m with the FBI.”

  “The FBI?”

  “Correct. There was a fire yesterday at the gas station on—” I flipped a few pages back in my notepad and got the address of the gas station. “South New Road.
”

  He said the street name twice as if he was searching for the location in his head. “The Convenient gas station?”

  “That would be the one, yes.”

  “A fire? How bad?” he asked.

  I’d seen the picture and what was left of the building but couldn’t give him any accurate information. “Looked like a pretty big fire.”

  “How is the FBI involved?” he asked.

  I figured he would circle back around to that. “We believe the fire may be connected to an active investigation. About all I can tell you at the moment.”

  “Are you saying it’s arson?”

  “I can’t really say anything right now. I have yet to lay eyes on the building myself.”

  He let out a puff of air. “Okay. I’m going to need to call my office—California, the insurance company, probably ten other people. I don’t know why the tenant company wouldn’t have called us.”

  It confirmed the fact that the place was leased. “We’re actually trying to make contact with them as well, but we’re not having much luck finding out who exactly that is,” I said. “No Convenient business name listed at the address.”

  “That’s not the name of the actual business that’s leasing the building. The Convenient signs and name are from the original business owner. That was the name of the place when Skypoint bought it, like, ten years ago. We should have everything for the current tenant back at the office. Um, I’m on the road right now. Let me call back to the office, get the information, and call you right back.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Is this number good?” he asked.

  “It is.”

  “It should just be a couple minutes.”

  “Thanks.” I hung up and shook my head.

  “What’s up?” Beth asked.

  As I’d been on the phone, Beth had followed Disick and Maddox off the interstate exit ramp, making a left through the light at the bottom.

  “That was the local operations manager for this Skypoint company. He said the place was leased. He was going to get the information for the tenant and call me back.”

  “Hopefully, they had cameras inside.”

  “Hopefully,” I said. “And hopefully, it can tell us what the hell went down in there.”

  “I’ve got to think that someone spotted him when he was inside. Maybe he stopped to fill up and someone in the building recognized him,” Beth said. “He kills everyone, torches the place to cover his tracks, and takes off.”

  It was really the only thing that made sense.

  “Speaking of, guessing this is the place.” Beth pointed her chin out of the windshield. Maddox and Disick were both turning left ahead of us into what remained of the gas station. Yellow tape encircled the property. Barriers blocked the entrance to the parking lot. Both Maddox and Disick parked in the grass along the sidewalk, behind a red Ford pickup with a light bar on top and a shield logo on the door. We tucked our rental car in after them and got out.

  The smell of the burned-out building filled the air. It registered in my nose as a mix of melted plastic and rubber, which probably wasn’t too far off from what was creating the smell. The white-painted metal canopy over the pumps had the word Convenient written in red on each corner that I could see. The building itself—or what remained of it—had some cinder block walls filled with a pile of black, brown, and gray rubble. My eyes went back to the pumps, and no truck was parked at them.

  “Where did the truck go that we believe was the victims’?” I asked.

  “It’s back at our lot,” Maddox said. “Figured that Forensics would probably need to go through it at some point. We disconnected the trailer with the mower and lawn equipment, towed that, and flat-bedded the truck separately. Had to make two trips.”

  The entire forensics aspect of things was going to become a nightmare the more Burr continued to kill in different areas.

  The driver’s door on the red pickup opened, and a man wearing jeans, a flannel shirt, and a blue baseball cap stepped out. As he approached our group, I could see the word Chief written in yellow on the man’s ball cap.

  Maddox introduced the fire chief, Ralph Silverman, to Beth and me. He and Agent Disick already seemed acquainted. Chief Silverman, looking about sixty, led us toward what remained of the building. We stood just outside what would have been the entrance. The glass that made up the front windows of the store was gone, and most of the building’s roof had collapsed. All that remained of the structure was the exterior walls. The smell of the burned plastic and rubber had only intensified as we’d gotten closer.

  “Not a lot left of her,” Chief Silverman said. “My guys were on scene in about seven minutes from getting the call. I was leading them in, was here for the whole thing. It was all but gone by the time we had hoses on it, unfortunately. Guessing that was the plan of whoever lit the place up, though.”

  I looked into the building’s interior. The file that the guys had put together for us had shown where the bodies were found—all in the main part of the building, which didn’t quite make sense. My eyes veered toward the customer counter that was encased in the brown somewhat-melted-but-mostly-still-there security glass. I saw the bullet impact point.

  “Burned behind the glass as well?” I asked. “These guys had some photos of this in a file for us, but I don’t recall seeing anything from behind that area.”

  “My inspector says that was our point of origin,” the chief said.

  “How the hell does that work?” Disick asked.

  “Burr burned him out,” Beth said. “At least that’s what makes sense in my head. Say he was in the store and he gets recognized. He kills the three guys and then turns his gun on the clerk. The clerk is behind the counter, calling 911. Burr fires, testing the glass. When he realizes that he can’t shoot through the glass, he splashes some gas or something into the room and lights him up.”

  Beth’s theory held water. And solidified just about everything that we were looking at on the scene, except one thing. “But all of the guys had GSWs.”

  “He waited for the guy to come out of the room and then shot him,” she said.

  I went over everything in my head, and it fit pretty damn well.

  “You may be on to something with that,” I said.

  She gave me a smile that said she was sure of her theory.

  My phone buzzed against my leg. I pulled it out to see a California number. More than likely Mr. Gregson was calling back with the tenant’s name.

  “Hank Rawlings,” I answered.

  “Trevor Gregson with Skypoint calling you back.”

  “Mr. Gregson. Find that tenant?”

  “I did. Currently leased by a Red Moon Corp. Waco company. I have a contact name and number here for you.”

  I pinned my phone to my ear with my shoulder and dug my notepad from the inside pocket of my suit jacket. Putting pen to paper, I copied down the name and number that Gregson gave me. The contact’s name was Patrick Catalane. I thanked Gregson for the callback and told him that I’d be in touch if I needed anything further from him.

  “Get the tenant?” Beth asked.

  I held my notepad toward her, plugged the phone number into my phone, and dialed. Three rings and a voicemail. The Catalane guy’s message said he was out of the office until the following day. I left a message, hoping that the guy checked his voicemail at work.

  “Voicemail?” Beth asked.

  “Yeah. Let me see if I can get any kind of operator on the line. I tried again, pressing zero to see if I could get to a human. I just got another recording with the business hours—business hours that we were outside of.”

  I shook my head at Beth. “I’ll keep trying. Let’s get back to this.” I motioned to the building. “The 911 call came from a passing motorist, right?”

  “The first was from the employee, who didn’t speak,” Maddox said. “Then 911 called back but didn’t receive an answer. When that happens, we get a call to follow up. Before a car was even dispatc
hed, the call of the fire came in.”

  “How much time from the first call to 911 until we had a presence out here?” I asked.

  “I could look,” Maddox said. “Guessing probably around fifteen minutes or so. Could have been a few more.”

  “What about from the original 911 call until the point we have him on video?”

  “I’d have to double-check,” Maddox said. “It should all be in that file.”

  “All right. I just want to get this all on a timeline,” I said.

  “Understandable.” Maddox nodded.

  “Can we go in?” I asked. “I mean, everything has been gone through? Inspector walked through. Forensics. All that.”

  “My inspector walked the scene last night,” the chief said. “He came back this morning and got a full report written up. I have a copy for you guys in my truck.”

  “Appreciate that,” I said.

  The chief walked us through the rubble, and along the way, he pointed out where the bodies had been found. Even with the roof collapsed on a good portion of the store, we could still make out the shapes of the gas station staples—the shelving that would have normally held chips, snacks, and random grab-on-the-go food. The coolers wrapping the back half of the store were still filled with the remnants of soda, sports drinks, and beer. The slush machines sat next to what I figured had been the coffee and fountain drink stations. Just outside of the enclosed customer counter area were a couple of freezers filled with black water and debris. The door of the employee area behind the counter stood open. I looked in at what remained, which wasn’t much.

  “Hey,” Beth said.

  I looked over my shoulder at her. Beth stood off to my right near the freezers with her back to me. She was looking down at something lying on the ground next to them.

  “See something?” I walked over.

  “What’s that look like to you?” Beth tapped the toe of her shoe against a black blob, and as she moved it, I saw what looked like a lens on it.

  “That’s a melted camera,” I said.

  Chapter 16

  The lock on the door clacked, and it pulled open. Chuck figured it was another visit from the two bikers who had been feeding him. He got the names from the patches on their leather vests. The guy who normally wielded the shotgun was Jake. The other guy who kicked in the milk crate of food and fetched Chuck’s toilet bucket was Lenny. Lenny wore a prospect label on his cut—which was probably why he was on toilet-bucket duty.