Holding the Truth

by Calle J. Brookes

  His mother had come back long enough to nurse him through the remainder of his days.

  Then she’d taken off for Florida, finding her a nice condo there where she spent her days making floral arrangements and crafts.

  She called Clay every Sunday like clockwork, but they both knew the truth. She didn’t really care about him; she saw him as too much a reflection of his father.

  The only thing he’d gotten from her, other than her connection to the Barratts of Barrattville, was his eyes.

  Sometimes, when he dreamed about touching Bailey, it wasn’t his hands he saw on her skin. Attached to his arms. It was his father’s, as they struck her.

  The last thing he wanted to do was ever hurt Bailey.

  “Clay? Why didn’t you at least call? After that first week in the hospital when you were there every time I opened my eyes? Did I do or say something? To push you away like that?”

  **

  Bailey didn’t know why she was pushing. But she’d spent weeks wondering about him. The instant she’d opened her eyes in the hospital, she’d looked into his. And every time after. Through the pain, she’d know that he was there. She’d never forget that.

  He had been there, and for a little while, she hadn’t felt so alone.

  She’d felt safe again. Because of him.

  And then he’d just been gone. Veri had been in his place.

  Two days later, Bert had walked into her room and told her she was coming home with him.

  Bailey hadn’t cared enough what happened to her at that point—she’d been on some seriously strong drugs—to even care. But Clay hadn’t been there. For some stupid reason, she’d half expected him to be.

  She should have known better.

  But she’d wondered what she’d possibly done to make him push her away. From the moment she’d walked into his office her first day, he had been pushing her away.

  Maybe it was time she finally let him. For a while, she had imagined he was as alone as she was. And that they could almost be friends in some way.

  Two lonely people sticking to each other. She always had been a bit naive, she guessed. That was early in her time with the Value TSP. She’d learned her lesson fast.

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s a cop-out, and we both know it. I scare you. Or make you angry. Or both. And I’ve never known why. I think I’d like to know before I leave.”

  “You’re going somewhere?” His face darkened. “You’re not still considering Finley Creek, are you?”

  Bailey refused to back down. Her hand tightened on the bag of food as she looked into his eyes. “Clay? What have I done to you? Just how exactly do I distract you from being the sheriff?”

  “Nothing. You’ve not done a damned thing to me. It’s what I haven’t done that kept me away. And I’m sorry. You scare the shit out of me sometimes, Bailey. And I’m a coward at heart. Eat. Then let’s get back to work. It’s what we’re here for.”

  He scooped his files off the table and left the room, leaving her to stare at his retreating back.

  There was no way in hell she would ever understand him. Even with Jake’s help.

  Clay Addy was always going to be a mystery to her. Especially if he kept walking away.

  Chapter 58

  The skull reconstruction—hand-delivered from Cam and Kyra personally—had given her a place to start. The woman had been near Bailey’s own age at the time of her death. Her cheekbones were sharp, her eyes most likely light colored—a guess from the forensic artist—and her chin pointed. The artist had given her light-blond hair, cut in a style popular thirty years ago. The clothing they’d found had been popular before Bailey was born.

  Bailey had a hunch, but the possibility was strong that the body had been in the ground at least that long, plus or minus five years.

  Fashions weren’t exactly as fluid as some people thought. Some people adopted early—other held on far too long.

  It was one reason Bailey preferred the simple—jeans and T-shirts all the way.

  She had helped log the woman’s clothing herself. Haldyn had promised to handle processing it herself.

  The forensics supervisor was more intrigued by the plastic wrap and the possibility of what it had preserved.

  And there was always the ME’s report.

  Bailey was going to stop by the ME’s office and get the preliminary report after her next therapy session at W4HAV.

  She had sixteen missing persons cases involving women that spanned twenty-to-forty years ago. Her target range was a two-hundred-mile radius around the county.

  She studied the family-provided photos of the missing women.

  Two were possible. She blew the photos up and pinned them to her board with the reconstruction between them. It would probably be quicker to do what she was about to do on the computer, but she needed the pen-and-paper aspect.

  She understood how facial reconstruction worked. It was all about math, in a lot of ways.

  What she was going to do wouldn’t be admissible in court, nor would it be completely reliable, but she needed a place to start.

  With a second set of copies, with all three heads blown up to the exact same size and width, she took out a red pencil and a ruler and began making small marks around the photos, where the eyes and nose bridge would be. Where the width of the nasal bridge might be beneath the skin.

  And then she drew lines.

  One face measured up a bit better than the other.

  A seventeen-year-old woman from Garrity, Texas. A town more than four hours away. She’d been missing twenty-seven years. A distant cousin had reported her missing weeks after she’d stopped going to work at the nearby hospital, where she’d worked as an intern.

  She’d had a bright future, from what the reports said, but not many personal connections.

  Her last known whereabouts had been with a slightly older intern, named Glendale Lincoln.

  He’d left Texas decades ago, married, and died in a car accident the same year Bailey had turned two.

  Other than a single sheet of paper in the file, they had nothing else.

  They needed DNA to conclusively connect their body to the missing girl, named Delores Grisholm.

  She checked her watch. It was at least a three-hour drive between Barratt County and Garrity County. By the time she even arrived, it would be almost five.

  She’d need to hit the road, and soon. It was going to be a late night.

  Chapter 59

  She’d only been to Garrity a few times in her life. It was a bit too far for her mother to make easy trips there during her childhood. She remembered one trip with Kyra—and Micah Hanan—to explore a small cave on the outskirts of a college professor’s property. It hadn’t been too deep or difficult for her to go in.

  She’d enjoyed that day. But she’d been a child back then, barely ten years old.

  Now she looked over the place with a more critical eye.

  Garrity was small. Even smaller than Value, but the TSP post covered about a third more territory than hers did.

  She’d heard rumors they were combining Garrity with the Hamer branch, and doubling the staff.

  She could see why.

  The houses were very similar to Value, built along the same time frame, most likely.

  She found the Garrity TSP precinct easily enough.

  When she walked in, a middle-aged woman worked the counter. She smiled, taking in Bailey’s uniform. “Hello, honey. Welcome to Garrity.”

  “Hello, I’m Bailey Moore, from Value.”

  “Well, of course, you are. We watched for news of you ourselves back when you were missing. How can I help you today?”

  Factual, open, welcoming—and not questioning. Bailey found the woman’s words didn’t bother her too badly. Not like they would have a few months ago. “I’m here to speak to your sheriff about a missing woman. It’s an older case, but I was hoping to find out what I can about the family. And see the crime-scene area for myself. Our f
iles are thin, and we think it may be connected to some remains we found in our county.”

  “You sit right there. Sherman will get you a soda. I’ll get Sheriff Daviess.”

  “Thank you.”

  Five minutes later the sheriff’s office door opened and a dark-haired woman stepped through.

  Bailey held her hand out. “I’m Bailey Moore. From the Value post. I believe we’ve met before? In Finley Creek?” “At W4HAV.”

  “No. That wasn’t me. But I do have a sister associated with that organization.”

  Bailey put it together quickly. “Ari. She’s an acquaintance. As is her older sister Paige. And I’ve met several of her brothers. But that’s not what I’m here for today. I need some information about a missing persons case from two decades ago.”

  The woman’s face cleared. Bailey got it; the sheriff was not too happy with mention of her family. Bailey knew the story. Ariella Avery was in the process of searching out several missing siblings. It was how she was related to both Dr. Rafe Holden-Deane, who’d saved Bailey’s life and was married to Jillian Beck—and Dr. Caine Alvaro at Barratt County Gen. “If you’ll get me the case number, I’ll see what I can find.”

  Twenty minutes later, she and Sheriff Daviess—Zoey—were sitting in a retired librarian’s home, sipping tea and talking about the woman’s second cousin. Who had been missing for twenty-eight years.

  Bailey had shown her the skull reconstruction sketch.

  And been shown more than a dozen photos in return. Photos that bore a striking resemblance to the Kurtland Chase body. Well. Photos that resembled what that body may have looked like. It wasn’t exactly an exact science.

  After they were finished with the older woman, who had wanted to chat for a while, and had admitted to having no other close family, Bailey accompanied Sheriff Daviess back to the precinct.

  “I’ll have everything we still have here photocopied. You can take it back with you.”

  “It’ll take several weeks before DNA results are in.”

  “I’m pretty certain it’s her.”

  “Yes.” They’d walked by the crime scene. Well, the last place the girl had been seen before she had just disappeared.

  It had used to be a bookstore.

  Now it was a flea market.

  The girl had been there. Then she had just disappeared.

  Like she had never existed.

  Bailey had stood in the center of the street and just tried to imagine how it had been twenty-eight years ago.

  “I think she got into the car with him willingly. But there’s been no indication that she was a prostitute. Our latest victim has a rap sheet with numerous charges.”

  “She was alone—it was early. Only the bakery would have been open that early. Easy enough to grab her and just take off with her.”

  “And that meant it was opportunistic, rather than premeditated.”

  “Prostitutes are pretty opportunistic, too. Just pull up to one, flash some cash. And bingo!”

  “Instant victim. One who would stay with him until she got her money.”

  “And who wouldn’t be missed right away. You’ve got a reasonably smart one on your hands. But this was twenty-eight years ago. Your new body was only a few weeks, right? Your guy would have to be at least fifty now.”

  “So I’m looking for a middle-aged, blond white guy who doesn’t stand out.”

  “So now you have to figure out how to find out exactly who that would be. Needle in a stack of needles, Detective Moore. Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

  Bailey thought of what they learned as she traveled back to Value. It would be well after five before she made it back to the precinct. Once she got there, she’d pin up everything they had, make copies for Clay, and then leave them on his desk.

  He’d had to testify in Amarillo all day. He probably hadn’t made it back yet, either.

  She’d just stick around until he did. Run her theory by him, then head home for the night.

  And try not to remember how Delores’s cousin’s eyes had still filled when she’d talked about her cousin twenty-eight years later.

  Chapter 60

  Clay hated testifying, especially in front of a grand jury. But that was exactly where he’d ended up for the today. Especially when he had a damned murder case that needed his attention.

  He’d checked in with Veri; Jeremy and Ralley were out on patrol, doing what they could to keep the county moving hour by hour.

  Bailey had taken off somewhere to do interviews—alone. Veri had mentioned Garrity. Garrity was just past Stephenville, on the edge of Garrity and Ereth counties.

  He wasn’t exactly too thrilled with that. It was a long stretch of highway out there. Anything could happen.

  Clay grabbed the radio again. He called in his status and asked Veri for an update on all of his people.

  The older woman knew, though. And kept Bailey’s status for last. “Our Bailey is still out in Garrity right now. She’ll be back around nine tonight, sheriff.”

  “Thanks, Veri.” What else was he supposed to say? Radio was open air. Anyone could hear what they were saying. “Let me know if anything comes up—on my phone.”

  “Will do, Sheriff.”

  Not exactly what he wanted to do, but his other option was pulling over—Clay never spoke on his cell while driving; he’d seen the results of that choice far too many times—and calling her himself.

  Hell, before he realized it, he was pulled over on the shoulder doing exactly that.

  She answered on the second ring. She filled him in quickly on what she and Sheriff Daviess, whom he had met before, were up to. At least, she wasn’t out at an old crime scene alone. He gave her instructions to text him when she hit the road on the way back and disconnected, aware that he had lied. He wasn’t concerned as the sheriff—he was concerned as a man.

  A man who cared too damned much about that woman.

  He had another sixty-five minutes or so on the road. More time to think about what he was going to have to do about Bailey.

  His feelings for her weren’t diminishing with time. Not at all. If anything, they were growing stronger by the damned day.

  Chapter 61

  Lou saw the TSP vehicle, and he swore. He pulled over into one of the back entrances to the nearest cattle ranch and prayed. He got lucky; the driver of the TSP Chevy Tahoe didn’t even see him when he drove by.

  But Lou saw him and recognized him.

  That bastard who’d had his hands on Bailey. Lou had tried to tell himself that it had been nothing. Addy would be attracted to a sweetheart like Bailey.

  She looked just like her mother had at that age, and men had wanted her attention all the time.

  It was one of the reasons he’d done stupid things during his marriage. Getting Kimberly money to buy the things they needed and money to take her to nice places once in a while.

  And she’d wanted so many things for little Bailey back then. Clothes, toys...once Bailey had needed an entire mattress set right in the middle of Christmastime because she’d spilled lemonade in her bed and it had molded. Kid stuff.

  Stuff he’d bitched and complained about having to pay.

  He’d do anything to go back in time and make the best of those days. He’d pay everything that kid needed—and he’d do it willingly. What he had lost with Bailey because of his selfishness would never be erased. Never be forgiven.

  He couldn’t go backward, not even in his head. He hadn’t spent much time with his daughter even when he’d had the chance. She’d been just a girl, just a kid. And he’d had better things to do with his time off than play with a kid.

  She’d liked Barbies and horses and every stuffed puppy known to man. Bailey had always wanted a puppy.

  He’d never bothered to get her one.

  Lou hadn’t been much of a father. He knew it. It wasn’t going to change. There was nothing he could about it.

  All he had had back then
he’d given to his wife and his job.

  There hadn’t been much left over for his only child.

  Damn it, how he regretted that.

  But he could make sure Bailey didn’t end up making the same mistakes her mother had.

  Bailey didn’t need a man like Sheriff Clay Addy in her life.

  Lou pulled back out onto the road and sped up.

  Out here on the highway, there weren’t exactly a lot of witnesses.

  He was going to do what he had to do.

  For Bailey.

  Chapter 62

  Murdoch Lake cursed the road in front of him.

  The last thing he wanted to be doing today was driving back to Barratt County, Texas.

  He hated that shit hole, and not just because he'd grown up there. Half of his family lived there still, so he couldn't escape it completely. But the summons from his boss made it clear he’d have to get his ass up there.

  Finley Creek was where his new regional supervisor was located. Unfortunately, it was forty miles north of his parents’ home.

  And his sisters’.

  He couldn’t drive through Barratt County and not stop and see family. Murdoch had a lot of family.

  He almost felt obligated to stop and check on them. Especially Becky. Her latest pregnancy was shaping up to be as difficult as the two miscarriages before had been. Murdoch didn’t like to admit it, but he worried.

  Murdoch had far too much to do. Especially after the rumors he’d just heard.

  He would stop at Ronnie’s first. She had three kids, and he hadn’t seen them in a while. He had belated birthday presents to deliver.

  He didn’t look forward to it. There was a particular conversation he did not want to be having with anyone in his family.

  Celia. It would all be about his sister, Celia. The baby. The one he was supposed to check on the night she’d been kidnapped.

  It was his fault she’d been taken. And he hadn’t ever forgotten it.

  Murdoch just wasn't ready to deal with that yet. Hell, it was cowardly of him—he had no doubt about that. Murdoch had made a point of knowing all of his own faults. It was better for a man like him that way. Murdoch always knew where he stood.