This is Part VI of a seven part series that will conclude on Sunday.

Danbury asked Sophie to make the call to his secretary to come pick him up at the Crane estate. Near the conclusion of the meeting with his client, everything came into focus.  He’d driven Angela Crane’s Dual-Ghia out to the estate for the meeting and had asked his secretary to be on standby to retrieve him.  Of course he’d had no idea how late that would be.  She pulled up in front of the southern plantation-style estate in Danbury’s new Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz, walked up to the door, and waited.

Before long, Sophie answered and led her to the back patio by the pool where the scantily clad client and Danbury sat.  The moment that followed was awkward, but over quickly.  Danbury gathered his things, said his good-byes, and followed Sophie across the yard, through the house and out the front door.  Sophie gave a long glance towards the long black Cadillac convertible and back towards Danbury.  “Folks around here sure have a flair for the dramatic when it comes to the automobiles.”  She shook her head back and forth slightly as she closed the door behind them. Sophie did not seem to hold Danbury in high regard. Nor did she seem to have anything more than the required cursory respect for her employer.

Danbury opened the passenger door for Mrs. Paterson, made sure she was tightly tucked in, and closed it behind her. He walked around the front of the car, got in the driver’s door and brought the 365 cubic inch, overhead valve V8 engine to life. Dropping the selector into gear, he informed her they were heading back to the office and that it might be a late evening.

Mrs. Paterson was hired for her discretion, although that’s not what most people would have guessed at first glance.  Franklin Danbury had an eye for beautiful cars and beautiful women, not unlike Theodore Crane.  The difference was that Danbury never let his attraction for either cloud his judgement or misplace their value.  He filled her in on enough of the facts to lay out what needed to be done without sharing more than he needed to.

The weeks that followed involved meetings with Chief Martin, the physician who’d performed the autopsy on Theodore Crane, and more formal meetings with his widow.  Those took place in Franklin Danbury’s office with his client fully dressed in appropriate black formalwear indicating her status as a grieving widow, though it was her own finger that had pulled the trigger pumping five bullets into Theodore Crane’s midsection.

The number of pages of the daily Stockton Telegram-Dispatch grew exponentially for a month or so.  Not because of the amount of press the murder was getting, instead just the opposite.  The owners of some of the biggest business owners in town were buying more ad space than they ever had, just to guarantee that stories wouldn’t be written.  Turns out free press in Fort Stockton wasn’t really free after all.  It could be bought for a price, and the price was damn high.

Angela Crane and her stepson, Thomas, both came into town occasionally but were met with icy stares wherever they went.  At the funeral they had sat together down front, holding hands and leaning on each other.  The others assembled to pay their last respects found it disgusting and talked about it for days afterwards.  Trixie said she’d heard Thomas was no longer in the apartment above the carriage house, he was in the Big House.  “Ten will get you twenty he ain’t in one of the guest rooms, either,” Trixie told anyone who was in her chair at the Klip-N-Dye.  “Swear to God, there is no such thing as shame in this town anymore.”

Brother Bob over at Second Baptist Church of Fort Stockton did a four week sermon series on sins of the flesh, focusing on the fourth and fifth commandments, but skirting the ninth.  It was still too early to go down the road of ‘Thous shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife.’  “Say what you will,” Lucinda told folks at the Grounds for Divorce, “Brother Bob knows his audience and can read the room.”

Guys would gather around the pot of free coffee back near the nail bins over at the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store and talk in low whispers about what might have happened at the Crane place that night.  Of course Trixie had her ear to the ground and would share whatever tidbits she could find out, but none of it really had much substance.  She did hear that the insurance company hadn’t paid anything on the substantial life policies Theodore Crane had taken out.  “They’re still doing their own investigation,” she said, as though they’d consulted her for her take on the whole situation.

Franklin Danbury was anxious to get the whole thing behind him.  He felt his client was about to get away with murder, and he was serving as nothing but a tool in that process. He’d taken to getting behind the wheel of his new Cadillac Eldorado and heading west towards the sunset at dusk to clear his head from the details.  The sight of the Glass Mountains off in the distance through the wraparound windshield with Elvis Presley, Pat Boone, or Perry Como playing on the Delco radio went a long way towards washing the details of the case from his mind.  More than once the Autronic Eye automatic headlight dimming feature planted atop the red padded dashboard dimmed the light for an oncoming car that Danbury had never even noticed.  Cases like this may have afforded him the opportunity to drive an Eldorado, but he paid the price in other ways.

Angela Crane was a damaged woman.  Granted, she brought the damage on herself, but the result was she killed a man in cold blood.  Danbury was being paid handsomely to help assure she didn’t suffer the consequences.

In Perry Silverman’s study, behind a false wall in the bookcase, were boxes of tapes.  Braxton had performed his task admirably well.  Unlike Danbury, Perry was not an attorney, though he held the law in high regard.  Sometimes, however, he could see where the law fell short of its intended purpose.  Men of power knew how to subvert the law for their own benefit and skirt its intentions.  That did not make ‘wrong’ magically turn into ‘right’.  It just exempted some of the wealthy from their deserved consequences.  On Perry’s desk, paperwork was piling up, files accumulating.

When Perry finally heard that the investigation into the shooting of Theodore Crane had been completed and no charges would be filed, he called Franklin Danbury for an appointment.

The two knew each other, but not well. He’d requested the appointment be on a Saturday rather than during the week, the fewer people to notice what might be going on. “I understand the case with Mrs. Crane is completed. Closed with no charges being filed. Has the relationship with your client been completed as well?” Perry asked Danbury over the phone.

“It has, indeed. She is no longer a client.” Danbury admitted with a more grateful tone than he intended to.

“It might do well to ask her to join in on our meeting.  And her stepson, as well.  Thomas.”  Perry let that sink in a moment.  “In fact, it may not even hurt to ask Chief Martin to sit in, and Sophie Sweetwater.  Just to save time.”

In the parking lot out in front of the aging red brick building the following Saturday afternoon, the cars that gathered created quite an elegant picture. Angela’s Dual-Ghia parked in between Danbury’s Cadillac Eldorado and Thomas Crane’s Porsche 356 could have made a fine art print, a scene probably never duplicated again.  Only Braxton’s Oldsmobile 88 looked somewhat out of place amongst them.

Upstairs, around the conference table in the wood paneled offices of Danbury and Associates, nobody was quite sure what the meeting was even about. It was not a group who was used to having their time wasted. Even the unnamed young man in the corner, not at the table itself, seemed anxious to get on with thngs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I know we’re all busy.  I appreciate you agreeing to meet me here.  I will be as brief as possible.”  Perry said, opening the meeting.  “I wanted us to meet together up front, as we will be meeting across the courtroom from one another soon.  Once that process begins, the lines will be drawn and there will be no turning back.  Future meetings will be in a courtroom, under the watchful eye of a judge and the tone and tenor will be vastly different.”

Most all the participants shifted in their seats, with the exception of Braxton, Danbury, and Perry himself.

“Let’s be clear here, Mr. Silverman,” Chief Martin said, puffing out his barrel chest just enough to register his irritation.  “There were no charges brought against anyone in the incident at the Crane home.  None are forthcoming.  And, in all honesty, most of us are completely clueless as to why we’re here, or why you would have any involvement in the case, whatsoever.”

“Indeed.”  Perry let the word hang in the air like a large balloon about to be popped.  “Justice has played out in this case.  At least Fort Stockton justice, be that as it may.  That does not necessarily mean that the case is over.  Bear with me.”

Perry pulled the stack of files on the large oak table before him closer and took the top one from the stack and opened it.  I have a statement here from Mrs. Sophie Sweetwater.”  Perry looked at Sophie who remained without emotion at the far end of the table.  “Is this the sworn statement you signed several weeks ago, Mrs. Sweetwater?”  She nodded in the affirmative.

“The statement says that on the night of Mr. Cranes’ murder, she heard an argument between the deceased and Mrs. Crane where he indicated his intent to divorce Mrs. Crane. That decision was a result of Mrs. Crane’s threat of going public with some taudry tales of infidelity with some of Fort Stockton’s more prominent members of society. We can discuss those details at another date much more thoroughly. But for now, let’s just say that a lot of folks around town would be impacted by that threat.”

The shifting in chairs became more intense. Chief Martin’s chest was noticeably less puffed out.

“Mr. Danbury,” Angela Crane said with a voice shakier than usual, “can you bring these proceedings to a halt.  I do not wish to be a part of such things.”

“You are free to go at any time, Mrs. Crane. You are here of your own free will. You were asked to attend only as a courtesy. Understand that I am no longer your attorney, however. I cannot offer you any advice on anything that takes place.” Danbury felt a sense of satisfaction in relaying that information. Angela looked over at Thomas, looking for an indication as to whether they should remain at the table or not. Thomas thought it better to meet the enemy head on. They remained where they were.

“Mrs. Sweetwater’s statement goes on to say that she packed Mr. Crane’s bags after the fight and helped carry them down to the trunk of his Mercedes, even going so far as to strap them down.  Is that correct?”  Mrs. Sweewater nodded in the affirmative.  The gentleman in the corner was jotting down notes as quickly as he could write.

Perry turned several pages over as he went through the file, landing on the next one he wanted to mention. “The statement Mrs. Sweetwater’s has sworn to mentions that on the night of the incident, after the body of her employer had been removed by the attendants of Bridges Funeral Home and the authorities had all left, that Mrs. Crane was eventually joined in her upstairs master bedroom by none other than her ‘stepson’, Thomas. Is that correct Mrs. Sweetwater?” Again, Sophie nodded in the affirmative, saying nothing, but not trying to hide the smirk on her lips.

“This does NOT change the decision to declare the shooting self defense and not bring charges against the widow,” Chief Martin said loudly, pounding his fist on the table for added dramatic effect.

“Of course not,” Perry answered calmly.

Sophie was not the only one fighting back a smile at the table.  Braxton had never been in a meeting with so many important people, some of whom were in the process of getting their hats handed to them.  Danbury was enjoying it nearly as much as Braxton.  Perry closed the file with Sophie Sweetwater’s statement and reached for the next one on the stack.

“We needn’t go into all the details.  Not at this point,” Perry continued.  “But here is a sworn statement from my mother, prior to her death four years ago.”  That file was set to the side and the next one opened and displayed just long enough to show it had been signed and notarized.  “And this one is from her attending physician.  The one she’d had for over two decades.  The one that had been present at my birth as well as her death.”

Nobody knew where Perry was going with his presentation.  The man in the corner could barely keep up.

Grabbing the next folder, Perry held it up for everyone to see.  Flipping to the back page, the signature at the bottom, right next to that of the witness and notary was that of Theodore Crane.  “I’m sure most of you recognize this signature.  Those of you who are used to seeing it frequently, anyway.  Do you recognize this, Mrs. Crane?”

Angela could barely nod.  It was no doubt that of her recently departed husband.

The other files in the stack remained where they were on the table. Perry glanced down at them as though they were a dessert that was not yet to be served, as the meal had been too rich for the guests.

“Enough with all this.  The rest can wait till another day,” Perry said calmly, a slight smile turning up just the corners of his mouth.  “I’ll be filing a wrongful death lawsuit against Angela Crane and Thomas Crane for the murder of my biological father, Theodore Crane as well as their intent to defraud his estate, as well as the companies that issued his life insurance policies, as yet unsettled.”

Angela Crane and Thomas Crane quickly got up and made their way to the door, having heard enough.  Chief Martin’s forehead broke out in thick beads of sweat that ran down the wrinkles in his face and pooled up in little rivers around the collar that was too tight around his thick neck.  Braxton and Danbury broke out into a full smile.

“Mr. Danbury,” Perry said as the air seemed to finally come back into the room after being completely sucked out, “I would like your firm to handle the case.  Not you of course, that could be problematic.  But your best associate.”

Chief Martin got up and sauntered to the door.  He returned to his office at the station to make a series of phone calls that would ripple through Fort Stockton for years to come.  Braxton Tyler walked back down to his green Oldsmobile, the trunk full of boxes of recordings.  Danbury, Perry, and the man in the corner were all who remained.

“I don’t believe I know the gentleman in the corner,” Danbury said.

“Meet Guy Glasscock,” Perry told him.  Danbury and Glasscock shook hands.  “He’s the new reporter for the Stockton Telegram-Dispatch.  I recently bought the paper.”

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