With that, Caitlin produced an official-looking trifold document and handed it across the desk. The Ranger chopper was still at her disposal, thanks to Jones, and she had left a message on Captain Tepper’s voice mail that she was using it to check out a lead, without elaborating further.
“That’s a search warrant—blank for now, but I’ve already got an affidavit filled out to get one written for these premises. Oughta shut the office down for, oh, no more than a day, two at most.” She leaned forward in line with the blank document she’d just handed over. “Why don’t you go pay a visit to Mr. Jackson, inside his office, and show that to him?”
Caitlin laid her palms on the edge of the desk, a clear message that she wasn’t going anywhere until the receptionist complied. Looking more angry than annoyed, the woman shoved her chair backwards and headed down the hall.
*
“I’m truly sorry, Ranger,” Jackson pronounced, accompanying his assistant back to the reception area. “I was tied up. But I do believe I can make some time for you now.”
She followed him past the line of smaller offices en route to his spacious one at the end of the hall.
“I’d appreciate you making this fast,” he said, squeezing his bulbous frame into his oversize desk chair.
Caitlin took the same chair she had during her first visit. “That depends on how fast you can answer my questions.”
“I already told you everything I know about that Indian reservation, the last time you were here.”
“Funny you can make that claim, without knowing what I intend to ask you.”
Jackson dropped the blank search warrant and it fluttered to his desk, landing in the space between them. “Well, then, by all means, Ranger, ask away.”
“How is it you secured mineral rights to that Indian reservation for a company that’s never gotten closer to oil than the local gas station?”
Jackson jerked forward in his chair, the leather making a squishing sound, as if he’d just passed wind. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You secured the mineral rights on behalf of a man named Cray Rawls and his company REPCO.”
“You understand what confidentiality is, Ranger?”
“Quite well, sir.”
“Then you must also understand that I’m not at liberty to share any workings of my business arrangements with my clients. Trust is everything in my line of work.”
“Is it now, Mr. Jackson?”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“It’s been a difficult few days, sir. Maybe you heard about the incident that took place in Austin yesterday.”
Jackson nodded. “And I’m sure you’re involved.”
“The Rangers are, yes, sir. If my tone offends you, that’s why. I’ll try to moderate my behavior, and I apologize for any disrespect I’ve shown you. Let’s start with the last time you saw Cray Rawls.”
“That’s really none of your business, Ranger.”
Caitlin ignored his comment. “Because I was hoping you could set up a meeting with him for me, and just wanted to make sure I go through the right channels, to avoid any potential misconceptions.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, it occurs to me that you may have represented something about that land that’s not necessarily accurate.”
Sam Bob Jackson’s jowls seemed to pucker, the lower of his two chins quivering. “That’s a serious allegation, Ranger.”
“That’s why I called it a possibility and asked you to set up a meeting with Mr. Rawls so we can get things sorted out.” Caitlin held Jackson’s eyes, not bothering to disguise the intent in hers. “I figured this would be the perfect opportunity, given that he’s in Texas right now, according to his office in North Carolina. You flew back here with him from there.”
“Well, he’s gone.”
“His private jet isn’t. It’s still parked in the same airfield he landed in. You think he’d go back to North Carolina without his plane?”
Jackson swallowed hard. “There’s a simple explanation for all this I’m not authorized to share with anyone.”
“All the more reason to tell Mr. Rawls I’d like to see him while he’s still in town.” Caitlin slapped the knees of her jeans and rose slowly. “Tell you what … why don’t I give you some privacy so you can make that call now?”
50
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
“You know what my brother always said about you, Masters?” Miguel Asuna asked Cort Wesley.
Asuna’s office was lit too brightly by a big fluorescent fixture that matched the array of lighting in the body shop beyond. It made Cort Wesley want to put on his sunglasses, but he left them in his pocket, to make sure Asuna could see his eyes.
“What?”
“That you had the biggest set of balls he ever saw but he could never get a fix on which way they were swinging, like you enjoyed playing both sides.”