Nineteen

I drove to the parking lot on the east side of the Butler Farms complex. It was a huge operation. The processing plant, admin offices, shipping and receiving docks, and storage areas extended a distance equal to three or four typical city blocks. Darlene Watson’s office and Anna Flores offices were on opposite sides of the facility.

I parked Patsy and climbed the metal stairs to Anna’s security office.

She looked up when I entered. “Hey. Good to see you. Anything new on our bad guy or bad girl?”

“Nothing definite yet. But I just had an interesting conversation. You got a few minutes?”

“I was just getting ready to go to lunch. Want to join me?”

“How about I treat you? You choose the restaurant—as long as it’s not Asian.”

“Don’t like Asian food, huh?”

“Not really. But if that’s what you want, I guess I could make an exception.” Actually, I deplored Asian food—except fortune cookies.

“What about Mexican? I know a fabulous little place just south of downtown. It’s my favorite go-to Mexican restaurant. The food’s so authentic you’ll start speaking fluent Spanish after three bites.”

I laughed. “Let’s go. My Spanish could use a lot of improvement.”

We ordered at a restaurant I’d never been to before. When the food arrived, her characterization was spot on. It was some of the best Mexican food I’d ever eaten.

I finished my meal and pushed my empty plate aside. She did the same two bites later.

“Anna, can I trust you to keep a secret?”

“Of course. Something about the investigation?”

“Yeah. Something totally surprising.”

“And it requires secrecy? This should be good.”

“At this point, I need to keep it under wraps. I’m serious. If I tell you, you have to promise me complete secrecy.”

“It’s safe with me. Promise.” She raised her index finger and thumbs to her lips and pretended to zipper them sealed. “Whatcha got?”

“First, I have a few questions for you and then I’ll tell you more.” I drew in a deep breath. “What do you know about Darlene Watson?”

“You are talking about the bitch from hell over at Human Resources, right?”

“Yeah. That bitch from hell.”

“Here’s what I can tell you off the top of my head. She’s worked here for nine years. She’s originally from Fresno. She’s single and has an adult daughter from a brief marriage many years ago. My understanding is that she and her daughter have a strained relationship.”

“Hmmm, didn’t know about the daughter. That could be useful.”

“Not many people know about that. Anyway, Watson started out as an assistant to the previous HR manger and took over the job when he retired. She lives in Hagan Oaks and drives a real nice Lexus. That’s about it. So, you got some dirt on her?”

“Like I said, this needs to remain quiet for now. Not a word to anyone for any reason. The conversation I mentioned earlier was with her. I have a suspicion she might have been involved in some serious legal shenanigans up in Fresno. And it involved Bob Henderson.”

“Get outta here!”

“I haven’t proven anything yet, just second-hand input at this point. But I’d be willing to put money on it. I got a reliable source I fully trust.”

“What kind of shenanigans, if I may ask?”

I explained to her what Deputy Taylor had told Max without telling her my brother was my source.

“Well shit fire and douse it out with pee. That’s some serious stuff. That kind of shit can get your ass locked up in prison for a long time.”

“You know it.” I sipped the last of my iced tea. “Remember, no one needs to know about this just yet—not even upper management or the Butler family. Like I said, I haven’t proven anything yet. I just learned this late yesterday and a little more this morning. But the second-hand hearsay ain’t worth crap without proof. I’m headed to Fresno in the next day or two to fill in some blanks and then I want to look at the big picture. At this point, I’m not sure how it might fit in with the sabotage stuff, or even if it does. But my gut tells me there’s some kind of correlation.”

“Wow, talk about a shock.”

“Remember, hush-hush.”

She repeated the clamped thumb and index finger across her lips. “Tight as a zipper.”

I dropped Anna off at her office and then headed home. I parked Patsy in the garage and entered the house. I bumped the air conditioner a couple of degrees cooler and went to my office, stopping in the kitchen to get a cold Dr Pepper.

I thought about going to Fresno in the morning, but decided to wait until Monday. I had a dinner date with Ron tomorrow night and then I’d have the weekend to do as much research as possible before heading north. Fresno was about a hundred and ten miles up Highway 99 from Bakersfield—about an hour and forty-five minutes driving time at the posted speed limits. I figured and hour-and-a-half for me, at the most.

I cranked up my laptop and did a quick check of my email. Mostly penis enlargement ads and some person with an unpronounceable name wanting to give me a hundred thousand dollars if I sent him my banking information. Yeah, sure! Nine emails deleted with a simple click of the mouse.

I clicked onto the home page of Fresno’s major newspaper, The Fresno News-Dispatch. Disappointment washed over me when I found no links to issues more than thirty days old. I took their number from the home page and gave them a call. I explained to the lady on the phone what I was looking for. She told me she wasn’t sure if they had copies of editions that old, but it was possible. The person in charge of their archives was on vacation until Monday. She invited me to come to their business office and see what was available if I didn’t want to wait. I thanked her and ended the call.

Then I remembered Google has a newspaper archive forum. I checked it out but found nothing for that time frame in the News-Dispatch postings. Strike two for the day, but not yet struck out. Looking up their number, I called the city’s administrative offices and asked if they had any ideas where I might find information on the on the Robert Henderson trial from fifteen years back. She connected me to the office of the county prosecutor.  They declined to provide any information on the phone or by email. Strike three – I’d struck out. But as in baseball, I had several more turns at bat before the game was over and I was nowhere near the ninth inning. Maybe I needed a bigger bat.

In the meantime, I employed something Alice had taught me. She worked at a data management company before she was killed and showed me how to get courthouse records online—the ones that aren’t easy to find. They were public records but you had to know how to get to them.

I went through the steps Alice had shown me and there I was—property purchases and sales entered in the County Recorder’s records. I entered the information I wanted and in a matter of seconds it appeared in the screen.

Eight years ago Darlene L. Watson purchased her house in the Hagan Oaks subdivision for $627,000. The mortgage was in her name only. I brought up the computer calculator and entered a few numbers. Using current data, typical finance numbers with a standard twenty percent down payment, and a decent guess of her income, I estimated she still had had about thirty-five hundred dollars left over after her house payment.

Calling up the calculator on my computer again, I dtermined that a twenty percent downpayment, the minimum typically required for a regular mortgage, was a tad over $125,000,00. That's a pretty hefty chunk of change. Most folks in her income bracket don't have that many nickels and dimes just hanging around. Interesting.

I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for, just anything that looked out of the ordinary. If she was financially in over her head, maybe that would lead to something else. Perhaps something like Bob Henderson giving her a payoff for a jury vote back in Fresno. I knew it was a bit far-fetched. But my thought was if they had a financial arrangement and one of them was squeezed for money, it could possibly have something to do with the internal sabotage. I was searching for anything at the moment. I believed in the old adage of leave no stone unturned. But when and where would I find the right stone to turn?

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