“And?”
“It wasn’t Maya. I never saw Candy again.”
I told him about Ochoa’s call and that we were going to check it out. He wanted to meet us there, but I gave him the morning off and told him to get breakfast and take a nap. I wanted to tap into his computer sleuth skills later, and I didn’t want him to be dozing off.
If it was Maya in the dumpster, what would I tell Helmut? While I was busy entertaining my girlfriend, I let her get killed? I knew better than to blame myself for other people’s evil actions. I’d been through that after my discharge. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I could have done more. Kelly sensed my mood.
“You couldn’t have done anything.”
“I should have been watching the parking lot.”
She understood what I meant.
“I was just kidding about being a mistress to your work, but I’m beginning to think it wasn’t a joke.”
“I’m not blaming you for anything. Let’s just see who it is.” There was no point in discussing it with her. There was nothing either of us could do about it. I was disappointed in myself. Everything seemed to be happening at once—Grandpa’s murder, Helen’s return, Kelly, and now Helmut’s granddaughter may be dead in a dumpster.
The parking lot behind Walmart was crawling with SAPD squad cars and decorated with yellow crime scene tape. We parked and got out near the barrier and were immediately told to leave by a burly beat cop. I showed my PI creds, but he didn’t care. He had a job to do. Kelly stayed in the pickup. I spotted Detective Ochoa standing by the dumpster. I shouted her name. She waved and walked toward us.
Detective Diana Ochoa was short, but I’d never seen her wear high heels. Her shoes were fashionable but practical, and she wore much less makeup than when I saw her last. She seemed more comfortable in her role as a detective in the department. Her legs were athletic and toned, extending from a formfitting black dress, and her shoulder-length raven hair was stylishly curled. It may have been an early Sunday morning call, but it hadn’t caught her sleeping. She looked more like an actor on a cop show than the real thing. I wondered where she was when she got the call.
“It’s okay, Officer,” Ochoa said to the beat cop. “He’s with me.” I ducked under the yellow tape. “Good to see you’re up and around. How’re you feeling?”
“Never better.”
She shook my hand, giving me a skeptical smile. Kelly got out of the pickup and crossed toward us.
“Thought you were still in Lubbock,” Ochoa said when Kelly reached us.
“I came down for the Fredericksburg Oktoberfest.”
Ochoa’s smile vanished. “You’re involved in this?” she asked Kelly.
Kelly held up her hands. “I’m just an observer.”
“Did you ID the body?” I asked.
“Maybe you can help us out with that.” She led us to the dumpster, where two ladders had been set up to form a scaffolding. “Take a look.”
I climbed the scaffolding and stared at the frail, naked body of the dancer I’d met the night before. The long blond wig was gone, replaced by short dark hair, but the heavy green makeup was the same. She looked like a discarded mannequin from a sex shop window.
“I’ve never seen her before,” I lied, still examining the body. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Ochoa, but I didn’t want police exposure to jeopardize my effort to find Maya before she ended up in a dumpster beside Candy. I had a good idea the Dragon was behind this, and I didn’t want him to strike again before I caught up to him.
Ochoa turned to Kelly. “Does he pass his cards out on the street corner?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
I glanced back to see Kelly shrug.
“It’s not illegal, and it’s free advertising,” I deadpanned from the top of the ladder.
Ochoa frowned, sharpening the tiny wrinkles around her eyes. “Don’t bullshit me, Fischer. I wanna know where this dead girl came from.”
I turned back to the body. Candy had the same marks on her arms and throat as Lori had. There were bruises on her thighs that had a yellowish tint like they had been made days or weeks ago. Her wrists and ankles also showed signs of trauma like she’d been tied up before she was murdered.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Ochoa said when I jumped off the scaffolding.
“You’re the detective,” I said. “I can tell you that the card is definitely mine. How it got here, beats me. If I do find anything, I’ll let you know.”
“I have to ask you. Are you working on a case?”
“Right now, I’m trying to recover from my last case and settle the family estate,” I said.
“That’s good to know, because people seem to drop dead when you take a case,” Ochoa said. She was baring her teeth when she said it, but she wasn’t smiling. “And don’t tell me you only take the cases we can’t solve.”
It was the last thing I’d said to her the week before I shot her ex-partner. He turned out to be a dirty cop working for a corrupt politician. I figured she was one of the cops who resented civilians seeing their dirty laundry aired in public and that was why she resented my being here.
“I want to help in any way I can,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“So, who was it?” Kelly asked after we climbed in my pickup. I backed away from the crime scene tape, drove out of the parking lot, then headed south toward the Loop 410 entrance.
“Candy,” I said. “Same marks on her neck and wrists as Lori Kostoch.”
“And why are we withholding that from the police?” she asked.
“I’m gonna tell them. But I wanna find Maya first, before she ends up like Lori and Candy.”
“You know she likes you.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Did you see her reaction when I said I was with you in Fredericksburg?”
“I think she was checking my alibi and working suspects at a crime scene.”
“That and she was jealous. Who dresses like that to work a murder scene at Walmart?”
“Maybe she was at church.”
“Whatever. It’s a mistake not to keep her informed.”
“She has her priorities, and I have mine.”
“Meaning?”
“Police priorities are set by the bureaucracy.”
“Thank you for clearing that up.” She turned away and looked out the window at the thick green canopy of trees that covered most of city.
“I’m not talking about you. I’m working for Helmut. My priority is to find Maya. Hopefully, alive.”
“I get it,” she said. “I’m starting to understand why you didn’t make a career out of the military. You have a real problem with authority.”
“I like to think I can get results when no one else can.”
“I’m not disputing that. I’ve seen you in action. You also make a lot of enemies. One day that’s gonna…” She stopped herself from saying it and spit between her fingers.
I saw the law as a gray area that sometimes helped and sometimes hindered me from gaining access to truth and justice. Kelly saw the law as an absolute. It was an issue we’d eventually have to deal with.
I called Skeeter to tell him we were on our way to his mother’s house. A visit with Lola Davis could be an ordeal. She never let me forget that I saved her son from death row. I was the Saint Jude of private detectives according to her. She would have adopted me had I not talked her out of it. It was lunchtime, I was hungry, and she was a great cook.
Lola Davis lived in the far south side of San Antonio near Brooks City Base and Mission Espada, the southernmost of the four additional Spanish missions built in the eighteenth century. I turned in to the newer housing development and drove down the row of modest-sized single-story houses, each with a lawn and a collection of oak trees and ornamental laurel, and parked behind Skeeter’s pickup. His mom didn’t drive, and I didn’t see any other cars parked near the house, whi
ch was a good sign. It meant Skeeter hadn’t told his mother in advance we were coming. Had she known, family members from all over town would gather as if it were a Christmas party or a homecoming for a long-lost relative.
Kelly and I got out and made our way to the front door. I saw movement from the front window and heard Lola’s voice shriek. Before I could touch the bell, the door flew open and Lola Davis filled the frame from top to bottom. It was easy to see where Skeeter got his size.
“Lord have mercy. Look at you. Skinny as a rail. Come in this house.” She had to step back for us to enter. Her blue, flower-print muumuu flowed nearly to the floor. She had thick arms that looked and felt like they could squeeze a man in half. “Clarence!” she yelled toward the basement, then turned back to me. “Where have you been?” She wrapped her man-killer arms around me. “I can tell right now, you ain’t gettin’ enough to eat. Land’s sakes, child. How you gonna recover if you don’t eat?”
“Good to see you, Miz Davis. How are you?” I asked.
“Takin’ care of Clarence takes all my strength.”
“I heard that, Momma,” Skeeter called from the basement.
“And this must be Kelly. Clarence never stops talking about you.” Lola swept me aside and seemed to notice Kelly for the first time, as if she’d snuck in while no one was looking. “You are a pretty little thing.” Lola’s gaze seemed to peel back the normal layers of social armor that people put on when they met someone for the first time.
Kelly smiled at her. It wasn’t forced, but I could see the discomfort on her face. She stood erect like the military officer she had been, as if she was being inspected. Which she was, but probably not like anything she’d ever experienced before. Lola Davis looked into your soul.
An awkward minute ticked by. Then Lola suddenly swept Kelly up in her big arms and squeezed her like she was a little girl. “My, my, my,” she said. “This one’s a keeper; I tell you what. She needs some meat on her bones, but I’ll fix you both up right now.”
“We don’t want you to go to any trouble. We just came by to say hello and visit with Skeeter.”
As if on cue, Skeeter stepped out of the stairwell. He saw Kelly smothered in his mother’s arms and nodded knowingly toward me.
“Nick Fischer, you know better than that,” Lola said. “You come with me, suga,” she said to Kelly. “You can help me put together some lunch, and I’ll tell you a few things about Nick you might not know yet.” She took Kelly’s arm and led her into the kitchen.
“Step into my office,” Skeeter said.
I followed him down the stairs and into the basement room he used as a computer research laboratory. The room was twenty by thirty feet long and stuffed with electronic gear hooked together with bundles of wires and power cords that emitted a constant electric hum. I followed him to a large display monitor mounted on the back wall.
We sat in the two office chairs, and the screen sprang to life showing a mug shot of Russell Stevens, aka the Dragon, as a younger man. He was smiling for the police camera as if he had a secret he was dying to tell.
“This is one bad dude,” Skeeter said. “A poster boy for prison reform. Turned eighteen in Huntsville prison doing five years for manslaughter. Strangled his stepfather with a coat hanger. The judge went easy on him because the defense attorney claimed years of abuse. Got his cute nickname on the inside. When he got out, he went underground. No convictions, but he’s linked to drugs, prostitution, and auto theft. Must have learned how to stay under the radar from Convict U.”
“Outstanding citizen.”
“Lately he’s been stepping up his game.”
“Like what?”
“If you know who to talk to, the Dragon can get any kind of woman or man you want.”
“Underage?”
“You name it. And he probably has cartel ties across the river. No one deals dope in SA without their permission.”
“The question is, how did this character get mixed up with Mark Bauer in Fredericksburg?”
“No direct connection that I’ve found, but everything the Dragon does is under the table. Mr. Bauer has some interesting plans. His company has been buying up a lot of land in Gillespie County.”
“Yeah, he wants to buy my grandpa’s place. Said he wants to put in grape vines and make the house into a bed and breakfast.”
“The biggest purchase seems to be a section along the Pedernales River. Some kind of convention center.”
“That would include the beach where we used to party, the one Lori said she went to with Maya.” The image shifted to a map of Gillespie County, outlining a large section of land along the river. “Any idea what he’s planning?”
Skeeter smiled and touched a few keys on the keyboard. An architectural rendering appeared, showing a huge convention center complete with a thirty-six-hole golf course and condos facing the fairways. In the center was a luxury six-story hotel.
“That’s a huge project,” I said, marveling at the size and the complex design.
“Lots of money changing hands, which may explain what Russell is doing there. Could be he’s looking for legit businesses to launder gangster money.”
“It doesn’t get us any closer to finding Maya.”
He showed me the Facebook missing persons posting and the several dozen comments it had received—none offered more than moral support. The state and national hotlines were no better. It was frustrating, and unfortunately, all too familiar. If we didn’t locate her soon, the chances of ever finding her were slim to none.
“Any luck with bus tickets out of Fredericksburg?”
“No one who fits her description.”
“Everything points to the Dragon,” I said.
Skeeter flashed Russell’s younger smiling face back up on the screen. It was a ruggedly handsome face even at age eighteen, full of hope and intelligence.
“Looks more like a rock star than a gangster,” Skeeter said.
“You ain’t seen him lately,” I said.
“Lunchtime,” Kelly said, sticking her head into Skeeter’s basement lair. The smell of fried chicken and cornbread followed her into the room. She studied the architectural rendering on the screen next to Russell’s mug shot. “Who’s the kid?”
“That’s Russell Stevens before he became the Dragon.”
“Wow, talk about contrast. He into real estate?” she asked.
“This is what Mike Bauer’s building in Fredericksburg,” I said.
“Clarence!” Lola Davis called from the top of the stairs in a voice that could have been heard at the local mission.
Skeeter immediately got to his feet. A lifetime of conditioning. “She don’t like to call twice,” he said and ducked through the door.
Kelly and I followed him up the stairs to the kitchen, where there was enough food laid out to feed the entire south side of San Antonio.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” I said.
Lola kissed me on the cheek and pointed to the place of honor at the head of the table. “You know better than to tell me that.”
When we all sat down, Lola held out her hands and bowed her head. We joined hands around the table.
“Bless us, oh Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty,” she chanted in a strong singsong voice. “And bless your son Nick Fischer. Guide him in all he do. Without him my son would not be with us today...”
As she continued to sing my praises to the Lord, Kelly squeezed my hand. Getting so much attention and praise made me nervous. I needed to find Maya, and the chances of finding her alive were fading quickly.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After eating too much chicken and cornbread and saying our long goodbyes to Lola Davis, Kelly and I headed back to Fredericksburg. I was looking for the link between Russell Stevens and Mike Bauer. Talking to his son might generate a lead. At this point, there was nothing to do but keep asking questions and keep moving forward
. Maya was out there somewhere. The only good news was that no one had found her body.
“What makes you think Owen Bauer will have more to say?”
“Lori’s dead. I think Owen Bauer knows what’s going on, and he’s dying to tell somebody. Besides, he’s more likely to talk than Russell Stevens.”
“You going to call Zeller?” Kelly turned in her seat and faced me. As a former MP and current member of law enforcement, she was conditioned to go by the book. More issues with my unorthodox methods.
“I think time’s running out for Maya. I don’t wanna waste an afternoon talking to Zeller.”
“Just remember Owen’s a seventeen-year-old high school kid,” she said. “If he won’t talk, you have to let him go.” I got the feeling she didn’t trust me.
“The only thing I’ll hurt are his feelings.”
“I guess if I was missing, I’d want someone like you looking for me.”
That seemed to settle the argument, but I knew it would come up again.
It was an October Sunday afternoon. The sky was clear, and the air felt crisp and dry. The fall season came late to Central Texas. When the people north of the Red River were experiencing their first snow, the Hill Country folks were just turning off their a/c. It felt like outdoor party weather.
When I was in high school, October Sunday afternoons were the perfect time to gather along the river for a swim and a cold beer before the new school week started. We didn’t have football practice, deer season wouldn’t start until November, and the hay was in the barn. I was counting on the fact that traditions die hard in rural Texas.
I followed the county road that wound along the river and found the dirt road that gave access to the swimming hole. It was the one where Lori had said she went with Maya and the last place anyone had seen her, not counting Candy.
Owen’s pickup was parked on the road near the trail leading to the river.
“Looks like our boy is here,” I said, pointing to his jacked-up four-by-four. I found a place to park, and Kelly and I got out. “Where did you hang out when you were in high school?” I asked.
“On Sunday afternoon, we’d go to the softball field behind the Catholic church. That is, when I could get out of doing chores. My dad was pretty strict about my sister and I doing our share of the work. We tried to get everything done early, right after we got home from church.”
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