At that point, the only other thing Cain knew was that the attorney, Mr. Howard, had also suggested—requested—Truman and he be part of the meeting.
Then there’d been Mr. Howard’s phone call asking for the meeting to be moved up. Now they were all in the police department’s private conference room with not only law enforcement and everyone Mr. Howard had requested, but also a police stenographer. On the attorney’s side was Earl Millerton, his wife, Wanda, and their son Steven, plus the paralegal from Mr. Howard’s law firm. Their other children were with their grandparents in an attorney-arranged safe house outside of Crayton for the moment.
And still Betsy hadn’t returned his call. Or even acknowledged his text.
After all the particulars were handled to the satisfaction of JB and Mr. Howard, the paralegal passed out a statement of facts that had been signed and dated by Earl Millerton.
Cain realized several of the questions that had been running through his mind were being answered. Not all of them, but enough to solidify that he was headed in the right direction with his suspicions. The main facts he was getting from Millerton’s answers to the questions they threw at him was that the man was scared and truthful.
Millerton had worked for the dealership for over twenty years. He’d worked his way up from part-time mechanic about a year after the car lot opened to being service manager for the past ten years. The first time he met Papa C’s brother was at a small picnic at the local park that the three owners had arranged for the staff and their families. The brother just happened to be down from Illinois to visit and came to the park, also.
“It was friendly enough,” Millerton said. “Everybody calling each other by their first names. Laughing and joking. That was before Mr. Dash was killed in the robbery. Before Papa C got so nervous. Then got rich enough to expand the car lot to an all-out dealership. Sometimes I even got the impression Papa C was afraid of something…or someone. Especially right after his brother would pay a visit.”
Mr. Howard asked for a pause for his client. People took a short break to stretch their legs or grab a coffee, then moved back to their seats. “Does anyone have further questions about the items listed on our statement?”
“Not at this time,” JB said. “We appreciate all the information and know this hasn’t been easy.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to say, Mr. Millerton?” the attorney asked.
Wanda held her husband’s hand for a moment. She weakly smiled and nodded. He straightened closer to the conference room table. Clasped his hands firmly in front of him, took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Yes, yes there is. I need to tell you this for the good of my family.” He sipped some water and swallowed it. “About a year or so after that picnic, Papa C finally confided in me that his brother was a dangerous man. Could cause a lot of financial damage if he wanted to. A lot of physical, too. Said I should be careful around him, but not to worry. Said he was working with a guy that would get it all straightened out. Said everything would be alright for all of us.”
Millerton raked his fingers through his thinning hair. “A few days later word came over the television that FBI Agent Peyton had been killed coming out of the Jefferson City FBI Office. Most of the town knew the Peyton family from their times at the lake and local family members, so we were naturally all concerned for Sadie and her girls. But Papa C took it even harder. Stayed home for the next week. He had bruises on his cheek when he came back to work. I always wondered if he fell and hurt himself.
“Papa C never mentioned working with anybody who could help us again. In fact, he changed drastically. Told me his brother was his new partner in the business and that I should do whatever he said. Warned me there’d be some changes happening and I should do what I thought best for me. For my family. He couldn’t watch out for everybody. Shouted at me that I should get my things in order. One wrong step and I could end up like Mr. Dash. Or Agent Peyton.”
Cain and Kennett glanced at each other as JB leaned in to confer with Mr. Howard and Truman. Mrs. Millerton wiped tears from her eyes.
Unconsciously tapping his fingers against the table, Millerton finally reached for his water and gulped it down. Set it abruptly on the table with a thud. “I know my name is on a list that is worth a lot of money to someone. I’ve been threatened and blackmailed for years by this group and Papa C. But I knew I had to put an end to this now. Six months ago, they showed me a copy of an insurance policy with Steven’s name.”
“What?” His son shoved to his feet, then slowly sat back down as his mother reached out and took his hand.
Kennett opened his laptop, keying in his search over and over. Then he turned the screen to face the rest of the people in the room. “Is this the man? Is this Papa C’s brother?”
“That’s him! The next time he came to the dealership he and his muscle forcefully told me I would do what he said, when he said. And the first order was to call him Mr. Partner.”
Swiping to another screen, Kennett continued with other photos. After a lot of nope answers, Millerton leaned forward and pointed at the man on screen. “That’s one of his muscle. Been here many times. Running drugs and I don’t know what else. In fact, he may have been the one to slip something in my coffee the day I flipped out. I know for sure he’d been there at the service center earlier in the day."
Steven cleared his throat and slightly raised his hand. "I don't know if this helps, but that guy was there the day that lookie-loo ended up dead, also.”
"How do you know?" JB asked.
"The new service manager, Derek Johnson, had me come in to do some cleaning after school that day. Said he had an important meeting and since Ms. Peyton was due back the next morning, he needed things straightened up. Told me to just pull the exit door closed behind me when I left." Steven glanced toward his dad. "That was the guy Derek took into the lunch area and…well, I'm pretty sure I heard him lock the door behind them." He looked back to JB. "I got my work done, clocked out about four, and got the heck out of there."
"Thanks, Steven. We appreciate your help," JB said.
Standing to stretch, Cain leaned over and patted Millerton on their back. “I thank you for all the info. You have no idea how much this helps. I only have one more question.”
“Okay. What do you need to know?”
“After the car wreck that killed Phillip, were you involved in taking the car to the salvage lot?” Cain asked.
“Nope, I was never involved in that wreck or the report. In fact, I heard there was a mix-up on tow trucks. The Missouri Highway Patrol straightened that out, though. But I know where the car is now.” Millerton nodded as he shared a direct and perceptive look with Cain. “It’s stored in a shed at the far back end of Papa C’s property.”
That’s all the info Cain needed. One of his top priorities would be to get a search warrant to look at the remains of the wreck. He’d bet good money there were bullets still lodged in the tires. Betsy needed an answer to what kept worrying her about the night of the accident. And if the bullets were there, then he needed answers on why Papa C had denied her rendition of what she’d heard.
Not long after, the Millerton family and Mr. Howard left. The rest of them had stayed put in the police conference room. Truman had moved to the far end of the room, dictating notes on his phone and making calls—turning his back and speaking quietly. He might be retired from the FBI, but he still had some connections none of the others had. As always, he was keeping them close to his vest.
