Chapter Fifty-Eight
Parker
Every wall of Senator Dines’s office is a shrine for his ego.
Carefully arranged photos show him shaking hands with men more important than he is: the governor, the secretary of state, a bishop, and a dozen more I don’t recognize.
Every one of them is a man. Not a woman to be found in any of the shots.
Nate and I stand side-by-side in the waiting area, dressed in our finest. I even put on makeup. The receptionist, Mary, urged us to sit down, but this is a game, and we know how to play it. We ain’t here to wait meekly for Senator Dines to decide we’re worth his time.
At eleven on the dot, a man who isn’t Gabe comes out of his office. “Good morning. Captains Hardison and Elmore? I’m Denny Osgood, Senator Dines’s lawyer.”
He doesn’t spare me more than a brief glance before offering Nate his hand. When he shakes mine, he holds on longer than necessary. Long enough I know exactly what’s going through his mind before he lets go.
“The Senator asked me to walk you back. If you’ll follow me?” He leads us down a hallway lined with even more photos, and into an office bigger than the entire Ranger bullpen.
The senator rises from behind a polished cherry wood desk with a huge smile. “Come on in. Can I have my assistant get either of you a coffee? Water? Carol makes a sweet tea that’ll ruin you for anyone else’s.”
“We’re fine,” I say.
“Y’all drove all the way from headquarters for this meeting? I imagine your captain could’ve just called.”
So that’s how this is going to go.
My smile is tight enough, my molars grind together. “I am the captain.”
“Right, right.” He waves a hand. The gesture is quick, dismissive, gone before it means anything. “Forgive me. I meet a lot of law enforcement in this job. Hard to keep the ranks straight when the uniforms keep changing on me.”
Beside me, Nate doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as shift his weight, but I feel him go rigid, clock a muscle ticking once at his jaw.
Osgood motions to a seating area with a large, round conference table and four chairs, all in that same polished cherry. “Shall we sit?”
We follow him over to the table, where he makes it very clear that Nate and I get the two seats with their backs to the door.
“Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, Senator. I’m sure you must be very busy.” I offer him a placid smile.
“I’ll always find room in my schedule for the brave men—and women—of our law enforcement organizations,” he says.
His smile widens, the sort of practiced warmth meant to look gracious in a photograph.
I doubt this guy has ever met a woman he couldn’t charm.
Until now. His eyes settle on Nate, then flick briefly to me.
“Especially when they come all this way.”
Nate withdraws two sheets of paper from a black folder and sets them in front of the senator. The Ridgeline Policy Partners PFS and a close up of the two wire transfers, complete with date stamps.
Gabe’s smile doesn’t quite disappear. It simply stops reaching his eyes. He looks down at the papers, then back at Nate.
“Senator, we’re investigating a string of arsons in the greater Austin area. We’ve identified one commonality among the four buildings. They were all inspected by a company called Apex Building Solutions. Do you know it?” I ask.
“Sure. I know the name. Good outfit. Does inspection work all over the metro.”
“Can you tell me more about Ridgeline Policy Partners?” I tap the first piece of paper.
“My business.” He gives it a glance, barely—just enough to confirm what he already knew was coming. “Government relations consulting. Been doing it going on eleven years now. Helping good Texas businesses cut through red tape that’d otherwise strangle them before they ever break ground.”
He leans back in his chair, and his gaze finally settles on me.
“It’s not exactly complicated work, Captain.
You find out who has the authority to say yes, and you make sure they understand why saying yes is good for everyone.
You’d be amazed how much of this state runs on people like me knowing which door to knock on. ”
I don’t miss the slight emphasis on people like me. The kind of people who don’t wait outside the door. The kind who expect someone to open it for them.
“It’s a matter of public record.” Osgood inclines his head, a smug little smile curving his lips. “Senator Dines has disclosed his ownership interest in Ridgeline on every personal financial statement since its founding. Nothing about the entity itself is concealed.”
I turn the second page toward him. “Ridgeline was the primary capital investor for Apex Building Solutions.”
Gabe reaches for the paper before I can pull my hand away, his clammy fingers closing over mine for a beat too long. He doesn’t apologize.
“Ridgeline’s put money into a lot of things over the years.” One shoulder lifts and falls. “Small businesses, mostly. Local outfits that needed a leg up somebody with deep pockets could offer without a bank breathing down their neck for it.”
“A hundred and forty thousand dollars,” I say. “Wired in two payments, the month before Apex incorporated.”
“Sounds about right for a startup loan.” He glances at Osgood—not for help, but to be sure his lawyer is watching the performance.
“I write a lot of checks like that. Job creators, all of them. You start asking me to account for every dollar that leaves Ridgeline’s accounts, we’re going to be here a long while, and I’ve got a floor session Thursday I need to prep for. ”
“Did Ridgeline receive any other monies from Apex beyond the loan repayment?” Nate asks. “Dividends, consulting fees, anything with your name attached?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” He says it easily, the patient expression of a man explaining something obvious to a child.
“I’m not in the habit of tracking where every dollar I invest ends up five, six years down the line.
That’s what accountants are for. And mine will certainly be happy to talk to you when your office subpoenas them, which I assume is coming next. ”
His smile widens. He isn’t worried. He’s enjoying the fact that he can make us ask the questions while he decides how much of an answer we’re entitled to.
“It might,” I say.
“I figured.” He folds his hands on the table.
“You know, Captain— It is Captain, right? I want to make sure I’ve got that straight.
I respect what y’all do. I do. It’s dangerous work, chasing down men who set fires, and I know your office has had a rough few weeks of it.
My prayers have been with the families.” He pauses, letting the sympathy settle before his expression shifts.
“I just find it interesting that a woman in your position gets sent to sit across from a sitting state senator over a business loan I made most of a decade ago. Seems like a job for somebody with a little more seniority.”
“I have the seniority,” I say. “I’m the ranking officer on this case.”
“Is that right? Well. Good for you.” His smile returns, brighter than ever. “My wife stayed home with our kids, God rest her soul. She never had much interest in a career, and I always thought that was the healthier way to raise a family, but I understand not everybody gets that choice these days.”
He glances at Osgood again, some private joke passing between them that neither bothers to voice. Then his attention returns to me. “No offense intended.”
“None taken,” I say, because it costs me nothing and it tells him even less. “Let’s go back to Apex.”
“I’ve never understood accusations like this.” Gabe spreads his hands, palms up, this whole conversation seemingly amusing him. “If I were up to something, darlin’, don’t you think I’d have kept my name off the paperwork?”
“We’re not accusing you of anything, Senator,” I say. “We’re asking about a wire transfer.”
“I’ve told you what I know.”
“You’ve told us what you’re willing to say you know.” Nate doesn’t raise his voice. If anything, he sounds friendlier than he has the entire meeting. “There’s a difference, and I think you’re aware of it.”
Gabe’s smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes shift to Nate, then back to me. Something colder replaces the amusement. “Careful, Captain. That’s starting to sound like an accusation, and my attorney’s sitting right here.”
“My client has answered your questions voluntarily and extensively,” Osgood says.
“If you have something more specific than a loan he made eight years ago, I’d invite you to come back with something in writing that requires him to answer.
Otherwise, I think we’ve given you plenty of his time this morning. ”
I hold Gabe’s eyes a second longer than the moment calls for. Long enough, he’s the one who breaks it first, reaching for a pen in his pocket as if he suddenly remembered he needed something to do with his hands.
“We’ll be in touch, Senator,” I say, standing. “Thank you for your time.”
“It was my pleasure.”
He rises with us, extends his hand, and I take it because I won’t be the one to break decorum.
“You know, Captain, I’ve read a bit about you. That business with the cult a few months back—Grace Stone, wasn’t it? Terrible thing.” His grip stays firm. “Small state, big stories. I make a point of knowing who’s who in the rooms I might end up in.”
“Good policy,” I say, and pull my hand free before he decides he’s finished with it.
Nate and I don’t say another word until we’re back in his Impala, the air conditioning fighting a battle it can’t possibly win.
“He didn’t crack,” Nate says, shifting into reverse.
“He wasn’t going to.” I fasten my seat belt, staring up at Gabe’s office window on the top floor. “Men like that don’t crack in a conversation they agreed to have. They crack in the ones they can’t control.”
“You think he’s rattled.”
“I think he brought up Grace to prove a point. To let us know he could find out anything about me.” The truth of it sours my stomach. “Whether that’s rattled or just how he operates, I don’t know.”
Nate doesn’t say anything for several blocks. When he does, the anger in his tone could melt glass. “He talked to me the entire meeting like you weren’t the one running it.”
“I noticed.”
Nate grips the steering wheel even tighter. “I think he wanted you to.”