Page 121 of Concrete Evidence
“I never understood how a person’s political and church affiliation set the stage for friendship. Granddad gets it, but not me.”
“Some people’s roles define them, the way they think and act. While others value life lessons and experiences to define who they are.”
“Sounds like you’ve been around Granddad.”
Marc had experienced motivation to destroy lives for a whole lot less. Ross Archer’s vendetta could be the catalyst for the crimes.
67
MARC AND RODEN TOOK A CHANCEon an unscheduled meeting with Leanne’s father. Arranging appointments with those who had volatile personalities often went south before a word was spoken. But the opportunity to read the man could lead to the crime’s kingpin.
Roden held up his phone while Marc drove through pouring rain. “I have Archer’s background including financials. Here’s a pic.”
Marc took a glance and returned the phone. “Let’s hear it. I’m in the mood to put this case to rest.”
“Congressman. Impressive work for his political party. Retired from a lucrative law practice. Married for forty-five years. Three adult children. Leanne is in the middle. Nothing flagged in his financials. He’s done well and made solid investments.”
“Run him through the FIG.”
Roden typed. “Figured we’d need the report.”
“The best we have is his dislike for the Elliotts and Leanne’s friendship with them. Which might be all we need.”
Marc’s GPS gave him directions to the Archers’ five hundred acres. A large two-story brick home set back on a hill, stately but not the caliber of the Brazos River Ranch.
Once parked, the two men made their way to the front door. Roden rang the doorbell, and a trim-built man in his sixties answered. “Mr. Archer, I’m FBI Special Agent Marc Wilkins and this is my partner, Special Agent Roden Clement. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The man stood square in the doorway. “First off, I need identification.” After examining the agents’ creds, he continued. “I’d let you in, but you’re dripping, and the wife keeps a clean house. What’s this about?”
“We’re investigating a series of murders possibly connected to the construction of the Lago de Cobre Dam.”
“Gentlemen, Quinn Elliott is a criminal in his own right. The media reports say he’s rear-deep in taking shortcuts in that dam’s foundation. If you want my opinion, he had those people killed to cover his rear.”
“We need evidence, Mr. Archer,” Marc said.
He shrugged. “He’s too smart to cross my path.”
“We understand there’s animosity between you two.”
“An understatement. What are you driving at?” Archer said.
“Is it true you broke contact with your daughter Leanne because of her friendship with the Elliotts?”
“You got a lot of nerve.” He tried to shut the door, but Roden stuck his size fourteen foot in the way.
“Sir—” Roden used a calm tone for a gentle giant—“we’re not interested in family squabbles unless differences lead to murder, sabotaging a dam, or both.”
“If you’re asking me if I took part in any crimes, the answer isno. I can’t stand the Elliotts, but I’m not a killer. Show me a search warrant, and I’ll provide you with my calendar and whereabouts.” He looked dead center into Roden’s brown eyes. “Now, if you will kindly remove your foot from my door and be on your way.”
“One more thing, sir. If you’re innocent, why not cooperate with the FBI?”
“I’m an attorney, and I know my rights.”
“True.” Roden handed him a business card and the folded piece of paper. “These are the dates in question if you change your mind. We’ll make sure a search warrant is issued within twenty-four hours.”
“A judge around here won’t sign a warrant until Monday. If I had evidence that would send Elliott and his cohorts to prison, I’d gladly hand it over. Might want to consider bringing your umbrella next time.”
Roden removed his foot, and the two returned to Marc’s truck. Their wet clothes soaked the seats.
