Chapter 14
Where Amanda Kerrington’s seat of power gleamed with contemporary luxury, Charles Whitmore’s Redstone Ranch exuded old money.
With the added pre-storm traffic, it had taken Athena and her detective tagalong an hour and a half to reach the sprawling estate.
After discussing their impressions of Kerrington, Athena had called Agent Shoops and asked her to start deeper runs on employees at Gulf Allied Chemicals, particularly those who worked in the office.
“CEO Kerrington said her little birdies passed on information,” she said, “which means we’re looking for a Lone Star mole in Gulf Allied. ”
Bach tried his hand at entertaining Athena with humorous on-the-job anecdotes until his throat got dry—or he figured she wasn’t listening. Then they just played the radio for a while.
“Wow,” he said, speaking for the first time in half an hour. “I wonder how much of this land belongs to Whitmore?” The ranch stretched to every horizon, the fences eventually disappearing into the distance.
The two-story estate boasted a Spanish architectural style, from its red-tiled roof to the grand archways edging the veranda.
Sandstone walls, long windows, second-floor balconies, and three perfectly aligned dormers completed the Old-World aesthetic.
Two Texas sabal palms stood like silent sentinels on either side of the grand stone staircase.
The meticulous landscaping included flowerbeds and shrubs, some of which ringed a pole that flew both the American and Texas flags to the right of the front stairs.
To the left rose a historic iron oil-well pump like a proud piece of sculpture.
The driveway forked before reaching the mansion, with one path leading around back, where presumably a carriage house had been converted into a garage, and the other forming a turnaround loop.
“I’m surprised armed guards haven’t descended on us,” Bach said as he took in the historic splendor. No sooner had the words left his mouth than two White men in western-cut charcoal suits emerged onto the veranda. Athena pulled to a stop and killed the engine.
“See what you did?” She lifted a brow at Bach, who laughed and shook his head.
As the two men jogged down the few front steps, Athena and Bach stepped out of the car.
The air was dry, warmer than she’d expected with a snowstorm supposedly looming, and infused with the grape soda fragrance of Texas mountain laurel and the airy mix of sweet, fermented silage, damp earth, and dry hay.
A hawk’s piercing cry swallowed the distant drone of a tractor.
Rounding the car, Athena displayed her badge, as did the detective. She let him do the talking.
“Mr. Whitmore is expecting us,” he said.
It privately pleased Athena to see Bach perform in a calm, professional manner, even though the two larger, armed men were clearly meant to intimidate. It bolstered her opinion of him.
One guard jerked his chin toward the door. “If you’ll come with us.”
With no railings to mar the majesty of the broad steps, Bach caught Athena’s elbow, probably out of his ingrained sense of chivalry—that and stilettos and sandstone stairs didn’t make the best dancing partners.
They passed under a porch fan with six-foot blades, not spinning at the moment, and were escorted through double wooden doors, each embossed with a brand-style “W.” Whitmore’s taste became instantly apparent as they walked into the entryway.
Polished hardwood floors matched the ceiling beams. Paintings of regal ancestors adorned adobe-colored walls, housed in ornate gold frames.
Hat and coat racks flanked the opening, and a dormant hearth dominated the opposite wall.
But the centerpiece of the room was the original bronze Remington displayed on a marble pedestal.
Athena moved closer, admiring the piece. She’d seen the famous Western sculptor’s work in museums, and she’d seen recasts. This wasn’t a recast.
“Mr. Whitmore will see you in his study,” said a guard, urging her to move along.
Could Athena help it if she appreciated fine art?
Without protest, she followed the lead guard through a massive great room, replete with antique furniture, taxidermy trophies, and an original Maynard Dixon painting.
Through an archway, the guards led them down a hall lined with more recent family photos.
Athena recognized Whitmore and his wife with two young adult males and an adolescent girl.
The brawny men halted at a dark-stained wooden door and knocked. “The cops are here.”
Inhaling, Athena noticed that the house even smelled like inherited wealth: old wood and old tobacco. “Let ’em in,” a man’s voice growled.
A guard opened the door and ushered Athena and Bach into a library that dwarfed Athena’s own.
Crimson velvet drapes were tied back with golden cords, letting light stream through two windows flanked by rows of shelves like those lining the other three walls.
Where Amanda Kerrington’s desk had been sleek with rounded edges, Whitmore’s looked heavy enough to require a crane to move it.
The sturdy walnut piece must have been a hundred years old, given its grandeur, yet it remained in pristine condition.
Only the ergonomic, swiveling office chair and flat-screen computer monitor reminded her of the present century.
The man seated in that chair raised his chin like a pride lion after polishing off a zebra leg.
“Well? Have you caught the bastard who blew a hole in my factory’s office building yet?
” Whitmore’s voice was surprisingly light for a man who owned a kingdom, a brisk tenor honed by decades of issuing orders and expecting compliance.
“Good day, Mr. Whitmore,” Bach said, approaching slowly. Athena followed, observing for now. “I’m Detective Bach of the Houston PD, and this is ASAC Bouvier with the FBI. May we sit for a moment?”
He huffed impatiently. “I reckon.”
They took the two leather wingbacks nearest the massive desk.
Athena found hers slightly stiff, as if it had been reupholstered and no one had sat in it again.
“Mr. Whitmore, are you aware that your Houston plant was about to be cited for EPA and OSHA violations before Inspector Nolan’s untimely death? ”
“Nuisance is all.” He waved her comment away, returning his attention to Bach. “The federal government is always meddling. Nothing to get bent out of shape about, am I right?”
Bach just blinked at him, working his jaw, and probably his brain, for an appropriate response.
On a dime, Whitmore whipped a glare at Athena, narrowing his eyes and pointing at her. “You folks over at the FBI don’t have a damn thing to do with industry regulations. Your job is to catch whoever damaged my property and lock them away.”
“Yes, sir,” Bach jumped in, “it is.” Whitmore settled back with a nod at Bach. “But in order to do that, we have to look at everyone who might have a motive to damage your factory.”
“I can promise you,” he said with an arrogant smirk, “that it wasn’t the folks at the Environmental Protection Agency. They’re making a killing off me paying fines every year for their little ‘violations.’ Now, those yuppie ecoterrorists are another matter.”
“Are you aware that three of your employees died in the fire, along with the inspector?” Athena questioned.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “And I’m sure you saw Amanda Kerrington grab the spotlight with her press conference yesterday, the conniving bitch.
Trying to make me look like some needy, heartless tycoon.
Well, I don’t need her charity, and I already sent out checks to those workers’ families.
First thing I did! No need to broadcast it on television. ”
Bach shook his head with a tight smile. “Women,” he muttered under his breath.
Knowing this was their plan, Athena didn’t react.
Lifting his gaze to meet Whitmore’s, he said, “We’ve learned about the Whitmore-Kerrington feud during our investigation.
Do you think the CEO of Lone Star Industrial might have hired someone to damage your Houston facility to knock you out of the running for the big government contract you both bid on? ”
“Amanda?” he mused. “Well, now, that’s a thought.” He stared at a spot on the ceiling, as if the notion hadn’t occurred to him before now. “In the past, our dealings have always gone through lawyers, nothing violent.”
Whitmore met Bach’s gaze with an amused expression. “Unless you count the time my brother and I egged her house as teenagers. We were never found out.”
Athena wondered what other pranks, innocent or otherwise, the man had pulled without being discovered.
Then Whitmore’s expression hardened. “I wouldn’t put it past her, though.
Gulf Allied was a shoo-in for that contract, and now I’m afraid it’ll go to Lone Star.
Frankly, I’ve been puzzling over what to do with that factory.
I know it’s old and not up to code—been thinking about shutting it down.
I mean, is it worth sinking millions of dollars into, especially since our facilities in Baton Rouge, Beaumont, and Corpus Christi are so much newer and more profitable?
That’s why I’ve just been paying the fines, putting off the decision.
My boys are off to college, and it’ll be a while before either is ready to take over running a portion of the business. But Amanda?”
So, Athena mused, both CEOs were sure they’d win the contract before the bombing. Interesting, if true.
“I suppose it’s possible,” Whitmore added.
“What about your plant manager, Mr. Booker?” Athena asked, recalling that the man didn’t hold the CEO in high esteem.
“Booker?” Whitmore wrinkled his nose, regarding Athena as a dullard who asked senseless questions. “What about him? The man’s middle management, without an original idea in his head.”
“He told us—”
Whitmore cut in, a scowl replacing bafflement. “He told you what? That I wouldn’t sink millions of dollars into upgrading that leaky old dinosaur of a chemical factory? I already explained why.”
He shifted his attention to Bach, giving him a look that read, “Sorry you got stuck with this stupid woman.”
“So, you don’t think Mr. Booker was involved?” Bach asked for clarification.
“Hell, no. He could never pull off something like that, and why would he?”
Athena hadn’t intended to enter Booker’s name as a suspect. She just wanted Whitmore’s reaction. It was as dismissive as she’d imagined.
“I’m just glad whoever it was didn’t know where to plant their explosive,” the CEO continued.
“They could’ve blown the entire facility sky-high.
Come to think of it, neither Kerrington nor the environmentalist would’ve wanted the fallout from that disaster.
Now, SinoFine Chemical & Materials—they’re our primary international competitor, notorious for dirty tactics.
They might want to blow the whole thing up, but it’s just one facility, and the fallout could lead to a real armed conflict if they killed half a million Americans.
You should be looking at the eco-freaks and Lone Star Industries. ”
Charles Whitmore sat back in his chair, his pronouncement made, and gave them a look that said, “You’re dismissed.”
Athena didn’t flinch. “Mr. Whitmore, where were you Thursday night and Friday morning?” She knew a man like Whitmore wouldn’t have waltzed in and stuffed a bomb into the generator, but he might have struck Inspector Nolan over the head with a heavy object.
He let out a haughty sniff and sneered at her. “You can’t possibly think I would sabotage my own factory. Absurd!”
Bach answered apologetically, “I’m afraid it’s on the list of questions we’re required to ask. No offense intended.”
Whitmore pursed his lips and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I suppose. Thursday night, I had dinner with my father, wife, and daughter. Dad helped Jessie with her homework. He likes doing that, makes him feel useful. Maggie and I watched TV and went to bed. Friday morning, I had a golf date. We teed off around nine a.m.”
“Your father lives here with you?” Athena asked.
Whitmore let out a stifled chuckle. “It’s still his house as long as he’s kicking.”
“We’ll need the names of those you golfed with,” Bach said in a serious cop’s tone. He laid a small notepad on Whitmore’s desk.
The CEO grumbled but scribbled them down. “I’ll have my security detail see you out. If you have further questions, please direct them to my attorneys. I don’t expect to hear from you two until you’ve made an arrest. Good day, officers.”
Taking that as a final dismissal, Athena rose from the uncomfortable chair, wondering if he’d done that on purpose to keep visitors out of his study.
“Good day, Mr. Whitmore. Thank you for receiving us. This exchange has been quite enlightening.” She offered a sly smile before turning toward the door.
“Wait,” Whitmore snapped. “What do you mean by that?”
Her smile broadened at the tension in his voice.
“We appreciate your cooperation,” Bach said and followed her out.
“Don’t walk out on me while I’m talking to you!” Whitmore’s voice thundered behind them. They kept walking.