CRIME OF RETRIBUTION: A Gripping Crime Mystery Full of Twists Page 6

  “You seem young to be retired,” Lea observed.

  “By most standards, I am.”

  “What made you decide to stop working?”

  “After graduating from law school, a prominent well-established law firm recruited me. In the next few years, I joined professional organizations as expected and became well known in the community. My reputation increased with each case I won. An acquittal became as much about gaining prominence in the field as obtaining justice for a client.” He squeezed lemon in his tea. “I earned enough money to do whatever I wanted. I had the obligatory sports car, a large house overlooking the ocean, and a thirty-six-foot boat at the marina. My wife and I were members of private clubs and vacationed in exclusive resorts. At a fairly early age, I had achieved my goals.”

  “With so much success, why decide to quit?”

  “As time went by, I became aware of cracks in the judicial system. My job as a trial lawyer became less about right and wrong and more about out-talking the opposing attorney. More and more, I saw the practice of criminal law as being law for the criminals, not the victims.” He paused and sipped his beverage. “In justice as in commerce, the big devour the small, the powerful outmaneuver the weak. The people with the most money and the best lawyers win. In years of trying lawsuits, I never won a case that advanced mankind. I gradually lost my enthusiasm for the law. That was a turning point, since enthusiasm is half of the journey to success and a major part of the journey to joy.”

  “It’s true,” Lea noted. “Nothing takes the place of enthusiasm.”

  “I’m an idealist who got caught up in the business of being a lawyer and forgot the principles to which I intended to dedicate my life. At the outset of my career, I would have willingly mounted a charger and tilted at windmills. That idealism gave way to becoming the person everyone expected me to be.”

  “Is that why you quit practicing law?”

  “That should have been reason enough, but it took more. I left because of my wife.”

  Lea looked toward the house. “I didn’t realize you were married. Is your wife here?”

  “I live alone. I moved out here after she divorced me.” He looked toward the hills. “I’m sorry she missed this. She would love it here. Margo is a nature enthusiast. She always loved being outdoors kayaking, cycling, gardening, or hiking. My idea of spending time outdoors was piloting our cruiser to the islands and back.”

  “Did lack of mutual interests cause your separation?”

  “That and years of neglect during my long, drawn-out trial appearances. She hooked up with an old flame during a high school reunion. He owns a company which takes travelers on outdoor excursions to foreign countries. He asked her to join him, not only as a tour guide but in every facet of his life. Much to my distress, she happily accepted his offer. It shouldn’t have surprised me. They were a perfect match.”

  “How did you weather the divorce?”

  “The world I knew collapsed. Things had been coming apart at the seams for some time, but losing Margo was more than I could bear. She was all that truly mattered to me. Without her, nothing in my life was of consequence.

  “I realized too late that my wife didn’t give a hoot for the material things I felt were important. What matters to her is that a person lives their passion. She decided she couldn’t do that being married to me.”

  Lea empathized. “Failure to understand what’s important to a partner is a common reason relationships fall apart.”

  Whitey pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. “For years, I was self assured and confident. I knew who I was and where I was going. But Margo's leaving brought me face-to-face with other mistakes I’d made. My accomplishments were outweighed by feelings of regret.”

  “If you don't mind my asking, what mistakes do you feel you made?”

  “Nothing as grandiose as misunderstanding the meaning of life, but I certainly failed to live up to the person I intended to be. I realized I had surrounded myself with narrow-minded individuals behaving as though they’re more important than the next fellow. Self-entitled people who believe life owes them something. When I’d had enough, I walked away.”

  “Do you ever miss your practice?”

  The poodle put her paws on Whitey’s knee and yipped for attention. He scooped the dog up and placed her on his lap. “If I ever consider returning to the rat race, I go to the courthouse and spend a day watching a trial. That exercise brings back the dislike I developed for the process. It reminds me of days I spent in deposition rooms listening to lawyers drone on with pointless questions. Of sleepless nights before a trial, reviewing every point the other side might present.” He chuckled as he scratched the dog’s head. “Trial lawyers seldom get a good night’s sleep.”

  Lea looked around. “You appear content with your life now.”

  “I’m not sure contentment is a state I’ll ever achieve. But I’m over my regrets and I’ve quieted my personal demons. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”

  Dan leaned forward. “Speaking of demons, what can you tell us about Rancho Hidalgo? We’re especially interested in learning about the owner.”

  Whitey chuckled. “I wouldn't go so far as to call Richard a demon.”

  “Richard?”

  “Rancho Hidalgo is owned by Dottie and Richard Wolf. The farming side of the operation originally belonged to her family. Her father and grandfather were both good farmers. When her father died, the produce farm passed to Dottie.”

  “Is Richard’s background in farming?”

  He shook his head. “Before he met Dottie, Richard had a cattle spread. When they married, they combined assets to become one of the largest land owners in the state. They employ scores of people, most of them Mexicans and many of them illegals.” He paused and then added, “Richard and I used to be friends before he got into politics.”

  Lea snapped her fingers. “That’s why the name sounds familiar.”

  Whitey nodded. “Richard Wolf is our district representative in the House.”

  “I remember his campaign. He plastered posters all over town. Pictures of him planting strawberries with a catchy slogan.”

  Whitey quoted the phrase. “I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty standing up for you in Washington.”

  Lea nodded. “That’s right. People say that slogan won the election.”

  “Back then, I believed his words. Richard was a decent rancher until wealthy cronies talked him into running for office. Once he entered that arena, politics turned his head.” Whitey clicked his tongue. “In the wrong direction, if you ask me.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t blame politics entirely. It happens in any profession. Once a person realizes they won’t achieve the lofty goals they set out to accomplish, they begin to look at what’s in it for them. Contrary to the country boy image of his campaign, critics accuse Richard of becoming a power seeker out for his own glory. They claim he’s become too closely tied to commercial interests and establishment cliques. Although he sits on several agricultural committees, he has shown little focus on farm-related issues during his tenure.”

  “That’s a harsh indictment.”

  “One he earned by allowing himself to be distracted by trappings of wealth and power. Rumor has it he spends as much time socializing and chasing women as he spends legislating.”

  “You said he was married.”

  “Dottie seldom accompanies him to Washington. That’s where he does his philandering.”

  “I assume the congressman is well off financially.”

  Whitey snorted. “He better be to keep up with his wife’s penchant for acquiring expensive things. Their home is a showcase for original artworks and costly furnishings. Richard has a second residence in Washington, a jet for trips back and forth to the capital, and a chauffeur-driven limousine.” He shook his head. “Keeping up appearances on that scale turns into an all-consuming task that sucks the life blood from a person. A bitter lesson I learned from personal
experience.”

  “Does the farm provide sufficient income?”

  “It hasn’t always. Some years ago, he ran into financial difficulty. There were rumors he got involved in money laundering to dig himself out of a hole that could have resulted in bankruptcy. The authorities launched a brief investigation, but nothing came of it. Richard claimed he liquidated holdings to satisfy the bankers he had loans with.”

  Dan whistled through his teeth. “You have to grow tons of strawberries to support such a lavish lifestyle.”

  “Besides the difficulty of splitting time between politics and farming,” Lea added.

  “These days, his manager pretty much runs Rancho Hidalgo. I’m not sure Richard even knows what goes on out there anymore.”

  “Has Wolf ever been accused of violating labor laws?”

  “He may have been accused, but no charges were levied.”

  “You mentioned illegals who work at the ranch. Any reports of those people being deported?”

  “The border patrol puts on a show of raiding the farmers from time to time, but the Wolf property doesn’t get bothered much. When it does happen, the number of arrests hardly makes a dent in their operation. Big ranchers like Richard are understandably reluctant to lose cheap labor. They put significant pressure on the border police.” Whitey leaned back in his chair. “Rumors are that the congressman pays off the authorities to keep his business solvent and the flow of product unimpeded. Richard loses a few workers now and then, but I suspect that’s planned to avoid the appearance he receives special treatment.”

  “Is his wife involved in the family business?”

  “As I mentioned, they have a house in town. She rarely goes to the farm.” He pinched his bottom lip. “They used to be happy together. Since he got into politics, they live in two different worlds.”

  “We appreciate your input. Is there anything else you can tell us before we leave?”

  Whitey put the poodle on the ground and brushed dog hair from his pants. “I try to avoid gossip and innuendo, but rumors float among the townsfolk.”

  “We're not interested in gossip either, but hearing those innuendos might be helpful.”

  “The consensus view suggests there’s more going on at Richard's farm than growing produce.”

  Dan leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I don’t suppose you could be more specific.”

  “I’d rather not speculate. You’re the detectives. Go out there and detect.” He nudged the dog gently with his foot to shoo her away. “Find out for yourselves. As the renowned Mr. Wolf used to say, don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty.”

  “There might be a problem for us doing that. We’ve made ourselves unpopular at the farm.”

  Lea told him of their incident trying to visit the housing compound.

  “I’m not surprised. They’re an unfriendly bunch except with tourists willing to spend money at the fruit stand.”

  “Have you had problems with them yourself?”

  “Just with the manager and his dog. Those two are inseparable unless he goes out of town and leaves Scout at the kennel.”

  “The manager threatened to sic his dog on us if he sees us again.”

  “That sounds like Carl. One day the two of them came into the deli when I had Missy with me.” The poodle’s ears perked up. “The German shepherd took one look at her and decided to attack. Carl made no effort to restrain his dog.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I grabbed a strip of bacon from my plate and held it in front of the charging beast. Scout lost interest in my little girl. From that day on, I carry treats in my pocket to ward off potential attacks.”

  “We need to find out what’s going on out there, but the place appears heavily guarded. I doubt the manager will agree to see us, especially if he knows we’re after information which could damage his boss.”

  “You’re probably right, unless you have something of value to exchange. Sorry I can’t be of more help.” He showed them out. “Let me know what happens. I’ll be interested to hear.”

  “Sure thing.”

  • • •

  When they got to their car, Lea slumped in the passenger seat. “I enjoyed talking with Whitey, but I’m not sure how much we accomplished. Other than hearing about the owners, we didn't uncover the truth about Rancho Hidalgo.”

  “I disagree. Something Whitey said gives me an idea of how to move the game to our turf.”

  She sat straighter. “Tell me.”

  He started the engine. “Later. First, we’ll return to their playing field to attend Pedro’s meeting.”

  She folded her arms and pouted. “You can be the most maddening person to work with.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The sun was nearly setting when they picked Maddy up at her small house a stone’s throw from the ocean.

  Lea was dressed in baggy sweatpants and a blue sweatshirt. Her hair was twisted in a bun and hidden under a baseball cap. Dan wore black jeans and a camouflage jacket.

  They both eyed Maddy as she took a place in the back seat. Based on her assignment, she was dressed provocatively in tight leather pants and a sweater with a plunging neckline.

  “What did Tom say when you told him you're helping us?” Lea asked.

  “I didn’t exactly tell him,” Maddy responded. “Anyway, he’s working late.”

  “Did he ask what you plan to do during the time he’s at work?”

  “I told him you were stopping by and mentioned your eagerness to check out the new shoe store in town. He may put those facts together and assume we’ve gone shopping, but I didn’t tell a lie.”

  Lea raised her eyebrows. “You did evade the truth that we’re going to Rancho Hidalgo.”

  Maddy shrugged. “It’s better for him if he doesn’t know. He’s happy I’m out of the snooping business and spending most nights safely at home with him.”

  She leaned forward. “What did you tell Paul?”

  “I told him there’s a chick flick you want to see.”

  “You didn’t inform him we’re going to Rancho Hidalgo?” Maddy asked cattily.

  Lea shrugged. “It’s better for him if he doesn’t know.”

  The sisters giggled.

  Dan shook his head. “I’m glad I’m not married to either of you.”

  “Neither of us lied,” Lea responded. “We only suggested things we might do. Besides, what we neglect to share with our husbands is for their own good.”

  “That’s the rationale I used with my wife. You can see how well that worked. My marriage ended in divorce.”

  “That won’t happen with Paul or Tom,” Lea assured him.

  It was Dan’s turn to raise eyebrows, but he made no further comment.

  They parked off the road a mile from the main entrance to the ranch and Dan gave instructions. “They’ll be bringing a truckload of workers from the fields any minute now. Maddy, you run to the guard post as soon as the truck passes. Divert the guards long enough to give Lea and I time to run through the gate before it closes. You know what to do next.”

  Maddy nodded. “I’ll tell them I’m having trouble and lead them to the car so they won’t see what you two are doing. But won’t they discover my subterfuge? There’s nothing wrong with your car. It works fine.”

  With Maddy watching, he walked to the front of the vehicle and raised the hood. A moment later, he hollered. “They’ll believe you now. Turn on the engine. You'll see what I mean.”

  Maddy got in the driver’s seat and tried unsuccessfully to start the car. “What did you do?”

  “I switched the wires around to keep the engine from running. To start the car again, just switch the wires back.”

  “What should I do after I show them the car won’t start?”

  “They’ll probably offer to call a tow truck. If they don’t, you ask.” He slammed the hood of the car. “Tell them you’re afraid to wait alone and return with them to the guard shack.”

  “I’m with you s
o far, but what happens when the truck arrives?”

  “It should take a service guy at least half an hour to get out here. Give your sister and me twenty minutes. Then tell the guards you’ll go to the car to wait. Hopefully, Lea and I will be back by then and we can leave before the truck arrives.”

  “I don’t like the sound of the word hopefully. Can’t you promise a more definite outcome?”

  “Trust me, everything will work out.”

  Maddy looked at her sister for confirmation. Lea shrugged. “His plan looks good on paper.”

  “That’s not the reassurance I was looking for.”

  • • •

  Dan’s plan for sneaking into the property went smoothly. While Maddy schmoozed the guards, Lea and Dan ran toward the place designated for the meeting.

  From several yards away, they heard voices inside the house. Some soft-spoken, others raised in anger.

  Two men on the porch watched as they approached.

  Dan employed use of his limited Spanish. “Buenas noches. Somos amigos de Roberto.”

  The men stood aside, encouraging them to enter. “Bienvenido.”

  Lea gave her partner an appraising look. “I didn’t realize you speak the language.”

  “I have a smattering of Spanish,” Dan replied. “Enough to make myself understood and get the gist of what someone tells me.”

  The room was crammed to overflowing. A slight breeze moved the curtains but provided little coolness. The air smelled of sweat from people who work in the sun.

  Women occupied the few available chairs. Men leaned against the walls or sat cross-legged on the floor.

  One young woman cuddled a baby in her arms. Another held a toddler squirming to be free. Three older children perched on a table, dangling their legs.

  Dan and Lea took a place near the door where people squeezed together to make room. They looked to the front where a speaker stood on an empty box to be seen by all the people in the room. He fit Rosa’s description of Pedro; a pleasant-looking young man of short stature, filled with energy.

  “What do we get for the backbreaking work we do?” he asked the crowd. “No one enforces the laws meant to protect us from hazardous conditions, yet less than half the farmworkers have health coverage.”