25. Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
T he building was still dark when Judas unlocked the heavy wooden doors of Arthur and Branson around four a.m. while sipping his second cup of coffee. Knowing that he would be alone for at least the next few hours, he contemplated where to start. If someone other than Paul had written the check that he found on his floor, it was possible that the cameras would have caught them entering the office. Turning down the dark hallway, Judas made his way into the security room.
With Paul’s campaign in full swing, Judas was happy he forced the man to add the recording capabilities to the office’s surveillance program. He was shocked to learn their system was mostly outdated and only held on to video for twenty-four hours. Judas thought for sure that Paul was the kind of man that would want to spy on his employees if only to make sure they were earning the money he paid.
For the next three hours, Judas played and replayed the digital recording from the previous day. Every employee, every hour, ran like a movie before his eyes; but he was really only interested in one person. To Judas’ irritation, Chet Branson never showed. He never entered the building. Could the pit of suspicion in his stomach be wrong? Was the phone call a coincidence?
Even though he was alone in the room, Judas shook his head. He had been witness to more than a millennia of history and experience. He could feel it in his soul that Chet was involved. Lost in his thoughts, he nearly didn’t hear the soft knock on the door.
“Jude?” The soft voice was gentle.
Judas shuttered slightly, swinging around in his chair, “Oh! Lydia…I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
The older woman looked much smaller than normal as her head hung low and she wrung her plump, wrinkled hands. Judas could see her eyes were damp from tears that she most likely had cried all night. She was an original; the first employee of Arthur and Branson and probably the most respected. She was mother or grandmother to everyone and handled Paul’s tantrums like an expert. Now that he thought about it, it’s probably where Eliza learned a lot of her skills.
“I was wondering if you had any news about Paul? I figured you had been with our Eliza all night,” her eyes begged him for a good word.
He nodded, “He came out of surgery fine. He has a head injury, so they’re keeping him still for now.”
“How is Eliza? She must be just beside herself,” Lydia dabbed her eyes with a tissue from her pocket.
It broke Judas’ heart to see the old woman hurting. As much as Paul could be a complete asshole, he could tell that she loved him almost as much as Eliza did. Judas stepped toward her, wrapping his arms tenderly around her.
“It’s okay, Miss Lydia. He’s going to be fine,” he soothed.
Lydia coughed a short sob, “Oh, I know. He’s a tough old mule.” She leaned back from his hold to look Judas in the eye, “He can be hard to get along with, but he’s a good man. And he loves that little girl more than life.” Smiling through the remnants of tears, she teased, “It’s something the two of you have in common.”
Judas blushed, “Now, Miss Lydia. I wouldn’t let that rumor get back to Mr. Arthur.”
“Pfft,” she chided him. “He’s a lot of hot air. And I’ve got my own eyes, young man… no rumor to be told.”
Smiling down at her, he gave her one last gentle hug, “How about I make you a cup of tea?”
***
After Lydia was calm enough to return to her desk, Judas set out of the office for the day. The elevator seemed slower today and it annoyed him. He was anxious to get back to the hospital and to be rid of the gnawing in his gut. Having hundreds of years of experience told him the feeling of restlessness wasn’t something he could ignore. His intuition told him that Chet was the shooter and there wasn’t any doubt in his mind. The problem was he couldn’t find evidence that the partner had been inside the building in the last twenty-four hours. He was missing something. As the faint ding of the elevator rang, a lightbulb went off in his head.
Judas researched Paul Arthur thoroughly before his interview. The prospective state senator ranked thirty-third in his Odessa High School class of 1982. He graduated Texas Christian University with a bachelors of business administration before attending law school at Baylor.
While studying to be a lawyer, Paul married Catherine Douglas, a debutante from a wealthy family who had their fingers in most all aspects of Texas life including oil drilling. She was a full-time nursing student and part-time beauty queen. Paul was completely smitten. Their only child, a daughter, was born three weeks after Paul received his degree.
Two years later, Paul and his law school buddy, Chet Branson opened their firm, Arthur and Branson, specializing in real estate and tax law. The business rolled in and the pair easily found themselves at the top of the Dallas social hierarchy. Judas found their names in numerous newspaper articles and even on the cover of a few local and professional magazines. To anyone, whether in their inner circle or from an outsider’s perspective, all is well both personally and professionally.
The question hung in the air: Where did it go wrong?
Judas followed the turn by turn directions of the car’s navigation system. Turning into a sloped circle drive surrounded by lush foliage, he eased the Audi to a stop in front of Paul Arthur’s home. He sat for a moment staring at the crime scene tape and contemplating his next move.
He considered for a moment that Eliza might not like him snooping around her father's home but under the circumstances, he had to be sure that his gut was correct. Something between Chet and Paul occurred here, he was positive. Checking his surroundings, he jogged up the brick staircase to the front landing. After cutting the seal with a small pocket knife, Judas used its tip and his American Express card to open the door.
The foyer looked much like it had the night he and Eliza poured Paul into his bed to sleep off his overindulgence with the exception that every surface seemed to be covered with a light layer of powder in a variety of colors. Judas realized that the Dallas police department was exceptionally thorough with fingerprinting every exposed area of the house; at least when it came to a well-known political candidate. Moving carefully, he walked into Paul's study just off the foyer.
The room was a complete wreck with overturned tables and papers strewn over the floor. As Judas walked deeper into the chaos, he noticed a large pool of dried blood staining the usually ornate ornamental rug just under the picture window. It was too much blood to be from any of his injuries individually and he knew it must have been where Paul was found. Turning back to the ornate desk, Judas reenacted the scene in his mind.
Paul was sitting in an armchair either working or reading when the assailant, Chet, entered the home. Startled, Paul asked his friend what he was doing there and it was then that Chet raised the gun, pointing it at his colleague. Did Paul stand? Or did he sit very still staring at the gun? Judas saw that the chair had the tiniest bit of splatter, so he must have stood. He probably confronted Chet, either demanding to know why or perhaps he pleaded for his life. Either way, he takes two steps forward before Chet fires the gun. The scattering of books and paperwork indicated that Paul turned his back to run, but was shot again, this time falling into the corner of a heavy-looking side table, head first.
The scene showed him everything except the reason why. Judas rifled through some of the papers scattered on the floor, but nothing jumped out at him. After intentionally wandering downstairs and not seeing anything else out of place, Judas decided his detour was also a dead end. Slipping out the front door, he looked around one last time just to be sure he left everything as it was when he arrived. It was then he saw it. The tiny slip of paper was wedged in the delicate branches of a neatly trimmed Boxwood.
It looked like trash, but Judas knew that Paul was a control freak. He would never allow any amount of refuse to collect or remain on his very expensive landscaping. Stretching his arm through the slats of the handrail of the landing, Judas plucked the paper from the evergreen.
Unfolding it, he saw it was a note, clearly in Paul's handwriting. Dra, 469-555-4495 . It seemed meaningless, but he decided to keep it anyway. It could be a clue or it could be worthless, right now he didn't know which. Stuffing it in his pocket, Judas slid back into his car. The engine revved as he sped away from the quiet neighborhood to find Eliza.