Page 100 of Concrete Evidence
“Drendle, sit down,” Morrow said. “Best allow me to manage the discussion.”
Red-faced and with the look of an enraged bulldog, the elder Drendle eased onto the chair. “Earn your money or I’ll find someone else to represent Jake.”
Morrow stared at the senior Drendle. “You’re making matters worse. Calm down, and let’s continue the conversation, then you can decide if my representation is appropriate. Agent Wilkins and Agent Clement, you may question my client. Jake has the right to refuse to answer or consult with me before responding.”
Marc understood those instructions were to remind Jake of his legal rights and to pacify Drendle, who’d be footing the bill. “We’re ready, and I’m recording the interview.”
“No problem,” Morrow said. “Figured as much.”
Marc selected Record on his phone. After confirming Jake’s legal name, address, and birth date, he dove in. “Were you fired from the Brazos River Ranch by the foreman, Craig Holcombe?”
“Yes. False charges of mistreating a horse. He lied to get rid of me.”
“Why? Is there something we need to know?”
“’Cause I’m smarter than he is. He’s unorganized, an idiot, and I told him so.”
“I need evidence and a witness to back up your statement.”
“Like anyone would go against the all-important Elliotts or their people.”
“The FBI doesn’t care about status. If someone breaks the law, he or she faces charges. Do you know where Craig Holcombe is now?”
“How would I know? I’m not the scum’s keeper.”
“Jake, did you shoot Liam Zachary on the Brazos River Ranch?”
“No.” Jake shook his head. “Never heard of him.”
Marc wanted to say a killer didn’t have to know his victim. “Have you made threatening phone calls to Avery Quinn ElliottSr., Colonel Abbott Wilkins, Liam Zachary, Avery ElliottIII, and myself?”
“Nope. Search my phone records.”
“Do you own a Yamaha Tracer 9GT?”
“No.”
“Have you ever ridden one?”
“No.”
“Did you threaten Avery ElliottIII last week on Thursday night?”
“How could I when she was in Houston?”
“I never said where Miss Elliott was at the time.”
Jake huffed. “News travels fast when the uber rich are rear-deep in crime.”
Mr. Drendle chuckled.
“Where were you Sunday afternoon and night?” Marc said.
“With friends.”
“I’ll need names and contact info to validate your whereabouts. You can give them to your lawyer. Someone placed a pipe bomb in a car in Houston parked next to Avery Elliott’s Mercedes. Was that you?”
“Not hardly.”
